Chapter Two

The scrawny, fiery-haired duckling who had annoyed him to no end ten years ago had become an intoxicatingly beautiful swan. Nash stared at the back of the carriage while rubbing his ear that still stung from the vicious twisting she had given it.

Gads, but Sophie was incomparable. If he had known she would bloom into such a desirable woman, he would not have shooed her away like the annoying little buzzing bee she had been. The thought gave him pause. Apparently, by teasing, nettling, and, more often than not, completely ignoring her, he had created quite the fierce enemy that the past ten years had done nothing to mellow. And now she was to be his wife. A wife who not only despised him but swore they would never be in each other’s company if she had her way about it.

Never in all his days had he ever feared becoming leg-shackled in such a manner—ordered by Her Majesty, no less. While it was true his family was landed gentry, he was naught but a mere knight who currently owned nothing but his horse. At least, not until his father passed and grudgingly left everything to him because there was no other son, daughter, or cousin to leave things to. Still, being hunted by marriage-minded mamas had never been a problem. What mother wished her daughter saddled with the likes of him?

He snorted as the fault in his reasoning became clear. The mother hadn’t wanted him for her daughter. The queen had. But the queen had also said he would soon be the next Earl of Rydleshire. To resolve whatever mysterious problem endangered Lady Rydleshire and Lady Sophie. He shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more muddled everything became.

Another disgruntled snort escaped him as he recalled the rest of what the queen had said. Have the fourth Earl of Rydleshire pronounced expired without an heir. Was the man already dead, or was that Her Majesty’s subtle way of ordering the earl’s demise? And was he supposed to do it? What had the man done to displease the monarch so? The third Earl of Rydleshire had been assassinated by an enemy spy, but before his death, the man had been lauded as one of the best agents of the Crown.

Nash resettled the reins and scrubbed his face with one hand. Queen Charlotte had never been subtle before. Why would she be so secretive now? The monarch had said he and the lovely ladies would have plenty of time to reacquaint themselves, but with a special license being obtained, plenty of time took on quite the abbreviated meaning. Perhaps Lady Rydleshire would be good enough to enlighten him, since it was obvious that his future wife would rather spit in his eye than speak to him.

A hearty chuckle rumbled free of him. He had always loved a challenge.

The carriage’s slower pace pulled him from his thoughts. They were nowhere near Mayfair, where the queen’s secretary had earlier informed him that the ladies resided. Now that he knew who they were, he recalled Lady Rydleshire once mentioning a townhouse on Curzon Street when he had trained at her academy in Calais. Since the woman and her husband were renowned spies, he had considered it an honor and a privilege to receive such exemplary training at the behest of Queen Charlotte as a reward for his father recovering three of her little dogs when they escaped her coach. The queen had been quite impressed when his sire refused a reward of gold. His father had informed the queen it was his honor to be of service to his monarch. Determined to express her gratitude, she had sponsored Nash’s training at Lady Rydleshire’s elite school, which was anything but affordable to a family of his father’s means.

He closed the distance between his mount and the carriage, rounding it to discover a broken-down wagon in the middle of the road. “Driver—stay alert.”

The man nodded and drew out a firearm.

The queen had said to keep the ladies safe. That meant danger could come from anywhere. Nash edged his mount closer to the side of the coach and spoke to them through the window. “A wagon blocks the road. We shall have to take another route. Secure the door on the other side and draw those shades. I shall remain on this side.”

Lady Rydleshire nodded and hurried to do as he requested. Sophie glared at him, then pulled a pistol out from the compartment beneath the seat opposite her and her mother.

“Let them come,” she said, in a fearless tone that should have angered him but instead stirred his admiration and much more.

Well, admiration or not, they would discuss her behavior in the future. He would keep the lady safe whether she wished him to or not. That part of their relationship was not negotiable.

The remainder of the trip proved uneventful, but Nash neither relaxed nor secured his weapon until the ladies ascended the front steps of the residence and disappeared inside. He relinquished his mount to the groom and watched as the carriage and his horse disappeared around the corner to the mews behind the townhouse.

With a last quick glance up and down the street of the upper-class area, he bounded up the steps and entered as if he owned the place. A rueful smile came to him. According to Her Majesty, he soon would.

A tall, stern-faced man of some years increased his long-legged stride to meet Nash in the entryway. With a curt tip of his gray head, he held out his hand. “I am Thornton, sir. The butler here at Rydleshire House. May I take your things?”

“Thank you, Thornton.” Nash handed over his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. “I am Sir Nash Bromley, by the way.”

