Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

WHERE A MAN STRUGGLES TO MAKE AMENDS

T he Macauley household was preparing for Tate’s birthday tomorrow, the day before Christmas. Servants were scurrying about, pine garlands and those red-berried plants loaded in their arms. Cats were underfoot, four by Nigel’s hasty count, and a mutt that looked about as lowly bred as he, lounging on the staircase. He heard shouts and singsong calls, the stomp of feet and a dish crashing to the floor somewhere down the corridor, general chaos that spoke of a happy home.

Birthdays saddened him, as he had no clue when his was.

He’d been dropped at the orphanage with a blanket and a dented rattle, age undetermined. A fact no one had cared to determine. Tobias and Hildy had tried to hold a celebration a time or two with a date they plucked from mist, but Nigel was too embarrassed by the whole thing, so the effort never took. With the wisdom of age, it was a slice of life he wished he’d simply put up with for the sake of the two people who’d done everything for him.

He tapped his toe on the parquet flagstone in the entryway, hesitant to move one step more into the house when he’d never had to knock before .

The skin on the back of his neck tingled, and he glanced at the top of the staircase—and there she was.

Beautiful, compassionate, determined Arabella Macauley.

A woman who, at the moment, looked as if she wanted to run him over with her carriage.

“You have a lot of nerve,” she whispered after looking over her shoulder.

He shook his head, the rush of certainty—when he was already sure—catching him off guard. “No, imp, I’m in love with a chit who has a lot of nerve. I’m merely a man trying to piece it all together.”

She sighed deeply, her chest rising and falling with it, and he could see a tiny crack forming in the icy glower on her face. He kept his gaze there, away from the stunning breasts he’d been dreaming about for three days.

A rookery boy snatched what he wanted.

Nigel wanted Arabella Macauley—and he wanted her now .

But he’d damn well wait until she said yes. And if she didn’t, he’d go and jump off the Stone Bridge.

“Thank you for the note. And the sweets. And the flowers.” She descended a step, clearly unwilling, her hand grasping the oak banister like she was choking it. “I know blooms are hard to come by in the winter, although you have the best shipping contacts in the city. Your father or mine able to find anything one desires. Although so many arrived, we had to start putting them in bedchambers. You should know Tate’s angry about his room smelling of lilacs, but he’s happy about the Swiss chocolates.”

Nigel shrugged, hiding a smile when she took another begrudging step down. “The woman I desire is currently holding court on a marble staircase. I’m praying for a speedy sentencing that goes in my favor.”

Arabella halted on step number four, shooting him a fierce look that would have crushed another man. “I know my rat of a father is helping you. He told you, order flowers and trinkets meant to soothe , and you’re buying out all England! At least you didn’t try jewelry. Your father once had a dealer who specialized in nothing but tiaras. Before your mother, that is. Then, poof , up went the purchase of tiaras when he met Hildy. ”

Nigel laughed, unable to contain it. “Xander did help with the flowers. And I’d never stoop to doling out jewels via messenger. I know trinkets, as you call them, aren’t the keys to your heart, imp, but I needed time for the other. I didn’t want you to think a second had gone by in the past three days where I wasn’t thinking about you.” He dusted the toe of his boot along a silver thread in the entry’s runner. “I’d hoped the hours and the gifts would cool your temper.”

“You thought wrong.” Though the words were sharp, there was a sliver of warmth, amusement, perhaps love , buried beneath the heat.

Nigel leaned against the door, relieved Arabella’s mother had cleared the foyer of servants when he arrived. Thankfully, Pippa was rooting for him. An orange tabby, however, decided to pay a visit, doing circles around his ankles. “Are you going to come give me a kiss? You know you want to. I know I want you to.”

Halfway to him, she halted, her lips pressing into a hard line. “You arrogant scoundrel, as if I would after you rejected me in front of my father .” She flicked her hand, gesturing to the chaos surrounding them. “Plus, I have this blasted birthday party to help arrange.”

Incorporating Xander’s advice, Nigel opened his heart, placing himself on the block for her. Glancing around the space, noting decorations and knickknacks that spelled family, he said, “I don’t know when my birthday is. The spring perhaps. I was left at the orphanage without much information attached to the drop. Perhaps I should pick a day, so my children have something to celebrate with me.”

She paused two paces away, her lips parting on a rough sigh. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she swallowed hard. “ Oh , you are a skilled player, Nigel Streeter.”

He closed the gap between them, taking her jaw and tilting her gaze to his. Her eyes were the deep gray of burnt ash this morning, the color of his fantasies. “This isn’t a game to me, Bell. If you choose to share your life with me, the stakes are higher than any I’ve faced. And I like to win—I admit to having a gambler’s soul. But this is life . I want your devotion, your stories, your stubbornness.”

He captured her mouth when she started to argue. Where they tumbled into the abyss, passion scorching the air around them. His arms were around her, hers around him, colliding. Heat crawled down his body to land quite rightly between his legs, swelling his shaft against her hip. When she wiggled in reply, he lost his breath.

