The Marquess Who Loved Me

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE


Two hours later, Ellie was outside again. Her body might freeze to match the temperature Nick had accused her of being, but after being cooped up inside, her guests were eager for an outdoor diversion. One of her sisters had proposed ice skating — no doubt because Sebastian Staunton had mentioned how much he missed ice when he was in Bermuda. Ellie had raised an eyebrow at that, but once the idea was out, it had spread through the company like a contagion.

And so, they were skating. Her gardeners had cleared the snow off the pond nearest the house, and the ice was thick and wonderfully flat. She had plenty of skates to go around for anyone who had boots sturdy enough to attach the blades to. At one of her wilder bacchanals, there had been skating in the moonlight beneath a ring of torches around the pond, and the blades had stayed in some disused corner of the stables until today.

She knew her sisters’ intentions weren’t entirely innocent. She should try to provide a sobering influence for them — but Ellie had never been a sobering influence before, and she was grateful for the suggestion. Skating was far more fun than yet another conversation in her drawing room.

Especially when every conversation seemed to turn, inevitably, to Nick.

He was doing nothing at the moment, and yet even his idleness drew interest. He leaned against a tree near the edge of the pond and watched as she skated fast loops around the ice. She chose to indulge in her love for speed rather than playing the lady for her older guests. She had skated for hours and hours as a girl, when there was nothing better to do, and so she didn’t have the halting, tentative strokes of some of her inexperienced friends.

But even with her speed, she saw how people looked at him. And she saw how he looked at no one but her. It was a conundrum, that — she knew some of her guests would befriend him, and genuinely, if he gave them the chance. But he was too closed for them to approach. And he saw their hesitation as a judgment on his origins.

She skated to the very edge of the pond, as close to his tree as she could get without taking off her skates. Picking her toe into the ice to maintain her balance, she held out her hand. “Won’t you skate with us, Lord Folkestone?” she asked, staying formal for anyone who might hear her. “I know you had no ice in India, but surely you learned as a child.”

She knew he had. They had skated together once, on thinning late-February ice on the Serpentine in Hyde Park. It had been her first week in the capital, and it was the only public place they could think to meet where her chaperone wouldn’t overly care that she was talking to a man. Their skating was brief — only twenty minutes — but long enough for her to assure him that she hadn’t forgotten him despite her father’s attempts to dazzle her.

Perhaps it was that memory that made his mouth twist. He swept his eyes blatantly over her curves. She wore thick skirts and a beaver hat, but her military-inspired spencer nipped in provocatively at her waist. “I thank you, Lady Folkestone, but the view is better from here.”

“I would have worn sackcloth if I’d known what you were after, but I can’t afford it.”

Nick smiled. “I will buy you as much sackcloth as you want. But it’s uncomfortable stuff. You might prefer to take it off once you’ve dressed in it.”

She thought she heard someone giggle behind her, but when she turned, whoever it was had already skated away. She lowered her voice. “If you won’t skate, stop watching me. You are causing people to talk.”

“People are going to talk about you no matter what I do. You are the most beautiful woman they’ve seen, and you don’t care what their opinions are. Even if you were a nun, they would find that combination irresistible.”

She didn’t acknowledge the compliment — but she saved it, burying it in her heart so she might pull it out again later and cherish it. “Regardless, you aren’t helping. Come skate with me. You might find the people on the ice more approachable if you deign to welcome their presence.”

“You think I am the one who is unapproachable?”

She mimicked his cross-armed pose. “Who would approach one of the richest, most well-titled bachelors in the land when he won’t even acknowledge their presence? I vow, you’re stuffier than any prince I’ve met — and with the diplomats streaming through London, I’ve met dozens.”

“I’m not stuffy,” he protested.

“It is quite all right, Lord Folkestone,” she said. “I like stuffy men. Take Norbury, as an example.”

His mouth turned dangerous. “What about Norbury do you wish to discuss?”

She was warming to the task of teasing him, and it felt good — the way it had always felt, back when he had been a sober young man on the verge of losing his mother and she had been so thrilled just to have someone to talk to. It felt like she could charm anything out of him, and that he could be dazzled by her…

Her repartee came to a sudden halt. “Never mind,” she said. “I shouldn’t have teased you. Forgive me?”

He stepped toward her, to the very edge of the bank, until they were only inches apart. “You seem to think that I’m standing over here by myself because I am afraid of playing with the ton. You seem to think me pitiable. But I don’t give a damn about any of them.”

His eyes dropped to her lips, and she thought he might kiss her. But he looked up again, and his eyes were fierce with the beast he kept leashed within. “I’m watching you because I enjoy watching you skate. Not because I don’t know the others.”

Then he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “Enjoy the ice, Lady Folkestone,” he murmured.

Ellie was dismissed. There was no use standing there any longer. If people hadn’t noticed him staring at her, they certainly would notice how close they stood together, how long they talked when Nick never seemed eager to talk to anyone.

So she skated away, letting her muscles take over and supply the necessary grace that her nerves currently lacked. Her skating was smooth, but her heartbeat wasn’t.

