His Duty, Her Destiny. Juliet Landon

he could have answered, but chose not to. ‘Is there anyone else?’ he said. ‘Suitors?’

      ‘Oh, good lord, man, dozens,’ said George. ‘They’re here first thing in the morning till last thing at night. She has…’ he laughed ‘…her own way of getting rid of them. You know Nicola.’

      Yes, he had known how, as a child, she had been well able to deal with the local lads, beating them at most things. ‘What?’ he said.

      George took a bite of food and answered with his mouth full, which he would not have been allowed to do at home. ‘Trials and tests,’ he said, munching. ‘If they don’t come up to scratch, they’re out. Not much change there, Ferg.’

      So that was what the contest had been about earlier. Fergus could not help a flutter of concern that, although he had passed the first test with flying colours, it might have cost him too dearly. ‘But no one in particular?’ he insisted.

      ‘Not that I know of. Why?’ George stopped eating and looked at his friend intently. ‘You really interested, after all this time?’

      ‘I promised my father before he died.’

      To George, this pronouncement lacked conviction. ‘Ferg,’ he said slowly, ‘putting promises aside, for a moment. With your wealth you could get any woman. This agreement…promise…call it what you will, was conditional upon a contract when you both reached the age of consent, and while I’ve done my best to get Nicola to commit herself to my father’s wishes, she’s never been one to have her mind made up for her. You remember what she was like as a little ’un. As stubborn as hell and kicking over the traces even then.’

      ‘Vaguely. I must admit my contact with her over the years hasn’t been good.’

      ‘No, it hasn’t. And she’s grown up. She’s made an impression.’

      ‘Then there is someone else, isn’t there?’

      ‘No one that matters, no.’

      ‘Then I have first call. And I’m calling, George. I intend to honour the agreement. It was my father’s last wish, and I promised him.’ Not for a moment did he expect George to be taken in by that, knowing what he did of Fergus’s resistance to his father’s control. They had not seen eye to eye until recently.

      As he suspected, George was not easily duped. He put down his knife and leaned forward. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’ he said in a low voice. ‘Why else would you be so insistent, eh?’

      Fergus’s stillness was all the answer he needed.

      There was a silence between them as George, ever the merchant, assessed the balance of trade. ‘I suppose you know,’ he said at last, ‘that you’ll be starting at a disadvantage?’ When Fergus merely looked straight ahead, George felt it his duty to remind him. ‘For one thing you’ve left all this a mite too late. If you’d come when she was fifteen, Ferg, you might have found her easier to deal with. As it is…’

      ‘She’s been courted. Yes, but she’ll have to forget them, won’t she?’

      George leaned back and took a deep breath. ‘I think, my friend, that you are forgetting something. Nicola is not your average young miss with stars in her eyes, waiting for the masterful swain to sweep her off her little feet. Far from it. She’s quite capable of keeping herself on ice until she sees exactly what she wants. And considering how she used to hate your guts when you took us all away from her on your wild goose chases whenever you came to stay, I’d say you have as much chance of winning her as you have of flying. I know she’s a beauty, Ferg, but you’ll have to do more than pull her hair and hide her pet rabbit if you want to get her into your bed. She has a long memory you know.’

      Though his jaw tightened, still Fergus said nothing.

      ‘Did you think it was all cut and dried?’ said George.

      ‘No, I know I have my work cut out for me, but I have to try. I realise I want her, George. Will you help me?’ He dared not trust himself to say more, and for a moment, Fergus thought his old friend was going to refuse, so long was the pause before he replied.

      ‘I shall not see her hurt, Ferg. She may occasionally adopt the lad’s role when it pleases her, but that’s for a reason that’s gradually losing its validity. It doesn’t mean she’s tough or insensitive to pain. She’s not. She’s a woman now, with all a woman’s needs, and she’ll not be easily won over. The decision will be hers, believe me.’

      ‘I do believe you.’

      ‘So, you still think you have a chance?’

      ‘As I said, I have to try. You know my ways, George.’

      George, Lord Coldyngham, leaned forward intently, placing his hands palm-down on the table. ‘Yes, I know your ways well enough, Ferg,’ he said. ‘And they may have worked on Scottish lassies or even on Cambridge whores, but they’ll not do for Nicola. She’s different.’

      ‘I want her, George,’ Fergus insisted. ‘I have to find a way forward. I think she’ll respond to my way, eventually.’ She was different, he knew. In every way she was rare and priceless, and the sight of her half-naked on the bed, below him, wounded, was something that would stay in his mind for ever. Heaven knows what might have happened if the maids had not returned at that moment.

      ‘Oh? You’ve spoken, then?’

      ‘Briefly.’

      ‘She’s still afraid of you?’

      ‘She’d not admit it, even if it were true. She still dislikes me, yes, but I cannot blame her for that. I gave her no reason to do otherwise, did I?’

      ‘Then, yes, you will have your work cut out. But I’ll help.’

      ‘Thank you. It’s the most I can expect after all this time. The rest is up to me.’

      ‘Er…no, Ferg. The rest is up to Nicola, wouldn’t you agree?’

      Wincing at his own clumsiness, Fergus nodded. ‘Yes, I do agree. But never fear, George, I shall win her even if it takes for ever.’

      George leaned back to watch his friend pour two more beakers of ale from a large jug with a smirking face modelled on its side. Fergus’s expression, he noted, was anything but amused, but held that grim determination he had shown as a youth when it was woe betide anyone who got in his way. Then, he had habitually won whatever he set out to win; now, George was not so sure. Nicola, he thought, might be in for a rough ride. And Fergus too.

      Fergus’s thoughts went along much the same lines, though it also crossed his mind that he would be expected to pay very dearly for that string of shining rubies he had placed upon Nicola’s beautiful breast only an hour ago.

       Chapter Two

       I n the cosily panelled solar hung with tapestries and filled with morning light from a large pointed window, the sound of bells from St Helen’s Priory next door drowned out the constant thudding of Nicola’s heart as the two young maids went about the task of tending her wound. The thick oaken door had been locked and bolted since the departure of the unwelcome guest more as a gesture of defiance than necessity, for none of the three expected him to return, though the locks and bolts of Nicola’s heart could tell a different story.

      For many years, the thought of marriage into the house of Melrose had seemed too remote to be real, especially during her father’s long absences from home when, motherless, Nicola had been left to run wild with her brothers, cared for by a large household and one aged nurse. Eventually, he had sent her to York to join the household of another noble family, there to learn the manners and graces required of all such women aspiring to good marriages. Nicola’s aspirations, however, were to avoid one marriage at all costs, the one to Fergus Melrose that her father was set on. When her father had died fourteen months ago, leaving her a sizeable income from property and his comfortable house in London, she believed that at last she would be allowed to manage her own affairs.