Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Are we playing billiards, or are you going to spend the evening staring at the wall?"

Nick blinked, tearing his eyes from the wallpaper that had, apparently, been so riveting. Just how long had he been staring? If Harstone's grin was any indication, it had most assuredly been longer than Nick would have liked. "Forgive me," he said, picking up his cue and moving to the table. "You are ahead, yes?"

Just as Nick leaned down to line up his shot, Harstone picked up the cue ball. "We can talk, if you would rather do that. I have too many points for you to try to win, regardless."

Nick groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am quite out of sorts this morning and terrible company. The only reason I came was because Calloway's butler was tired of me moping around."

Harstone chuckled. "I know. You told me when you arrived."

"Did I?" Nick dropped into a chair and sighed. "I have a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Making a sound of understanding, Harstone settled into the chair beside him. "You have less than a month before you forfeit Mackenzie's offer."

Nick glared as his stomach twisted itself into a knot. "I hadn't been thinking of that until just now," he growled. Mackenzie hadn't given him much time to begin with, but it certainly felt as if the last two and a half weeks had passed far too quickly. "I think at this point I might as well surrender now and save myself the stress."

Harstone said nothing, though his expression said plenty. He seemed to be waiting for Nick to read the judging look in his eyes and understand what he was trying to say.

Under normal circumstances, perhaps Nick could have gleaned his meaning, but he didn't have the patience for it today. "What?" he grumbled.

Shrugging, Harstone settled back in his chair, as if preparing for this conversation to be lengthy. "Perhaps I am wrong, my friend, but you seem to have already surrendered, no? You haven't been wife hunting since I arrived in London."

"I have!" But Nick cringed as soon as he said it. Even when he had been trying to connect with ladies, he hadn't tried very hard. "Or perhaps I—"

"What are you looking for, Forester?"

Nick grunted. "A wife. You know that."

"What precisely are you looking for? Even now, with your reputation in tatters"—Nick shot him another glare—"you could walk out onto the street and ask any woman to marry you. She would likely say yes. So I ask again. What are you looking for?"

Nick massaged his palm with his thumb, as if his only tension was in his hands rather than his entire body, and considered the question. He already knew the answer, but he could tell Harstone was trying to help him. What if he had been looking for the wrong thing? "I want to find love," he said eventually. "I always thought I would recognize it when I came across it, but now I fear I was entirely wrong. What if I found it already and had no idea?"

Harstone chuckled. "Love is not something you find in an instant, my friend."

" You did."

"I found attraction . But we built love. Together. Tabitha and I made something beautiful. You cannot find love, my friend, no matter how much you hope it will run into you on the street."

Harstone was wrong. Nick knew he was wrong because his heart swelled as he thought about the day he'd run into Emma on the street. Well, inside a milliner's shop. He had felt it then, and he felt it now. If anyone could be the woman he'd been trying to find, she could.

He had somehow fallen madly in love with her, and that scared him more than anything. What if he failed her? He would never willingly leave her like her father had, but what if he turned out to be too much like his own father and ruined everything with a bad investment? His father had meant well, trying to pull the estate from barely breaking even to profitable enough to provide his family with a more comfortable life, but his investment had turned out to be a misstep that had cost them everything. From when his parents became ill and passed away to now, Nick had been paying for that mistake.

Would his own children be the ones paying for his mistakes? He had made so many, and at this point he wasn't sure if even the Mackenzie fortune would thrive under his name or if it would fall as easily as his reputation had. Emma had been right when she'd said he was nothing but insubstantial smoke. His words were all he had, and they had done him no good.

"What if I'm not enough for her?" he croaked, looking up at his friend through the tears that built up in his eyes. He had never been this vulnerable in front of Harstone before, and yet he hardly cared how the escaping emotion made him look.

Harstone didn't ask for clarification; he clearly knew who Nick was talking about as he gave Nick a gentle smile. "What if you are exactly what she needs?"

"She's never going to trust me. After everything I..." Nick shook his head. He was fortunate she had agreed to allow him one more chance to procure a husband for her, but he couldn't expect her trust to go beyond that after all the lies he had told. He had been desperate for that last chance, but how was he supposed to convince her that he was the man who would treat her as he should? She hated him. Or, at the very most, she tolerated him.

Nick ran his hands through his hair, his frustration growing because he had yet to think of a good way to convince Emma to give him a chance. She was completely unraveling him! A week ago he wouldn't have touched his hair in order to remain flawless, but he had no reasons to be presentable anymore. Particularly because Emma was out calling with her sister and Miss Barton. He hardly had any reason to impress Harstone, so what did it matter if he made a mess of his hair?

"Emma deserves more than a ruffled-up, once-idolized man of thirty with no fortune who will likely never set foot in London after all this is over," he muttered. He doubted he could get that inheritance before his time ran out anyway. "Even if by some miracle I were to find another woman who makes me feel the way Emma does, I'll probably still give it all to Emma anyway." She would do far more with the Mackenzie lands than he ever could.