She had only been away for a minute — barely time to take a lap around the ice, let alone catch her breath — when Norbury caught up to her. “Do you have a moment, Lady Folkestone?” he asked.

She didn’t want to talk, but Norbury had been her friend for half a decade — she couldn’t snub him. “I always have a moment for you, Lord Norbury,” she said, extending her hand. “Would you care to take a turn around the ice with me?”

She slowed her pace to match his. He was an athletic man, but he had grown up with a large family — it was unlikely he had spent as much time as she had skating fast, lonely circles as a youth. Being head of such a large family usually made him direct and impatient with rambling, but the Norbury on the ice was not the Norbury she had entertained so many times in the past. He asked about her health, the weather, the entertainments for the evening, and half a dozen other meaningless questions, until she was nearly mad with annoyance.

“Are you feeling well, my lord?” she asked obliquely, when he made an observation about the weather for a second time. “I rarely see you this preoccupied.”

He sucked in a breath, then let it out in a gust before looking over to her. “This is lamentably forward of me — but is Folkestone a good man?”

She slowed her skating, so much that he was ten feet ahead of her before he realized it and turned around to rejoin her. When he reached her, she said, “You are correct. That is a lamentably forward question.”

He sighed. “I know. But we have known each other for ages. Will you indulge my curiosity?”

His brown eyes were concerned. His forehead furrowed over them. His mouth was tight, too. He had never seemed to care about her beyond mere friendship — surely this wasn’t jealousy?

But they had been friends, and he had been a pleasant companion at all the events where his wife was not well enough to attend. She gave him the courtesy of an answer even though she didn’t understand his questioning. “I believe Folkestone is a good man. One of the best, in fact.”

He looked over to where Nick still watched them. Nick didn’t look like a good man at the moment — he looked like he wanted to skate over and interrupt them. Or perhaps he looked like he wanted to beat Norbury with a skate rather than using it to reach them.

Ellie winced. “He may look brooding, but he really can be charming.”

“I don’t doubt your judgment of his character,” Norbury said. “I just wish that he had not come home.”

“Why would you wish that? He should have come home years ago.”

“Of course, of course. But this party would be so much more at ease if he had stayed away.”

Norbury had a point, but Ellie didn’t acknowledge it. “No one has left in protest, have they? I’m sure we will finish out the week with just as much pleasure as we might otherwise have.”

He still hadn’t looked away from Nick. When he finally did, his face was serious. “Please take care, Lady Folkestone. You may be an excellent judge of character, but I worry for you with him. Promise me you won’t find yourself in danger with him.”

She couldn’t promise that, of course — she was already in far too deep. “I trust I’m in no danger from Folkestone. But I thank you for your concern.”

He seemed to want to say more, but perhaps she misread him — perhaps it was just a cloud passing over the sun that made her see more concern than she thought he should have for her. In a moment, he smiled and bowed. “I only wish you happy, Lady Folkestone. Whatever that happiness may be.”

* * *

Nick wished he had taken Ellie’s offer of skates, if only so he could go onto the ice and drag her away from Norbury. From the way they looked at him, he knew they were discussing him — and while Norbury had been civil when Nick had cornered him after dinner the previous night, Nick didn’t think Norbury was using these moments to convince Ellie that she should be happy about Nick’s return.

But he had chosen not to skate. If he didn’t want to embarrass Ellie publicly, he couldn’t chase after her now. She could handle herself, no matter what Norbury was saying.

He settled back against his tree. It gave him a prime view of the pond and a safe shield behind him — something he hadn’t known he needed, until he realized how much safer he felt with something to lean against. But even the strongest tree couldn’t save him from the next person to approach him.

“Folkestone,” Ferguson said as he came to the edge of the ice, knelt down, and removed his skating blades. “A word, if you please.”

Nick didn’t please, but the Duke of Rothwell wasn’t asking — he was telling. “Of course, your grace. Do you know, I believe the last duke I saw was your father? We were mercifully short of dukes in Madras.”

Ferguson stepped out of his skates and joined Nick by the tree, standing perpendicular to Nick so that he could see both Nick’s face and the people still on the ice. “Sounds charming. I never was much for dukes myself. But when you come into a title you didn’t plan for, you sometimes discover it’s not as bad as you thought.”

Ferguson never should have inherited the duchy. He had two older half-brothers who would have inherited before him, but their premature deaths made Ferguson the next heir. In that respect, he wasn’t so different from Nick — he, too, had grown up somewhat left out, believing others would carry on the family line.

But Nick still remembered Ferguson from Eton, where he had been quick enough to join the others in poking fun at Nick’s background. So it was with an edge to his voice that he said, “Have you come to give me pointers on how to be a gentleman? I warn you, I’m a slow study.”

Ferguson snorted. “I doubt that. My connections tell me you have a solid head for numbers, an uncanny ability to drive the best bargains, and adequate concern for your employees and dependents.”

“What connections have told you that?”

Ferguson pulled a snuffbox out of his greatcoat and offered it to Nick. Nick refused.