“Yes, sir. We are aware that you are soon to be the new master of the house. Welcome to Rydleshire. Her ladyship awaits you in the parlor, if you would be good enough to follow me.”

“Well, the lady wasted no time,” Nash said under his breath as he followed the butler. He was quite certain it was Lady Rydleshire waiting for him. His lovely swan had probably retired to her rooms to plot his demise. As he entered the decidedly feminine sitting room done in delicate shades of rose and pale blue, Lady Rydleshire turned away from the window and faced him.

She offered him a somewhat unhappy smile. “Welcome to your townhouse, my lord. I took the liberty of ordering tea, along with a decanter of brandy that originated from a lovely area near your holdings in France. I thought it appropriate, considering today’s events.”

A sense of guilt flooded him even though he wasn’t quite certain why. “Lady Rydleshire—please know I had absolutely no knowledge of the queen’s intentions when she summoned me to her cottage.” He offered what he hoped was a compassionate demeanor. “And I am not lord of the manor yet. I am simply Nash. Your most grateful student who has always held you in the highest esteem.”

Her gracious nod did little to ease the uncomfortably stifling sensation of the unfairness of it all. She seated herself and tipped a hand toward a nearby chair. “Please. Sit. I am sure you have more than a few questions.”

He chose a different chair. One that did not make him vulnerable by placing his back to the door. He noticed the countess’s amused look. “Forgive me, my lady. Old habits and your lessons, actually. Never sit with your back to the door, remember?”

“I do, indeed.” Her smile appeared to come easier to her. “And I am honored you continue to take the lessons to heart.”

He eyed the doorway. “Will Lady Sophie be joining us?”

The dowager’s amusement disappeared with a long-suffering sigh. “Lady Sophie felt the need to take refuge in her workroom.” She tightened her mouth as if tasting something tart. “It is probably for the best—at least for now.”

“Probably so.” Nash pulled in a deep breath and decided to barrel forward with complete candor. “I fear Lady Sophie still harbors ill feelings about my thoughtless behavior when we were both much younger and far less mature.”

“A young girl longing to be noticed and treated like a woman is easily wounded. Those wounds sometimes never heal.” Lady Rydleshire startled and jerked her focus to the doorway. “Ah…tea. At last.”

Nash pondered the dowager’s nervousness. He hadn’t recalled her as being a lady inclined toward jumpiness, but it had been an uncomfortably surprising day.

The butler hurried in, his footsteps silenced by the lush Turkish rug of the sitting area. “Shall I pour, my lady?”

“Please do, Thornton.”

The man turned to Nash. “Tea or brandy, sir?”

“Tea for now. No sugar, lemon, or milk, thank you.” He would forgo alcohol until later. One’s wits must be kept sharp. He accepted the cup and waited for the butler to leave before resuming the conversation. “While I make no excuses for my thoughtless behavior toward Lady Sophie when we were both so young, it is my hope she and I can somehow achieve harmony now that we are both older and wiser.”

“That is my hope as well.”

He took the doubtfulness in the countess’s tone as a challenge. Somehow, he would make peace with Lady Sophie. After all, he rather enjoyed sleeping with both eyes shut, and in the lovely swan’s current mood, relaxing at all could be detrimental to his wellbeing. In fact, when he retired, not only would he keep his door locked, but a dagger under his pillow might not go amiss. “We will sort this between us, my lady, I assure you. All will be well.”

Rather than answer, Lady Rydleshire merely glanced aside and sipped her tea. A determined air settled across her as she slid the saucer and cup to the table and lifted her chin as though about to issue a challenge. “I assume the queen’s announcement that the earl would be deemed expired without an heir concerned you.”

“I am not certain the word concerned properly describes my initial feeling. Confused would be more accurate.” He set his drink aside as well, glanced at the door, then leaned toward her. “Does she wish him expired by my hand?”

Lady Rydleshire studied him for a long moment, her expression impossible to read. “If she does?”

His mentor’s coldness about her own son’s life seemed greatly out of character for her. This was not the stern yet caring teacher he remembered. “My loyalty to Her Majesty is, as always, unquestionable,” he answered quietly. “Forgive me if that disturbs you, my lady.” Although, in truth, the woman did not seem disturbed at all.

“Rest easy, young Bromley.” She interrupted herself with a soft laugh. “Forgive me, sir. I still think of you as that ambitious youth in what now seems so very long ago. In my mind, you are still my most prized yet impetuous student. Young Bromley.”

“I took no insult, my lady.” In fact, when young Bromley had slipped from the dowager’s lips, it had hit him like a mother using a pet name for a cherished child.

