Chapter Twenty-Three

It was far too early to be making a visit to Harstone House, and yet Nick hurried up the steps, desperate to know how Emma fared after last night's near disaster. As Harstone's butler placed Nick in the parlor and left him alone with his thoughts, he couldn't stop imagining the moment he had turned a corner and seen a woman fighting to be free of her captor. The sight had been horrific enough as Nick had rushed forward to assist, but then he'd recognized Emma.

He shuddered. He had only gone to retrieve his few belongings to set up permanently in Calloway's place, and if he had arrived even ten minutes later... Surely someone else would have come to Emma's aid, but that wasn't a risk he would have liked to take.

At what point had he started calling her Emma in his head? It must have been last night, though whether it was before he'd held her trembling hands or after, he wasn't sure. She'd been terrified, and rightly so, and Nick couldn't help but feel responsible for that. She'd been in that situation because she was trying to find him, after all.

"You don't know that," he growled.

But why else would she have been on Hatton Street? At that building? None of the other tenants were in the upper ten thousand (one of the reasons Nick had been living there), and Emma Mackenzie was not one to wander about a poorer part of Town for no reason.

"Could she really have been there to see me?"

"Talking to yourself, Forester?" Harstone chuckled as he entered the parlor, a daughter in either arm. "Have you run out of friends to bore with your endless chatter?"

"Papa, that wasn't a nice thing to say," the older girl censured.

"You are quite right, Dora," Nick agreed, scowling at his friend. But Harstone was in good spirits, which had to mean Emma was safe and sound. He could breathe again. "The most agreeable man in London has turned to insults? I am thoroughly entertaining, and you know it."

Harstone laughed. "That is not what I have been hearing the last few days." He settled himself on the sofa, his girls tucking in next to him.

Nick tried to ignore the ache of jealousy in his chest at the happy sight, but he did a rather poor job of it. Securing Mackenzie's estate was not the only reason he so badly wanted to find himself a wife. The longer he searched for someone he could truly love, the less he believed such a person existed, and his chances of building a happy family like Harstone had were dwindling. Especially now that no one was willing to give him a chance anymore.

Emma had seen to that.

"I didn't take you for one to listen to gossip," Nick grumbled.

"I do not. But I cannot go anywhere in London without hearing your name. What happened?"

Nick almost wondered if Harstone had brought his girls to keep the conversation civil, and he appreciated the forced softening to his frustration. It wasn't Emma's fault. Mostly. "Your sister-in-law is particularly skilled at getting what she wants."

"That is a Mackenzie trait," Harstone replied with a grin. "The women, especially. Always a joy when I am surrounded by so many of them; the house is positively full of women at the moment."

"Speaking of women, how is Miss Barton?" Nick only mentioned her because he worried she would suddenly appear and make it more difficult for him to ascertain Emma's state of being. He had been enjoying his time away from Miss Barton since coming to London, but the woman was too persistent to leave him be for long. Or perhaps even she had turned away from him.

Harstone frowned. "She has fallen ill, unfortunately."

"Oh." Nick did feel some measure of pity, but he couldn't deny he was relieved. He hadn't the energy to direct her attention elsewhere again, especially when his attention seemed locked on the other young lady in the house.

"Papa." The younger girl, Lucy, tugged at her father's sleeve and then whispered something to him when he leaned down.

Harstone's expression softened as he looked down at her. "This is my friend, Mr. Forester. You met him last month."

"She's too little to remember," Dora said with confidence. "But I remember, Papa!" She turned slightly pink when she met Nick's gaze, and then she buried her face in Harstone's shoulder.

The littler one slid from the sofa and approached Nick's chair with wide brown eyes. She looked the most like her father, her brown curls bouncing around her head. "I'm Lucy," she said, dipping in a wobbly curtsy. "Please to meet you, Mista Fohstah."

Oh, she was adorable. Standing, Nick gave her a very proper bow and then crouched down to be closer to her level. He was still too tall, so he sat on the floor. "The pleasure is all mine. You know, I have a dear friend named Lucy."

Her eyes brightened. "Another Lucy?"

"She married my friend Lord Calloway."

"Did she kiss him so he wasn't a beast anymore?" Dora asked from the sofa, her eyes as big as saucers.

Nick had no idea how to respond to that question, and Harstone was too busy holding back laughter to be of any help. Nick could make a guess, however. "Of course. Everyone knows the only way to tame a man is to kiss him. But only if you know you are the right one to break his curse."

