“Of course. Don’t you remember that great ugly ginger tom he smuggled into our rooms at Winchester?”
The dark man gave a faint shudder. “Good God, how could I possibly have forgotten Thomas Aquinas and his unnatural attachment to my boots?” He smiled at Nicole. “You are well qualified to please this particular gentleman. Come, let us adjourn to more comfortable quarters.”
For a moment Nicole teetered on the verge of flight, but the streets offered nothing but cold and damp and danger. At least tonight she would be warm, and probably well fed. In return for a few hours of endurance, she would have the money she needed to survive. Face set, she pulled her hood over her dark hair and followed the two young men to their carriage.
* * *
Philip had not spent such an enjoyable evening since his father died. It was good to laugh with friends and remember he was still young and that worrying himself into a decline would do no one any good.
When Kirby’s clock begin to chime midnight, he got to his feet with reluctance. “A pity to leave so soon, but I must if I want to be off at dawn tomorrow morning.”
He expected Kirby to insist that he stay, but his host said only, “You’re right. I need some rest myself if I’m to make it to the ancestral home tomorrow.” He gave Philip a bright-eyed smile. “When will you be in town again?”
“I’m thinking of hiring a house and bringing my mother up for the Season. She’ll be out of mourning soon. Some gaiety will be good for her.” Philip made a face. “Unfortunately, she’s been hinting that it’s time I looked for a wife. If I bring her here, she’ll throw every suitable miss in the Marriage Mart at me. She’s already introduced me to every eligible female in Northamptonshire.”
Horrified, Kirby exclaimed, “That’s a dashed dangerous business, Philip. It’s all very well to be a dutiful son, but if you aren’t careful, you could end up leg-shackled.”
“Believe me, I’m aware of the perils. I hope forewarned will be forearmed.” The baronet collected his hat, shook hands, and wished his friends a happy Christmas. Then he left and climbed the two flights of stairs to his own rooms. So convenient to live in the same building.
But that wouldn’t be true much longer. Regretfully Philip realized that he really must let go of his rooms. He’d had them since leaving Cambridge, but he was unlikely to spend lengthy periods of time in London again. Far more reasonable to stay in a hotel for his brief visits.
He sighed. One after another, the realities of adulthood were catching up with him. He had obligations to his family and his name that could not be neglected. Which brought him back to the depressing topic of marriage.
In an attempt to preserve his good spirits, Philip counted his blessings as he ascended the shadowy steps. Though he had initially been intimidated by his new responsibilities, he now had them well in hand. He very much enjoyed being master of Winstead. There was something elementally satisfying about working the land and seeing to his tenants’ welfare.
Though he did miss London friends like Kirby and Masterson, he had other friends in Northamptonshire. Family as well, so he certainly wasn’t lonely. Nor did he mind bearing his mother company, for she was the most delightful of women.
As he pulled out his key and opened the door to his rooms, he acknowledged why marriage was such a depressing prospect. He’d never met an eligible girl who was half so amusing as his mother or his sister, Marguerite. It wasn’t mere bias on his part. Both really were exceptionally charming, intelligent females.
It must be the French blood. A pity that the Continent was closed to Britons. Perhaps in Paris he would have better luck at finding a bride who wouldn’t bore him. But with Britain and France at war he was unable to put that theory to the test.
His sitting room was warm and he saw a glow of lamplight coming from the corridor that led to the bedroom. A member of the staff must have come in to build a fire and leave a light for him. It was like being in his own home. No wonder there was always a waiting list for rooms in the Rochester.
Whistling softly, Philip hung up his hat and walked down the short passage to his bedroom. He was starting to untie his cravat when his gaze came to rest on his bed.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Kneeling in the middle of the blue counterpane was a dark-haired young female, a delicious-looking creature who wore nothing but a provocative white negligee and an enormous red silk bow tied around her slender neck.
“What the devil?” Thinking that he must have drunk more than he’d realized, Philip gave his head a sharp shake, but the nymph was still there. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
“My name is Nicole, Sir Philip,” she said in a soft voice that contained a charming hint of accent. “I am a present from your friends downstairs. They said you have been working too hard, so they hired me to...to entertain you for the night.”
For a moment Philip felt pure exasperation at such high-handedness. He needed a good night’s sleep to prepare for the long drive home. If he had been in the mood, he would have found a girl himself.
But as he examined his visitor, he realized that he could easily get into the mood. She was very lovely, with delicate features and huge brown eyes. Her sheer white gown revealed as much as it concealed. His fascinated gaze came to rest on the spot where the trailing ends of the red bow curved over her left breast.
His pleasant languor vanished under a surge of vivid anticipation. Apparently his friends knew what he needed better than he did.
“Nicole is certainly an appropriate name for the season.” He peeled off his coat and waistcoat and tossed them aside, not bothering to watch whether they hit chair or floor. “But I’ve never seen a St. Nicholas who was half so appealing.”
After tugging off his boots, Philip sat down on the edge of the bed facing the girl. She was even prettier close up, her wide eyes like dark velvet pansies. Seeing green leaves twined in her hair, he leaned forward for a closer look, then chuckled.
“You really are a perfectly wrapped Christmas present.” Touching one of the waxy berries, he added, “Mistletoe is my favorite holiday tradition.”
Enjoying the moment, he let his fingers drift down through her silky tresses and along her graceful neck. He moved his hand to the back of her head and pulled her close for a kiss. He closed his eyes, the better to revel in the soft warmth of her lips and the tantalizing invitation of her spicy scent.
But even as his breath and blood quickened, he realized that something was wrong. Under his hands, her shoulders were rigid and he felt moisture against his upper lip.
He opened his eyes and found that huge tears were silently flowing down her pale cheeks. It was an unnerving sight. While he was no gazetted rake, he’d never had a girl cry when he kissed her. “What’s wrong?”
