of her body against his. She smelled of warm summer roses, and her bright hair brushed like silk against his cheek. She felt surprisingly sweet and alive.
In that startled moment, she had laughed and blushed, clinging to him as she found her balance. They called her the “Ice Princess”, and usually he thought they must be right. She was so quiet, so watchful, her pale green eyes taking in everything around her, seeming to judge them and find them wanting.
At that house party at his family’s pleasure house, Welbourne Manor, she hadn’t joined in the games and laughter. She hadn’t chased around the gardens or played hide-and-seek in the attic. Nicholas did know his duty; it had been ingrained in him since he was a child. It struck him at that party that Emily Carroll was exactly the sort of lady to fulfil that duty—pretty, well born, well mannered. A fine hostess for a ducal estate, and a fine mother for future dukes and ladies, at least as far as looks and pedigree went. Her parents had once been friends with his father, and would surely welcome the match.
But then there would be the making of those dukes and ladies, and Nicholas didn’t relish the idea of an ice princess in his bed. He was lonely, true, yet was he that lonely? No, not yet.
At the ball, though, in that one moment, her quiet, pale mask slipped and he glimpsed a light deep in her eyes. Which was the real Emily Carroll?
It was maddeningly intriguing.
“You’re quiet today, Nick,” Stephen said, pulling Nicholas back into the present moment and away from thoughts of Emily Carroll.
“Sorry, I was just attending to some estate business and it has me distracted,” Nicholas said. He dropped the post on to his desk and sat down on its edge, crossing his arms over his chest. His valet would fuss about the crushed cravat, the wrinkled waistcoat, and cluck about how a duke should “keep up appearances”.
But Nicholas feared he couldn’t always be a proper duke. His father had been dead many years now, perished of a fever in Naples with his new wife Lady Lin-wall, and so very much had happened since then. Yet Nicholas still felt he was learning his role, still trying to fulfil all his many responsibilities.
“It was dull stuff, and I’m tired from it,” he said.
“You, Nick? Tired? Never!” Stephen cried. “You’re the one who could always swim across the lake and then ride five miles, all before breakfast. I would wager you were up playing cards and visiting wenches all night, and that’s why you’re tired. Here, have some brandy and it will revive you.”
“I will have some brandy, before you drink it all, but I think you would be surprised at what really occupied me last night.” Nicholas sat down in the chair next to Stephen’s, reaching for the bottle.
“What, no gaming hells? No house of ill repute?”
“Not unless you count Lady Orman’s ballroom.”
“You were at a society ball?” Stephen said incredulously. “I’m all astonishment. You do need a brandy.”
“Yes, I do. Our sisters are always telling me I need to do my duty and marry, so I thought Lady Orman’s was a good place to start.”
“They don’t give a fig about your duty, Nick. They just have starry romance in their eyes since they married, and they want everyone to be the same. Especially us.”
“Hmm.” Nicholas took a deep, burning drink of his brandy. “Is that why you’re in town, then? To find a wife?”
“Good gad, no! I’m much too young to marry, though Charlotte says otherwise. I’m here to inspect a sale coming up at Tattersalls. A promising-sounding mare is in the catalogue, I hear. Though I dare say it was much the same at Lady Orman’s.”
Nicholas laughed, remembering the parade of giggling, white-clad débutantes and their mamas, so eager to meet an eligible young duke. And Emily Carroll, who seemed not at all interested in giggling, parading or eligible dukes.
“So it was,” he said. “I’d forgotten what the London Season was really like—a giant horse sale. I’ve been buried in the country too long.”
“You couldn’t help it. Father’s estates were in a bit of a mess after he died, and you had to set them right again. Not a simple task, and one I do not envy.”
“Well, I wish I was still in the country now,” Nicholas muttered.
“I was just there, and it’s not much better than town.
I stopped to see Charlotte and Drew at Derrington on my way to London.”
“And how is our sister?”
“Big as a house now, and anxious for the baby to arrive. But she had plenty of energy to prate at me about the marvels of marriage and domesticity! And she had two new pugs, as well. Four is too many, I say.”
“I shall be sane and avoid Derrington, then.”
“That would be wise, at least for now.” Stephen hesitated for a moment, then said, “Did you see no lady who caught your eye at the ball, then?”
Lady Emily’s green eyes flashed through his mind again, bright and full of laughter. Not cold at all. Nicholas shoved away the image and took another drink. “Never say you’re playing matchmaker, too, Stephen.”
“Of course not. I would be absolute rubbish at it. I just thought—well, it might be a good thing if you could find someone to help you. Someone sensible and kind. And pretty, of course.”
“What lady of sense would want to put up with our family? Your pranks would drive her away in no time.”
“I could control myself, and so could Charlotte and the others, if there was someone you wanted to impress. Someone you wanted to like us.”
“There is no one at present. But I will keep your words in mind.” And indeed he would. His sisters’ concerns he was accustomed to by now, but Stephen didn’t seem to notice such things. If he thought Nicholas needed “help” with his ducal work, his worries and loneliness must be showing.
That would never do at all. He never wanted to worry his family. Maybe if he did marry they would all be content for a while—until they found something else to fret about.
“We should go out tonight,” Nicholas said. “Since you’re in town so seldom, Stephen, you must make the most of it.”
“You’re not going to drag me to some stuffy ball or musicale, are you?”
“Not unless you have some terrible urge to go to Lady Arnold’s ball, no. We could go to the club, maybe, play some cards. Visit Mrs Larkin’s house, if you’re of the inclination.”
“Excellent! And I have tickets for a masked ball at Vauxhall, as well. I’ve heard that soprano Signora Rastrelli has a fine voice, and she’ll be performing there.”
“And a fine bosom, I would wager.”
Stephen laughed. “That, too.”
Soon after, Stephen departed for his own lodgings, since he refused to stay in Manning House, and Nicholas was left with his piles of ledgers and