Dora still watched him with utter seriousness. "How do you know if you're right?"

He could remember how it felt to love Lavinia, even if the scars he bore went deep. He put his hand over his heart. "You know you're the right one when you feel as if you can't keep your heart in your chest when you're around them."

As if it agreed with him, his heart beat more strongly in reply before returning to its feeble attempts at keeping him going. He had felt that way once before; maybe he could feel so again.

"I should return you girls to the nursery before your mother thinks you have been snatched by fairies," Harstone said, scooping up the girls despite their protests.

"Will you come visit us, Mr. Forester?" Dora asked from the doorway. "You can tell us stories of beasts and witches like Emma does."

Realizing Harstone had paused so he could respond, Nick pasted on a smile. "I would love to," he said, though he had a feeling Emma would never let him anywhere near her nieces. It would likely turn into a battle of whose stories were best, and Nick had already disrupted Emma's life enough and would gladly stay out of her way once he had what he needed. If he could have the Mackenzie lands—and with them an actual chance to raise his own family—she could have her own family to herself.

Harstone returned only a few minutes later, and Nick hadn't yet moved from the floor. He'd gotten lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the rug, and he barely noticed the door opening.

"Oh." That wasn't Harstone's voice.

Nick's head snapped up, his heart picking up speed at the sight of Emma standing in the doorway. "Em—Miss Mackenzie!" He scrambled to his feet and brushed nonexistent dust from the seat of his breeches. "What happened to Harstone?"

She cocked her head to the side as she stepped into the room, seeming to study him as if she hadn't seen him in a good deal of time. "He wanted to read a book with the girls. He said I had a visitor, though he can't have meant you."

"Hardly," he agreed.

Silence hung between them for a moment before Emma said, "Why are you—"

"I wanted to see how you fared." Nick winced at his interruption, but at least it wasn't a lie. "You never said... Did he hurt you?" But he didn't need her to answer that question when he could see the bruises along her jaw beneath the powder she had used to try to cover them. Unconsciously, his fingers rose as if to touch the marred skin, but he held himself back. "He did . Emma."

She ducked her chin, tears spouting in her eyes. "He would have done far worse if you hadn't... Thank you, Mr. Forester."

He felt the formality like a slap to the cheek and took a step back. What was he doing? They were hardly friends, and she wouldn't want him calling her by her Christian name any more than he wanted her questioning his lies.

His heart thumped again, making him wonder if he was simply ill, like Miss Barton.

Meeting his gaze once more, Emma seemed to take a steeling breath before she said, "I went to your apartment to apologize, Mr. Forester. I never meant to ruin your life."

For some reason, that made him smile. And that smile brought a blush to the woman's cheeks. That couldn't be right. Was she also unwell? Feeling overheated? She couldn't possibly be blushing because he smiled at her. Still, he rather enjoyed seeing the warmth of her skin, and he spoke to keep himself from touching her cheeks to ascertain whether they were as warm as they looked.

"If we're being honest," he said, loving the little laugh that came out of her from that line, "I ruined my own life three years ago. Anyone could have made it crumble, so you shouldn't take too much credit."

That got her attention. "What happened three years ago?"

Since he had absolutely no desire to tell her about his failed engagement to Lady Lavinia, he kept talking as if she hadn't asked the question. "In truth, I never thought my lies would last as long as they did, and I must confess to some measure of... relief."

She gasped. "Truly?"

"Some," he repeated with a wry smile. "I am rather put out with you regardless. Finding myself a wife who could stand the exaggerated version of me was difficult enough, and now I must rely on my own merits."

She rewarded him for that bit of cleverness with a smile that lasted only long enough for him to question why he considered her smile a reward. Her expression shifted, her eyebrows pulling low, and it was easy to guess where her mind had gone.

Sighing, Nick lowered himself slowly back into the armchair. It would be better to be up front about everything rather than cloak it all in lies and jests. "Miss Mackenzie, as much as I wish I could, I cannot concede in this war of ours."

She didn't look at him as she settled onto the sofa. "I know," she murmured. "But neither can I."

He had expected that, but Nick still wondered why she didn't try to find herself a wealthy husband. She had built up enough of a following here in London—she would have had to in order to convince all of Society to turn against him—that she could have her choice of gentleman. Perhaps not the dull Sir Thomas or the arrogant Mr. Parker, but there had to be someone . She couldn't possibly wish to be alone all her life.

He wasn't sure anyone could want that.

