A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement) Read online

"I have all of those," Mariah replied. "I am heir to a title and estate in my own right, along with a significant fortune, and it's been nothing but a curse."

  "Why do you say so?" he asked softly.

  "Because all heiresses are beautiful," she replied dryly, wondering if he would recognize the Dryden quote. His thin smile said he did. "I fear becoming a target of fortune hunters. I do wish to marry one day, but I don't want to be the means to an end. I hope to find someone who will care for me, not just my wealth and property."

  "You are wise to be wary. There are many unscrupulous men in the world, those who would go to extreme measures to gain what you have. I even fear you may be entering the wolves’ den."

  "How so?"

  "Many of the duke's guests will be younger sons who bear courtesy titles but have no property or means outside of the diplomatic corps. I warn you to take great care with such men."

  "Did you not just describe yourself, Mr. Needham?"

  "No, my lady. The difference is that I would never presume to pay suit to a lady when I have nothing to offer her."

  Never? Mariah's heart gave a painful squeeze. "You believe you have nothing to offer? I beg to differ with you. You are well bred, are you not? You are also young, intelligent, and ambitious." She barely caught herself from adding handsome to his list of attributes. Although she found it increasingly difficult to ignore his good looks, it was hardly relevant to the discussion. "Many men in like positions to yours have achieved greatness without having been born into it."

  "My lady, while I consider myself a competent and sensible man, I do not delude myself with visions of grandeur. To do so would be needless torture."

  "But didn't you say that you once hoped to achieve a ministry post?"

  "That was before I fully understood the workings of the machine," he said.

  She marveled that the men in charge of the government could be such self-aggrandizing fools that they refused to recognize a man for his true worth. Then again, she hadn't enough experience of such men or matters to know.

  "But now that you do understand, is there not a way to work this so-called machine in your favor?" she asked.

  "How do you mean?"

  "You said earlier that the Duke of Bedford is fond of cricket. Do you play?"

  "I have little time for sporting pursuits."

  Mariah slanted her gaze upward and replied with a smile, "But if patronage is indeed how the wheels of this machine turn, perhaps, Mr. Needham, you should take up the game?"

  ***

  Nick considered her for a long, silent moment. It wasn't the actual remark she had made, but the look that accompanied it. He was certain she was unaware of it, but the seductive wood nymph had reappeared. There was something mesmerizing about the angle of her head, the way she pursed her lips, and the stray curl that had entangled itself about her ear that made him suddenly want to touch her. The urge was so powerful he had to close his hands against it. "I used to play," he replied. "Back in my university days."

  "And I used to play the harpsichord," she said, "but I was never any good. So now I must ask, were you good, Mr. Needham?"

  "I was one of the better batsmen," he replied. "I frequently hit over the boundary."

  "Indeed?" Her eyes challenged as her gaze held his. "Then one wonders if you still possess talent with your bat or if it has diminished with disuse."

  Nick shifted in his seat. If this were any other woman of his acquaintance, he would have no doubt of the sexual innuendo, but he was as certain as he lived and breathed that the "bat" to which Lady Mariah referred was merely the club made of willow. "I don't know. I haven't held a cricket bat in over five years," he said.

  As to the other, at the moment he was absolutely certain it had not suffered from prolonged disuse. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been with a woman, probably over a year ago at the preliminary peace talks in Breda. Given their success in setting the stage for a treaty, he'd indulged in a rare spree of celebratory dissipation.

  Nick had never had a mistress. He'd never even entertained thoughts of keeping a woman for pleasure, for the very same reason he'd never contemplated marriage—because he was man of extremely limited means. His only hope to improve his circumstances would be advancement in the diplomatic corps, which meant endless work and constant travel. He'd long ago accepted that work would fill his hours and emptiness would be his constant bedmate—a dismal future indeed.

  "I wonder what sort of man you are, Mr. Needham," she said. "Are you content to cheer the team on, or will you secretly be itching to best them?"

  "Are you dropping the gauntlet, Lady Mariah?" He smiled. "Let us say that Marcus is not the only one who hates to lose."