“Abominable stuff, isn’t it?” Ferguson said, tossing the box back into his pocket unopened. “But if you want a career as a rake now that you’ve returned, it is one of the best affectations you could choose. That, or a quizzing glass.”

He had evaded Nick’s first question, but that statement raised even more. Nick stayed focused, though. “Have you been looking into my affairs?”

The duke’s sidelong glance was deadly serious. “I will protect my sister, Folkestone. Depend upon it. If my connections found anything suspicious, you would have already heard about it from me.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

Ferguson brushed a piece of lint off his greatcoat. “I do hope that wasn’t a comparison to my father. Ellie will be displeased if I kill you on the dueling ground.”

“Then if your men have found nothing, and you don’t wish to fight me, why are we having this conversation?”

“I didn’t intend for a conversation. I planned for a monologue. They’re becoming my forte — as I said, titles have their uses, and one is that most people don’t interrupt.”

He paused. Nick said nothing. Ferguson had changed since Eton — perhaps for the better, despite the path this meeting had taken. There was certainly something appealing about his humor, odd as it was. If they had met again in some other way, without Ellie between them, perhaps they would have become friends, or at least gambling partners.

But Ellie was between them, just as she was between him and everything else. Ellie was the central sun in his solar system. He was a satellite that revolved around her, just as everyone at this party did. She would always be between him and the world — but her brilliance made up for the inconvenience.

He didn’t say any of that to Ferguson. Finally, perhaps convinced that Nick would stay quiet during his monologue, Ferguson spoke again. “Let us cover what I already know. Ellie told me last year that she had loved you, but that our unlamented father encouraged her to marry your cousin. She also said she waited for you, but you had never come back. This can only mean you were furious with her. You can understand why that would not make me sanguine about the possibility of a civil, cordial reunion between you.”

He paused again. Eventually, Nick sighed. “Do you want an acknowledgement, or is that considered interrupting your monologue?”

Ferguson grinned. “You may refrain from applause until the end. I like you, Folkestone. The people I’ve interviewed who knew you in Madras liked you. Your brother likes you, even though your return diminishes his responsibilities. But liking you doesn’t mean I won’t find a way to destroy you if you harm Ellie in any significant way.”

“You’ve been interviewing people about me?”

Ferguson looked around. “Quiet, if you please. It wouldn’t do if Ellie or my wife overheard you. But don’t be so surprised. If you had a female relative and someone in her past could one day turn up to cause her problems, you would have done exactly what I did. I needed to prepare for the day you might come back, even if Ellie hadn’t.”

“Still, spying on me is beneath you.”

“Not for Ellie’s sake. I’d do it all again to protect her. It’s the least I can do, since I wasn’t here when the two of you had your first falling out.”

Then he leaned in, and even though he was shorter than Nick, he somehow managed to look utterly threatening. “I’m watching you, Folkestone. If you hurt her in any way, I will personally beat you within an inch of your life. Then I will ruin your business interests so completely that you will lose every scrap of clothing that isn’t entailed.”

Nick didn’t flinch. “What is between Ellie and me will stay between Ellie and me.”

“You really are a slow learner, aren’t you?”

Nick looked out onto the ice again. Ellie had parted ways with Norbury, but her skating was slower — sadder, perhaps. Her head was bowed, and she seemed to evade anyone who might want to talk to her with just enough grace to not cause offense.

He turned back to her brother. “I may never learn with Ellie. But for the rest — I vow I will keep her unharmed.”

Ferguson scanned his face. Then he nodded. “Don’t fail, Folkestone. I want to see her happy. If you are the one who can do that, I will fête you. But if you aren’t…”

He left the consequence unvoiced. Nick acknowledged it with a curt nod. “She will be fine. She’s made of sterner stuff than any woman I know — she will probably survive us all.”

Ferguson laughed. “True. Then I’ll leave you to it.”

“Is this where I am expected to applaud your monologue?”

The duke laughed again. “I can see why my father hated you. Unlike him, I think you are exactly what Ellie deserves.”

He left before Nick responded. Then he called for his wife. She skated over to him, and he swung her off the ice and into his arms. Madeleine laughed and put her hands onto his shoulders as he bent to remove her skates, then leaned down to whisper in his ear. From the way she looked at Nick, he knew they were talking about him.

Everyone liked to talk about him, it seemed. But he was too struck by Ferguson’s parting shot to care. It almost sounded like Nick would have Ferguson’s blessing if he pursued Ellie in earnest. Not that he needed it. She could legally marry whomever she liked. But Ferguson’s comment was the opposite of what Nick had expected.

And he hadn’t realized that her family’s approval mattered to him until he had it.

He cursed and left the pond, walking back to the house with a ground-eating stride. He told himself he didn’t love her. He told himself he didn’t want to make her his bride. He told himself he would be happier with any other woman at his breakfast table for the next thirty years.

But he was a liar. And he was also a coward. Because, in his secret heart, he knew that he would rather never ask her than risk her turning him down again.