Chapter Seven

Nicholas Forester was a cad. Though, perhaps he was doing himself a disservice by thinking so as he and Lord Harstone rode across a misty field. He had technically done nothing to Miss Mackenzie the night previous, and yet his chest ached with guilt. No, he had misstepped horribly. He had lost his temper in his frustration, something he never wanted to do, and he had fumbled through a pitiful attempt at softening the blow by telling her she was beautiful, though he knew that hardly made up for his cutting words.

Miss Mackenzie hadn't seemed to appreciate the compliment as he had hoped, though he didn't blame her.

Nick, fool that he was, couldn't help but admire the fact that she seemed to care little for vanity. He could hardly say she truly possessed an ounce of humility—he didn't know her well enough—and yet his measure of the woman continued to rise each time they went head-to-head in battle.

That attraction would do him little good when she was determined to take what small chance he had of making something of himself.

"This is the first time I have ever heard you so quiet, my friend," Harstone said as they crested a hill. To the east, the sun strained to break through the thin layer of clouds that threatened rain, leaving the air thick with moisture. "Has my cousin worn you down so thoroughly?"

Nick narrowed his eyes. "Miss Barton is the least of my problems, though she does have a knack for getting on one's nerves." The horse beneath him shifted nervously, clearly sensing his agitation. Nick had never been much of a horseman, or he might have given the beast its head and let it run to its heart's content. He certainly wished he could do the same.

As Harstone looked over the lands of his sprawling estate, he smiled with the ease of a man with a good life. "She cannot be that bad, no? I have known her for years and always enjoy her company."

Growling in his throat, Nick fought back an insult to the lady so as not to regret it later. He was dealing with enough of that emotion as it was. Besides, it wasn't Miss Barton's fault she had set her sights on a man so ill-equipped to choose a partner in life. She could have been the most perfect woman in all of England and Nick would likely have found a flaw in her. That seemed to be his pattern. "Yes, well, you, my friend, could enjoy the company of a halfwit and not notice the difference between him and the Prince Regent himself. You are uncommonly good."

"Calloway wrote to me." Harstone's smile hadn't dimmed. In fact, it seemed to have grown with each passing second.

Nick groaned. "And what did the good baron say? Did he tell you I've ruined all my chances of finding a wife and need to stop telling falsehoods if I ever hope to settle down?" Though he spoke with bitterness, Nick couldn't fault his friends for talking about him. Calloway was his oldest friend and had looked after him from the day they met at Eton. Nick had hardly done anything to deserve that friendship, but he treasured it, just as he did his friendship with Harstone. "Did he tell you he hardly recognizes me anymore?"

"He told me I should invest in silk," Harstone said with a chuckle. "But, since you brought up the subject, I hear Mr. Mackenzie has changed the rules."

Still tempted to ride off until he was miles away from his problems, Nick nudged his mount forward, all the while knowing Harstone would follow. "I suppose you all know my impending fate," he muttered. "Is nothing kept secret anymore?"

"This from the man who has his whole life on display? Emma told Tabitha, who naturally told me."

"Naturally," Nick grumbled, though he'd never had a confidante so natural in his life. Not even Calloway was privy to the inner workings of his soul, which left Nick to carry his own burdens without aid. No woman in England had been someone he could trust with his heart. Not since...

Clearing his throat, he pushed his horse a bit faster so conversation would be more difficult. Anything was better than dwelling on his failed engagement. "I suppose you will side with Miss Mackenzie on the matter," he grumbled.

"Why do you think that?"

The question caught him so off guard that Nick tugged on the reins, jerking the beast to a stop and nearly throwing himself straight over its head when it obediently complied. "What?"

A bit of mischief played in Harstone's eyes as he came up beside Nick far more gracefully. "You assume I support my wife's sister, yes? But I would sooner see her happily settled with a man worthy of her."

Nick scoffed. "The woman is twenty years old and refuses to go to London, and from what I hear from that bookworm cousin of hers, she is quite against the very idea of matrimony." Well, he had heard it this morning from Miss Barton, who'd heard it from Mr. Drake, which very well might have made the statement wholly untrue. Gossip hardly ever mirrored fact.

Chuckling, Harstone turned his mount to return back to the house. "Yes, Emma delights in independence. It is the reason she stays with her grandfather instead of with us."

"For which we are all grateful," Nick said under his breath. If he had been staying under the same roof as her, he might not have survived. Having Miss Mackenzie in the same town would be detrimental enough, particularly if her magnetism affected others the same way it had gotten to him before he'd learned her identity.

