"But why on earth would he wish to call on me?" Mariah asked.
"My dear," Lady Russell began in a maternal tone, "it is hardly the mystery you would make of it. You only need ask yourself, what is the primary motive when an unwed, titled gentleman calls on an unwed, titled lady? Did he not once imply his interest in you?"
"But that was over a year ago,” Mariah said. "I have heard nothing from him since our first meeting at Woburn Abbey."
"Most men are wont to drag their feet in matters matrimonial," Lady Russell explained. "But perhaps his circumstances have changed, just as yours have."
"Yes. Mine have changed." A year ago, she would not have given the least thought to anyone of Rochford's ilk, but now, what did it matter?
"Are you at home, madam?" the footman inquired.
Mariah looked in panic to Lady Russell.
"Rogers," Lady Russell smoothly interceded, "please order some tea and show Lord Rochford to the drawing room."
"Of course, madam," Rogers bowed in reply.
"Thank you, my lady," Mariah said. "But I don't even know what to say to him."
"Then let him do the talking, my dear. Gentlemen rarely listen to a thing we say anyway. If it helps your unease, Lydia and I will take tea with you and discreetly excuse ourselves if and when it appears judicious to do so."
"You are all that is gracious, Lady Russell.” Setting down the linen gown she was embroidering for the baby, Mariah stood and shook out the skirts of her yellow chintz morning gown and removed her apron. "Should I change?"
"You look charming, my dear," Lady Russell assured her. "A gentleman should expect some informality when calling upon a lady at such an unfashionably early hour. Pray greet your guest, Mariah. Lydia and I will follow anon."
"Yes, my lady." Mariah departed the morning room as square-shouldered and stiff-backed as if she were preparing to face a firing squad.
As she crossed from the back of the house to the front drawing room, she tried to conjure Lord Rochford's face and failed, surprising after having spent an entire evening in his company. She only recalled that he was tall, slender of build, and fair-haired. Yet Nick's golden-brown eyes and bare hint of a smile were still fresh in her mind.
She also recalled all too vividly the way her pulse had raced just seated beside Nick in the carriage. Tiny shivers had coursed down her spine when he'd caressed her gloved hand. And the memory of his heated kisses were imprinted in her mind forever.
The earl's touch, on the contrary, had virtually no effect on her. No spark, no connection of any kind when they had danced. She didn't understand how she could be so affected by one man and then feel nothing at all for another. She fervently wished it were not so.
Stealing a breath, she raised her chin and forced a welcoming smile to her lips, and then nodded to the footman to open the drawing room door. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, my lo—" The rest of the sentence froze on her tongue.
Though he stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, she would know Nicolas Needham anywhere. Her stomach did a somersault as he turned to greet her. "Y-you?"
"Lady Mariah." The man who stepped forward with a bow was unquestionably Nicolas, but there was something very changed about him. It wasn't just the silks and velvets he wore or the bronzed skin that gave him a faint look of a Barbary corsair. His manner was unusually formal and reserved, almost as if they were strangers.
"I-I don't understand," she began. "The footman presented me Lord Rochford's card." Her gaze desperately searched the room for the elusive earl.
"I'm sorry to have disappointed you," he said dryly, "but I am indeed come on Lord Rochford's business."
"And what business might that be?" she inquired, tight-lipped.
"May we sit, my lady?" he inclined his head to the settle.
Mariah feared her legs might give out before she made it to the settle. What was he doing here? "H-how long have you been back?" she asked as she sank into the silk damask cushions.
"Two days only," he replied. "I believe I arrived on your heels." His mouth twitched. "Or perhaps you arrived on mine."
"Why did you write me that letter if you knew you were returning?" she asked, her throat so dry that she barely managed a whisper.
"I did not know I was returning until well after I posted the letter."
"I see." She swallowed. "But now you are here."
He extended his arms, palms turned upward. "In the flesh."
Half of her wanted to throw herself into those arms and kiss him madly while the other half wanted to shout and thrash and rage. She willed herself to do neither. "Why have you come here?"
"I am on a mission from Lord Rochford."
"And what has that to do with me?"
"You, my lady, are the mission."
"I don't comprehend you."