Seduced By A Scot. Julia London

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      “Aye.”

      She bit her lip and glanced at her lap. “But he loves Maura.”

      “No,” Nichol said. This was where he did his best work. He squatted down next to the lass, took her hand in his and said carefully, earnestly, “He does no’ love Miss Darby.”

      “How can you be certain?” she asked tearfully.

      “Because I’m a man, aye? I know how a man thinks in moments of raw desire.” He watched the twin puffs of red bloom in her cheeks. “He was no’ thinking of the rest of his life, you may trust me. When he thinks of you, he thinks of compatibility and the many happy years before him spent in complete conjugal felicity.”

      That might have been too much, he thought lazily.

      Miss Garbett sniffed again. “I suppose I could give him one more chance, aye? But I’ll no’ give Maura another chance! Never! Donna even ask it of me.”

      “I would never,” he assured her.

      “But you will,” she said tearfully. “Because my father esteems her verra much. More than me.”

      “He could no’ possibly,” Nichol said soothingly. “You must believe me, Miss Garbett—your father likes the ironworks deal far better than Miss Darby. And he loves you much more than that.”

      She straightened in her seat and with a weary sigh, she looked to the window. “Is the Cadell house in England really as big as a palace?”

      Problem solved. Nichol rose to his feet. “Bigger. Eighteen chimneys in all.”

      “Eighteen,” she murmured.

      From there, Nichol walked into the small study to speak to Mr. Adam Cadell. Although he was twenty years, he had not quite yet grown into his gangly arms and legs. He eyed Nichol warily.

      “Well, then,” Nichol said, and went to the sideboard to help himself to port. He poured one for the lad, too. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bloody fine predicament, aye?”

      The young man looked uncertainly at the port, but took it, and downed it with unnecessary determination. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.

      “Do you love Miss Darby, then?”

      The lad colored. The knot at his throat dipped with his hard swallow. “Of course not.”

      Of course you do. Nichol sipped casually at his port, then asked, “What is the size of Miss Garbett’s dowry, by the bye?”

      “Why?” the young man asked, and when Nichol didn’t answer, he fidgeted nervously with the hem of his waistcoat. “Quite large,” he said in a manner that seemed to suggest he thought he’d be asked to forfeit it.

      “Large enough to build a house in town?”

       “London?”

      “Aye, London, if you like. Edinburra. Dublin.” He shrugged.

      Mr. Cadell’s brows dipped with confusion. “What has that to do with this wedding?”

      “I should think it obvious.”

      The lad looked at him blankly. Nothing was obvious to him but his raging lust.

      “If you were to build or purchase a house in any of those towns...you would undoubtedly meet many pretty debutantes who would be eager to befriend your wife, aye?”

      Adam Cadell kept his gaze fixed on Nichol.

      “Scads of them,” Nichol added for emphasis.

      The young man sank down onto the settee and clasped his hands together before him. Nichol had his full attention. “I donna understand.”

      Nichol put aside the port. “What I am suggesting, Mr. Cadell, is that you get your heir, then live your life. She will have the bairn she wants, the house she wants, all the gowns she wants, and you will have...” He made a flourish with his hand. “Society, aye? You will save your father’s important business arrangement and everyone will be made happy once again.”

      “Ah,” Adam Cadell said, and slowly nodded. His eyes brightened. And then dulled. “But Sorcha will not have me, not with the ward about.”

      So now Miss Darby was merely the ward, was she? “She is no’ here at present,” Nichol pointed out.

      “No, but she’ll come back. Mr. Garbett is right fond of her, he is. He’ll not leave her put away. She’ll be part of this family yet.”

      Nichol pondered that. “If the ward was put in a circumstance—one that Mr. Garbett would approve, naturally, but one that would keep her from this house for the foreseeable futur—could you see your way to making a proper apology to your fiancée?”

      “Yes,” the young man said, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course. Miss Darby will be utterly forgotten.”

      “Then leave it to me,” Nichol said, and extended his hand.

      Mr. Cadell took it with the grip of a small child and shook it weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Bain.”

      The solution, Nichol realized, was one that would solve two problems at once. This was perhaps the easiest thing he’d tackled in fifteen years.

      He left the Garbett house with a bounce in his step, and returned to the inn in Stirling where he was residing. There, he penned a letter to Dunnan Cockburn, the former client and someone Nichol might consider a “friend.” Nichol didn’t have friends, really. For one, he never stayed anyplace for long. Two, he had learned at an early age to keep his thoughts to himself so they’d not be used against him. And three, he’d discovered that friendships relied on the ability of one to share feelings. He did not share his, and as a result, he had few friends.

      He supposed he might count Lord Norwood as a friend. He’d met the earl in the course of his work for the Duke of Montrose. Norwood was the uncle of the new Lady Montrose, and had been either amused or impressed with Nichol’s handling of her and Montrose’s business. Whatever the reason, he had kept Nichol close and seemed to enjoy his company, although he did frequently dispatch Nichol to help his influential friends.

      Nichol counted Dunnan simply because they’d spent so much time in each other’s company. Dunnan was eager to please and possessed a good humor, in spite of his considerable troubles. He resided in a sprawling estate with his widowed mother, and while he’d conquered his gambling problem, he and Nichol had both agreed that he might be less tempted to engage in such behavior if had he a proper wife to comfort and advise him and frankly, to keep an eye on him.

      “You’ll find a wife, then, will you?” Nichol had asked the last time he’d seen Dunnan.

      “Oh, I will, I will,” Dunnan had assured him. “It is on the very top of my list of things that simply must be done.”

      Unfortunately, the last he’d heard, Dunnan hadn’t been successful in his quest. So this seemed the perfect arrangement for all involved—Dunnan needed a wife. The temptress needed a place СКАЧАТЬ