If the knot in his stomach was any indication, he would not likely find himself a bride in Tutbury. Was this entire visit going to be a waste of his limited time?

"But I believe she would accept a man's hand," Harstone continued, "if she found the right one."

"And then she wouldn't need my inheritance," Nick said, clenching his jaw as he followed his friend. As far as he was aware, she was under no marriage constraints like he was, but likely the only thing to convince her to surrender would be a better choice. Something more valuable than the Mackenzie lands.

Nick laughed bitterly. "It would take a fine man indeed to handle a wife such as that. All the money in the world wouldn't account for the bravery required to tie oneself to a woman like Miss Mackenzie." That wasn't necessarily true. He still found her terribly alluring, all things considered, but she hadn't even given him a chance to try to find a solution that would benefit them both. She had decided war was a better alternative to compromise, forcing him to fight fire with fire.

"You met her only yesterday, no?" Harstone seemed on the verge of laughing.

"Believe me, our small interaction was enough to tell me all I needed to know. I could spend the rest of my life never seeing her again and die happy." Also untrue, but Harstone didn't need to know that.

Beautiful though she was, Nick could hardly attach himself to someone who hated him.

"Pity. She will be joining us tonight at the Barlows'."

This time Nick's mount seemed to intentionally attempt to throw him, and he forced himself to relax. Not easily done when the prospect of another battle loomed before him. "Does she often invite herself to dinner parties?" he choked out.

The Barlow family had been more than happy to invite Nick to meet their two marriageable daughters, and he had been looking forward to a chance to meet the young ladies and, hopefully, get a good idea of his options here in Tutbury. But if Miss Mackenzie was to be in attendance, she would surely commandeer the evening and make herself an obstacle to his every step.

Throwing him a grin that contained far too much amusement for Nick's liking, Harstone shrugged a shoulder. "Tutbury is a small village, Forester, and Emma is well liked. You won't find a home unwilling to open their doors to her within twenty miles."

Oh, he didn't like the sound of that. "Surely not everyone enjoys her company."

Harstone had no response, and they rode the rest of the way back in silence.

That did not bode well.

* * *

The Misses Barlow were young and beautiful, both barely out in Society with only one Season behind them. The twins, blessedly, looked nothing alike, something Nick particularly appreciated when he learned their names did little to distinguish them. Miss Lily Barlow, elder by seven minutes, possessed a thin nose and close-set eyes, her features delicate and fair, while her sister, Millie, looked more robust, her hair of a chestnut shade and her round eyes dark. Both were immensely beautiful in their own ways and equally kind and gracious.

At least, Nick assumed as much. Dinner had been filled with stories from Miss Mackenzie—apparently a common occurrence—leaving him to sit and eat in silence because the ladies on either side of him had become too enthralled with the tales. Even now, in the drawing room, both girls had latched themselves to the insufferable woman and hung on her every word. Along with most of the room.

He had spoken at length to Mr. Barlow over port and found him to be a decent chap, but when he and the rest of the men in attendance had rejoined the ladies, their conversation hadn't continued to any topics beyond small-talk. With everyone else engaged in conversations or listening to Miss Mackenzie, Nick had migrated to a corner to rally his courage before he made any moves. It would likely be a losing battle, but surrender was not in his nature.

If those in attendance so enjoyed listening to Miss Mackenzie prattle on, surely he could command their attention for a moment or two. He had occupied entire ballrooms before; he could handle a country dinner party. He only needed to find his entrance.

"It was such a thrilling tale," Miss Mackenzie said, letting out a deep sigh as she smiled at her audience. "Who would have thought one could find such adventure on the sea? Almost makes me want to join the navy."

"I would never want to be a sailor," Miss Barton said, apparently quite scandalized as she sat with Miss West at the pianoforte. They had been looking through the music but had yet to play anything, too interested in what Miss Mackenzie was saying. "All that time at sea? I would be positively sick for the whole of it."

A few chuckles echoed around the room.

"You couldn't be in the navy even if you wanted to be," Mr. Oldman, a middle-aged bachelor neighbor, said with a scoff. "Can you imagine, a woman on a ship?"

"There are plenty of stories about lady pirates," Miss Mackenzie countered. "Some were quite fearsome."

"Legends," Mr. Oldman argued, but his disbelief caused the ladies in the room to scowl at him, which he realized quickly and shut his mouth tight.

