A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(11)

Did he also feel the connection? She could have sworn he did, but the bigger question was whether he could ever bring himself to act upon it.





CHAPTER THREE



"Look round the habitable world, how few

know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue!" - John Dryden





Woburn Abbey, Bedfordshire





THE CLINK OF GLASSES and low rumble of male laughter teased Nick's ears as he stood waiting in the antechamber outside the Duke of Bedford's private study. The footman had announced his arrival, but it was clear the duke would acknowledge him no sooner than His Grace chose to do so.

Nick shifted his stance, refusing to sit and fighting the urge to pace. Such was his lot in life. Neither servant nor peer, he occupied the sliver of no-man's-land just inside the periphery of the privileged circle. He should have accepted it by now, but it still ate at him. Although Marcus had always treated him as an equal, the duke and many others regarded Mister Needham as almost beneath their notice. Unfortunately, the letters he carried required both the duke's notice and a timely answer.

He was half-ready to take his chances and rap on the door when a footman entered the room carrying a bottle of port. Passing by Nick with barely a nod, he rapped once and entered the duke's study, leaving the door partially ajar, which allowed Nick a glimpse of the occupants on the other side. He immediately recognized the face of the man whose voice he'd failed to identify as the Earl of Rochford, the recently appointed plenipotentiary to Turin. Although eavesdropping went against his grain, Nick could hardly ignore the conversation from where he stood.

"You might wish to know, Rochford, that my duchess has taken exception to your prolonged bachelorhood."

"Indeed?" Rochford's brows rose. "Please convey to Her Grace that I intended no offense to her," he returned dryly.

"Come now, man," the duke cajoled, "we both know how women love to meddle in these matters. But in this case, I would have to agree with her. You've had your fun. Given your promotion, I'd say it's nigh time you took on the shackles."

A slight frown marred Rochford's noble brow. "Although I am in no hurry to do so, I confess I've begun to realize the inevitability of it. Has the duchess also taken it upon herself to choose my prospective bride?"

The duke smiled. "I daresay you will find out at supper."

"Indeed? Who then is to be my companion?"

"Lady Mariah of Morehaven."

Nick stiffened. Were the vultures already circling over her? He only knew Lord Rochford from a distance, but like most noblemen, he spent a great deal of time gaming and consorting with ladies of pleasure. Was he prepared to settle into marriage? Doubtful. Perhaps he'd take on the shackles if his circumstances demanded it, but he surely wouldn't look to change his habits. Nick despised the thought of Mariah wed to such a man. She deserved better. If only his own situation were different . . . He shook off the thought. There was no point in fantasizing about what could never be.

"Morehaven? That's a name I haven't heard in some time. Didn't the baron have an apoplexy or some such?" Rochford asked.

"Poor sod may as well be dead," the duke replied. "Hasn't left his bed in over two years."

"Indeed? And where precisely is . . . his bed?"

"Derbyshire," the duke answered. "'Tis a sizeable estate with a healthy income in rents."

"Indeed?" Rochford smiled. "You have my full attention, Your Grace. What know you of the lady? Is she at least tolerable to look upon?"

"I have not laid eyes on her, but I know one who has. My nephew’s secretary arrived with her."

The earl cocked one brow. "So I already have a rival for my heiress?"

"I would hardly say so," the duke replied with a chuckle. "Needham's an underling, a competent man, but without a pot to piss in."

Nick bristled. It was the undeniable truth, but it still stung to hear himself referred to with such disdain.

"Speaking of my nephew," the duke continued, "do I have your support regarding his nomination for first secretary?"

"Ah! Your Grace. I find myself in a precarious position, for Sandwich has already pressed me to back Montagu. Pray don't misapprehend me, Your Grace, but this treaty requires men of experience. "

The duke's expression darkened. "Montagu is mad as a March hare!"

"Montagu may be . . . eccentric . . . but none can deny his abilities. The man commands half a dozen tongues. The entire Montagu family is damnably talented in diplomacy and very well connected abroad. Sandwich believes him ideal for the post."

"Sandwich may be the ambassador, but I am the bloody Secretary of State! Marcus has been six years in the Foreign Service. Moreover, the Dutch like him."

"I see we are at an impasse," Rochford said. "Given we are both sporting men, I propose we settle this matter in a sporting manner. What say you to settling it with a wager?"

"What kind of wager?"

"Cricket, Your Grace. I challenge you to a match."

"And the stakes?"

"My support of your nephew for first secretary," Rochford said. "If you win, I will wholeheartedly sing Marcus's praises."