  "Neither do I. I am also possessed of a competitive nature, especially at cards," she confessed with a grin. "I would love to watch you play cricket."

  "Given the duke's fondness for the sport, no doubt the opportunity will present. Do you really enjoy the game?"

  "I do. I even played a bit when I was a girl. I was a tolerable bowler, but I could never quite master batting. I don't know if it was poor timing, the size of the bat, or the weakness of my stroke, but I always pitied my fellow batsman."

  "The size of the bat matters little as long as one employs proper timing and a forceful stroke. Ideally, the two batsmen should be in perfect synchrony as they come together." Nick almost groaned at the innuendo in his own words.

  "Indeed? Do you suppose you could teach me?" She smiled up at him again before dropping her blue-green gaze. "I suppose I shouldn't presume to monopolize your time. I know that you must attend to your business rather than my pleasure."

  Her pleasure. Nicolas shut his eyes on a sudden image of Mariah lost in the throes of ecstasy.

  "Is something wrong, Mr. Needham?" she asked.

  "No, my lady," he replied. Unable to resist any longer, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "I would take great delight in making my business your pleasure."

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense,

  But good men starve for want of impudence." - John Dryden

  MARIAH'S EYES JOLTED OPEN to discover her head resting against the broad, solid surface of Mr. Needham's shoulder. "I-I beg your pardon," she stammered. "I must have dozed off." Noting the carriage had ceased its movement, she asked, "Have we arrived?"

  "No," Mr. Needham replied. "The road is obstructed by a fallen tree. I was loath to wake you, but 'twould be best if I alight to assist the coachman in moving it."

  "Is it a very large tree?" she asked.

  "I don't believe so, but it still must be moved. This is a heavily forested stretch of road, and there is no way around it."

  Lady Russell sat up with a yawn. Eyeing them with blinking eyes, she asked, "Why have we stopped, Needham?"

  "A tree has fallen across the road. I must go and have a look."

  "Perhaps I shall go with you," Mariah said. "I am unaccustomed to sitting so long. It would be good to stretch my legs."

  Mr. Needham inclined his head to Lady Russell. "Would you also care to alight?"

  "I think not, Needham. One fallen tree looks much like another."

  "As you will, my lady."

  "A moment, if you please, Needham." Lady Russell reached beneath the seat and slid open a drawer, revealing a pair of pistols.

  "You have a hidden compartment?" Mariah exclaimed.

  "One can never be too careful, my dear. I have them cleaned and loaded prior to every journey. Marcus insists that I carry them in case of trouble." Lady Russell offered one of the weapons, muzzle downward, to Mr. Needham. "Have a care, Needham."

  "I believe the tree is already quite dead," he quipped, "but thank you for the warning, madam." He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his breeches.

  Mr. Needham opened the door and preceded Mariah out of the coach with a leap. Mariah hesitated upon noting the coachman had not let down the stairs.

  "Would you like me to assist
you, my lady?"

  "If you please, Mr. Needham." She sucked in a breath as he settled his large hands on her waist. Their gazes met and held as he lifted her effortlessly to the ground. "Thank you, Mr. Needham," she said, feeling quite breathless.

  "Nicolas, please," he murmured softly, his hands still on her waist. She darted a nervous glance toward the open coach door. They were in plain view of Lady Russell. He must have realized it too. He dropped his hands abruptly from her sides.

  "Pray stay close by, my lady, whilst I go and assess the situation."

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he turned his back. In truth, she was in great need to relieve herself but never would have said so in front of him. Heading in the opposite direction behind the coach, she located a thicket of shrubbery, where she quickly took care of her needs. After settling her skirts, she headed toward the front of the vehicle and froze at the sight of the coachman lying insensible on the ground. Her gaze darted upward to find two large masked men with pistols. One was mounted, and the other stood facing Nicolas with his weapon cocked. Thankfully, neither of the brigands had taken notice of her. She crouched along the side of the coach, close enough to hear but hopefully not to be discovered. Her mind raced. What to do?

  "Keep yer hands where I can see 'em, guv. Make a move," the brigand bearing the pistol threatened Nicolas, "and I'll blow a hole in your gut the size 'o Bedfordshire."