Miss Mackenzie grinned, her eyes alight with amusement. "I think you will find women are just as capable as men in many instances, sir," she said lightly. "Perhaps more so. Why, I heard about a young woman who stole away on a ship just a few years ago and became first mate to the captain within months. She made herself a fortune shipping sugar from the Indies and retired here in England last year."

"Oh, you mean Miss Stanton?"

Heads swiveled to where Nick stood, and for the first time in his life he felt the weight of their gazes. He was always so comfortable with attention, so why did he have the sudden urge to pretend he hadn't said a word? He had made his entrance; now he had to justify his interruption. He clenched a fist behind his back, schooling his expression into nonchalance, despite the cool glare coming his way from Miss Mackenzie.

"You know this woman?" Miss Millie asked him, clearly in awe.

"I know her quite well," Nick replied with a wink, and his smile elicited a few giggles behind gloves. Excellent. "Though, I don't recall her ever setting foot on a ship. I do believe that was her brother, Lieutenant Stanton, was it not, Miss Mackenzie?"

Her face flushed a fetching shade of pink, making her look far more alive than the pale and delicate women around her. Ready to do battle.

"Miss Stanton does not have a brother, Mr. Forester," she said calmly. "She merely posed as a man, which is why they let her on the ship in the first place. She is Lieutenant Stanton."

"Oh, but I have met the lieutenant many times," he argued, fighting a smile. For all he knew, this Stanton woman really did exist, but with the way Miss Mackenzie glowered at him, he had a feeling she was as adept at spinning tales as he was. "He and Miss Stanton are quite humorous together and have a habit of discussing his time at sea. She is quite proud of her brother and his accomplishments."

Miss Mackenzie's shoulders sank, but she showed no other signs of surrender. "No, you must be thinking of her cousin, the prominent actor, Mr. Stanton."

The heads in the drawing room seemed as if watching battledore, their eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of them and waiting for one of them to miss the shuttlecock.

Nick's smile only grew wider, though the game was far from finished. "I do believe your memory is failing you, Miss Mackenzie. I have been to the Stantons' house on Wheeler Street many times and enjoyed countless meals and evenings with Lieutenant and Miss Stanton. She is a seamstress, is she not? And you must be thinking of Mr. Scantion , who was quite remarkable in his depiction of Hamlet last summer. You were there for that one, were you not? Oh, but I forget—you have not been to London since your unsuccessful Season several years ago. Perhaps you have mixed up your facts."

Immediately upon those words leaving his mouth, Nick tensed. Nauseating guilt pulsed through him from such unkind words, and the tears that sprouted in Miss Mackenzie's eyes only made things worse, though she still sat tall.

You're a scoundrel , he told himself, clenching his jaw. Insulting a woman about circumstances beyond her control couldn't possibly ingratiate him to the locals; it merely made him look an uncaring bounder. The silence in the room proved his fears, and he ducked his head, wishing he could turn back time to several days ago so he could do things all over.

Thank goodness for Miss Barton, who was likely feeling left out and jumped in with, "Oh, I adore Shakespeare! Mr. Forester, do you remember at Sir Henry's party when Miss Grace completely butchered Sonnet 106?"

Nick cleared his throat, keeping his eyes away from Miss Mackenzie. "Indeed, though it can often be difficult to keep things straight when one has so many good acquaintances."

"Miss Barton!" Miss Mackenzie leaped to her feet. "I have seen you eyeing that pianoforte all evening, and I was hoping you would favor us with a song. With your permission of course, Mrs. Barlow."

"Yes, we must have music!" Mrs. Barlow said, clapping her hands.

Miss Barton practically glowed with pleasure as the others in the room expressed their desire for the same thing. She certainly seemed the sort to be glad of attention, and she shooed Miss West off the bench they had been sharing. "Mr. Forester," she said, looking over at him through her lashes, "would you be so kind as to turn the pages for me?"

"I believe Miss West was in the perfect position for that a moment ago," he replied coolly. He could hardly stomach her on a good day, and his uncharacteristic cruelty had drained him of any desire to be social. What was wrong with him for such unkind words to slip so easily from his tongue? "Besides, I am rubbish with music. I would turn the pages at all the wrong times."

"But you turned pages for Miss Hunt not two weeks ago," Miss Barton complained, and she completed her argument with a pout that made her look like a child, rather than a lady of accomplishment.

Would the woman never stop? "I assure you, Miss Barton," he said in a low voice, "I did nothing of the sort. Miss West, if you would oblige her."

