Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord

Isabel pushed the thought aside.

“He is a very tall man, yes,” she agreed, ruffling her brother’s silky blond hair. “More than uncommon tall. As is his friend.”

“There are two of them?” James’s mouth fell open. So did Gwen’s. “What are they doing here? ”

“I invited them here,” Isabel replied, moving past the group toward the stairs.

“Why?” James’s question echoed the curiosity of the older inhabitants of the hallway.

She turned back. “Well, one of them is very clever, with a talent for Greek statues. I thought we could use him.”

“I see,” James said with a nod that indicated an understanding Isabel felt certain he did not have. “So they are not here to take you.”

“Goodness! No!” She looked in the direction of the stairs. Lord Nicholas could wait another minute. “No one is going to take me anywhere.”

“You do not need me to step in?”

Isabel had to swallow a smile at the seriousness in his tone. “No. I am quite safe.”

“And the others?”

Isabel blinked at James’s concern. “No one needs rescuing, love. Not today.”

“But we are very happy to have you to protect us,” Gwen said with a smile. “You are an excellent protector.”

“Indeed,” Jane agreed readily. “We are lucky to live with you, my lord.”

James’s chest puffed out and Isabel almost laughed at the boy’s pride. Almost. But the imposing lord in her sitting room did put a damper on the moment. “And now, I must go and convince the man at the door that, while it might appear at first blush as though it were so, we are not in a state of bedlam.”

“Excellent plan,” Lara said with a grin.

“Yes, I thought so.” Isabel set off for the stairs before she stopped and turned back to the group. “Georgiana,” she said, referencing the newest resident of the manor. “Where is she?”

“In the library. She will not be seen.” Jane had, indeed, considered everything.

Isabel gave a little nod. “Excellent. I shall go see to our visitor.”

“Did someone let him in? After James slammed the door in his face, that is? “ Gwen asked.

Isabel paled. “Oh, no.” She looked from one face to the next, her mouth open in shock. “Oh, no!”

She was off, tearing down the stairs, ignoring the dull ache in her ankle.

Dear God. He was going to be livid.

If he was even there.

He had to be there. He was her only hope.

“She called him dashing,” Lara offered in a too-loud whisper as they clattered down the stairs.

“I did not.”

“Did she, now? “ Jane asked.

“I was referring to dashing men in the broader sense.”

“Well, that would be the case,” Jane said dryly, “Considering the legions of dashing men who come along daily out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Lara laughed. Isabel considered pushing them all down the next flight of stairs.

“It is too bad that all hope for lesson number one is out the window,” Gwen said wistfully.

Isabel turned back as she hit the ground floor. “What does that mean? ”

Gwen shook her head. “Nothing really, simply that the latest issue of Pearls and Pelisses had suggestions for just this situation—”

Jane snorted her disbelief.

“Stop.” Isabel raised a hand. “I haven’t time for this, Gwen.”

“But it says—”

“No. I must somehow repair the damage that I have done and get Lord Nicholas to have a look at those marbles.”

Isabel turned to the door, and Regina, one of the footmen, reached for the handle. With a deep breath, Isabel said, flustered, “Is he still there? Go ahead. Open it.” Then: “Wait.” She turned back to Gwen. “On second thought, I need as much help as I can get at this point. What is this ridiculous lesson?”

Gwen recited from memory, “Lesson Number One: Do not attempt to make too strong of a first impression.”

Isabel paused, considering the advice, and her first meeting with Lord Nicholas. And her second meeting with Lord Nicholas. “Well. I have certainly made a hash of that one.”

As the door began to open, she shooed them all away.

“Hide.”

Five

* * *

The last time Nick had been kept waiting by a female, he had ended up in a Turkish prison. He doubted he was in for a similar fate in Yorkshire, but nevertheless, he would prefer not to be kept waiting.

Outside.

For a madwoman.

No matter how lovely.

The groom had disappeared, along with the horses, and Nick and Rock had been left, summarily, on the doorstep of the manor house for far longer than was acceptable. Not that Nick had any lingering expectations of propriety at Townsend Park. Apparently, while the earl had been causing any number of scandals in London, his family had been left to rusticate in the country. Quite possibly in the care of wolves.

Ultimately, the pair had thrown manners to the wind and seated themselves on the wide stone steps, waiting for someone to come and fetch them.

And, as Nick fumed, Rock became more and more entertained.

“I retract my earlier statements on Yorkshire,” the Turk said, leaning casually against the stone balustrade, twirling a piece of grass in his hand. “It has taken a turn for the better, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps you would like to live here, then? In a parish full of oddities? ”

Rock laughed at Nick’s surly tone. “Unfortunately, Yorkshire seems to have robbed you of your good humor.”

“Yes, well, sitting outside for half an age waiting for a woman who has, quite likely, dreamed up her fantastic collection of antiquities, does not help. I’ve a mind to leave.”

“Five pounds says it’s real.”

Nick leveled his friend with a cool blue gaze. “Make it ten.”

“Ten pounds says we stay to catalogue it.”

