A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(29)

"Come," Lydia hooked her arm through Mariah's, "I will take you to your room and then I will show you the nursery."

***

White's Gentleman's Club, Mayfair



"Needham!" The moment Nick entered the room, Marcus strode past the tables of gamesters with arms extended. "What a fortuitous meeting! Pray tell me what brings you back to London so unexpectedly?"

"Business of a most disconcerting nature," Nick replied soberly. "I am so glad to have found you here."

"It is lucky indeed. Lydia and I only arrived from Modena a fortnight ago. Lydia refused to give birth outside of England. She believes it would make our sons less English."

"Sons?" Nick gaped. "As in more than one?"

Marcus grinned. "I'll let you be the judge when you see her. Indeed, there is even a wager placed in the betting book about how many she carries." He inclined his head to the table displaying the infamous tome. "So how do you fare under Rochford, Nick?"

"It took a while for him to look beyond my batting ability to my actual qualifications, but now he has gone so far as to entrust me with some business of an unusually personal nature."

"Unusually personal? Intriguing. Come, man." He laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Let us repair to a quiet corner for a drink, and we'll talk."

Marcus led Nick to his corner table, where a servant poured a generous amount of deep amber liquid into two glasses. Marcus offered the first to Nick, who slouched back in his leather-covered chair to take in the once-familiar surroundings—the low murmur of voices, broken by an occasional laugh, the distinctive riffle of cards, and the rattle of dice boxes from the next room.

Accepting the glass, Nick inhaled deeply of the smoky, sweet scent. "Brandy? You have given up port?"

Marcus grinned. "As our esteemed Dr. Johnson would say, ‘Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.’ Now that we are no longer at war with France, I am endeavoring to make up for eight years of deprivation. It's a pleasure I have sorely missed, but it is still a far second to the company of my best friend. So what is this personal business that has you overset? Does Rochford desire you to play pimp for him?"

Nick almost laughed aloud, so close was Marcus's jibe to hitting the mark. "Not quite, but very close," he answered. "He has appointed me his agent in a mission of matrimony. He has promised me a position in the department of my choosing if I successfully negotiate his marriage."

"Matrimony? Is that all?" Marcus's laugh echoed through the chamber. "And precisely why is this so disconcerting to you? Isn't this precisely what you'd hoped for—an opportunity to advance?"

"Because it's a veritable devil's bargain, that's why! His first choice of bride is Mariah."

Marcus paused, glass raised to his lips. He took a swallow and carefully set it down. "Mariah Morehaven? Lydia's cousin?"

"Yes. And I am in dire need of a friend's counsel."

Marcus's smile dimmed. "Are you indeed? I knew you were taken with her, but did you and she have some kind of understanding?"

"Of a sorts," Nick replied. "But only weeks ago, I wrote to release her from her promise."

"You did? Why would you do such a stupid thing?" Marcus asked.

"Because I'm a bloody dolt! I'd had too much to drink and was feeling sorry for myself. I essentially commanded her to seek someone else because I didn't want to ruin her life waiting for something that was never going to happen."

Marcus took a slow sip. "I hate to be the bearer of ill-tidings, but she seems to have taken you at your word."

"What do you mean? Have you heard something?"

"More than that, I'm afraid. She's asked my mother to help her find a suitable husband."

Nick stiffened. "She would act so soon?"

"Her mourning period has ended, and you released her. How long do you expect her to wait?"

"I . . . I . . ." Nick found himself at a loss for words. Why was he so distraught when she was only doing what he himself had made her promise to do?

"If it makes you feel any better, I believe her circumstances oblige her to act. Mama informed me that her father's will demands that she wed within a year of his passing or forego a large portion of her inheritance. You must go to her and tell her you're a bloody jackass and then beg her clemency."

"To what purpose? I am in no better position to offer for her than I was a year ago."

"Do you fear she would refuse you?"

He shook his head. "She said she would have me."

"Then take your bloody head out of your arse and ask her!"

"And become precisely what I despise? I have no respect for men who wed women for their money."

"Do you intend to squander her fortune?"

"Of course not! Were I her husband, I would do my very best to make her life happy and comfortable and secure. I would ensure that her tenants' needs were met and that her estates and investments were managed with the greatest prudence."

"Would you keep a mistress?"

"I have never done such a thing, even as a bachelor. I could never break faith with the woman I love."