“I am glad.” She resettled herself in her chair, stiffening her spine and sitting taller. “The queen does not require you to eliminate the young earl. Her command was directed at me.”

“She wishes you to assassinate your son?” That thought disturbed him no small amount. A mother ordered to end her own child’s life? If the act indeed had to be done to protect queen and country, he would handle it himself to spare the dowager countess as much as he could. “Permit me to accept the order in your stead, my lady. I understand it will not keep you from losing your son, but at least he will not die by your hand.”

Lady Rydleshire closed her eyes, as though fighting to hold her composure.

“Shall I send for Lady Sophie, my lady? To help calm you?” He was at a loss, inexperienced in dealing with overwrought women. Saving or seducing them? Easily done. Catering to their unsteady emotions, absolutely not.

The dowager countess opened her eyes and smiled. “No, thank you. I assure you I am quite…gathered.” She laced her fingers together and primly folded her hands in her lap. “Announcing the earl expired with no heir will end the charade I created twenty-five years ago to prevent the title from reverting to the monarchy and becoming a bargaining tool for King George. Thereby leaving my precious Sophie and me almost destitute and dependent upon the charity and kindness of others.”

Nash stared at her, trying to take in the enormity of what she suggested.

“Your jaw is quite slack, young Bromley,” she said. “Close your mouth and breathe.”

“But…but provisions for you in case of…your marriage contract. Was your dowry not set aside in the case of such an unfortunate event as the death of your husband?” He clenched his teeth to stop his nonsensical babbling. “You are telling me that the fourth Earl of Rydleshire, Lady Sophie’s brother, never existed?”

“Only in the minds of those in which he needed to exist.” The lady released a weary sigh, took another sip of her tea, then returned the cup to its saucer. “Sophie’s father and I loved each other with a ferocity that sometimes frightened us both. And while we were proud to be the queen’s best agents, we were quite poor at handling finances or forming contingency plans in case something ever happened to David.” Her faint smile held no happiness as she stared off into space. “We were young and full of our own perceived self-importance. We thought ourselves invincible.” Her voice softened. “Then David was murdered a month before Sophie was born.”

Nash found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. “But how did you do it all these years? How did you manage to invent a person and make the world believe he was real?”

“Determination. Loyal servants. And my dearest friend and ally, Queen Charlotte.” She offered him a thoughtful look. “And when Sophie reached an age to help, things became much easier. She is quite brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“Could the queen not simply—”

“I did not wish the queen implicated any more than she already was. Her knowledge of my rather delicate situation was dangerous enough for her.” Lady Rydleshire rose and returned to staring out the window. “King George was more stable back then, but still not quite…right. It would have been difficult and perilous for her to attempt anything more than what she had already done for Sophie and me.”

“And yet now she has ordered the title to revert to the monarchy and be given to another,” he said. “The precise situation that prompted you to create the farce in the first place.”

“Yes,” the dowager said, without facing him. “It appears that the past twenty-five years were for naught.”

“I am sorry, my lady.”

Lady Rydleshire turned and eyed him, her expression hard and unyielding. “Do not apologize for the error of my ways, young Bromley. But know this—if you do not protect my Sophie with all your being, I will make you sorry you were ever born.”

He rose from his seat and returned the lady’s fierce stare. “You will both be kept safe, my lady. Make no mistake.”

“Then I suggest you go to Sophie,” she said. “She has the letters, the threats, in her possession. That would be a good place for you to start.”

“Lead the way, my lady.”

She remained beside the window, framed by the day’s dreary, wet grayness. “I would prefer Thornton showed you the way.” She nodded at the doorway. “Do be good enough to ring for him. I have a great deal on my mind.” Then she turned back and stared out the window once more.

Nash felt the dismissal as keenly as if she had shouted for him to get out. He didn’t bother to answer, just did as she requested and yanked down on the tapestry bellpull hanging beside the door.

The butler appeared so quickly that he wondered if the man had been eavesdropping in the hallway. Probably so. First rule of discovering anything about a household was to befriend the servants. They knew everything. Another reason that the Rydleshire earldom scheme seemed so unfathomable.

“Take me to Lady Sophie’s workroom, please,” he told the butler.

“This way, sir.”

Nash followed, noting each turn into a different hallway and the short flight of steps that took him deeper into the bowels of the home. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Thornton extended his hand and directed Nash to a short hallway ending at a dark mahogany door.

“The Lady Sophie’s workroom, sir. Will there be anything else?” The butler arched a bushy gray brow.

Prayers, Nash thought, but decided not to voice the request. “Nothing, Thornton. Thank you. That will be all.”