“I adore you,” he whispered brokenly against her lips. “I want you to be my wife, my everything, Bell. And I’m willing to prove my love for as long as you need me to realize I’m a solid bet. To know without one hint of hesitation that I’m the man for you. I won’t accept half measures any more than I offer them.”

“Only you and my father call me Bell. Funny, that.” Tilting her head, she gazed at him with the mien of a gamester. His ploy tossed right back at him. “Before I decide the case, what’s the ‘other’ you said you’d planned?”

He unsuccessfully hid his grin, his heart thudding when she grinned in return.

She danced away when he tried to corral her. “Oh, no. No, no, no . I want my story, one as outstanding as my mother’s. As your mother’s. The men of the Leighton Cluster are known for grand deeds, as my father calls them.”

Turning, Nigel grabbed a cloak from the rack and held it out to her. “Mostly, imp, we’re known for groveling.”

She glanced at the cape and then into his eyes. Hers were clear, determined but tender, unless he missed his guess. “No kissing in the carriage, Streeter. That will only confuse the spit out of me. You on your squab, me on mine.”

“Done,” he whispered and settled the cloak on her slim shoulders.

If pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck was cheating, he simply couldn’t help himself.

And he didn’t promise a damned thing beyond the carriage ride.

He’d kept his word and his hands off her.

Although, Bella realized in amazement, a molten gaze could light a fire inside a girl.

After withstanding that sizzling look for the entire ten-minute trip, her knees were weak when they arrived at his terrace. It was a gorgeous property, she decided, taking in the trim four stories, the tidy marble stairs leading to a bright blue set of doors.

She would be happy here. Glancing at the man fumbling with a set of keys for an existence he was inviting her into, she let love make her decision.

In truth, she didn’t require a grand deed.

There were stories shared about the Macauley and Streeter dinner tables by the females in the family—and Bella wished for hers just to keep up. Nigel had done enough with the peek he’d given her into his past. To her, that was worth more than flowers and sweets.

Her decision was made. Ages ago, or so it seemed, she’d known Nigel was the best bet she’d make in this life. She appreciated his vulnerable quest to prove what a wonderful man he was to her.

When he was the only man for her, the adorable rogue.

However, she wasn’t above watching him grovel, since it was part and parcel of his legacy as a member of their extended family.

“The lock is sticking,” he groused, giving it a violent twist. “And it’s brand new.”

Elbowing him aside, she held her hand out for the key. Why …

Bella stared at him in amazement. His hands were shaking, his cheeks were flushed. While she was merely so delighted that she could barely keep from doing a dance on his front stoop.

“We can pick a birthday for you,” she said and gave the key a delicate turn that had the door swinging open. “Perhaps one in the spring, since you believe it’s close to the real thing.”

“ Bell ,” he breathed and shoved her inside the manse. Kicking the door closed, he pressed her against it.

Gads , he kissed like a god.

Threw himself in full force, no reluctance. His tongue tangling with hers, his lips gentle and commanding all at once. His broad body trapping her in passion, hunger, greed . Lifting her by her bottom, he caged her against the door, bringing her legs half around him in a muddle with her skirts.

“Later, when you promise to be mine, I’m going to make you scream, an echo heard throughout this house, between the two of us, even after we have children racing through the halls.” Nipping a tender patch of skin beneath her jaw, he sucked her earlobe between his teeth until the ground swept out from beneath her. She would have gone down had she been standing. “There are no servants, not yet. We’re going to tup in every room, on every surface, I promise you, before they arrive.”

Then he let her go, steadying her with that wicked smile of his, until she wasn’t shaking. Or not so much that he noticed. What went on beneath a woman’s skirts were her own dealings.

Bella followed him down the corridor, noting what an excellent physique he had. (Because after that kiss, she was in this mood.) Trim bottom, round but not plump. Lean waist. Broad shoulders. His sooty hair—longer than style dictated, a choice she loved—draped over his crisp collar. He rarely went for formal hats or flashy waistcoats. He was a gray-on-gray with the occasional formal blacks man.

She trusted his fashion and his pledges and his heart—and she always would.

Nigel paused at the parlor door, glancing back, finding her gaze lower than it should be. A gleam entered his eyes. Taking the fingertip of his kidskin glove in his teeth, he yanked each finger free while her pulse soared, the part of her body between her thighs that he owned melting. “I bought new sheets, as we made quite a tangle of the first. Silk, the finest my ill-gotten blunt could buy.”

Bella laughed, not about to let it be that easy. Shrugging, she strolled into a room redolent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and balsam fir. “Why would your bedding matter to me?”

Then she paused in place. Oh , she marveled . She hadn’t imagined she desired a grand deed.

Until she saw one.

An explosion of Christmastide joy filled the room. Boxes of decorations, evergreen garlands, candles, wreaths. Enough for five homes.

