Chapter Thirty-Three

The day seemed brighter than normal as Nick walked along Park Lane, whistling a cheery tune to keep himself from running the whole way back to Calloway's. He had forced himself to remain at Harstone House for at least two hours, during which he'd pretended to listen to Miss Barton explain how she and Mr. Drake had formed a secret attachment in Tutbury. Really, he had been lost in a fantasy, dreaming of telling all his friends about how he and Emma had been so against each other when they were clearly meant to be a match.

He imagined telling their children the story and hearing them laugh every time Nick described the abysmal options he had thrown at their mother in his attempt to get her married off and out of his way, all the while not knowing that that would have earned her the inheritance and left him sunk. Thank goodness she hadn't been inclined to marry for anything less than the deepest love, just like him.

While he'd been at Harstone House, Emma's letter had been burning a hole in his pocket and driving him mad with temptation. She had written far more than he'd expected, which had him desperate to know what was inside. Had she decided it was a terrible idea and told her mystery suitor that they would never work? Nick would gladly argue the point. Had she come up with a secret plan to run away to Scotland and marry the moment they met? That wasn't such a terrible idea. Did she secretly know it was Nick, rather than some stranger, and she had written a whole lecture about deceiving her?

He swallowed as he neared Calloway's Mayfair house. Some of her questions in the breakfast room had made him wonder, and Harstone had been right when he'd said Emma was clever.

What if this ruse would only turn her against him? Nick's cowardice could easily be his downfall.

He wouldn't know until he read the letter, and he picked up his pace, eager to get inside and find some privacy.

"Nicholas?"

Nick didn't have to look behind him to recognize Lavinia's timid voice, and he was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard her. But his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, pulling him to a stop. He was one house away. If he had gone a little faster, he could have avoided her entirely.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves, then turned. "Lady Hayworth. What a surprise to see you on your own."

She turned pink, still as beautiful as ever. The last three years had been kind to her. "I saw you through the window." She gestured to a house across the street. "Hayworth wouldn't want me talking to you, but..."

Nick did his best to keep the growl out of his voice. "Perhaps you should do as your husband says. If you'll excuse me, I have—"

"That woman you were with the other day..."

Nick tensed. "What of her?"

"You are aware of what everyone is saying about her, are you not?"

Blast it all, what were they saying now? Nick should have hied himself to White's or ventured out to any soiree he could get into just to see what gossip may have been surfacing after his walk in the park with Emma. A single romp in public shouldn't have been anything worth noting, but Nick had been under so much scrutiny lately that he should have known there was nothing innocent when it came to an association with him.

"Tell me," he commanded, not caring when Lavinia startled at the gruffness in his voice.

She frowned. "I have heard she has been nothing but trouble since the moment she came to London. The hypocrite censures others for listening to gossip, all the while spreading her own lies. Did you know she convinced an entire roomful of ladies to disregard you? Clearly it was so she could try to take your fortune for herself by pretending to be all things good and virtuous."

Nick was clenching his jaw so hard that he wasn't certain it would open again, but he couldn't just stand there and let Lavinia speak of what she didn't know. "Miss Mackenzie's lies have been few and inconsequential, and her measure of me has always been accurate. She would happily live out her life in peace away from all of this nonsense, and I deserve anything she may or may not have said about me." He narrowed his eyes, studying Lavinia. "Why should you care what happens to me, anyway?"

That question seemed to catch her off guard. Or perhaps it was the first part of his response that had her staring at him open-mouthed and pink-cheeked. "I only thought to spare you from the—"

"Spare me?" Nick laughed, feeling no humor. "Spare me from what? The rumors? The lies? This disease upon Society that has everyone thinking they have the right to be a part of someone else's business simply because they think they know something? You know very well you are the reason I became a puppet of the ton when it should have been you tied to their strings. Good day, Lady Hayworth."

