Nolan was a man who lived for his own comforts. As such, not a single member of the ton, and certainly not the rakes he called friends, would ever dare believe he’d even now be braving the frigid winter cold instead of the comforts of his clubs…or some whore’s bed.
At the edge of Kensington Gardens, with his mount loosely tied to a nearby oak, Nolan, in a bid to bring warmth back into his limbs, paced a steady path over the snow-covered path. Except, after knowing Sybil Cunning, the idea of being with or seducing any of those jaded creatures left him disgusted with the very thought of them. For with every woman before her, his exchanges had been nothing more than carnal. Two deeply unfulfilled people, finding a fleeting bliss, that as soon as it faded, left in its place a deeper, darker hole of emptiness.
He’d shared his body and prowess with those women, but had never shared a single, meaningful part of himself. Until Sybil. He sucked in a slow breath.
For just as she’d accurately predicted, he was far less the rake Society took him for, because he didn’t want a meaningless entanglement with her. He wanted…he wanted…
What do I want?
“Enough,” he muttered. This was not, nor had it ever been about what he wanted. It was about what she had hired him to do. It was research conducted by his clever bluestocking—a clever bluestocking—not his. She was his nothing. But I want her to be… Regret wadded in his throat.
He yanked his hat off and beat it against his leg, trying to drum the confounded thoughts from his head. “Mad, I am utterly mad.”
“If you are mad, then I fear my daughter is, as well, because she has a habit of speaking aloud to herself.”
Jerked from his tumultuous musings, Nolan spun around. And then the stranger’s words registered. His daughter…
He took in the wizened gentleman’s brown eyes. Familiar brown eyes. And knew. Sybil’s father. Any gentleman would demand a scoundrel like him do right by his daughter. He braced for the onslaught of horror over the implications of this meeting. That did not come. “My lord,” he greeted cautiously, as the tall, gaunt gentleman strode closer.
The viscount ignored that attempt at pleasantries and, fiddling with a monocle, lifted it to his eye. He grunted and let the piece fall. “You’re him, then.”
“Him?”
“Bah,” the viscount snorted, slashing the air with a hand. “First, it wasn’t a question. Second, don’t take me for a lackwit. You’re the boy who has been meeting my daughter.”
If Nolan were a proper rake, he’d slip forward an effortless lie. If he was one of those wicked ones beyond redemption he’d spoken to Sybil of, he’d have mentioned it was the viscount’s daughter who’d, in fact, approached him. But he could not do that. Not to Sybil. He’d not betray her in that way. “I am,” he offered, instead, unable to quell a small smile. When was the last time he’d been called a boy?
The viscount gave him another once over with his quizzing glass. “Humph.” No doubt, he looked at the scoundrel meeting his daughter alone on a riding path and saw his worthlessness. “You’re the rake, Webb.”
“The same,” he said and, by God, of all surprises, Nolan’s cheeks went hot. Even in this damned cold.
“You aren’t much of one if you’re caught sending ’round a note,” he accurately pointed out.
Yes, it was a mistake that had been careless and, worse, arrogant. Alas, he’d learned too late that “The Amphitheatre” had been closed for the holiday season and he had to change the plans he’d shared with Sybil.
Clasping his hands behind him, the viscount looked out at the Serpentine in the distance. “My wife sent me here to duel you.”
Nolan stiffened.
Sybil’s father glanced over with a twinkle in his eyes. “Or, to call you out.”
“You should.” He’d kissed Sybil and escorted her about London, risking her reputation at every turn. If he were a proper rake, he wouldn’t care…but he did. Very much. The truth staggered him.
The viscount contemplated him the way Nolan suspected he did the flora and fauna collection Sybil had spoken of. “I was of an opinion that you’d not behaved untowardly with my daughter.” He spoke like a scholar picking through facts. “Was I wrong?”
“I met her numerous times, putting her reputation at risk,” he hedged. “That should be enough.” And it would be for all of Society.