Regardless, she would continue to be his enemy unless he did something to change that. "I know neither of us can afford to lose," he said carefully, "but I wonder if we might be able to come to agree to some rules of engagement."

That didn't quite bring a smile out of her, but at least she looked up at him again, her eyes sparkling. "Terms of battle?"

"If we can agree to avoid sabotage, whichever of us wins will have done so with honor." And perhaps his conscience would no longer be burdened with guilt over the way he had been treating her. His father had raised him to be a better man than he had been the last few years, but he had forgotten how to be anything but what Society had made him.

"I am not certain how I can play this game of ours without sabotage," Emma admitted, though she seemed intrigued. "My entire goal was to keep any women from finding you desirable."

He grimaced. "Oh, I am well aware. Charlotte Denham nearly burst into tears at the mere sight of me last week."

Emma bit her lip, and Nick couldn't look away. She looked rather beautiful, sitting there in her excitement, something his heart seemed to agree on as it thumped a little more enthusiastically. "I may have told her you were seriously ill and not likely to last the fortnight," she said.

He choked out a laugh. "And she believed you?"

"I am quite persuasive. Though, in honesty, I did not particularly enjoy spreading a lie like that."

"It stings less the more you do it." That was a lie unto itself.

"Even so." Emma let her smile loose as she watched him. "I suppose there isn't much left for me to do against you at this point. You seem to have woven your web poorly enough to leave you with nothing to stand on."

He knew that far too well, but he still found himself smiling. He couldn't remember the last time someone had been brave enough to put him down so thoroughly. Emma deserved a round of applause for holding her own against him. "It's a miracle your grandfather has even given me a chance."

She sobered at that, clasping her hands in her lap. "How are we to proceed? Am I to sit idly by and hope you make a fool of yourself whenever in a lady's presence?"

"That is more likely than you seem to think. But no."

"You expect me to return home?" She frowned. "That is surrender, Mr. Forester."

He could hardly imagine a woman with so much grit tucking tail and running away. She was far stronger than that. "I expect you'll be plenty busy with your many suitors to worry about my side of the battle, but if you insist on an offensive strategy, you may do your own matchmaking."

"My own..." She jumped to her feet, her mouth hanging open. "You've been persuading men to court me!" It was not a question.

Nick laughed at how utterly offended she seemed. "I honestly thought you would realize long before now. It was only two men, mind you, but there are more where they came from."

"You think a proposal will be enough to persuade me to give up my claim." Again, not a question, though she didn't seem angry. She almost seemed on the verge of laughing, that sparkle in her eyes again. "You are far too confident, Mr. Forester, if you think there is a man in this world who could subdue my independent nature. I have as much desire to marry as you have to speak the truth."

"I have a chance at succeeding, then." It was true, then. She did not wish to marry, though he couldn't fathom why. Any man would be lucky to call himself hers.

Standing tall, her chin high, Emma looked down at him with determination. "Very well. I shall prove to you that no man will ever tempt me, and you will be so inundated with women hoping to be yours that by the time you've met them all, your deadline will have come and gone."

As if she could find any women left he hadn't already rejected. Still, he quite liked the idea of this challenge, far more than tearing her down and hoping it helped his own standing. "And if I somehow manage to find someone I can stomach to be around for longer than half an evening," he said, "I will give you whatever it takes for you to live out your independent life."

Her shoulders dropped. "What?"

As he stood to match her, he did his best to ensure his expression was as serious as he felt. "I do not wish for you to be destitute, Miss Mackenzie. I long for a wife and enough money to build a life and a family, and the Mackenzie lands have enough for us both to get what we want. I could find you a cottage somewhere in the neighborhood, where you can tell stories to your neighbors to your heart's content."

She had gone silent, as if she couldn't believe he would ever give her a shilling. It wasn't the same as giving her the home she so clearly loved, but he hoped it might be a compromise.

"My grandfather already gives me an allowance," she said eventually, with a good deal of hesitation in her voice. "I do not merely wish to live out my days with nothing to keep me occupied."

That didn't surprise him in the least. "A small farm, then?" He held out his hand, too afraid to watch her expression as she considered his offer. What if she said no? What if she continued cutting him down to nothing until she claimed that inheritance and left him on the streets? From the very start, he had hoped she would show him kindness if he secured her a future, and he prayed he wasn't wrong about her.

With a smile that left him breathless, she pressed her palm against his, her skin warm and soft, and he found himself unwilling to let go. That likely meant something, but he wasn't brave enough to wonder what that something was.