He took a step to move past her but stopped at the sound of her voice, small and full of shame.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you." She clasped her hands to her chest, her eyes on her shoes. "I never said. And I owe you my thanks for not exposing me when you should have. You took all the blame and made a mockery of your life when it was I who betrayed your trust."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a mockery." Nick really didn't want to have this conversation, but the pain in her eyes held him in place. How long had she been holding on to this guilt? Three years? Or had she come to her senses the other day when she'd seen him with another woman? It didn't matter why she had decided to apologize; he was desperate to get away from her and his own pain that was dredged up by the sight of her.

It seemed his broken heart was still damaged, perhaps beyond repair.

"Go back to your husband, Lavinia."

"I don't want to see you get hurt, Nicholas."

"How thoughtful of you, but you're about three years too late." And if she thought he would allow Emma to be ridiculed, she was sorely mistaken. He leaned in close to Lavinia, fixing his gaze on her even if she didn't offer the same courtesy. "If ever you held any affection for me—even if you didn't—please stop talking about Miss Mackenzie. I pulled her into this game when she had no need to play, and I fear I may have ruined everything for her. She doesn't deserve to be whispered about. Not like this." He put his hand over his heart. "I beg of you to help me fix this."

Lavinia peeked up at him. "What do you expect me to do?"

Shaking his head, he wished he had some grand plan to protect Emma from the harsh words she would undoubtedly hear about herself the moment she left the house. If he had still been held in high regard, he could have said anything he wanted about her and be believed. Men far better than him would have seen the incredible woman she was and fallen at her feet. If he tried hard enough, he could have convinced every man in London to give her the money she would need to live out her independent life exactly as she wished, with or without her grandfather's will.

"Lord Hayworth is well-respected and influential," he said, hating the taste of every word. "You are so often at the center of Society, so far above where I ever was. One word from you and Emma would be spared the misery of the life I have lived for the last three years."

Though she seemed to understand what he was saying, she still frowned at him, like his plan would never work. "Her connection to you," she said, cutting herself off and shaking her head. "I am not sure I could save her without ruining you."

For some reason, Nick almost smiled when that thought should have left him dizzy with nerves. "I don't care what happens to me. All of London can despise me for the rest of my life, as long as she never has to bear their scorn." True, he would be a terrible match for her if he sank lower than he already was, but Nick had to hope he was right in thinking Emma wouldn't care where he stood. If she loved him even half as much as he loved her, they could still make a match and get her the life she deserved. He wouldn't even have to stay with her if she didn't want him. He could become her gardener. Her butler. Anything she required, even if she asked him to live out his days on his own pathetic lands. A husband in name only—he would do it.

Shaking his head, he bowed slightly to Lavinia. "Do what you will with my name, Lavinia. I thank you for your apology, but the only thing I care about is Emma's happiness. Good day."

"That Miss Mackenzie seems to understand you in a way I never did. I am glad you found someone who makes you happy. Is she... that is to say, are the two of you... ?"

"I hope so." That all depended on what was in her letter. "Though, I have no idea why anyone—"

She put her hand on his arm, making him tense and pull away. "You are a good man, Nicholas. And I am certain she knows it. I may have been too much of a coward to marry for love, but Miss Mackenzie seems stronger than I ever was. I hope you have a happy life together. You deserve it, after everything."

Before he could reply, she scurried back across the street and disappeared into her town house, leaving him unsure how to feel. He had always wanted her to admit her fault in their failed engagement, but he felt no satisfaction from her apology.

Perhaps he hadn't needed it in the first place.

Feeling out of sorts, Nick wandered the corridors of Calloway's house with new eyes, like a man who had been so focused on the distant horizon that he hadn't realized just how far he had gone. Less than a month ago he would have given anything for a house like this. For a library stocked with more books than a man could read in his lifetime and servants aplenty and a title and prestige and everything else that came with being a wealthy aristocrat.

He'd wanted the Mackenzie fortune so he could tell the world he meant something and had value.

All this time he had claimed a profound desire to find love, and yet his focus had always been on the fortune.

As he settled in a chair in Calloway's study, Nick considered Harstone's question once more. "What are you looking for?" He had told his friend the truth when he'd said he wanted to find love, but he already had it. It coursed through him with every beating of his heart. But he still felt lost and unsure, so there was something still missing from his life. Money—he could earn it. Calloway would happily give him one of his many businesses and teach him how to make it thrive. Family—Harstone and Calloway were as much his brothers as if they had been born of the same mother.

