save her from a life of such nonsense, for which she’d be eternally grateful.
Although, considering herself more talented in the area than the fictional Emma, Nicole did think it might be fun to find a suitable husband for Lydia. For, although she saw no need to dip her own toe in matrimonial waters, clearly her sister needed to be loved, needed to love in return.
Nicole thought about the Viscount Yalding, who seemed a nice enough man, if rather nervous. Would he be a good match for Lydia? She hadn’t mentioned him, not even once, since the dinner party.
Lydia had, however, spoken often about the Marquess of Basingstoke. He’d been a soldier, like Captain Fitzgerald. He read Thomas Paine, like Captain Fitzgerald. He treated her kindly and obviously admired her intelligence. Like Captain Fitzgerald. But what did that mean, other than that Lydia still thought and spoke often of poor dead Fitz?
By the morning of the third day, marked by a thin, watery sun and with their escorts just arriving in Grosvenor Square in a pair of lovely curricles, Nicole had convinced herself that Lucas Paine was a man just like any other man, and that her intense reaction to him had been merely an aberration. She had more worlds to conquer than just this one man, and he could not be allowed to invade her mind to the degree that he had thus far, in only two brief meetings.
Nicole prided herself on being in charge of her own life, her own mind—and most definitely her own heart. So why did just the thought of seeing the man again turn her insides into jelly?
Well, enough of that sort of missish silliness! Today she would make certain that she was the one in charge.
So thinking, as she watched Lydia tie the strings of her bonnet beneath her chin—the blue ribbon picked out for her most expressly by Captain Fitzgerald the previous year—Nicole tried to imagine her sister married to the Marquess of Basingstoke.
She bit her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment as she felt a slight, unidentifiable pang, but then pushed on with the idea.
“Lydia?” she asked her as they walked toward the staircase, for they’d been warned by Rafe and Charlotte both that it was not polite to allow their lordships’ horses to stand waiting too long. “What do you think of the marquess?”
Lydia stopped with her hand just on the railing of the staircase. “What do I think of him? I’m sorry, Nicole, but I don’t believe I think of him at all, not in any way that matters. What do you think of him?”
Nicole avoided the question by asking another of her own. “You don’t find him handsome?”
Lydia took hold of Nicole’s arm and steered her away from the stairs. “Nicole, what’s wrong? I thought you liked the man. You seemed to the day we met him, and he certainly was a delightful dinner companion. Rafe likes him. Charlotte likes him. Are you going to be contrary and decide to dislike him now, because everyone else likes him?”
“I don’t do things like that,” Nicole protested. “Do I?”
“No, I suppose not, except maybe for needlepoint. And turnips. But you do worry me sometimes. You don’t have to conquer every man you meet, you know. If you’ve decided that his lordship isn’t going to be your first…conquest, as you call it, then please, don’t feel you need to continue seeing him. Not that I approved of the idea in any case.”
“I don’t feel as if I have to conquer every—Do you know something, Lydia? Sometimes I don’t like me very much. This Season was supposed to be fun. London, the parties, the gaiety. I’ve lived for this moment ever since I can remember wanting anything. I didn’t have to think about the rest of my life, as everyone said I should do. And then he came along. If I could cry off from our drive, I would. He’s a most disconcerting man.”
Lydia looked at her for a long moment, and then a slow smile lit her face. “Why, Nicole, you like him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous, although I think someone standing here is. All your plans, your boasts—and all it takes is one man to scatter those plans to the four winds. Now do you understand, Nicole? You don’t choose. Fate chooses for you.”
“Maybe for some people. But not for me. Oh, come along. We shouldn’t keep the horses standing, remember?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Suddenly I’m quite looking forward to this afternoon,” Lydia said, turning back toward the stairs, but not before Nicole realized that her sister, seemingly asleep, wandering listlessly through life since last June, had a tiny bit of sparkle in her eyes once more.
“Well, I’m not!” Nicole groused, just to please her twin, and then followed her down the stairs.
LUCAS SLICED ANOTHER LOOK at Nicole, her profile all but hidden by the brim of her fetching straw bonnet.
She’d greeted him rather coolly, climbed up onto the seat almost before he could assist her and had said less than ten words to him as they wended their way toward Richmond.
Her sister and Fletcher were behind them in his friend’s curricle, and each time Lucas had looked back to make sure they weren’t going to be separated in the traffic, he could see that the two of them were happily chatting together as Fletcher pointed out the sights of the city.
Nicole acted as if she had no interest in the buildings, or the people walking along the flagways. And most especially, no interest in him. She kept her head faced forward, her gloved hands folded together in her lap, and answered him with either nods or in monosyllables each time he attempted to start a conversation.
Thirty minutes of this, and Lucas had had enough.
“Has your brother warned you to behave?”
She turned to him in obvious shock. “What? Why would you say such a thing?”
“I don’t know. If I were your brother—and, thankfully, I’m not, for that would be decidedly awkward, considering my less than brotherly attraction to you—I might not let you out at all.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she refused to let it grow. “I don’t think you should have said that, my lord.”
“Clearly. But if you’ve decided to take me in dislike, I might as well be honest.”
“I haven’t taken you in dislike,” she said, lifting her chin. “If I had done that, my lord, I wouldn’t be sitting here beside you. I never do what I don’t want to do.”
He couldn’t resist teasing her.
“Ah, then you do want to be in my company today. I apologize for thinking you wanted me on the far side of the moon.”
She did that thing with her teeth and her bottom lip, and turned her head forward once more. “You can be rather annoying,” she said imperiously.
Lucas couldn’t remember the last time a woman had said something like that to him. Most probably because no woman had ever said that to him. Not his mother, not his nanny and certainly none of the young ladies of the ton who seemed to think they had to be pleasant and charming—and boring—in order to snag him into their matrimonial net.
“Then I apologize again,” Lucas said as they left the confines of London behind