All of Society except for this man. What was it with the Cunnings who would not accept Nolan for the rake Society comfortably saw?
The viscount scoffed. “I’d not face a man at dawn for simply meeting with my daughter,” he said trustingly, too trustingly. If the roles had been reversed, and it was his own daughter sneaking off with a rake, Nolan would have gladly put a bullet in the bounder’s heart. The older man chuckled. “Nor do I think I’d stand much of a chance across the dueling field with a young buck like you.” Sybil’s father fished around inside his cloak and withdrew a flask. He uncorked it and took a long swallow. “Mustn’t tell my daughter or my wife.” Ever so slightly, the viscount lifted the flask in a subtle toast. “They wouldn’t approve.”
Unbidden, a smile tugged at Nolan’s lips as he recalled Sybil sipping from his own flask. The color in her cheeks. The glimmer in her eyes. He’d wager even the lady’s family didn’t truly know the depth of her spirit.
He and Lord Lovell fell into an odd, companionable silence that was only shattered by the older man. “When Sybil was a girl, oh, mayhap eleven or twelve, she’d created a detailed chart that she presented to her mother and me.”
An image flitted forward, bringing a smile to Nolan’s lips. Of Sybil as she would have been; a young, bespectacled girl with plump cheeks and speaking animatedly about the details on that board.
“On her chart, she had plotted out all the reasons a lady should not marry.” He lifted a finger with each item he enumerated. “She feared losing her freedom, her right to read books and attend lectures. My wife, Lady Lovell, did not sleep for a week, fearful that Sybil would grow to be an unwed spinster who never found a husband.” A distant glimmer twinkled in the viscount’s eye; a man who saw that long ago memory play out, still, in his mind. “Do you know how afraid I was, Webb?”
Nolan shook his head once. If he was a father with a daughter, his greatest fear wouldn’t be that the girl wouldn’t wed, but rather, the bounders who might prey on her.
“Not at all. Those seven days were the best seven days I’d ever slept, because I knew my Sybil had too much of a head to ever give her heart over to a scoundrel who’d not appreciate her.” Her father chuckled. “I didn’t care if she married a servant, sailor, or lord. I cared that she found someone who loved her and appreciated her as she deserved.”
There was a question and statement there all at the same time. Nolan’s throat worked and, unable to meet the man’s piercing gaze, he looked to the frozen Serpentine once more. Then the viscount asked it. “Do you care about her?”
Do you care about her? No. I love her. The air lodged in his lungs.
It defied the logic and reason Sybil spoke of and lauded. They were two strangers, meeting for less than a week’s time. And yet, those hours, such fragmental moments in his life, had been filled with joy and laughter unlike any he’d ever known. Good God, what have I done? He’d gone and fallen in love with the lady. He loved her spirit and her quick wit and her endearing habit of prattling on about obscure details and facts. He loved her for seeing more than the careful image he’d crafted for the world. And more, he loved her for her directness that didn’t waste precious time.
He wanted her, when he had nothing to offer her. When he’d only ever taken and, with his selfishness, hurt his siblings and he’d not add her to the long list of those he’d failed.
Nolan briefly closed his eyes as a wave of longing assailed him.
“Yes, well, love does have that effect on a person,” the viscount murmured, stealing another sip of his spirits. He handed it over to Nolan who took a long swallow.
“I have nothing to offer her,” he answered, handing back the drink. He’d never hated the truth of his circumstances more than he did in this moment. Again, it spoke to the self-centeredness of his soul that, of the siblings he’d failed and their beloved parents he’d let down, it was Sybil whom he’d known in six days’ time who’d cracked down the walls he’d built about his heart and made him wish he had more. For her.
“Finances?”
Nolan hesitated and then gave a curt nod. What had he to offer her?
The viscount tucked away his flask and then adjusted his hat. “But that isn’t what I asked you.” No, it hadn’t been. But it was the most he could give, for ultimately his worth was tied into his inability to pursue anything more with Sybil. The viscount patted him on the back. “All of that works itself out, my boy. The finances and monetary nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” An empty, hollow laugh rumbled from his chest. “You are an optimist.” The viscount couldn’t know the depth of Nolan’s financial failings. If he did, the older gent would surely be less amiable to any talk linking his and Sybil’s names.
