allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor, she couldn’t help noticing the strange look he cast her as they prepared to join one of the sets. “Something appears to be troubling you, my lord,” she remarked. “I cannot imagine you are concerned over making a cake of yourself. You are such an excellent dancer.”
As luck would have it the steps of the dance separated them, which granted Lord Nicholas the opportunity of formulating a response. Having met her on two occasions before, he had already decided that he rather liked Sophia Cleeve. She was bright and witty, nothing like the majority of simpering misses who flooded the marriage mart every year. If he had not been quite content to continue with his bachelor existence for a few years longer, she would have been just the sort of girl that would have appealed to him.
She was immensely pleasing on the eye, too. Perhaps not a beauty in the true classical style, but certainly lovely enough to prompt many a spiteful tabby with a daughter of her own to launch to start spreading malicious gossip about lack of fortune in the hope of making the lovely Lady Sophia appear far less desirable. It was all so unfair, so underhanded, and he for one had no intention of aiding any matchmaking mama’s cause by repeating what he had overheard that night.
“Nothing troubling me at all, my lady,” he assured her, as they came together again. “Couldn’t be happier. This is a wonderful ball, and I am honoured to be dancing with its belle.”
“How very gallant of you to say so, Lord Nicholas! Had any other gentleman said such a thing I would have been instantly on my guard, but with you I know I’m perfectly safe.”
Now what the deuce did she mean by that? he wondered, as they separated, and didn’t hesitate to ask for an explanation when they came together again.
“Simply that your good friend Freddy Fortescue assures me that you’re not about to relinquish your bachelor status quite yet and, therefore, I can accept your compliments without fear that you will be foolish enough to follow them up with a proposal of marriage.”
Nicholas blinked. This was plain-speaking of the highest order, and he wasn’t certain that he cared for it very much. He might not have any intention of asking this chit, or any other for that matter, to marry him, but it was very lowering to be told that one’s suit would never be welcomed anyway.
Sophia was not slow to notice the flicker of annoyance. “I’ve offended you, my lord, and I never meant to do so,” she assured him, her dazzling smile going some way to soothe a young gentleman’s bruised ego. “It’s just that I too am in no hurry to relinquish my single state either, and when I do it will never be to a member of the Ton.”
He thought for a moment that she couldn’t possibly be serious, that she might well be indulging in some wicked jest. Then he recalled being informed earlier in the evening that Lord Vale’s suit had not prospered. The gentleman himself was not present tonight to confirm this or not, though whether his absence stemmed from pique at having been rejected, or having a prior engagement, was anyone’s guess.
“You see, Lord Nicholas, men of wealth and rank hold no appeal for me.” Sophia decided that it could only aid her cause to spread this about. “I am determined to marry a worthy man, no matter how lowly his station in life.”
“A footman, rather than a marquis; a groom rather than a duke,” he suggested, half-joking. “I rather think your father will have a thing or two to say about that, Lady Sophia.”
“Oh, he already has, believe me,” she didn’t hesitate to disclose, “but his threat to disinherit me is certainly no deterrent.”
Still doubtful whether to believe her or not, he returned her to her pretty friend’s side once the dance came to an end, and promptly moved away in order to sample some of the excellent refreshments being served that evening. He had only just relieved a footman of a glass of champagne when he received a tap on the shoulder, and heard an imperious voice enquire, “Well, Risely, is what I’ve learned true or not?”
He turned to discover that most feared patroness of Almack’s regarding him with haughtily raised brows. Had it been anyone else he might have been tempted not to answer, but one ignored Sally Jersey at one’s peril. “Couldn’t say for certain, ma’am, one way or t’other. Shouldn’t imagine so, though, would you? The Earl of Yardley seems dashed too fond of his daughter to disinherit her.”
She dismissed this with a wave of one slender hand. “I’m not talking about that piece of utter nonsense. I really don’t know how these foolish rumours get started. No, it was to Sharnbrook I was referring. I ran into your sister the other day, paying one of her rare visits to town, and she mentioned that nothing had been heard from your brother in months.”
“Oh, aye, that’s right enough,” he confirmed, betraying what some might consider a callous lack of concern. “We received a letter from him six months ago, after he had learned of our father’s death, stating his intention of returning to this country before the end of the year. Can only imagine that something must have detained him out there in Jamaica.”
“Well, you may tell him from me, when he does return, that he’s not to hide himself away in that magnificent ancestral home of his. We hostesses need him here in London. Such a matrimonial prize! Why, all the young ladies will be eager to capture his interest.”
“Oh, no—not quite all,” he murmured, catching sight of a raven-haired beauty being led once again on to the dance floor.
Chapter Two
Lord Nicholas Risely was among the first guests to leave the ball. He certainly managed to raise a few startled brows when he took his gracious leave of the host and hostess, for he had gained the reputation, since entering society two years before, of being a very sociable young man whose energy seemed boundless. Rarely did he seek the comfort of his bed much before three in the morning, once the social rounds had begun. Tonight, however, he seemed to have lost his desire for company, enjoyable though the Yardley ball had been.
Without waiting for a servant to find him a hackney carriage, he stepped outside into the cool night air and, heedless of any possible footpad lurking in this fashionable part of the town, walked briskly in the direction of his small but comfortable London home.
Although he had managed to appear sublimely unconcerned at the time, his short conversation with Lady Jersey had renewed those feelings of disquiet over his brother’s safety which had plagued him increasingly during these past weeks. In the last letter sent from Jamaica, Benedict had clearly stated his intention of returning to the land of his birth some time during the autumn. That was almost six months ago, and nothing had been heard from him since.
It was quite possible, of course, that he had been forced to change his plans and had delayed his departure. It was equally possible that a letter informing his family of his revised plans had gone astray. Nevertheless Nicholas could not wholly dismiss the possibility, no matter how hard he tried, that some accident had befallen the Seventh Duke of Sharnbrook.
Long sea voyages were dangerous undertakings at the best of times, and more so during these past troubled years. Britain’s splendid navy might be master of the seas, but those gallant sailors could not guard every stretch of water, and an attack from a French vessel was an ever-present danger. More disturbing still was the memory of those vicious gales which had wreaked havoc along the coast during the winter months, whipping the seas into a frenzy and causing more than one vessel to come to grief. The Atlantic was a vast ocean; any sailing ship foundering out there miles from land might not be reported missing for some considerable time.
He