After the shuffling of the man’s retreating footsteps faded away to silence, he stepped forward and knocked.

Nothing but silence answered. The lack of sound or response became deafening.

He knocked again, hard enough to rattle the heavy door’s hinges.

“If you insist—then enter! But do so at your own risk.”

Nash smiled but quickly wiped it from his face before pushing open the door. “Lady Sophie? Your mother suggested I join you, so I might familiarize myself with the threats.”

“Then my mother values your life very little.” She didn’t spare him a look from where she sat at the end of a long worktable, studying what looked to be several letters with the benefit of an oversized quizzing glass and several brightly burning oil lamps.

A chandelier wrought of black iron also burned overhead, and every sconce attached to the sturdy posts inset between the many bookcases had also been lit. Light flooded the large workroom, but what Nash noticed most was the way it enhanced the silky sheen of the lady’s rich, coppery curls she had freed to tumble down her back.

He risked moving closer but remained alert in case the delightful swan attacked. “I apologize for the past, my lady. Surely you can find it in your generous spirit to chalk up my behavior to the foolhardiness of youth?”

She slowly passed the glass over the nearest letter, studying it while ignoring him.

“Lady Sophie?”

Without granting him the courtesy of looking him in the eye, she straightened and set the magnifier aside. As prim as an elderly matron, she folded her hands in front of her and rested them on the table while staring straight ahead. The pink fullness of her pout and the flicker of her heartbeat pulsing at the base of her throat made him wet his lips.

She pushed up from the bench, went to a bookcase on the right, and ran a finger along the spines of the many tomes filling the shelves. After making her selection, she eyed it while cradling it in one hand and slowly flipping the pages. “A blackmailer has so far sent five letters, demanding ridiculously low sums for the price of their silence. I paid them each time, hoping to trap the fiend, but so far have had no success. The last and most recent letter did not demand payment. Instead, it stated that within a month’s time, Queen Charlotte would be revealed as part of the Rydleshire scandal and brought to ruin before Parliament and the ton.”

He edged closer, determined to force her to confront and overcome her obvious dislike of him that she had formed at the tender age of five and ten. Perhaps a bit of goading was in order. “I should not have ignored you back then, Lady Sophie. Nor teased you or so soundly trounced you in the classroom or on the practice fields. I apologize. Such behavior was most ungentlemanly. I truly wish you could find it in your heart to forgive me so we might achieve harmony in this household.”

Her head snapped up, and her rich mahogany eyes flashed with fury. “Your memory is quite poor, Sir Nash. Not once did you trounce me in the classroom or on the practice fields, even though you were five years my senior.”

He refrained from smiling but couldn’t resist jutting his chin higher. “Have you forgotten the agility field, my lady? If memory serves, you ended up in the mud with Monsieur Sorbonne’s swine.”

“That was your fault, and you know it.” She bared her straight white teeth as though ready to sprout fangs and rip him to shreds.

With a dismissive shrug, he sauntered closer and allowed himself a smile he knew would annoy her. “It was part of the test, my lady. Do you truly believe the enemy would refrain from tripping you just because you were a female child?”

“I was not a child!” She slammed the book down on the table and sent the parchments fluttering in all directions. With the color riding high on her lovely cheeks, she scooped up the quizzing glass and headed for him, brandishing it like a weapon. “I was a young woman. Almost ten and six. And you cheated that day.” She poked him in the chest with the pointed beadwork at the top of the magnifying glass’s frame. “You not only hurled that staff between my ankles but also rolled the log.”

She jabbed his breastbone again. Hard. “You were a cruel, dismissive churl determined to make my life miserable.” She bared her teeth again, her gorgeous dark eyes gleaming with angry, unshed tears. “Get out of my workroom!”

He snatched hold of her wrist before she could stab at him again. When she swung at him with her free hand, he caught that one too, yanked her against his chest, and held both her hands behind her back.

She reared back and puckered, obviously about to spit.

“Do not do it, my lady,” he warned, pinning her arms tighter behind her and forcing her closer still. “I did not realize I had made such an enemy of you, and again, I apologize for my boorish behavior that created such deep wounds. But you and I are bound now by royal command. You do not have to love me. Even liking me is not required. But you will treat me with the civility I deserve, and I shall do the same for you. Now, what shall it be between us, Lady Sophie? A constant dredging up of past hurts that neither of us can change, or working together to find the devil determined to destroy you, your mother, and the queen?”