“I am a realist,” the viscount corrected. “I did not pay you a visit, as my wife asked, to demand you marry Sybil. I’d never have her marry a man that way.” With a bow, he started back down the trail marked by his boot steps. Nolan stared after him, when the viscount suddenly turned back. “It did not escape my notice that you did not deny your love. You merely spoke of not having enough to offer her. I expect if you think about it, you’ll find that the only thing that matters is love. And if you do not come to that realization?” The viscount gave a wry grin. “Then you were never deserving of her, anyway.” Sybil’s father touched the brim of his hat.
“My lord,” Nolan murmured, bowing. He stood there long after Lord Lovell left. Stood in silence staring at the Serpentine until the cold numbed his fingers. And then he made the journey home.
All the while, the viscount’s words echoed around the chambers of his mind. Haunting him late into the night, when the house slept and he sat in his barren office, with the fire’s shadows his only company. Fingers steepled under his chin, Nolan sat on the cold floor, legs drawn up to his chest. How simple he had made it seem. The gentleman had spoken as though finances were not an issue. And even with a dowry that Sybil brought, it would not be enough to right his family’s circumstances and, more, he’d never touch the money that belonged to her.
Then, marriage to Sybil would never be about one person…but rather a partnership. A wistful smile pulled at his lips and he briefly allowed himself the dream of a life with Sybil at his side. There would never be a want for laughter or learning or excitement. He grabbed the fireplace poker and jabbed at one of the dried logs. Sparks crackled and hissed.
From behind him, the door opened and then closed. By the soft tread, he didn’t even need to glance back to know who his nighttime interloper was. “It’s past your bedtime, brat.”
Josephine snorted. “You’re a good deal less wicked than you let on, if you naively believe I ever kept a proper bedtime.” His sister slid down, claiming the spot beside him. “Unable to sleep?”
He grunted and jabbed at the log once more.
“Henry came by earlier this morn, while you were out.”
“Yes.” His butler had handed him the card indicating he’d missed Henry’s unexpected business. Because while Henry is off saving the estates, I was off to meet the woman who has occupied my every thought since she stormed this very room.
“He believes you were at your clubs.”
Nolan started. “Did he say as much?” That went against the straitlaced, honorable brother he’d always known.
“No.” Josephine grinned. “But I well knew what he was thinking.”
It was what all would likely assume. And for years, he’d reveled in that ill-opinion. Those low expectations had kept him safe and insulated him from people probing and seeing who he was inside.
“Do you know what I believe?”
Nolan avoided her eyes. She’d probe too close. She’d always been too clever by half. Certainly more clever than he’d ever been, even before his accident. He braced for the onslaught of shame…that did not come. Sybil had shown him there was no shame from what had happened to him. “What is that, poppet?” he murmured, setting aside the wrought iron prod.
“I believe you met a lady,” she ventured softly. Her tone was absent of the usual lightheartedness.
He froze. Had he been so very transparent?
“You were,” Josephine confirmed with a nod.
Nolan gave thanks for the heavy shadows and cover of darkness that concealed the heat burning his neck and face.
“The morning escapades were what did it,” Josephine went on to explain. “Everyone knows a rake and rogue spend their evenings out, but you’ve not gone to your clubs once this entire week.”
He dusted a hand over his face. “You’re too clever for your own good.” Certainly for his own good.
Josephine beamed. “Though, in truth, it wasn’t just your morning trips. There was the meeting with Henry you nearly missed and the singing. Mustn’t forget that.”
Nolan managed a sheepish grin. “You’ve found me out,” he confided. “Just don’t go saying as much or you’ll ruin my reputation.”
His sister dropped her legs before her and leaned back on her elbows. “Your lady is the one responsible for that. And it’s called reforming a rake, not ruining you.”
