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Authors: Dawn Thompson
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climbed out of the tub. The valet bundled him in towels, and Nicholas rubbed himself dry, bruising the herbs that clung to his skin, spreading their scent, grinding their soothing oils into his pores before brushing them away, with no less a scourging than he’d inflicted with the sponge earlier.
“Will you want a fresh toilette, or shall I fetch your dressing gown, my lord?”
“The dressing gown, Mills,” Nicholas responded. “I’m done for the day—exhausted.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the valet, shuffling into the bedchamber. Nicholas was still scrubbing himself with the towels when Mills returned, and the servant took them from him and helped him into the dressing gown. “Your cordial, my lord,” the valet reminded, snatching it from a silver salver on the chiffonier.
“Ahhh, yes, mustn’t forget the deuced cordial,” Nicholas said, cinching his sash with rough hands. He took the offered glass, and flopped in the wing chair beside the hearth, while Mills collected the towels and mopped up the puddles. “I actually gave her permission to take a lover,” he said. He needed absolution for that, and Mills had always been ready to give it. Not this time. The valet stopped mopping midstroke, and met Nicholas’s gaze slack-jawed.
“
My lord!
” he breathed. “Surely, you
didn’t?
”
“Oh, but I did,” Nicholas said, tossing back the cordial. He grimaced. It tasted bitter despite the honey.
“Whatever did she say to that?” the valet inquired. 54
“It put her in quite a taking,” said Nicholas, toying with the empty glass. “To say that she pinned my ears back over it is a mild assessment. But she wouldn’t let it go, and I didn’t know what else to suggest.”
“You can hardly blame her for ringing a peal over your head, my lord. I’ve had but a glimpse, and even
I
can see that she’s quite well to pass—a diamond of the first water, to be sure.”
It wasn’t the reply Nicholas wanted to hear, and he breathed a ragged sigh, setting the empty glass down on the candlestand beside his chair. The valet’s reproachful eyes turned his own away; he could bear anything but this dear man’s disapproval. It wrenched his gut as though an unseen hand had fisted in it.
“What would you have suggested?” he asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know, my lord,” the valet said. “But certainly not
that
. It’s a wonder she didn’t crack a vase over your head. What could you have been thinking?”
“I was thinking, Mills, that I owe her the freedom to take her pleasures where she wishes, since I cannot offer her connubial bliss. I thought it was the least I could do.”
“And how would you have felt if she took you up on it, my lord?”
“I can’t think about that now, Mills, else this whole blasted ritual here be wasted.”
“Mmm,” the valet hummed, resuming his chore.
“That door’s not closed, Mills. It could still happen, and if it does, I could neither accept it with an open mind anymore, nor in good conscience could I put a stop to it. I haven’t the right.”
The valet collected the wet towels, and got to his feet. “What if you were to tell her outright, my lord?” he said.
“You
know
I cannot do that,” said Nicholas. “She’d run screaming from the house, you can bet your blunt upon it, old boy.”
“But if . . . as you say, the feeling is mutual . . .”
“There’s something else,” Nicholas said, getting to his feet, “something I haven’t told you.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“She’s formed an attachment for Nero.”
“Oh, my lord!” Mills cried. “You cannot allow—”
“It’s already happened.”
“But you can put a stop to it—
you must!
”
“I don’t know that I can,” Nicholas mused. “It’s gone too far, and I don’t know that I even want to.”
The valet opened and closed his mouth three times before the words came. “We need to talk, my lord,” he said, clearly struggling, “About Nero, that is. There have been . . .
“Will you want a fresh toilette, or shall I fetch your dressing gown, my lord?”
“The dressing gown, Mills,” Nicholas responded. “I’m done for the day—exhausted.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the valet, shuffling into the bedchamber. Nicholas was still scrubbing himself with the towels when Mills returned, and the servant took them from him and helped him into the dressing gown. “Your cordial, my lord,” the valet reminded, snatching it from a silver salver on the chiffonier.
“Ahhh, yes, mustn’t forget the deuced cordial,” Nicholas said, cinching his sash with rough hands. He took the offered glass, and flopped in the wing chair beside the hearth, while Mills collected the towels and mopped up the puddles. “I actually gave her permission to take a lover,” he said. He needed absolution for that, and Mills had always been ready to give it. Not this time. The valet stopped mopping midstroke, and met Nicholas’s gaze slack-jawed.
“
My lord!
” he breathed. “Surely, you
didn’t?
”
“Oh, but I did,” Nicholas said, tossing back the cordial. He grimaced. It tasted bitter despite the honey.
“Whatever did she say to that?” the valet inquired. 54
“It put her in quite a taking,” said Nicholas, toying with the empty glass. “To say that she pinned my ears back over it is a mild assessment. But she wouldn’t let it go, and I didn’t know what else to suggest.”
“You can hardly blame her for ringing a peal over your head, my lord. I’ve had but a glimpse, and even
I
can see that she’s quite well to pass—a diamond of the first water, to be sure.”
It wasn’t the reply Nicholas wanted to hear, and he breathed a ragged sigh, setting the empty glass down on the candlestand beside his chair. The valet’s reproachful eyes turned his own away; he could bear anything but this dear man’s disapproval. It wrenched his gut as though an unseen hand had fisted in it.
“What would you have suggested?” he asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know, my lord,” the valet said. “But certainly not
that
. It’s a wonder she didn’t crack a vase over your head. What could you have been thinking?”
“I was thinking, Mills, that I owe her the freedom to take her pleasures where she wishes, since I cannot offer her connubial bliss. I thought it was the least I could do.”
“And how would you have felt if she took you up on it, my lord?”
“I can’t think about that now, Mills, else this whole blasted ritual here be wasted.”
“Mmm,” the valet hummed, resuming his chore.
“That door’s not closed, Mills. It could still happen, and if it does, I could neither accept it with an open mind anymore, nor in good conscience could I put a stop to it. I haven’t the right.”
The valet collected the wet towels, and got to his feet. “What if you were to tell her outright, my lord?” he said.
“You
know
I cannot do that,” said Nicholas. “She’d run screaming from the house, you can bet your blunt upon it, old boy.”
“But if . . . as you say, the feeling is mutual . . .”
“There’s something else,” Nicholas said, getting to his feet, “something I haven’t told you.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“She’s formed an attachment for Nero.”
“Oh, my lord!” Mills cried. “You cannot allow—”
“It’s already happened.”
“But you can put a stop to it—
you must!
”
“I don’t know that I can,” Nicholas mused. “It’s gone too far, and I don’t know that I even want to.”
The valet opened and closed his mouth three times before the words came. “We need to talk, my lord,” he said, clearly struggling, “About Nero, that is. There have been . . .
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