Her chest heaved against him, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. She smelled of jasmine and hot-tempered, furiously irresistible woman. She was the perfect height for a passionate, blood-warming kiss. He would only have to bend his head the slightest bit to taste those lips that had unleashed so much hatred. With more restraint than he ever knew he possessed, he refrained from closing his mouth over hers and burying his fingers in the silkiness of her wild mane. He shoved her away before his control broke.

“Well, my lady?” he growled. “What shall it be?”

She resettled her hold on the quizzing glass as if trying to decide whether to throw it at him. “We shall work together to capture the fiend, but we will be man and wife in name only.” She pointed the glass at him and narrowed her eyes. “Am I quite clear, Sir Nash? You would do well to remember my prowess with a blade. Both at a distance and close range. I assure you, my skills have only improved with age.”

Her skills weren’t the only thing about her that had improved, but he doubted very much if voicing that observation would be wise at the present moment. He offered a gentlemanly bow instead. “You and I shall be partners, my lady, associates combining forces for the greater good.”

She appeared to relax—at least somewhat. But leeriness still shouted from her. The lovely swan did not trust him as far as she could throw him. She remained silent, watching him like a cornered animal.

He blew out a heavy sigh. “I swear to never dishonor you. Nor will I ever cause you any additional misery than I already have. Whether or not you believe it, you may trust me. After all, yours is not the only freedom that was curtailed this day.”

Her dark eyes flared wider. “Maybe so, but you gained a title you did nothing to deserve, while I lost everything I worked to protect my entire life. I daresay the borders of your freedom, as you call it, will only widen with your advancement to the peerage. After all, you always were one of those men who possessed a very loose definition of fidelity. I feel sure that hasn’t changed.”

“When I give you my word, Lady Sophie, it is sacred and kept no matter what.” Her insult thrummed through him, heating his blood to boiling. “You obviously know little about me.”

Her smile chilled him to the bone. “I believe Lady Margaret Shireton would disagree, sir. Did she not find you with Lady Withrington a mere night after you had promised her your love for eternity and beyond? Or was it that once your word served its purpose and unlocked her bedchamber door, it was no longer valid?” The coy tilt of her head both angered and fascinated him. “Does your word spoil after a while, sir? Like a piece of overripe fruit?”

“You—” He cut himself off. The lady had him dead to rights, and he would not insult her intelligence by denying it. He threw up his hands in surrender. “What would you have me say, Lady Sophie? What might I do, other than drop dead at your feet, to make this untenable situation more bearable for you?”

She glared at him. Her irritated pout made him resolve to steal that kiss the next time the opportunity arose. After all, she already hated him.

“Lady Sophie?” he prodded. He would not leave this oppressiveness hanging between them.

“Do not make promises you have no intention of keeping.” She jutted her chin upward and took a step closer. “And when you feel the need to wander, as I am sure you will, at least do me the courtesy of being discreet.”

“Anything else?” He chose not to tell her that wandering would not be necessary if she would allow him to show her how much they could enjoy each other in bed.

“Pick a house.”

“Pick a house?”

“Yes. Wherever you choose to live, I shall live elsewhere, on a different Rydleshire property.”

He allowed himself a haughty snort. “I will not agree to that stipulation, my lady. Wherever I live, there you shall also be. I am sure Her Majesty would back me on that requirement in our marriage.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes. “You would not dare tell her.”

“Oh, I would, my lovely swan. So quickly that it would make that pretty little head of yours spin.”

“You are the scaliest cove I have ever had the misery of knowing.”

He pulled her into his arms, buried his fingers in her tumble of curls, and tilted her face up to his. “I am also about to be your husband, my lady. Whether or not you like it—and I intend to do my damnedest to make you like it.”

He took her mouth and poured his fury into the kiss, reveling in the soft sweetness of her lips. His heart lurched when she responded in kind, clutching him tightly and kissing him back as though starved for his attentions. She molded her lush curves against him, driving him to the point of madness. A groan escaped him before he could stop it. He slid his hands down her back and squeezed her bottom with both hands.

Then she shifted with a quickness that caught him off guard and buried the sharpness of her knee into his groin with a hard thrust that doubled him over and dropped him to the floor.

“Damn it, Sophie!” He rocked on his knees while cupping his tortured man parts. The pain threatened to make him cast up his accounts all over her workroom floor. He coughed and swallowed hard to keep from shitting through his teeth. “What the blazes did you do that for?”

“To remind you that I also far surpassed you in self-defense training, and to underscore that you will never so much as touch a hair on my head without my permission first. Is that understood, Sir Nash Bromley?”

“Understood without a doubt, my lady,” he answered with a strained groan.