They sat in silence, with only the crack of the flame filling the quiet. “Do you love her?”
And for the second time, another soul had asked him that question. If he’d been a proper rake, Josephine and the viscount’s talks of love would have set him running in the opposite direction. But he was no rake. He was simply a man in love with a woman. “I do,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.
“Then you must marry her,” she said with a stoic logicality.
“I…” His words trailed off. Speaking about how he’d lost his heart to Sybil Cunning was revealing enough. Subsequently sharing the financial state he found himself in with Josephine was a truth she needed to be protected from. Protected, when he’d already failed her in every way.
“Does she care that we’re in dun territory?”
He whipped his gaze over, meeting Josephine’s wise-before-her-own-years expression.
“Because if she does,” his sister said with increasing vehemence, “then she is certainly not someone we’d want in the Pratt fam—”
“I haven’t asked her if it matters.” His sister puzzled her brow. “I didn’t offer for her, because of…because…of that. My finances.” Our finances. Most lords and ladies came from cold, unfeeling families. Whereas Nolan found himself with a brother who worked to set their circumstances to rights and a sister who did not hold Nolan to blame for his mistakes. Instead of upbraiding him, they rallied behind him, claiming the financial issues as theirs. Something stung his eyes and he blinked it back. Must be dust from the hearth. There was no other accounting for it.
His sister grunted. “Well, then given your cowardice, sulking in your office in the dead of night, making sad eyes at the fireplace, I’d say you don’t belong in the Pratt family.”
He chuckled and knocked his shoulder lightly against his sister’s. His quiet amusement faded. “I’m sorry for the state we find ourselves in.”
“I’m not worried about it,” she said with a simple shrug of her shoulders.
Yet another member of the peerage, his sister, now claiming those essential details that sustained families and tenants didn’t matter. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“What I am worried about, Noel, is that you give up whoever your lady is out of some misbegotten sense of guilt for trusting Father’s man-of-affairs.”
How much she’d seen over the years. More than he himself had. “Henry hasn’t wed Lady Alice because of our circumstances. How could I—?”
“Pfft,” Josephine interrupted. “Henry’s a different matter altogether. His not marrying his Alice has nothing to do with how you kept or didn’t keep the books and his own determination to rise inside that blasted law firm. And if he’d expect you to forsake your happiness and love, then he isn’t worthy of the Pratt name, either.”
Nolan rested his chin atop his knees and stared into the fire. His sister was still innocent enough that she saw life in absolutes. To Josephine, there was black and there was white, and she could not see the shades in between.
“Noel?”
He glanced over.
“Don’t make a mistake you’ll regret for the remainder of your life.” With those sage words from his youngest sibling, she hopped to her feet. “Now, I must be going.” She waggled her eyebrows. “It is now past my bedtime.”
They shared a smile.
“Josephine,” he called out, staying her when she reached the door.
She glanced back.
“Thank you.”
She winked. “Do not thank me. Thank the lady who snuck inside our house earlier in the week for thawing your heart.”
He started.
“She is the one, isn’t she?”
“She is,” he murmured to himself. She had been the one since the moment she’d sailed in his office and commandeered a meeting.
Josephine flashed him a crooked-toothed smile, bringing him back to the moment. “A bold lady who defies conventions and manages to steal your heart? I do say, I love her already.” With a jaunty wave, she was then off.
Nolan leveled himself to a stand and stalked over to his desk. He dropped into his chair. How simple Lord Lovell and Josephine made it seem. They acted as though all he and Sybil would need was love and that all their problems could be overcome.
Tugging out the drawer, he fished out a small, velvet sack, cradling it in his palm. And that was assuming the lady even wished to have a life with him. If she was as clever as he knew she was, Sybil Holly Cunning would steer clear of any further dealings with him.
Nolan remained in his office long into the night. Until the nighttime hours gave way to morn. And then opening his desk drawer, he pulled out several sheets of parchment and reached for his pen.