Page 10

It would not do. Marco had no plans to remain in Britain, and it was inconvenient that he would be living under the same roof as an attractive female during his stay. Not to mention that the fragility of Englishwomen was a source of painful reflection. But Miss Carter’s lashes fluttered in abashment and Marco’s lips curled in response. The urge to appease her embarrassment very nearly overruled his caution.

“Perhaps you can explain the … complessità?”

“Complexities,” Sebastian responded from behind him with dry amusement, and Marco suppressed a wince that his friend had noted his approval of Miss Carter. Marco realized he still clasped her fingers and reluctantly released them, affecting a gravity he did not entirely feel as he finished his reply. He returned his hand to put pressure over his injury in an attempt to distract his English friend.

“Perhaps you can explain the complexities of our relations at a later moment, when we have a free moment?” He did his best to quell any indication of flirtatious interest, but he knew the astute Sebastian would mock him when the opportunity arose.

A glimmer of a smile crossed her features, and Miss Carter’s blush spread out, much to his masculine satisfaction. Marco moved on quickly before their exchange drew untoward attention from his new family, noting that both Simon and the baron appeared bemused by other worries and had not noted the spark between him and their mutual cousin … by marriage.

Butterflies were all aflutter in her stomach, her heart beating rather too quickly in her chest, and her palms were damp within the confines of her gloves. Marco Scott had a deeply accented voice that thrilled her to the very tips of her toes and made her yearn for things she did not usually think about. Courtship. Weddings. Babies with shocks of dark hair and big black eyes.

She did not think of herself as a typical female, so it was quite a revelation to discover that her brain could quite dissolve and her pulse quicken at the sight of a striking gentleman.

As the introductions continued, she observed that Nicholas was grim, shifting on his feet as if his leg might be hurting him. She winced in sympathy. Ever since he had quit spirits, the young man had suffered both from the lingering effects of drink and the unyielding pain from his injury, which he was taking steps to address with the help of their new friend, Lady Trafford.

It was not the best time for him to be meeting so many new guests. The introductions were keeping him on his feet longer than was prudent, and she wondered if she should step closer to his side to assist. Perhaps she could fold her arm through his and allow him to lean upon her a little, easing his strain?

By the time the younger Scott, Angelo, was being introduced to Nicholas, she predicted from his pallor and the narrowing of his blue eyes that he was about to turn short-tempered. Angelo and Nicholas were about the same age, despite being from two generations. Angelo was a cheerful, brown-eyed young man of about five feet ten inches, with hair closer in shade to herself than his older Latin brother, but she supposed they had English blood in their veins to cause the disparity in appearance. It was strange to think that Nicholas was Angelo’s uncle when no one could be faulted for mistaking them for cousins.

Molly began to move over, worried that Nicholas needed her assistance, when Angelo grabbed his hand to enthusiastically pump in a friendly handshake. Handshakes were usually conducted between close friends. Few Englishmen engaged in such familiarity with strangers, but she could see how Angelo might be confused by how the baron had greeted them thus in a gesture of familial friendship.

Nicholas, however, was in a declining mood and thorny with discomfort because of his recovery. Staring down at their grasp with visible abhorrence, he yanked his hand away with an abrupt movement that nearly pulled their shorter guest off balance. Everyone paused, their attention shifting to the two men. Nicholas had a fierce glower on his face as he turned his gaze up to meet Angelo’s look of surprise.

“That is not how it is done!”

“Scusa?” Angelo responded in confusion, his boyish face openly perplexed.

“You should not touch me! Gentlemen bow in greeting! Did you not see how your brother did it?”

Molly did not know what to do. Angelo was reddening at the unexpected onslaught, while she knew Nicholas was being a curmudgeon because of the physical which must be intruding on his mood. She had not witnessed him being so intolerant before, but she knew that years of hard liquor were working their way out of his system, and that he had been complaining for days about the stiffness of his injured leg.

Angelo, to his credit, straightened to his full height to defend himself. “I thought Englishmen were meant to be polite!”

Simon cleared his throat. “I apologize for my brother, Angelo. We are a house in mourning, and tempers are inclined to fray.”

Nicholas growled in the back of his throat, limping away to drop his thin form onto the sofa. An awkward silence descended until Simon smiled politely and continued the introductions, evidently concluding he would skip Nicholas altogether for the sake of peace and diplomacy.

Returning to her seat, Molly watched as tea and biscuits were brought in along with candied nuts. Their guests appeared mollified as they quietly sipped their hot beverages while the baron asked them about their journey across the Mediterranean and marveled at the excellent time they had made from the port near Rome.

“Are you all right?” Molly whispered softly, her voice low.

Nicholas gave a curt nod. “Not an auspicious beginning with new family,” he muttered back while the discussion at large turned to sailing ships.

“Is it your leg?”

He bobbed his head, stretching out a hand to knead above his knee. “I was a terrible heel.”

Molly twisted her lips. “I am afraid you very much were.”

“Not my brightest moment. When Marco Scott inherits from John, he will recall that I am a dreadfully rude reprobate and think better of cutting me off.”

“Perhaps you should take some rest and then endeavor to make an attempt at peace with the young man.”

Nicholas exhaled sharply, heaving with the force of the breath. “Does he have to be so … enthusiastic?”

Molly glanced over to where Angelo was regaling the baron with the sights they had seen on their journey, waxing poetic over the blueness of the ocean, the puffy white clouds, and the herring gulls that had greeted them in an exhilarated chorus upon their arrival. He was animated as he spoke, and she experienced a quiver of worry for Nicholas and his new relations. In his current state of rehabilitation, he could not be more unlike the clear-eyed young man from Italy. Their ages might be comparable, but their temperaments were decades apart. Even when Nicholas had still possessed his humor, it had been of the dark, sardonic sort.

“Perhaps it will do you good to spend time with someone who embraces life so wholeheartedly. The pall of death in this household has been a misery, and you are working hard to change the course of your life.”