She gave him a look that said she didn’t trust him not to compromise her daughter further if she handed him the opportunity.
He inclined his head. “As you say.” He smiled softly at Sophie, who was seething with emotion. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”
She held his gaze for a long moment but then nodded and let out a long breath. “Send me a note if you need me.”
Lady Carlisle cleared her throat, reminding them both she was there.
Sophie disentangled herself from him and rose from the chaise. “Have a good evening.”
She left with her mother. Nicholas watched them go and then hastened to his guest room.
He sat at the writing desk and addressed a letter to Theo, then he lingered there, his quill in his hand as he stared at the blank page and wondered how on earth he was supposed to tell his brother how spectacularly he’d fucked up.
Deciding it was best to blurt it all out, he poured the entire story onto the page, but then he read it over and realized it was a bunch of rambling drivel that made no sense, so he scrunched the paper into a ball, tossed it at the fireplace, and started again.
No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t figure out how to word the letter in such a way that Theo wouldn’t be furious with him. He was halfway through his latest attempt when someone knocked on the bedchamber door.
Frowning, he pushed his chair out and got to his feet. He kept his footsteps light as he made his way to the door, wishing there were a tiny window he could peek through in order to determine whether he wanted to open it.
There was every possibility that Lady Somerset would be on the other side, prepared to cause more havoc.
But it could also be a servant with a note from Sophie.
He dithered for several seconds, and the knock came again. Reluctantly, he opened the door and peered through the crack.
He immediately closed the door again. Then, cursing, he opened it once more.
Baron Sylvestor stood in the corridor, clad in a tidy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the buttons at the neck open. He couldn’t have attended dinner like that, so he must have discarded his cravat before visiting Nicholas to… what?
Yell at him for stealing the woman he was courting?
The baron’s eyes twinkled, his mouth curled with amusement. That was… surprising.
“Can I help you?” Nicholas asked, internally scolding himself when his tone was harsh and cold. He was supposed to be the friendly brother, damn it.
“I heard what happened.” The baron shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tugged at his collar. “I, uh, apologize for misjudging your intentions. I honestly thought that you were simply interested in a seduction, but that’s clearly not the truth.”
Oh.
The last thing he’d expected was an apology, and he didn’t know how to handle it.
Resting one hand on the doorframe, he said, “Consider yourself forgiven.”
The baron stuck out his hand, and Nicholas shook it.
They both stood there, neither saying anything.
“Er, would you like to come in for a glass of brandy?” Nicholas offered, unsure what else to do or say.
Sylvestor nodded. Nicholas moved aside so that he could enter and then closed the door behind him.
Nicholas poured two fingers of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard and offered one to Sylvestor. There wasonly one chair in the room, so Nicholas perched on the end of the bed, while Sylvestor sat at the writing desk.
To his credit, he ignored the half-written letter and pile of screwed-up paper balls in the fireplace.
Sylvestor raised his glass. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
Nicholas lifted his glass in acknowledgement, and they both drank.
