Why? As to that, he was clueless.
Perhaps it was simply that he liked to be good at things, but considering how often he made a misstep or got something wrong, that didn’t seem likely.
Ugh, this false courtship was unsettling him in the strangest of ways.
The door glided inward, and Albert, the cheerful, ruddy-cheeked butler, smiled at him. “How may I help you, sir?”
Nicholas handed him a calling card. “I have an appointment with Lady Sophie.”
Albert took the card and read it unnecessarily. He knew who Nicholas was, of course. “Lady Sophie is in the drawing room.”
Nicholas nodded. “I can see myself in.”
Albert bowed and stepped aside to let him pass. “As you wish, sir.”
As soon as Nicholas entered the foyer, the tinkling melody of piano music reached his ears. He followed the sound toward the drawing room and paused in the doorway.
Sophie hadn’t noticed his presence yet. Her head was tilted down as she played, her brow furrowed with concentration, and she swayed slightly from side to side, a lock of her vivid hair curling around the nape of her neck like a scarlet invitation to stroke the creamy skin.
The sun streamed through the window, burnishing her in shades of gold and dappling her with light and shadows. His chest tightened.
She finished playing and looked up at him. “Thank you for coming.”
He folded his hands in front of himself, ignoring the way one of them twitched as if dying to discover if her hair and skin were as soft as they looked.
Damn.
He’d always been something of a rogue, but he hadn’t expected this new attraction to Sophie, and it was deuced inconvenient.
“You’re welcome. You played beautifully.” As he was beginning to suspect she always did. He splayed his hands out. “I have presented myself, as requested. How can I be of service to Lady Sophie Carlisle today?”
A muffled laugh jolted him, and he clutched his chest, snapping around. His face heated as he spotted the maid in the corner, who’d covered her mouth and was trying to sink into the chaise. He’d been so preoccupied with Sophie that he’d failed to realize they weren’t alone.
In hindsight, that had been foolish. Men were never permitted to be alone with unmarried young ladies—especially not men like him.
He cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his shirt. Thank God none of his friends saw him jump like that or they’d have teased him mercilessly.
Sophie turned to the maid. “Betsy, will you call for tea, please?” She stood and motioned to a pair of chaises positioned opposite each other in front of an ornate fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Blackwell?”
Nicholas crossed to the two chaises and dropped onto one, slinging an arm along the back and lounging in a way that would have made his mother scold him. The display of nonchalance was just that: a display. He’d prefer if she didn’t realize that her summons had unnerved him.
Sophie sat on the other chaise, bouncing her knee and nibbling on her lower lip. “Yesterday, Mother and I were invited to a house party.”
“Oh.” He angled his chin up, failing to understand what this had to do with him. “Is that unusual?”
After all, many aristocratic families attended house parties while not in London.
Footsteps scuffed the floor as the maid returned, but she stayed in the far corner, and Sophie didn’t so much as glance at her.
“This house party will occur during the season,” Sophie explained, resting one palm on her bouncing knee as if to still it. “It will be hosted by Lady Wembley and held at their Lincolnshire estate. I am given to understand that one of the gentlemen I am considering as a future husband will be present.”
Intrigued, Nicholas straightened. “A house party during the season?”
Sophie waved her hand airily. “Something to do with unfavorable weather later in the year. The point is that I willhave the opportunity to spend more time with Baron Sylvestor.”
Baron Sylvestor.
The name settled heavily onto Nicholas’s shoulders.
