Page 51 of Marquess of Stone

Elias studied his friend’s face, reading the tension in the set of his jaw, the carefully maintained blankness of his expression. “Speaking of options,” he said after a moment, his tone deceptively casual, “what exactly happened with our mutual acquaintance? I notice the Viscount Crowton seems to have made himself remarkably scarce these past days.”

The change of subject brought a dangerous smile to Nicholas’ face, sharp as a newly whetted blade. “He has discovered that his presence in London had become… untenable.”

“Has he indeed?” Elias moved to pour himself another drink, only to remember the decanter was still empty. He set it down with a sigh of resignation. “And would this discovery have anything to do with certain rumors now circulating about unexpected debts and questionable financial dealings?”

“The man has lived long enough,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping to a cold register that few people ever heard. “But I have no desire for blood on my hands. Making certain he will never show his face in polite society again seemed… sufficient.”

Elias observed his friend with a measuring gaze. “You have gone to considerable trouble for a woman you claim is merely a… project.”

Nicholas turned back to the window, his shoulders a rigid line beneath the fine linen. “He deserved worse,” he replied flatly. “The rumors he spread about Marian were only the latest in a long pattern. There were others too, you know — shopgirls, servants, even a governess. I simply… consolidated the evidence.”

“And ensured it reached precisely the right ears,” Elias added, a note of admiration coloring his voice. “Elegant if ruthless.”

“He will no doubt find a small estate in the north ready for his immediate occupation,” Nicholas continued, a grim satisfaction evident in his tone. “Far from London, far from society, and with just enough income to keep him from complete ruin — provided he never sets foot in this city again.”

“Remind me to never genuinely cross you.” Elias murmured, moving to stand beside his friend at the window. Outside, a carriage rattled past, its lamps bobbing like fireflies in the gathering darkness. “Though, I must say, this level of retribution seems… personal.”

Nicholas’s reflection in the windowpane betrayed nothing, his expression remaining fixed as if carved from stone. “It was a matter of justice.”

“Justice,” Elias repeated softly. “Or something rather more primal?”

A single muscle ticked in Nicholas’s jaw, the only indication that the question had struck a nerve. Rather than answer, he abruptly changed the subject, moving away from the window with deliberate steps.

“I care for her,” Nicholas said finally, each word emerging with careful precision. “More than I could have anticipated. More than is, perhaps, wise.”

“Youcarefor her?” Elias repeated, his tone making it clear he found the phrasing inadequate.

Nicholas shot him another irritated glance. “What would you have me say?”

“The truth, in all of its bare glory, might be refreshing since you have been tip-toeing around it since I stepped through that door.”

“The truth.” Nicholas laughed, but the sound held no humor. “The truth is that I have spent decades building a fortress around my heart, cultivating a reputation for mischief, cold calculation, and ruthless efficiency. I have transformed a nearly bankrupt estate into one of the wealthiest in all of England. I have navigated politics, business, and society with precision and control.” His voice hardened. “And then a woman with a ridiculous list and more courage than sense comes around and simply… dismantles everything in the space of a fortnight.”

Elias remained silent, allowing his friend’s venting words to fill the room without challenge.

“Is that what you wish to hear?” Nicholas demanded, rising from his chair in a sudden surge of restless energy. “That I find myself thinking of her at the most inopportune moments? That I have barely eaten anything as food seems to have lost all of its appeal? That I wake in the night — on the rare occasion that Idomanage to get any sleep whatsoever — remembering the sound of her laughter when she first floated in that damnable lake? That I find myself caring what becomes of her beyond all reason or logic?”

“It would be a start,” Elias replied mildly.

Nicholas raked a hand through his hair, his movements betraying the agitation he could no longer fully suppress. “To what end? She has made her position quite clear. She does not wish to marry me — or anyone else.”

“Did she say that explicitly?”

Nicholas paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he recalled the conversation in the Brandon’s garden. “She said she could not commit herself to a lifetime with someone who does not love her,” he said slowly. “And when I told her that I did… she did not believe me.”

“Imagine that,” Elias murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “A woman requiring more than half-certain words as evidence of devotion.”

Nicholas glared at him. “What would you suggest I do? A Public declaration? Some grand romantic gesture straight from one of your wife’s novels?”

“I would suggest honesty.” Elias replied simply. “Bearing your true feelings.”

“It matters little what I truly feel,” he said finally, his voice carefully controlled. “She has refused me. The matter has been put to bed.”

“Has it?” Elias rose, crossing to stand beside his friend. “Then why arrange for her to stay with your sister rather than simply allowing her to go to Bath? Why continue to involve yourself in her affairs at all? You have been talking in circles the entire night, Nicholas. Perhaps it is time you faced the truth, once and for all.”

Nicholas remained silent, the muscle in his jaw working hard as he clenched his teeth against words he was not quite ready to speak out loud just yet.

“Have it your way then,” Elias continued when it became clear that no response was coming. “I suppose it is all rather theoretic now, given recent… developments.”

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