The only thing he truly lacked was Emma's love in return.

Pulling out her letter and breaking the seal, he traced her elegant handwriting as if the lines might guide him in the direction he needed to go. Within these words that he was almost too frightened to read were his hopes and dreams. His future. And there was nothing for him to do but read and hope she was not about to break his heart.

To my last hope,

I will be direct. I am not accustomed to asking for help, and I dearly wish I didn't have to now, but I must find myself a husband within the week, or I am lost. You are my only chance.

"Well done, Emma," he breathed, grinning at her tenacity. She was bold for a lady of Society, but he had always liked that about her.

She wrote next about her requirements in a partner—most of them things he already knew—warning him that she would not be one to sit idly by while there was work to be done. Should she inherit the Mackenzie lands as she hoped, she intended to be an integral part of running the estate.

"I would expect nothing less," Nick said, as if she were there to hear him. "I know next to nothing about running an estate, so that will benefit us both." He had said as much in his letter to her, and he loved that she still set her own expectations. This was the longest part of the letter, as she had a good deal to say about how involved she already was in her grandfather's estate, and Nick had never been more attracted to the woman as she essentially put him in his place for knowing nothing about running an estate. Her strength and confidence were quickly becoming his favorite part of her in a way he never could have expected.

The next part of the letter was softer in tone and included a list of some of her likes and dislikes, just as he had done for her. She seemed more timid about these details, but he drank them in, each one a window into her soul.

I suppose you would want to know more details about me before becoming trapped by my awful circumstances, though I don't know what you would most like to know.

I enjoy reading novels almost as much as I enjoy telling stories. I hope to build my library over time until my home can no longer contain all the books. Some people may consider that frivolous, particularly when my estate is not especially large, but I like to think a good book is worth every penny. It sounds as if you may feel the same way.

I actually like gloomy weather, though a sunny day has its value as well. It depends on the season and my mood.

I have three adorable nieces, whom I love dearly, and I desire my own children with my whole soul. Before this necessity, I wasn't certain whether I would have that opportunity, and I pray you hope for children as well. I didn't have a loving father, and perhaps that is common. But could you find it in your heart to love your children, should we have them?

Look at me, just as presumptuous as you! I too like roasted goose, though I enjoy turnips as well. I also delight in cats, music, roses, and beautiful bonnets.

Nick felt like his cheeks might crack from smiling, particularly from her question about children. Could he love them? If only she knew how desperately he wanted a family and always had. Should all of this work out as he hoped, and should they be blessed with children, Nick would be the most loving father in the world. Those children would come second only to Emma.

He treasured every word of the letter, his only regret being the knowledge that he could learn these things face-to-face if he were only brave enough to tell her how deeply he had fallen for her.

But he wasn't brave. His heart was too fragile for him to throw caution to the wind, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

The last bit of the letter caught him by surprise when his name was mentioned.

I do not know if you and Mr. Forester are close, but I trust him wholeheartedly. If he thinks you and I would make a good match, I am inclined to believe him. I hope you feel the same.

"You have no idea," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. But then his eyes fell upon the last line of the letter, just before she signed it with her name—simply Emma —and his heart constricted.

I am running out of time, sir, so if we are to make a match, we must meet in person before the week's end.

He blew out his breath in a steady stream, unsure how to react to that. "Wasting no time, I see." He had known a meeting would need to happen, but a part of him had still been hoping for more time. If he wasn't worried that Mr. Mackenzie had less time than he hoped, he would refuse to play the old man's game, but... he had seen the look in the man's eyes. Mackenzie was holding on for as long as he could, and Emma needed more than her sister, who had her hands full with her daughters.

Emma needed someone who could hold her steady while she mourned the only father figure she had.

"Well, Emma," he said as he crossed to the writing desk and pulled out a sheet of foolscap, "I hope you will not be disappointed when you learn your mystery suitor is nothing but a liar."

No matter how much it frightened him, it seemed it was time for him to offer his heart and hope he didn't get hurt again.