"Allow me." To Nick's relief, Mr. Drake stepped up to the instrument, receiving a smile from Miss Barton before she began her piece.

Nick retreated back to his corner to wallow until the moment he could return to Harstone Court. He remained alone for less than thirty seconds before Lord Harstone approached, the man's smile intact but wary.

"Don't say it," Nick growled, refusing to make eye contact with his friend.

"I would like to remain in my wife's good graces," Harstone replied easily. "Therefore, I have come to censure you."

"I did not intend to—"

"To thoroughly insult my sister-in-law? You do not have to like her, Forester, but I cannot abide meanness."

Nick turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to recognize meanness? I did not think it was in your repertoire."

Chuckling, Harstone shook his head. "I do not know why you think I am so perfect, my friend. But you have always been a good man. Why—"

"I become a beast around Miss Mackenzie," Nick said, sighing. "There is no explanation for it."

For some reason, that sparked amusement in Harstone's expression. "A beast, you say?" His eyes flicked to Miss Mackenzie for a moment. "I happen to know Emma rather likes beasts."

"So her tears were a positive reaction to my insult? That is a relief."

At least Miss Mackenzie seemed to have recovered. She was back to smiling as she spoke with the Misses Barlow, though still with that attractive color in her cheeks, and most of the room had turned their attention to the pianoforte, where Miss Barton had begun to sing as she played.

Sighing, Nick rubbed the tension out of his neck and shook his head. "Something tells me I am not going to find myself a wife here in Tutbury. If Miss Mackenzie is near, I fear I will forget myself and act a cad, so rest easy; I will not be around to cause your wife distress much longer."

"You know you are always welcome to stay," Harstone replied. The fact that he said nothing to the contrary about Nick's inability to find a wife seemed to seal Nick's fate.

As Lord Harstone returned to his wife's side—she sent Nick a powerful glare before smiling at her husband—Nick watched Miss Barton and considered the efficacy of walking home rather than enduring the evening's entertainment. He would undoubtedly be horrible company regardless of what transpired for the rest of the night, and he deserved the humiliation of walking through the rain.

Unfortunately, his thoughts circled too many times, and before he could make a decision, Miss Mackenzie was on her feet and approaching him with fire in her eyes.

Nick spoke before she could. "You need not censure me, Miss Mackenzie. I know what I have done."

"You made me look like a fool."

"Yes."

"Is that your plan? To make yourself so intolerable that the entire county turns against you? I hardly see the value in such action, though I will not speak against it when it can only serve to my benefit. No woman in her right mind would choose a man so unfeeling and cruel."

Gritting his teeth, Nick did his best to keep his voice even. "I hardly expect you to believe me, but I had no intention of hurting you. I crossed a line, and I apologize."

One delicate eyebrow lifted high, leaving her looking both surprised and amused. "You're right," she said shortly. "I do not believe you. But I accept your reluctant apology, if only because I know Alvaro likely required it of you to stay in his house."

"I will not be staying."

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Oh? I did not expect victory to come so easily."

Swallowing the urge to say something along the lines of allowing her to win out of pity, Nick shook his head. Counted to five. "Tutbury will be my home someday, Miss Mackenzie. I have not bowed out of this war, nor will I ever give up. But you have made it clear you have the advantage here, and I am not so foolish as to think I can overthrow your reign. I will return to London, where there are ladies aplenty not so easily taken in by little stories."

Stories that were clearly well told, though Nick refused to think he might be jealous of her talent for captivating her audience. Where he was an outright liar serving his own purposes, she was a storyteller determined to entertain.

He had been like her once, and he wondered if he ever would be again. He feared he had flown too close to the sun, like the fabled Icarus, and now his wax wings would melt and send him crashing to his doom.

Miss Mackenzie scoffed. "Ladies like Miss Barton? You forget, sir, I have seen your reaction to ladies of Town, and I hardly think I have anything to fear. You, on the other hand, have everything to fear if you think a man of your caliber could be desirable."

Nick couldn't stop the growl that rose in his throat. He was humble enough to admit his faults in what he'd said earlier, but he had no desire to roll over and submit. He let out a humorless laugh loud enough to draw attention their way, then spoke so quietly that only Miss Mackenzie would hear. "You forget, madam, that London adores me. I need only announce my presence, and the women come flocking. That inheritance will be mine. Good evening."

With a curt bow to the room in general, he slipped from the room and made his way out into the rain to begin the long trek back to Harstone. He may have won this battle, but he hardly felt victorious.

A beast indeed.