An absurd thing to want.And Nicholas did not do absurd.
He did strategy.He did leverage.He did winning.
But when he’d murmured,I wanted them to hear you,it hadn’t been strategy.
It had been…well.It had been honest.
Nicholas rolled his shoulders, impatient with himself.
In his world, honesty was a liability.Which was why he preferred his honesty dressed up as banter.Like the banter he’d shared with Bea in the coach afterward.
His mouth twitched at the memory.
Bea, bristling with the aftershock of her own courage, trying so hard to pretend she wasn’t pleased.Nicholas, doing what he did best: prodding until she snapped, and then smiling as if he hadn’t been aiming for that exact reaction.
And then?—
What if I do mean them?
He could still hear how softly he’d said it, as if the words had slipped out before he had time to examine them.Bea’s breath catching.That brief, unguarded stillness that always came just before she shoved her pride back into place.
Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the window, unfocused.
He had enjoyed that stillness far too much.
And then, of course, he’d ruined it the way he always did…with a provocation.With a wicked little invitation, a wink meant to remind her he was not some earnest reformer seeking her approval.
He was Nicholas Archer, after all.
He used words to produce his desired result.
And yet when he’d teased her—when he’d asked her to try her kissing again—Bea had rolled her eyes, yes, but she’d been interested.He’d seen it in her eyes.Felt it in the charge of energy within the coach air.The tiniest, most delicious betrayal of her own self-control.
You’ve no idea,he’d told her.
And she didn’t.
Not yet.
Nicholas dragged his attention back to his desk.He had an entire day ahead of him.Meetings.Letters.A committee session that would likely devolve into men shouting about “order” as if the word itself could solve hunger.
Not to mention he would almost certainly be summoned by his father to explain himself once the duke received word that Nicholas had escorted a young woman who had vociferously arguedforthe reform bill at a political salon.He smiled to himself.How satisfying it would be when he explained to his father that the young lady in question was none other than his soon-to-be betrothed, the Duke of Winston’s daughter.
He would bear his father’s chastisement as he always did.Because his father had taught him well.The best way to deal with him was to feign agreement.And wouldn’t his father have an apoplectic fit when he learned that his own son, the presumed pride of the Tories, had changed his mind on the reform bill…after listening to the arguments made by a woman?
It was true.
Nicholas had given Bea’s words considerable thought last night and had decided that far from agreeing with his father and Winston on the topic, Bea was perfectly right.Why shouldn’t the men who did all the work be allowed a voice in the decision making?It was only logical.
His father and Winston would hate it, of course.But they wouldn’t find out until the vote was taken.
The thought made Nicholas’s smile widen.
He reached for the stack of papers Godwin had placed on his desk—correspondence and the morning post.
The newspaper lay on top, folded neatly.
Nicholas hesitated.