As if on cue, the door opened, to reveal a mildly flushed Lady Isabel in a gray muslin day dress. Her hair had been returned to perfect smoothness and she was the portrait of calm and utter ladylikeness.

Nick looked up at her, instantly appreciating her long, willowy frame. She was tall and lithe and stunning.

It no longer seemed to matter that he had been sitting on these wretched steps for half the day.

He rose, Rock beside him, as she spoke. “My lords,” she said with a welcoming smile as a young footman in full livery opened the door wide. “Please forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

She was utterly poised, her tone and demeanor so even that one would never guess that they had just conducted an entire conversation with her roofbound.

She stepped aside, making room for their entrance.

Once inside, Nick registered the quietness of the house—the foyer was dimly lit, the front of the manor having been shaded from the late afternoon sun.

There was no sign of the boy who had been at the door earlier—he had been replaced, it seemed, by the woman who stood at the foot of a wide stone staircase, also dressed in mourning attire. Nick paused briefly, considering her. She was blond and willowy, with a serene smile and downcast eyes—entirely different from Lady Isabel.

Was it possible she was another Townsend sibling?

Noting Nick’s attention, Isabel stepped back and said, “Lara, may I present Lord Nicholas St. John and Mr. Durukhan? Lord Nicholas, Mr. Durukhan, my cousin, Miss Lara Caldwell.”

“Miss Caldwell.” Nick bowed low before Rock stepped forward.

Lara’s eyes went wide at the Turk’s sheer size, even as he offered her a warm smile and reached for her hand to greet her, “Miss Caldwell, it is a pleasure to meet you.” The Turk’s eyes lingered on Lara’s face as Nick turned back to Isabel.

“Where is the boy?”

“My lord?”

“The boy. Who answered my earlier knock.”

/>   “You mean James … my brother … the earl … Lord Reddich, I suppose I should start calling him.” He watched as color flooded her cheeks. “He is … with his governess. I do apologize, again, for our somewhat … unorthodox … treatment. You see, the house was not expecting guests—we so rarely have them—and you startled James …”

Rock turned at her flustered explanation, meeting Nick’s eyes. The woman was not comfortable with them in the house, that much was clear.

“ … and several of the servants have the afternoon free,” she hurried to finish.

“While you learn the fundamentals of roof repair.”

“Precisely.” She smiled shyly, and he was struck once again by the change that came over her. She was beautiful.

When he returned her smile, hers was gone in a flash, as quickly as it had come. “Shall I show you the collection, my lord? I should hate to keep you here for too long—particularly when you must be planning to leave Yorkshire at any moment.”

Her words were a clear foray for information—one to which Nick was unwilling to respond. “Not at all. In fact, Rock was just pointing out how very engaging the area is—we may well stay awhile. So we have plenty of time this afternoon.”

“Oh,” she said, and he did not miss the disappointment in her tone.

She wanted him gone.

Why?

He was becoming intrigued.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick noticed a nearby door slightly ajar and guarded by two liveried footmen, one tall and thin, one short and squat. He considered the sliver of space between the door and its seat, running his gaze along it. Sure enough, there, four feet from the ground, a little face peered out at him, wide-eyed. It was the boy from earlier.

He couldn’t help himself. He winked at the child and was rewarded with a gasp that sliced through the quiet, open space before he was gone, yanked from the door in a cry of young outrage.

Isabel did not flinch as the door slammed shut, instead spinning on her heel to lead them toward the stairs. “Please follow me. I am happy to show you the marbles.”

They climbed the wide stone stairs to the next floor in silence, Nick taking in the quiet dignity of the house that had not seen new decor in more than a decade. Lights were kept to a minimum, the darkened halls were bereft of servants, and all but a handful of doors were closed, indicating that the rooms behind them were rarely in use.

As she led them down a long, narrow corridor, Nick asked, “Lady Isabel, why you were repairing the roof? ”

She was ahead of him, and her head turned slightly as she registered the question. After a long pause, she said, “It leaks.”

The woman would try the patience of a saint. Truly.

He waited for her to elaborate. When she did not, he said, “I imagine that is the most likely reason for a roof to be in need of repair.”

He ignored the sound that came from Rock, a cross between laughter and strangulation.

As they reached a far corner of the house, Nick registered a familiar, not-unpleasant odor—a musty smell that he had long associated with the very best of discoveries. When she opened a door near the end of the hallway and indicated that they should enter, the wash of golden sunlight that spilled through the doorway surprised him.

Isabel stepped back, allowing him access to the large room, a perfectly symmetrical space, with tall ceilings and a wall of high windows that looked out onto the vast manor lands. The windows did nothing to hide the late afternoon sun that shone directly into the large, open space filled with dozens of statues, each a different size and shape, covered in dusty muslin sheets.

Excitement coursed through Nick as he took in the contents of the room, his hands itching to remove the shrouds—to view the treasures they hid. He stopped several feet inside, turning back to Isabel. “You were not exaggerating.”

A small smile played at her lips, and, when she spoke, he could hear the pride in her voice. “There is another room, identical to this one, across the hall. You will no doubt wish to see that, as well.”

