Servants scattered as he burst into the manor, all except the butler, Clipton. The diminutive man with his black hair slicked back as if it had been painted on his head rushed forward, reaching for Nash’s dripping coat and hat. “Saunders informed me your bath stands at the ready, my lord.”
Nash still wasn’t accustomed to having a valet who anticipated his every need. “Thank you, Clipton. I am expecting a Mr. Burns and a Miss Adelaide Hampshire. When they arrive, please see them into the front parlor, and notify me immediately.”
“Shall I have refreshments prepared, my lord?”
“No. Their visit will be brief.”And, hopefully, effective, Nash silently added as he climbed the stairs. At the top, he paused and stared longingly at the door to Sophie’s suite and sent up a prayer that this meeting would repair at least some of the damage done. In his heart, he knew it would take a lifetime to win both her forgiveness and trust once more. All he asked was a chance to prove he would never hurt her again, or be so foolish as to keep anything from her merely to avoid a clash of their wills. Lady Nia had been oh so right, and so had Merritt. He had been a coward when he chose not to tell her of his plans to help the general’s wayward daughter.
“Your bath, my lord.” Saunders directed him to the dressing room with an efficient tip of his head. “Shall it be casual attire this evening, or do you expect guests?”
“Not casual,” Nash said as he peeled off his soaked clothing and stepped into the tub. “I am dressing for war, Saunders.”
“War, my lord?”
The valet’s expressionless voice revealed no opinion whatsoever, but Nash knew better. Servants knew everything, and he had no doubt they were well aware that the lord and ladyof the manor were at odds with one another. “Yes, Saunders, war. I am fighting for my wife.”
“Foryour wife, my lord? Notwith?” For the first time, the stoic little man appeared to be slightly perplexed and attempting to clarify matters in order to react accordingly.
“Yes, Saunders, I am fighting to win my wife’s heart once more.” Nash hurried to wash, stepped out of the tub, and scrubbed himself dry. He halted as soon as he entered the bedroom and stared at the clothes laid out on the bed.
“Acceptable, my lord?”
“Yes, Saunders. Quite.” His military dress, complete with medals, sword, and highly polished Hessians, bolstered his hopes further. That had been his attire on their wedding day, and Sophie had seemed to like it. This plan would work. His precious swan would be his once again, and he would spend the rest of his life proving his devotion to her.
As he finished dressing, a quiet knock was followed by Clipton’s quiet announcement through the barely opened door. “Mr. Burns and Miss Hampshire have arrived, my lord. Waiting in the front parlor, as instructed.”
“Good.” Nash tugged his coat in place and adjusted the hang of his sword at his side. “Show them up, please. I shall be at the door to Lady Sophie’s suite.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Nash squared his shoulders, then charged forward as though heading into battle and took his post in front of Sophie’s rooms. He breathed a bit easier when he noted that Miss Hampshire had changed into one of the more sedate dresses provided by the modiste responsible for costuming the ladies of Rydleshire Academy. Burns had even combed his hair and appeared to be doing his best to look respectable.
Nash didn’t speak to either of them when they reached him, merely gave a curt nod and ushered them into the private sittingroom. He motioned for them to be seated on the sofa in front of the window.
Marie stepped out of the bedroom, clutching a pile of folded linens to her middle as if they were a shield. “My lord?”
“Please ask her ladyship if she is well enough for a brief meeting with myself, Mr. Burns, and Miss Hampshire.”
The maid eyed the pair on the couch, then slid a doubtful look back to him. “Her ladyship has had a very trying day, my lord, and is currently attempting to repair herself with a good, long bath.” She cleared her throat and took on a sterner air. “Forgive me, my lord, but I shan’t be interrupting her or asking her to hurry. She has been through too much, she has.”
Nash bowed his head. Unrelenting regret pounded through him, wrapping cruel fingers around his heart and twisting. “I am well aware of her suffering, Marie, but it is imperative that we speak with her. Please convince her to see us. We will wait however long it takes her to get ready—at her leisure, of course.”
The maid squinted at him as if wrestling with whether to do as he asked. “I will try, my lord,” she said quietly, then curtsied and disappeared back inside the bedroom.
“Colonel?” Burns said in a loud whisper while waving him closer.
Nash arched a brow as he walked toward him. From the man’s expression, there was no telling what he was about to say.
“Does she still have her pistol?” Burns cast a nervous look at the closed bedroom door. “Forthrite said she separated Nevillestone from his bollocks in one shot.” He gave Nash a leery nod. “After the week that lady’s had, you might want to make sure she’s no longer armed.”
“Rest easy, Burns. If she shoots anyone today, it will be me.” Nash returned to the other side of the room, then did another lap, unable to stand in one spot for very long.
“You better quit your pacing,” Miss Hampshire said while tapping the toe of her boot on the lush Persian rug at their feet. “She’ll be even angrier if you mark a trench in her pretty red and gold carpet.” She wiggled in place and glanced at the bedroom door. “She won’t be one of my instructors, will she? Showing me how to use weapons and such? I’m not so sure that would be such a grand thing.”
“I have no idea,” Nash said, and nor did he presently care. His sole concern was a selfish one. He wanted Sophie back in his arms and would never let her go. He continued his pacing, straining to hear the slightest sound from the next room. Nothing but silence reached him, and that was worse than shouting for Marie to tell them to all get out. Silence could be deadly.
He jerked with a start as the latch of the bedroom door clicked, then held his breath as it slowly swung open. He continued not to breathe as Sophie swept into the room, not dressed in her mourning clothes but wearing an off-the-shoulder gown of the whitest silk that shimmered with leaf work embroidered with golden threads. It was a ball gown designed to stop time and draw every eye in the room. And it did so, perfectly displaying the mounds of her creamy breasts that swelled with her every intake of breath, accentuating her long, slender neck, and showing off her lovely shoulders and narrow waist that filled his hands so perfectly. Gads, he had been such a damned fool.
Nash licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sophie,” he forced out in a rasping whisper.
