One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

Cynthia stared in shock. Then she panted in rage.

The bells chimed, calling the patrons back to their seats. Cynthia stood stock-still among the flow, fists clenched. When she caught a glimpse of Nick moving away with a group of gentlemen, she stormed toward him.

She caught him just before he stepped into a stairway, and wrapped her fist around his sleeve. “What do you think you’re about?” she whispered.

He turned gracefully toward her, a delighted smile already in place. “Miss Merrithorpe! What a lovely surprise!”

“Nicholas Cantry, you either explain yourself or I will stand right here in front of you and scream out the vilest curse I can think of.”

“Oh, my. What would that be, I wonder? Something truly shocking, I suppose.” He held up a hand when she drew in a deep breath. “Calm down, Cyn.” He leaned closer. “I’m courting you.”

“You…What?”

“I’m courting you properly, remember?”

“Remember?” Heat rose up her face, and when it reached her eyes, they overflowed with tears. “I sent letters, and you hardly wrote anything back, and it’s been months since I’ve seen you, and I was so frightened. I missed you, Nick.”

“Ah, love. Don’t cry.” His eyes lost their bright charm and went soft and warm. “Please.”

Her face crumpled.

“Here, Cyn.” Nick tugged her gently to the side, leading her to a narrow alcove that would shield them from the inattentive, at least. He pressed a handkerchief to her face, nearly smothering her before Cynthia batted his hand away.

She wiped her eyes and scowled. “You’ve made my acquaintance?”

“What did you want me to say? That I’ve known you biblically?”

“Well…What are you doing here? What has happened?”

“I’m sure we’ll have time to speak tomorrow.” He glanced toward a passing man who sent them a curious look. “We are being inappropriate again. Come, let me return you to your family.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. Come to my window tonight. It’s in the east corner on the second floor—”

“I certainly will not.”

“There’s a balcony. If you—”

He stepped back. “I treated you shamefully before. I was betrothed to another woman and without any prospects and I dishonored you. I shan’t behave that way again.”

“Don’t be an idiot!”

Outrage flashed briefly in his eyes. He bowed. “Good evening, Miss Merrithorpe.”

Before she could protest, he turned and disappeared into the theater, and all she could do was blow her nose and calculate how many hours would pass until tomorrow’s dinner.

Bastard, she shouted in her mind. He was a thoughtless, cruel bounder. A heartless cad.

And he was here.

Pressing a hand over her wide grin, Cynthia slipped out of the alcove and floated back to her seat.

Her gasp echoed through the room so loudly that everyone turned toward her. “I’m sorry,” Cynthia managed, then patted her throat as if she’d swallowed her wine too quickly. Nick watched her carefully.

Had he just said he was part-owner of a shipping company?

Her uncle grunted. “I thought you Englishmen had an aversion to honest work.”

“So we do. Rather shameful, I admit. But even the lordliest among us believes in investment. The majority owner of Huntington Shipping is the Duke of Somerhart.”