Nigel halted beside her, the tail of his greatcoat whipping against his legs. He gestured to the trees standing guard before the bay windows. “I couldn’t decide which one I liked best or which one you would like best, so I purchased both. Imported directly from Germany, where this inside-the-house shrub foolishness is becoming quite the holiday tradition. I guess that’s where Victoria got the idea. There are boxes of gewgaws, too, enough for all London.” He scrubbed his shoulder over his chin. “Though I’m not sure we should follow this ritual as the royals are known for absurdity. And insanity.”

Bella crossed to the saplings taking up a large section of the parlor. Both were so tall she had to crane her head to see the spiky tops. She clapped her hands, delighted. “There’s an angel atop one, and something that looks like a devil atop the other.”

Nigel chuckled, seeming to relax as he observed her pleasure. “The devil is me.” He came to stand next to her, his gaze also drawn to the spectacle. “You’re the angel.”

She slipped her hand into his and linked their fingers. The pulse at his wrist was tapping out a lively tune. “You have enough for the entire family.”

He hummed out a half answer and brought her hand to his lips, dusting a kiss across her knuckles. “That’s what my father said, too. He and the Duke of Leighton helped me locate much of it. You know, his wife, the countess, has the shipping enterprise.”

Letting him go, Bella circled the angel tree, bending to retrieve a glass ornament in the shape of a star. After hanging it, she stepped back to have a look. “You’re going to make a home here, Nigel Streeter. A splendid one.”

“ We’re going to make a home here, Arabella Macauley.”

She peeked at him through the balsam’s branches. His gaze had taken on that honey-gold hue which meant he was deep in thought. Later, she’d make him beg and gasp, his eyes going the color of mahogany.

That she knew these little secrets about him astounded her.

That he’d let her in enough to know them thrilled her.

Love pulsed through her in waves, one after the other until she could hardly catch her breath. She wanted to grow old with him. She wanted to have his children. She wanted this house and this life. She wanted the us .

Coming around the tree, he took her hand and led her to the settee that had been jammed in the corner to accommodate the trees. Piled atop it were loads of fabric samples, paint chips, and books on furnishings. Nigel rocked back in his heels, discomfited. “Xander said you’d always wanted to decorate your own house. That you’ve done most of what I see in their home because Pippa doesn’t much care for fashion and such.”

He pointed to the stacks, coughed lightly. Again, revealing the vulnerable shyness that floored her. “I don’t care what you choose. I don’t care what you spend. I’ve done well, honestly, really, really well with the Devil’s Lair. I have a gift for gaming, I suppose. Make it yours, this place, is what I’m saying. If you’re here and content, I’m happy.”

Before she could speak, spill the thousands of dreams and hopes fluttering through her, he brought her close and kissed her, gently, a feather touch. Too soon, he stepped back, reaching into his waistcoat pocket to withdraw a small velvet box. “I don’t have a ring with history to give you, imp. A surname beyond the one I was charitably offered when I was eleven years old. I can only offer my heart and my future. My past, if you wish me to share it. This,” he said and tapped the box to her heart, then his, “will go to our daughter someday. Or her daughter. That’s where it begins, the Streeter legacy of love, kindness, and prosperity. I promise to never take that good fortune for granted.”

Bella went to her toes and kissed him, letting everything in her swell and flow into him. Delighted, she giggled and thrust out her hand. “Put it on.”

He laughed, his cheeks heating, the darling, darling man. “Is that a yes?”

She wiggled her fingers. “ Now , Streeter.”

The ring was incredible. A canary-yellow diamond without another jewel to mar its beauty. “It’s rare, I’m told. The color and such. I had help with the sizing, from Pippa.” He slid it on her finger and beamed at the flawless fit. Turning it this way and that, he tapped the stone with his fingertip. “It’s you, the sunshine, the glow. You fill me with near this color, every day, Bell. It’s like liquid bliss.”

Tears overtook her, and she crumpled against his chest. Love was more powerful than her meager effort to contain it.

“Don’t, Bell.” He wrapped her in his arms. “Ah, darling imp, don’t cry.”

Bella sniffled into his waistcoat, breathing in the scent of leather and spice. When would she ever get used to this remarkable man being hers ? All hers. “They’re happy tears. I love the ring. I love you , more than I’ve ever thought to love anyone.”

Cradling her chin, he pressed his lips to hers. “I don’t want to wait. Please don’t make me do the society dance of a months-long engagement. I’m begging you.”

Bella trailed her finger down his waistcoat buttons, teasing him. What better time to get every little thing she wanted out of this glorious evening? “If you let me watch the festivities from the Devil’s Lair gallery for one full night, not a second less, I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

He leaned back, eyes wide when they met hers. “Truly, you’re negotiating this ?”

She placed her hand over his chest, his heartbeat kicking beneath her palm. “If I wait, you’ll say it’s not something you want your wife to do. Now… I have power, so I’m going to use it. Give me a moment, and I’ll think of more things forbidden to me before now.”

“Darling imp,” he whispered and pressed his rigid shaft against her hip, “you have power. Please, please use it.”

Laughing, she took his hand, guided him out of the parlor and up the stairs.

Where they negotiated all night.