Nick’s surprise was clear. “Perhaps Miss Caldwell could open that room for Rock while you tell me more about the statues? ”

After a moment’s hesitation, Isabel nodded her assent to her cousin, and the two exited the room, leaving the door wide. She uncovered a nearby statue, and Nick watched, tracking her movements as she pulled the fabric aside, revealing a tall marble nude.

He approached the piece, considering it for a long moment before running one hand down the curve of the statue’s arm. When he spoke, there was reverence in his voice. “She is stunning.”

Isabel tilted her head to one side, assessing the marble. “She is, isn’t she?”

Her reverent words shook him from his inspection. He turned to her, noting the way she looked at the statue—with something akin to longing. “More importantly, she is real.”

She looked up sharply, “You doubted as much?”

“It is not every day that I stumble across a woman who professes to have a collection of marbles such as this.” He lifted one corner of a nearby cloth, “May I?” When she nodded her assent, he tugged on the fabric, revealing another statue, this one a warrior, spear in hand, on the hunt. He shook his head slowly. “It is not every lifetime that I stumble across a woman who is actually in possession of such a collection.”

She smiled as she unveiled a cherub. “I am happy that our meeting has resulted in such excitement for you.”

He paused in uncovering another statue, capturing her gaze. “Even without such a collection, Lady Isabel, I think it would be difficult to forget such a meeting.”

Her blush sent a wave of pleasure through him. “I suppose I should admit defeat, my lord. You did, indeed, save my life. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

He ran his hand over a marble bust of Dionysius, perfectly wrought, his fingers tracing the intricate lines of the grape leaves that encircled the head of the statue. “Allowing me access to such a collection is an excellent start at repaying that debt.” He looked to her again. “It is a tragedy that it is hidden away.”

She paused, and when she spoke, her voice held a tension that he did not like. “That will soon be remedied, thanks to you,” Isabel said with a small, sad smile. “Once you have identified them, the marbles must be sold.”

His eyes widened. “You cannot sell them.”

She busied herself with unveiling a large statue in particularly excellent condition. “I can, my lord. As you can see, it does me little good here, collecting dust. It must be sold.”

“It means more to you than its monetary value.” He could see it in her pride, in her obvious passion for the collection.

Her shoulders squared at his words. When she turned back, he noted that her eyes were shiny with tears. She took a deep breath. “I assure you, Lord Nicholas, I would not sell if—” He sensed a world in the silence. “If I felt that they were well shown here.” She traced the line of the statue’s foot. “How long do you think it will take?”

If he had thought the task she asked of him would take any less than a week, he would have lied to her to give her more time—to consider her actions. But falsehoods were unnecessary.

“Some of the marbles will be easier to identify than others,” he said carefully, making a show at looking around the room. “Two weeks at the minimum. Perhaps longer.”

“Two weeks!” Her eyes went wide with despair.

“I see you would prefer to be rid of me sooner.”

Her gaze flew to his, and she seemed to relax slightly at his smile. “It is not that … only the time. I had hoped to have the stones sold in less than two weeks.”

“Impossible. Even the best antiquarian could not meet that goal.”

“I do apologize, my lord. I was under the impression that you were the best antiquarian.”

The bold words startled him, and he grinned, surprised and delighted by her teasing, so unexpected from a woman who appeared to have an untold weight upon her shoulders. r />

He was coming to see, however, that there was much about Lady Isabel that was unexpected.

“And it will take at least a month for you to get a reasonable price for it.”

“I don’t have a month.”

“More likely, six weeks.”

“I definitely do not have six weeks.” Isabel sounded desolate.

The situation was growing more and more curious.

The collection would have been enough to sway him—but now, as he watched worry flood her gaze, he knew that it was not simply the collection that was keeping him in Yorkshire.

He wanted to know all her secrets.

And she had given him the perfect way to uncover them.

They were very close now, and Nick purposely took another step toward her, crowding her nearer to the statue. Her eyes widened, and he found that he enjoyed surprising her. “Two weeks,” he said, his voice low. “And when I am done, I shall help you to sell the marbles.”

“Thank you.” Her relief was palpable. “I am only sorry that I have no way of repaying you the favor.”

“I’m sure we could come up with some form of payment for my services.”

The words were low and meant to be teasing, but Isabel was instantly guarded. “Could we? ”

Someone had hurt her.

The thought set him on edge, the muscles of his back stiffening as he wondered who. And how.

He turned away, attempting a playful note. “May I propose a game? ”

“A game? ”

“For each statue I identify, you shall tell me something of Townsend Park. And your life here.”

There was silence as she considered his offer—a silence that stretched out long enough for him to believe that she might not answer at all. He heard her take a deep breath, and looked back at her, meeting her eyes. He considered their dark, mahogany depths, so private and uncertain. So many secrets hidden there—so much that he wanted to discover. The legacy of the bulan—he could not leave a mystery unsolved.

What would it take to unlock those secrets? To see her with her guard down?

An image flashed, quick and intense—Isabel, her head thrown back in passion, open and unguarded, her long, lithe body spread across his bed, waiting for him. The force of the vision pushed him back, away from her, to a safer distance.