‘Then perhaps we can teach each other.’ It was a few seconds before her response sank in and when it did, Nate closed his eyes, fighting the sudden ridiculous onset of tears.
When he opened them again, her softness had vanished. ‘I will tell my father that I agree to your terms, providing the problem with Reinhardt has been dealt with.’
‘And if it hasn’t?’
She quirked a mocking brow. ‘If it hasn’t, then I think it likely one or both of us will be dead.’
***
The Earl rented a small discreet townhouse for his new son-in-law to be in a pleasant square close to Green Park. Once installed, his valet was dispatched with strict instructions to ensure that the Viscount looked every inch the wealthy aristocrat by the time the rest of them arrived in London, which with luck would be around the middle of May.
Much to Nate’s consternation, however, he’d been in London for only two days before the Earl and Countess of Ravenstone arrived, together with their family and entourage. Within hours, the Viscount had received a noteinvitinghim to dinner.
Sitting with the summons on his lap, Nate felt as though he was trapped inside a runaway carriage with no driver. Somewhere in the last two weeks, he’d completely lost control of his life, and he had no one to blame but himself. The fact that the Earl ofCottesmore had no intention of making things easy for him had become quickly apparent. And to be honest, who could blame him?
Nate had hardly left the house since he arrived, and currently, just the mere thought of being in his father’s world had him wanting to throw himself out of the nearest window. Nevertheless, if he was to protect Mercy as he’d promised, he had to start bloody well acting likeViscount Carlingford. A sudden clang of the doorbell pulled him out of his doom-laden thoughts. Glancing down at his brand-new pocket watch, he saw it was nearly midday. Which he'd swiftly learned was far too early for callers – not that there’d been any.
He looked towards the drawing room door, waiting for the butler who’d been rented along with the house to come and tell him who had the temerity to make a call at such an ungodly hour. In the end though, he didn’t need an announcement, as the dulcet tones of Reverend Shackleford came floating from the hallway.
‘Don’t give me any of that nonsense about the Viscount not receiving visitors. I know he’s likely been up and about since well before sunup, so be a good man and tell him we’re here.’
We’re here? Who the bloody hell is we?
Nate hurriedly climbed to his feet. Ruby lifted her head but didn’t move from her position in front of the fire. He wasn’t the only one overawed by their current situation.
Seconds later, the door opened to reveal the stony-faced butler. ‘You have visitors, my lord,’ he said in the same tone he’d doubtless use to say, ‘You have the plague.’
‘Thank you, Grimsby. Perhaps you would be so good as to ask Mrs. Lovell to bring us some tea.’ The butler gave a frosty bow,and withdrew, leaving the doorway clear for the Reverend … and two strangers, one of which looked no older than eight or nine. Entirely forgetting his role as the courteous master of the house, Nate regarded them silently for a second before saying flatly, ‘A little notice wouldn’t have gone amiss.’
‘What did you want – a four-piece orchestra?’ The Reverend’s response was equally ill-mannered, and strangely enough, it served to finally break the sense of coming disaster that had gripped Nate since he’d arrived.
‘Ah didnae ken ye haed a dog, Maister.’ The boy’s delight was entirely unfeigned as he hurried over to Ruby and got down onto his hands and knees making clucking noises. Naturally, the terrier immediately rolled onto her back.
‘Where’s Flossy?’ asked Nate, suddenly realising the clergyman’s ever-present companion was missing.
‘With Lilyanna.’ At Nate’s enquiring look, he added, ‘Temperance and Adam’s youngest.’ He didn’t elaborate but his pained look said it all. The Viscount turned towards the Reverend’s companion, a small, slightly weasel-faced man with a single tuft of sandy coloured hair sticking out of this scalp. He too was wearing a cassock, marking him a man of the cloth.
‘My curate, Percy,’ the Reverend stated, and the lad on the floor is his son, Finn.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, my lord,’ the curate murmured, executing a clumsy bow. Nate inclined his head in return.
‘You don’t need to stand on ceremony with this fellow, Percy lad. Trust me, his house is worse than yours.’
Fortunately, at that moment, the housekeeper returned with a tray of tea.
‘Dae ye hae any tablet, Missus?’ asked Finn from the floor.
Since the boy might as well have been speaking French, the Reverend sighed and asked if she could bring some wafers, before turning to his curate and adding, ‘Do you ever feed the lad, Percy?’
Nate didn’t ask why the boy had a broad Scottish accent, but presumed he must have been adopted.
‘I assume this isn’t a social call,’ he commented drily to the Reverend instead, waving his guests towards the small sofa.
‘Three sugars and plenty of cream in mine,’ the clergyman announced as Nate poured out the tea. Gritting his teeth, the Viscount continued without looking up.
‘I thought we’d take the opportunity to have a bit of a tit a tit before my son-in-law arrives,’ Augustus Shackleford continued. ‘I’m very fond of Christian, but sometimes I think he was born with a poker up his arse. He’s worse than Nicholas, and that’s saying something.’ Nate, blinked, for a second having no idea what the clergyman was talking about. Then the curate gave a small cough and mumbled, ‘Tête-à-tête,’ into his tea.
‘That’s what I said. When was the last time you washed out your ears, Percy?’
