Chapter Fifteen

How was a man supposed to focus on his dance partner when Miss Mackenzie was failing miserably at looking interested in hers? Poor Sir Thomas had never stood a chance with such a lively woman when the most exciting part of his life was choosing which knot to tie in his cravat. Miss Mackenzie needed someone interesting. Amusing. Someone who wouldn't bat an eye at doing something out of the ordinary.

Speaking of ordinary... Nick flashed a fake smile at Miss Giles as the dance brought them together, trying to remember why he hadn't interacted with her much since meeting her at the end of spring. She was quite pretty, if young, and she came from a good family. Her father owned a good deal of land in Shropshire or Cheshire or... wherever. It didn't much matter.

The lady's face burst into a deep crimson hue the next time he smiled at her, and he pursed his lips. Perhaps that was why he hadn't considered her; she was far too easily overcome. Did no women of London possess some backbone? Or were they all taken in by a smile or the prospect of a fortune?

"This dance is quite invigorating," Nick said when the steps brought them together again.

Miss Giles squeaked. "In-indeed."

He barely resisted the urge to groan. Just as he'd thought. The musicians had chosen to play so slowly that they were hardly dancing at all. Her agreement with his nonsense meant Miss Giles was more inclined to appeal to his vanity than to speak her mind.

"London has been unseasonably warm of late, don't you think?" he asked next, even though it had rained most of the last three days as autumn inched closer to winter.

Miss Giles glanced over the crowd, as if searching for assistance. "I suppose," she said, this time with some hesitation.

Would she agree to everything he said, no matter how ludicrous?

When next they came together, standing still for a longer moment, Nick forced his expression into something serious. "I was thinking of taking up embroidery but have no idea where to begin," he said. "Perhaps I might call on you, and you can teach me."

The poor girl turned so red that he worried she would swoon, as she completely lost focus on the dance and stared at him, open-mouthed. "Em-embroidery, sir?"

"Yes. You ladies make it seem so amusing that I've wanted to try for years. But I can't very well march into White's and ask one of my fellows for assistance, now, can I?"

As the dancers moved around them, Nick refused to move until she responded, which didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon. She probably thought him completely mad, but that was hardly any different from the way Miss Mackenzie treated him. The difference was Miss Mackenzie's utter disregard for his feelings. If he had said such a preposterous thing to her, she would have laughed in his face and said something to the effect of it being no wonder he hadn't found himself a wife yet when he was too busy painting himself a fool.

Nick smiled to himself at the thought, tempted to convince Miss Giles to spread the word that Nicholas Forester wished to take up a lady's pastime. It would reach Miss Mackenzie eventually and fuel their banter. At least with her, he had a worthy opponent. No one else had the spirit to match. Knowing Miss Mackenzie was not after his fortune through marriage had given him a chance to act like himself for the first time in years.

Miss Giles looked on the verge of tears as they stood there, clearly hating the attention being pulled their way the longer they remained motionless. "I suppose I could show you some things," she whispered.

Nick bowed his head and then took her hand to pull her back into the dance. "Perhaps I should not learn after all," he said with a dramatic sigh. "I would hardly wish to become better accomplished than you and have you regret teaching me."

The instant the set finished, he returned Miss Giles to her parents, apologized for his poor dancing skills, and then slipped into a relatively empty corner of the hall to take a moment to look out over the room. While Miss Barton had already found herself another partner, Miss Mackenzie was back with Mrs. Chatwell, apparently unaware of the half a dozen men eyeing her with interest. Nick knew each of them well enough to know none of them would appeal to Miss Mackenzie. Three of them thought far too highly of themselves, and the other three would run with their tails between their legs the moment she spoke to them.

Another gentleman caught Nick's eye, and though Mr. Parker had seemed not to notice Miss Mackenzie—hard to when he was too short to see over the heads of the crowd—he was at least amusing enough to hold a decent conversation. He would certainly be a better choice than Sir Thomas.

"Parker!" Nick held a hand out to the man as he passed.

Parker flinched as if startled by someone noticing him, but he quickly settled into a smile when he saw Nick. "Ah, Forester, I didn't see you there. It's awfully crowded tonight, isn't it?"

Nick laughed. "Isn't it always? I didn't know you were a patron of Almack's."

Parker shuddered. "I'm not, usually. I always feel as if Almack's is where the most odious of Society make themselves the loudest. But desperate times, eh?"

"Still searching for a wife?"

"Aren't we all?"

Nick couldn't have planned this better if he'd tried. While a good number of men were on the hunt, Parker seemed more eager than most. He would probably work a little harder to secure a partner, and it would assuredly take an effort to convince Miss Mackenzie to take someone's hand. Maybe Parker would be up to the task. He had always been tenacious in school, making up for his lack of stature with confidence and exuberance.

Putting his arm around Parker's shoulders, Nick steered him toward Miss Mackenzie, who thankfully hadn't been asked to dance yet. "I wonder," he said, "if you've met Harstone's lovely sister-in-law yet."

"I have not had the pleasure, no, though I hear she made quite a stir the other night."

Nick would need to look into what people were saying about her, in case anything turned negative. He needed her to be the most desirable woman in London if he was to marry her off in time to save his fortune.

"Ah," Nick said, "luckily for you, I am sure she would be delighted to give you a preview of what transpired last week if you ask. If nothing else, I am certain she would grace you with a dance. Miss Mackenzie!"

She startled, turning to him with a lovely pink rising in her cheeks, as if she hadn't expected anyone to speak to her. Then her countenance darkened when she realized who had spoken. "Mr. Forester," she ground out. "Not dancing this set?"

Nick grinned. "How could I enjoy a dance when I know you are on your own? May I present my friend, Mr. John Parker? Parker, this is Miss Emma Mackenzie."

