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Even if her father finds a loophole and the inheritance is a pittance.
Fucking hell.
Because that meant having a lot more frank conversations than his fragile new bride was prepared for. Although she’d handled everything else rather well...
He steeled his resolve. Tonight. When I come to bed.
We’ll have to speak anyway.
Thankfully, the greeting of Clarendel’s servants and chief tenants took most of the morning and half the afternoon, when one added the tour of the grounds. Then came the meeting Nicholas’s steward swept him into, so he didn’t see Amy until dinner, which entailed music and entertaining his niece and sister, and Juliet’s particular friends from the next estate over, before he escorted Amy up the stairs.
“I must say, I’m not sure which prospect excites me more,” Amy said as they walked along the upper gallery. “That we’ll finally be in our own bed or that I won’t have to pack myself into a carriage tomorrow.”
“And you can stay in bed tomorrow.” He found his hand wandering proprietarily across the small of her back. “I should request you do that anyway. You had a rough journey.”
She smiled, clearly relieved to have an excuse to lie in. “I’d be happy to do so if only to allay your concerns.”
“Then it’s settled.” He slowed their pace before they reached his father’s room. His room, now. Nicholas cleared his throat. “I realize we agreed you’d share my bed. But I know the housekeeper’s shown you the adjoining apartments—yours. If you’d like to stay there in peace tonight—”
She put her hand over his. “If that’s what you’d prefer. But, um, I’d rather stay with you. If that’s ... if that pleases, my lord.”
“I’ve asked a lot of you since Gretna Green.” Nicholas swallowed, studying her wide, innocent eyes. He wondered if she’d ever look entirely jaded or had one of those angelic faces meant to fool men into handing her fortunes. He half wished he had one to offer. But that didn’t matter. She’d already joined his regiment. He reached for her waist, pulling her into an embrace without caring about the footman stationed at the end of the passage. “If you come with me tonight, there’ll be a game, Mia. Nothing hard. But you might be too tired.”
She lifted his hand to her lips. “I can rest tomorrow. It is my first night as your wife in your home. I wish to spend it at your side.”
“Very well.”
He escorted her into the lord’s chambers. The anteroom was old, its panels carved before the Virgin Queen died. They passed into the bedroom, which hung with faded tapestries of medieval hunts and boasted newer paneling—maybe from King Charles’ day—as well as a massive, carved bed. A four-poster monstrosity that took three maids to flip and change. Nothing about Clarendel was newer than old King George’s failing teeth. “You may begin quoting gothic heroines now if you like,” he sighed. “I’m afraid we haven’t the funds to do much more than accept the gaunt and grim, Mia. Even with your dowry. Hell, even with your inheritance, should someone knock your sire off a tower.”
It was impossible to read her expression as she took in the heavy state bed and surrounding furniture. “There are a good many towers in England.”
He laughed but turned away to shed his coat and waistcoat. “We will have to be wise with investments until the baron takes up climbing.”
Amy crossed the room to stop in front of him. “I don’t understand. If even my dowry is not enough, why did you...?”
The temptation to lie remained strong but was hard to support when she’d always been truthful. Nicholas pulled her toward the bed, sitting with her on the edge of the polished nightmare. “Because I’ve haunted far too many ballrooms looking for a rich sponsor or a wealthy patron or a weak heiress, Mia. You caught my attention as nobody else had for a ... a very long time.” He touched her silken hair, then gave in to his instincts to start pulling the cursed pins out of it. “New rule. No wearing your hair up at home,” he grumbled.
She laughed, letting him ruin her hairstyle and even turning her head to assist. “Very well, my lord. No more hairpins. But the question—”
“I intended to be a good person and not pursue you. Then you fell into my lap. I ... wanted you too fucking badly.”
Her cheeks turned a dusty shade of pink. “In that case, I’m certain I can lure my father into a tower.” She cleared her throat. “How much of a dowry did you actually need?
“To keep the place solvent? Yours will do. To manage any further crisis?” He ran his hand through her freed hair, spreading her silky waves over her shoulder. “I don’t know. The Princess of Naples might do.”
“Any chance of Juliet marrying her?”
That made him laugh, though the fear still hurt his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to Amy’s temple. “The next truth will make you hate me. I respect some people would prefer certain things remain unspoken...”
“Not me.” She stiffened, visibly bracing herself. “And what truth is that?”
“The whole story. I’ll start, and you stop me if it’s becoming too bad. Will that work?” He waited for her to nod.
Nicholas got up and poured them both a dose of mulled wine from the sideboard. “My grandfather lost almost everything, and my father finished his work. Juliet married the first man she could find to get away and landed with a pit viper who nearly killed her. I landed with His Majesty's Army thanks to a cousin. But buying ranks and keeping myself equipped cost money. I found it where I could—a few rough jobs, giving information to the worst people. But the easiest way came with the brothels.” He gave her the glass, and she stared at him over the rim.
“You said before you were, um, worldly. With the ... married women...” She drank deep. “Don’t all men enjoy brothels?”
“I found more than my pleasure there, Mia. I found patrons. Mostly married, bored aristocrats or the occasional bored mistress. They paid well. And I learned fast, like you.” He waited for the revulsion. But she remained still. Quiet.