  "Is that where we are?" Nicolas asked mildly, as if inquiring about the weather. "I could have sworn we were still in Hertfordshire. But then again, you aren't really from here, are you? I detect a distinct hint of Newcastle. No, maybe not Newcastle," Nicolas amended. "But you are definitely from the north. I'm certain of it. West Riding perhaps?"

  "Shut yer bloody yap!" the mounted man bellowed.

  "I certainly commend your audacity," Nicolas continued unabashed. "A man must have bollocks of brass to rob a coach in full light of day when he can be so easily identified."

  "What d'ye mean?" said the first thief. "Ye ain't seen our faces."

  "I don't have to see your faces," Nicolas said. "Both your accent and his horse are easily identifiable." Nicolas inclined his head to the mounted man's horse. "I can't imagine there are many walleyed piebalds in Bedfordshire."

  "Dead men tell no tales," said the first brigand.

  "Ah! You quote Dryden? How intriguing. I am robbed by a highwayman of rare breeding." Nicolas arched a brow. Mariah wondered what he was about to taunt them so. Did he not realize the danger he courted? "Do you really intend to add murder to your crimes?" he asked.

  "It needn't come to killin' if ye hand over the goods," the highwayman growled.

  "Hold 'im there, Jeb," the mounted man commanded his companion in crime. "I'll see what they be carryin' in this fine coach."

  Mariah stifled a gasp. Remembering the second pistol in Lady Russell's coach, she stepped backward, only to trip on her gown. Her lungs emptied with a grunt as her backside hit the hard ground.

  The mounted ruffian instantly spun around to face her. "What 'ave we 'ere?" His face split into a lecherous leer as he dismounted. "Let's see what the missy's got for ol' Bart . . . or mayhap ol' Bart's got something for the missy."

  She gazed up in speechless horror and scrambled backward like a crab as the lecherous highwayman approached. In growing panic, she looked to Nicolas. Both men were watching her. In the few seconds his assailant was distracted, he slid his hand under his coat. Her heart lodged in her throat as he retrieved the hidden pistol.

  Both highwaymen froze at the click of a hammer cocking.

  "If you think to add ravishment to your litany of crimes," Nicolas said, "think again."

  "You've got one shot, guv," the first highwayman said. "Use it on me, and Bart takes his pleasure while you watch. Use it on Bart over there, and I'll kill ye. Now how d'ye s'pose this'll play out?"

  "There is a third option you have not considered." Four sets of eyes riveted toward the coach, from whence Lady Russell emerged holding the coachman's blunderbuss. "It is primed and loaded, and I assure you, gentlemen, I most certainly know which end to point. Mariah," she said, "why don't you wait in the coach like a good gel. Needham, pray feel free to disarm our friend Jeb. I believe both of these fellows will need full use of their hands in order to move this infernal tree from our path."

  ***

  "Needham," Lady Russell said with a sniff, "I can't tolerate it a moment longer. Would you please cast them out?"

  "Pardon, my lady?"

  "Their clothes." She wrinkled her nose. "The stench is unbearable. Pray let us be rid of them. Surely we have enough miles between us now. There is little chance they'll catch up with us."

  "Certainly not without their horse. Do you think they'll press charges for horse thievery?" Nicolas asked. "I believe 'tis a hanging offense."

  Lady Russell released a gleeful chortle. "What a farce the entire episode turned out to be! They thought to rob us, only to be left by the roadside as God made them. And what pitiful specimens of manhood they proved to be," she added with a wink. "Call it a widow's whim, but I can't help measuring every man by my dear departed Wriothesley's," her lips curved wickedly, "standard."

  Nicolas and Mariah simultaneously colored at her scandalous remark.

  "Weren't you frightened, my lady?" Mariah asked, eager to change the subject. "Would you truly have shot them?"

  "Undoubtedly," Lady Russell replied. "But I prefer not to think of such unpleasantness. Happily, we are all safe and sound, aside from my poor coachman's bruised head." She sighed. "I suppose 'twould be wise to beg the duke to provide us outriders for our return journey."