Miss Mackenzie took a moment to examine Parker as she dipped into a curtsy. "Mr. Parker," she said slowly. "You have my condolences."

Parker took a step back. "Pardon?"

"For your misfortune."

Nick frowned, glancing between the two of them. Did she know something he didn't?

"What misfortune might that be?" Parker asked, standing a little taller. Unfortunately, he still stood below Miss Mackenzie, who was admittedly rather tall.

Miss Mackenzie nodded her head toward Nick, a fire sparking to life in her eyes. "Anyone who is forced to be Mr. Forester's friend has my pity."

Parker barked out a laugh, a smile breaking out on his face. "Yes, well, I suppose it must fall to someone. Are you engaged for this set, Miss Mackenzie?"

"Not yet."

"It would be my honor to stand up with you. What I lack in height I make up for in stories of Nick Forester's younger days."

"How could I refuse?" Miss Mackenzie took Parker's hand and sent a smirk toward Nick that made him laugh.

Perhaps finding Miss Mackenzie a husband would be easier than he'd hoped. "Try not to destroy what little esteem she holds for me, Parker," he said as the pair made their way to the dance floor.

Parker chuckled. "I make no promises."

As the music started up, Nick watched Parker quickly and easily bring a smile to Miss Mackenzie's lips with only a few words, undoubtedly sharing some unfortunate tale or other from when they were at Eton together. Miss Mackenzie laughed a moment later, and Nick shifted his feet as an unsettled feeling worked its way into his gut. What if they got along too well? Parker was a sympathetic fellow and not especially wealthy. If she told him of her predicament, he would likely conspire with her to keep Nick from inheriting. Not many would willingly say no to a small fortune to go along with a pretty wife.

"Don't forget the real goal," he muttered to himself. "You need a wife as much as she needs a husband."

"What are you mumbling over there?"

Nick turned to flash a smile at Mrs. Chatwell, who squinted at him from her chair. "Merely working up the courage to ask you to dance, Mrs. Chatwell."

She tapped her cane on the floor. "That tongue of yours will get you into trouble, young man." Still, she smiled at his jest. "I wonder why you did not ask Miss Mackenzie instead of handing her off to that small fellow."

Nick nearly laughed, though he refrained from letting his true feelings show so easily. It would take a miracle for the two of them to make it through an entire set in one piece. "Because she is too far above me."

Harrumphing, Mrs. Chatwell watched the dancers before turning her wrinkled gaze back to him. "The way you two go on, one would think you were made for each other. Miss Mackenzie certainly admires you."

He choked. "Excuse me? Are we talking about the same Miss Mackenzie? She despises me."

Her laugh lines deepened, though she had turned her attention back to the dance, as if she hadn't just said the most preposterous statement. "There is a fine line between love and loathing, Mr. Forester, and the pair of you have clearly begun to test the strength of it, seeing how close you can get before the line snaps."

As his eyes itched to find Miss Mackenzie in the crush, Nick forced his attention to remain fixed on the mad woman who was most assuredly losing her senses in her old age. "I believe the heat of the room is getting to you."

"I do find myself rather thirsty."

"Allow me to fetch you some lemonade." Nick hurried off before she could speak any other nonsense, but he couldn't shake her words. "Admires me?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shuffled through the crowd. It was too loud for him to think straight, and the words slipped out of him against his will. He wasn't even sure where he was going, but it felt like something was chasing him. He pushed a little faster, as if he could run from Mrs. Chatwell's opinions. "Miss Mackenzie wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger if I put a pistol in her hand and stood in front of it."

He slipped into a crowded room, wishing it were easier to find a moment to himself in this blasted place.

He was being unfair to Miss Mackenzie. She was not a cruel person, and nothing she had done was any worse than what he had done in turn. He even admired her strength where so many ladies of the ton would completely lose their personalities in an effort to be what men wanted them to be.

Tugging at his cravat, Nick took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He could feel a good many eyes on him, and it would hardly be to his advantage to have so many see him so ruffled. His tug turned into adjusting the knot, and then he shifted into fixing his cuffs and brushing nonexistent lint from his sleeve.

"Having a good time, Forester?" a man asked.

Nick finally looked up as he said, "Always a bit of a struggle when ladies fight over me for a dance." But then he froze.

He had accidentally entered the card room, the one room in this cursed place he had vowed never to set foot in again.

The man who had spoken—Lord Blake—chuckled as he played a card. "Always the charmer, I see. Care to join in on the next game? Harrow here is quite cleaned out, and I'm eager to place another wager. Miss Lennox and I have been deucedly lucky tonight."

The woman across from him giggled behind her hand, nothing but flirtation in her eyes. An all too familiar sight.

As bile rose in his throat, Nick clenched his hands behind his back and forced a smile. "I'm afraid I've already promised the next set. I only came in here to hide from the ladies I had to disappoint."

"A pity," Blake said, though he hardly seemed to care as he smirked at Miss Lennox. "I would have liked to see how deep those pockets of yours go. One hears so many rumors."

Nick needed to leave. He could hardly twist any comments in his favor right now, with his head spinning, but his feet were planted in place. Blake sat at the same table Nick had played at three years ago. He could see the scene so clearly in his mind, with Lady Lavinia in the chair on the left and Lord Hayworth beside her. Nick had been so blissfully happy, thinking Lavinia would be his wife within the month, that he had ignored the way she'd laughed every time Hayworth spoke. He hadn't given any thought to the way she'd touched Hayworth's arm every few moments.

It was only later, when he'd found them entwined in an alley outside that he had realized his naivety.

"Everything all right, Forester?" Blake's words seemed to echo in his ears.

Nick dipped his head and stumbled from the room, only taking a full breath when he reached the outer doors and stepped into the blissfully cool air outside.