Chapter 14

What was she doing here? Nicholas had known Lady Plymton would be returning to London, but her uncle had said she would arrive next month. And to be at a ball? Her husband had only been dead just over four months. Six months was generally considered to be the minimum mourning period, and he had never understood how someone could only mourn for that long. Why had she rushed her mourning?

The answer was as obvious as her low-cut dress. One title would not be enough for her.

He steered Lady Mercy away from the crowds of people. For the most part, dancers gave them a wide berth anyway, and by the time they reached the opposite side of the room, they had a decent distance between them and anyone else.

"How do you know her?"

Nicholas wanted to laugh. He didn't know her. Not really. Lady Plymton was not the type of woman that could be known. She changed with whatever person she was around. Cold to some, warm to others, her supposed interests no different from the men she wanted to impress.

And he had fallen for it all. "I knew her when I was younger—much younger. Before she married."

Mercy nodded, her soft features a stark contrast to Lady Plymton's harsh, but beautiful, ones.

He had counted on at least another month of courtship with Lady Mercy before any conversation about Lady Plymton had to come up. He would have preferred to wait, but he would not hide anything from her. "But not before she was engaged."

"Oh." Lady Mercy nodded, then blinked, then glanced to the part of the room where Lady Plymton stood.

Already, a few men had ensconced her. He recognized some of them. Men he had considered rivals in her affection at one time.

How could he have been so foolish?

"And you..." Lady Mercy looked confused, as if she were trying to put him together with a woman like her.

Nicholas took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a quick moment. When he opened them, he allowed himself to take in the delicate angles of Lady Mercy's face, her soft trusting eyes, the texture and artwork that was her skin. How had he ever fallen for a woman like Lady Plymton when someone like Lady Mercy was on the earth? This could very well be the last time Lady Mercy looked at him without reproach, but he had to continue. "I pursued her with the passion of a young man who hadn't learned much about how the world works. I didn't care that she was engaged. I didn't care that my parents didn't approve. I didn't think about consequences at all. I lived only for my next glimpse of her."

The music stopped, and he dropped his hands to his sides. He wasn't a fool. He knew he cared for Lady Mercy much more than she did him. He had hoped... truly hoped to have more time to convince her of his steadfastness before stories of him at that age surfaced. But now that Lady Plymton was back in London, she was bound to hear them soon enough, and he wanted her to hear them from him.

She didn't step away from him, and her eyes were soft and curious, as if it were more important to her to know him than to judge him. A small part of him dared hope that woman's arrival would not mean the end of his relationship with Lady Mercy. And for the first time since he'd relayed the story to Donald, he found himself wishing to be understood. Not just wishing but needing. He needed Lady Mercy to see not only what he'd done but why he would never do anything like that again. He reached for her hand but then stopped and pulled his behind his back. This was most certainly not the time to throw decorum out the window. "I'm not the same person I was then. I have worked very hard not to be so naive. I was young, and when my father learned of the affair, I was sent to the army. I was a terrible service man for the first two months. Unruly. Proud. I thought myself above everyone and above every part of being under someone else's command."

"There aren't many future dukes who go into service."

"No. There aren't. I was an oddity."

"Did you write to her?"

A grim smile rose to his face. "I shouldn't have, but yes. I wrote to her."

"And did she write back?"

"She wrote to me a few times, telling me I shouldn't anger my father too much. And then communication stopped."

"What happened?"

"She married her fiancé." He didn't mean for his voice to sound so hard, but he still hadn't forgiven the stupidity of the young man he was. He hadn't expected her to go through with it. But she had never said anything about breaking off the engagement to him. Nor had he asked her to break it off. He had assumed. Assumed that the times they snuck away into gardens, the times he was able to pull her into a dark corner and kiss her, had meant the same to her as they had to him.

Everything.

He was certain he was ready for marriage, and she had never done anything to convince him otherwise.

Until she married someone else.

"You were in love with her." Mercy said it like a statement, her face emotionless.

"I thought I was. I was a fool."

She eyed Lady Plymton with curiosity more than ire. "Do you ever think—"

"No." He needed her to understand. He was not that person anymore. "After I heard that she'd married, I finally started listening to my superior, General Woodsworth. I changed. I grew up. I left such silly notions behind, and I hope you know that the mistakes I made with her will never be repeated."

"You mean falling in love?"

"No. Of course not. I mean letting my heart rule my head. Nothing about the relationship made sense, but I ignored all the warning signs, broke nearly every rule of propriety, and ended up disappointing my father and paying for my mistakes for years."

Mercy nodded. Another dance was starting, but the two of them had already danced twice. Until they were properly engaged, he couldn't ask her again. At least, not without invoking the ire of Society. He sighed. She would want to keep dancing. He couldn't drag her away to the cardroom for a game of chess.

He'd looked forward to seeing her all day, and now his time with her was already over. "I wish we could dance again. I would rather not leave you. Not now."

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they were quiet. What was she thinking behind those deep-set eyes of hers? He'd run the gamut of emotions during that episode of his life. Euphoria, excitement, danger, longing, despair, and shame. He didn't think she would judge him as harshly as Father had. But he ached to wrap her in his arms and promise her that any feelings he'd had for Lady Plymton had burned out long ago.

One small corner of her mouth rose, slowly, softly, as if she were releasing him from his unease on the matter. "I'll be all right. You should dance with a few more partners today."

He shook his head. "If I can't dance with you, I'd rather watch you dance."

"Would you?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "I find that hard to believe. Besides, as the perfect gentleman you are, you should dance. There are poor wallflowers like me who need asking."

"You're hardly a wallflower."

"I felt like one today."

"I'm sorry about that." His shoulders drooped. "I'm sorry about a lot of things. I'll make certain a few men know I am not a jealous man."

Her smile dropped slightly but then returned. "That would be appreciated."

He led her back to her mother, bowed to the other women there, and asked the very next young lady he met to dance.

He would not be caught with a free moment until he went to the cardroom. He wouldn't risk giving Lady Plymton a chance to speak with him. He had no doubt that Lady Plymton would not reenter Society quietly. If that had been her plan, her uncle wouldn't have felt the need to warn him of her arrival.

He quickly danced three more sets with three different women, always making certain to stay far from the dark-haired woman who had ruined his relationship with his father. None of the women he danced with compared to Lady Mercy, though. Not in their grace and not in the way he felt like she belonged in his arms. For a man who had grown to respect rules and the things they protected, he was starting to despise the ones that kept Lady Mercy at arm's length.