  ***

  It was late afternoon when Lady Russell's traveling coach turned up the long chestnut-shaded drive leading to Woburn Abbey. Although Mariah resided in a large and ancient manor, it was still a struggle not to gape at the sheer opulence of the grand Palladian mansion surrounded by meticulously manicured grounds and its vast expanse of lushly wooded deer park.

  "This entire property was once a Cistercian monastery until confiscated by our good King Henry and awarded to one of the present duke's ancestors for services to the crown," Mr. Needham said. "The original house dates back to the twelfth century, though I don't know how much remains since the present duke has rebuilt it."

  A veritable army of footmen in forest-green velvet livery greeted the coach as it came to a halt under the marble-pillared and pediment-topped porte-cochere. One footman lowered the coach steps, and two others flanked their progress to the massive double doors of the duke's mansion. The doors swung open in synchrony into a marbled foyer with a soaring frescoed ceiling.

  Nicolas followed her gaze as it tracked over the faces of smiling angels and dancing cupids and then down the silk-covered walls adorned with priceless paintings. "The Dukes of Bedford are renowned for their love of art," he said. "If you also enjoy it, I daresay you will be impressed by the gallery."

  While Mariah gazed almost awestruck at her surroundings, Lady Russell wasted no time in chastising the servants.

  "Why is there is no one to greet us?" she inquired, painted brows raised.

  "The duke and duchess are hosting tea, my lady," the head footman replied apologetically.

  "Very well," she sighed. "I won't impose upon them. Did my baggage coach arrive?"

  "Indeed, madam," he answered, "a little over an hour ago."

  "Good, then. Will I be in my usual rooms?"

  "Indeed, my lady. Miss Trent and Lady Mariah have been given the adjacent chambers. Shall I have a footman escort you?"

  "There is no need. I daresay I know my way around this monstrosity," Lady Russell replied.

  "Do you not find it strange that Lydia and Lord Marcus have not come to greet us?" Mariah remarked. "Do you suppose they are at tea?"

  "Miss Trent is not traveling with you?" the footman asked.

  "No, she is with Lord Marcus," Lady Russell replied.

  "But Lord Marcus has not yet arrived, my lady."


  "Are you quite certain?" Lady Russell asked. "They departed well before we did and were traveling in a much lighter vehicle. They should have arrived hours ago."

  The footman sniffed. "I am most certain, madam. It is my duty to oversee every guest's arrival."

  "My lady," Mariah interjected, "what if they were also set upon by highwaymen? What if they were not as lucky as we were?"

  "Surely they were not set upon," Mr. Needham reassured. "'Twas a highly unusual occurrence in broad daylight. No doubt they simply stopped for refreshment."

  "For two hours, Needham?" Lady Russell asked.

  "If it eases your mind, I shall proceed to make inquiries after Marcus and Lydia," Nicolas offered. "I must speak with His Grace anyway as I carry important correspondence that requires his immediate attention. I will report back to you after I have spoken with him."

  "Very good. Pray inform the duke that I would like a word later when he is free."

  "As you wish, my lady."

  "You see?" she said to Mariah. "Needham will look after everything. In the meantime, let us go and take a brief repose."

  "But, my lady, how can I rest when I am worried about my cousin?"

  "I assure you there is nothing to worry about." Lady Russell patted Mariah's hand with a look of maternal sympathy. "You must refresh yourself, my dear. You will want to look your best. Once the evening begins, there will be no rest for the weary. First there will be a reception, and then music, followed by supper and cards." She pursed her lips with a frown. "I do hope Marcus manages to arrive by then. If he fails to appear by supper, he will surely incur the duke's displeasure. My brother-in-law is well-known for his hot temper and his cold heart. 'Tis a most unpleasant combination." She lightly tapped Mariah with her fan. "Come now, my dear, you mustn't gape. Let us go. I am fatigued."

  "Will we see you later this evening, Mr. Needham?" Mariah asked.

  "I cannot say, my lady," he replied. "My time is not my own. I am at the duke's disposal, at least until Marcus arrives."