He looked at Harstone, who sat with an elbow resting on the arm of his chair and his fingertips pressed to his temple.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Nick asked.

"You seem to be saying it all to yourself," Harstone replied with a smirk. "Don't let me get in your way."

Nick growled low in his throat. "You always seem to be full of advice when I do not want it, yet here you sit in silence when I need you most. You call yourself my friend?"

"I get the feeling you wouldn't want to hear what I have to say," Harstone replied lightly. "Therefore, I should keep it to myself, no?"

When Nick first met Alvaro Rowland, before he became Lord Harstone, the man never would have teased anyone like this. He had always been lighthearted, but he'd never been anything but completely kind. It seemed his time on English soil had tainted that kindness.

"You are acting too much like me," Nick grumbled. "I don't like it. Where is Calloway when I need him? He would agree with me."

"Calloway is enjoying married life with his darling Lucy, exactly where he should be. And you, my friend, are wasting your time here with me when I know you only came to see Emma." He tapped the side of his head with his finger as he seemed to study Nick. "I don't suppose you would be open to the idea of telling her how you feel?"

"And have her laugh in my face?" Nick shuddered. "I fear this situation requires more delicacy than directness."

Harstone nodded, his serious expression a bit too pronounced to be real. "Not a strength you possess."

"Thank you for your confidence in me. It is greatly appreciated."

That got Harstone to laugh and settle even more comfortably into his chair, stretching his legs out. "Do you want advice or no?"

"I'm considering how best to answer that question."

"You have never been in love." He held up a hand before Nick could protest. "I know how you felt about Lady Lavinia. You were as besotted as Calloway or I are with our wives. But you are not the same man you were then."

Though he knew Harstone was right, Nick still frowned. His friends hardly ever mentioned Lavinia, even though he knew they'd thought him a cad when he'd broken off the engagement. Nick had never told them the reason for it. "I wish I could go back," he admitted quietly. "To the time when I met her. I wish I could have asked some other woman to dance and spared myself all this trouble."

Harstone gave him a sad smile. "If you ever wish to talk about what happened..."

But Nick ducked his head. It had been three years since she'd broken his heart, and he wasn't sure he would ever be ready to face what had happened.

Harstone reached over and put his hand on his shoulder. "As I was saying, this is all new for you. You may pretend to keep your feelings to yourself, but Emma is no fool. She will see right through you and discover the truth soon enough. Wouldn't you rather she hear it from you than force her to read it in your eyes?"

Yes, but that wasn't the point. Whether he told her outright or she worked it out on her own, it wouldn't change the outcome. "I have nothing to give her, save what belongs to her anyway," Nick said weakly. "She has every reason to think being independent will serve her better than trusting someone else to hold all the power. And she has no reason to think my feelings might be genuine instead of a falsehood created to win Mackenzie's game. That hardly gives me confidence in a conclusion that works in my favor."

"Then, what are you going to do?"

If only he had an answer to that question. "For now," he said, pushing himself up to his feet, "I am going to go walk and clear my head. I should not have come here, when seeing her will only confuse me more. Good day to you, Harstone. Your advice is appreciated, if not heeded."

"Forester."

Nick paused at the door, glancing back.

"She will never be able to decide whether you are right for her if she does not know who you are. Who you really are."

As right as Harstone was, that was more terrifying than anything. Nick hadn't been vulnerable like that since Lavinia, and that had led to this whole mess. With his insides twisting into knots, he hurried from the room before his friend could speak any more harrowing truths.

He made it halfway to the front door when he nearly ran straight into Emma herself in the corridor. She must have only just returned, still wearing her cloak but holding her gloves in her hand. A rosy hue colored her cheeks and nose, rendering Nick slack-jawed.

"You are stunning," he breathed without even a word of greeting. A curl had fallen onto her cheek, and he barely resisted pushing it back. Apparently he had turned into a lovesick fool overnight.

She flushed an even deeper crimson, her greenish-blue eyes sparkling. "Ah, if it isn't the man who has terrible taste in friends and far too many compliments on the tip of his tongue. It seems you are always at the ready to assist the unfortunate players in your terrible game of matchmaking."

He smiled for the first time all morning, feeling it crack through the gloom that had been settling over him. "I mean every bit of praise I have ever said about you. And, if it makes a difference, I would not call any of those men my friends. Except perhaps Parker, though he can sometimes be a bit uncouth. As for Humphrey, he had better be wary if ever we cross paths again."

Emma ducked her head, though he wished she wouldn't hide those dazzling eyes of hers. They looked more green than blue today, matching the emerald color of her cloak. "I wish I had been able to rescue myself last night, but I am in your debt for recognizing my need for assistance."

"I am beginning to think you enjoy getting yourself into scrapes."

"I think the more likely explanation is you are rather fond of rescuing me and therefore create the situations."

