Royal Regard

Chapter Seventeen, Part 3

He straightened, placing the brandy on a side table. "She trades witticisms with the king like she was born to it."

"You have approached her as a woman of the world, but she is not one, nor ever will be. For all his faults, His Majesty understands that, which is why they get on so well."

Nick grumbled, "They get on so well, I'm surprised he hasn't given her carte-blanche."

Charlotte lightly slapped his knee, and her laughter trilled through the room. "Oh Heavens, you are jealous! Bella is not to Prinny's taste at all. She is not stupid or devious enough for his kind of bed-sport. Besides, Lady Conyngham would snatch her bald if there were any hint of it."

Nick feigned shock to hold a wicked grin in check. "My lady! What can you be thinking, to speak of such things?"

"La, Wellbridge. Don't be stodgy. Although they are not at all suited, should you wish to win Bella, you might be wise to listen to his discussions with her."

His face fell, and Charlotte's lips turned up. Apparently, his contrition was convincing. "Gardening, folk art, ancient manuscripts, architecture. He does ask for political opinions about her experiences abroad, as she is quite astute about such things—in some ways, she is more valuable than Myron—but he never makes it seem his decisions might rest on her opinion, even if they do. And he asks his questions when they are walking in the gardens or dining at Windsor or enjoying a musicale, not sitting in the throne room at St. James. He always treats her tenderly—always. If King George were wooing Bella, her skirts would already be about her ears, and Myron would be a duke, not an earl."

If that thought weren't hard enough to swallow, now Nick remembered every single time Prinny had warned him to be gentle—not to do exactly what he had done—and there had been many. He had taken it as rare royal over-protectiveness and assumed he knew more about seducing married women than the king, a ridiculous assumption just on its face. Even when he had been told if he broke her heart, Prinny would take out his indignation in equal measure, Nick hadn't changed his tactics one iota.

He dropped his face into his hand, massaging his temples. After a lengthy round of self-flagellation for not seeing what had been in front of his eyes, and not listening to what he should have heard, he looked up at Charlotte, patiently waiting for him to come to the right conclusion on his own. At the look on his face, her eyes softened.

Clearing his throat of self-disgust, he croaked, "Her parties are celebrated on every continent. She is a favorite of the Kings of France and England, the Emperor of Austria, and the tsar, to say nothing of their queens, ministers, and ambassadors, and endless nobles everywhere. She is a woman of the world, in every part of the world. How can she not be worldly?"

Charlotte patted his hand. "You can be forgiven the misapprehension, as she has learned to hide it well. She overcame her timidity to be a proper wife to Myron, but never lost her shyness. No matter the rumors, her life required her to be entirely circumspect—and I do mean entirely. The least of flirtations cause exponential problems in places where there are no women, even under the protection of Prinny's hand-picked naval officers.

"Since she's returned, well," Charlotte set down her cup, "it is a miracle she can speak to you at all, especially in London. The City itself leaves her tongue-tied. You cannot imagine the dread she built up about the ton all her life, and how spectacularly her fears came to fruition when she was presented. I am not entirely sure she didn't marry Myron so quickly to avoid the second half of her own Season."

His right forefinger tapped against the arm of his chair in time with his left boot on the carpet. "I should have realized. I hadn't thought."

"Have you done any thinking at all?" she admonished.

"No." He again dropped his head into his hands, mumbling through his fingers, "I've gone about this entirely the wrong way."

"Indeed. Even if you only meant her as your mistress, you've made a bungle of things. Really, Wellbridge. I had heard you were masterful at seducing men's wives."

The chair was nearly upset and Charlotte almost dropped her tea when he shot up onto his feet, no longer able to still himself. Pacing again in front of the fireplace, he was reminded of countless hours in similar pursuit since Huntleigh had made his ridiculous—astute—ridiculous proposal. He eyeballed the drink, but decided against it. It would only inhibit the thinking he now needed to do.

"Demme!" He stopped himself. "My apologies, Lady Firthley."

"I take no offense, and my name is Charlotte. It is indeed a mess."

His pacing took on a frenetic quality he'd never before experienced. Face turned down to pull out any insights he could drag from the carpet, he wanted nothing more than to throw off his coat and cravat and mount his horse for the two-day ride to Wellstone.

Not that he had any idea what he would do when he got there. He wasn't entirely sure it was still staffed. Only he had the strangest desire to sleep in the suite he had so rarely used, earmarked for his infrequent use when he had turned twelve. As though in so doing, he might put down the mantle of the Duke of Wellbridge and only consider himself as a man.

If he had met Bella as a blacksmith or a crofter or a footman, he thought, not as a duke and a rake and an erstwhile Corinthian, he might have gone about things properly, not like every other degenerate in London who had listened to on-dit about Bella being a wanton and so treated her as one.

Nick had, once more, let his hard cock make decisions about his honor, and used his title to costume his appalling behavior in a gentleman's overcoat. He had tried to buy her to install in his home as an amusement, and her husband had tried to sell her—as she had been sold to him. No wonder she had slammed the door in Nick's face. He had been lucky to get away without a knife in the gut. Huntleigh might yet be in danger, living with her temper 'round the clock.

Charlotte interrupted his cogitation again, but was halfway through her thought before he stopped pacing to listen.

"...should take from this conversation is that Bella has never in her life been pursued. Myron danced with her once and spoke to her twice, then applied to her father. Her only ideas of romance come from books, which she disdains as pure fiction."

He banged his fist against his thigh, for if he didn't he might slam it into the plaster wall. When he saw Charlotte draw back in slight distress, he calmed himself. He was a peer, after all, and a gentleman. He should have more control than to make a woman frightened by word or deed. He had seen enough fearful women for a lifetime.

Retaking his chair, he apologized for his demeanor, then took a small sip of his brandy, still miraculously almost full, and he not remotely inebriated.

"So, how does one romance a woman unfamiliar with the art? I assume you have suggestions for my continued pursuit?"

"Of course."

"Shall I ring for more tea?"

"Please. And just for fun, do you think your butler might be convinced I am your new chère-amie?" Nick choked as she teased, "It would be most entertaining if he could."