He laughed. "I do enjoy being the daring hero, but I promise you I take no pride in being the cause of so much discomfort. I do not think I have ever met anyone quite as prone to needing assistance as you, my dear Emma. You may have the skills to look after yourself, but you're bound to send me to an early grave with worry anyway." And he would gladly live a shortened life if it meant he got to spend it with her. "You are too appealing for your own good. I am starting to wonder if I need to educate you in fisticuffs for the future."

She blushed pink. "That does sound amusing, I'll admit."

The corridor settled into a comfortable silence as they smiled at each other, and Nick felt a twinge of hope. She wouldn't smile at him so warmly if she felt entirely indifferent to him, would she? And she made no moves to excuse herself.

"Well," she said after a moment, "have you found my husband? You did seem rather confident you could find a man worth my notice."

He was nowhere near worth her notice, but he would still try to gain it. It was rather unfortunate he had no idea how to do that. "You think I would accept failure? It is as if you do not know me at all, Miss Mackenzie."

She pondered that, giving him a peculiar look as she studied him. "I do not think I do know you, Mr. Forester."

But would she want to learn of him? Harstone was right; she could never love Nick if she felt she didn't know him. He would have to give her reasons to want to know more. If he could stomach being his true self again, would she like what she saw? "That is true," he admitted. "If you did, you would know I much prefer being called Nick." Then he held his breath. He had been calling her Emma for some time now without ever getting her permission.

But she smiled, her fingers playing with the end of her scarf. "Actually, I did know that. It was one of the first things I knew about you, if you'll recall."

"You also knew me to be a coward."

"Or truly intelligent. Miss Barton is a pleasant enough soul, but she is better in small doses."

"And when she has someone else to show her interest."

Emma laughed.

This was good. They were joking together. Reminiscing about their first meeting, when there hadn't been any animosity between them yet. And she still had yet to give any indication that she wished to go up to her room and leave him here on his own. This is good.

Hopefully things would stay good. Now that he had realized how he felt, it was as if Nick was falling down a steep slope with no chance of slowing. All he could hope for was a soft landing at the bottom.

"Where is Miss Barton, anyway?" he asked. "No longer permanently attached to you, is she?"

Laughter still danced in Emma's eyes, though something else played there as well. Some kind of mischief. "She had an important letter to write when we returned and didn't wish to waste any time."

Emma seemed to hold back growing amusement, and Nick knew there was more to this explanation than a simple letter. "I haven't known Miss Barton to be much of a writer," he said, stepping closer.

Emma pursed her lips. "I believe this is a new pastime."

"Do you know who is lucky enough to be on the receiving end of such devotion?"

Emma shook her head. "We shan't talk of this, Nick. I promised Catherine."

While that was admirable, there could be only one reason a young lady wouldn't want anyone to know to whom she was writing. Nick may not have felt any affection for the woman, but he hardly wished Miss Barton harm. "Emma, if Miss Barton is corresponding with a man, she has put herself in danger of scandal."

Emma leaped forward and pressed her cool hand against his mouth, her other hand holding tight to his arm as well as her gloves. While her sudden bare-fingered touch had turned him completely mute, her eyes kept him captivated; they burned with passion. He couldn't have moved even if he wanted to, and he certainly didn't wish anything of the sort.

"I know," she whispered. "I've told Catherine the same thing. But she is writing to my cousin, and she promised she would tell him that they will only be able to interact in person from here on out. He will agree; I know he will. And she isn't as naive as you seem to think."

Nick reluctantly pulled his head back to free his mouth. "I never said she was naive. But writing to a man she hardly knows? I'll admit he is well-suited to her, but she is foolish to risk so much for a fleeting interest."

Emma shrugged. "Who are you to say she isn't in love with him?"

"She thought she was in love with me for years. Clearly she doesn't know a thing about love."

"And you do?" The hand that had covered his mouth now rested on his shoulder, something Emma didn't seem to realize as she stared up at Nick. Why else would she remain this close? "Tell me that you, a man who has spent years chasing a fantasy, know how it feels to love, and I will accept your expertise on the matter."

Now was his moment. He could tell her he knew exactly what love felt like because his heart seemed to be trying to beat out of his chest at the feel of her hands pressed against him. At the intent way she watched him. He ached to bend down and touch his lips to hers in a kiss. She was the only woman in the world who had ever met him step for step, and he couldn't let that go.

Nick swallowed, knowing his next move could ruin everything or make him the happiest man alive. Emma wasn't breaking her gaze, and she seemed to be waiting. For what, he didn't know. All he did know was that he had to tread carefully, or he was going to lose everything. He didn't have the time to keep playing a game, and now the stakes were so much higher than before. A week ago the only thing he stood to lose was a fortune.

Now he was in grave danger of losing his heart.

Three and a half weeks. He had three and a half weeks to convince her he wanted her love and not her money. Once his deadline arrived, he had little hope that he would be able to make her believe he wasn't merely after the inheritance that he had lost the moment he'd fallen in love with Emma Mackenzie.