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

  She couldn't ignore how his breeches pulled taut over his muscular thighs and rounded buttocks as he assumed the batter's stance. She'd never been so drawn to the male form until now, but there was a kind of beauty and athletic grace in each of his movements.

  "Are you watching?" he asked.

  "Yes," she replied. "Very intently."

  He lunged forward as he swung the bat. The crack of wood on the ball split the silence. The stocking-covered ball shot into the air and then jerked back down, it's flight halted by the stocking and rope. Nick immediately stepped forward into another swing, striking the ball again and again.

  He continued for several minutes without pause, never missing the ball. His brows contracted in concentration, his breathing came harder, and his shirt clung to his perspiring body as his strikes came harder and faster. As he lunged into another hit, the ball suddenly shot out of the stocking and into the air, flying far into the tree line.

  "Bloody hell," he cursed and threw down the bat.

  "Do you not have another ball?" she asked.

  "I do, but I tore a great gaping hole in the stocking."

  "Have you another?"

  "Only on my feet."

  "That is no good at all," she said. "You would look very peculiar walking around with one stocking, not to mention the discomfort. Perhaps I could assist you?"

  ***

  Mariah had already untied and removed one boot before Nick even realized what she was about. Her hands worked under her petticoat as she untied her garters and slid her stockings down her calves. As he imagined what he could not see, a surge of heat hit his groin. Although her actions were concealed by her petticoats, the knowledge alone of what she did flooded his brain with the most erotic visions of long and shapely bare legs.

  "Bloody hell, Mariah!" he groaned. "I thought I was distracted before! You have no idea what you are doing to me."

  She looked up with a perplexed expression. "But I am only removing my stockings."

  "And now practicing with this bloody bat is the last thing on my mind."

  "But you must," she insisted. "Didn't you say that everything depends on the outcome of the match?"

  "Yes," he said. "It does."

  "Then you cannot let anything distract you."

  She rose and brushed the grass off her skirts and then offered him her silk stocking. Nick's gaze flickered from the stocking to her guileless blue-green eyes. She truly had no idea what she did to him, but he was aware enough for both of them. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. She yielded to him instantly, eagerly melting into him as his lips sought hers in a slow, savoring kiss. Her scent was as fresh and fragrant as spring flowers, and her lips tasted like heaven. How had he lived twenty-six years and never experienced such pleasure from a kiss?

  She twined her arms about his neck, pressing her soft, supple body to his, opening her lips to him with a breathy sigh that he caught with his mouth. As he drew out the kiss, she surprised him with teasing nips and tiny flicks of her tongue. It was achingly sweet and made him want so very much more. Not only to feel himself inside her, but to see the rapture in her eyes as her passion awakened to full bloom.

  He backed her slowly up against the tree, pressing his body into hers, suddenly aware that there was no obstacle of hoops between them, only thin layers of linen and muslin. Her eyes widened and breath hitched as he slid his thigh between hers. He kissed and licked up the slender column of her throat and then sought the hollow behind her ear.

  "Oh, Nick," she gasped. "What are you doing to me?"

  "Certainly not what I wish to do. Where are your bloody hoops?"

  "I never wear them while out walking," she replied breathlessly.

  He licked the shell of her ear and nibbled her lobe. "My God. You do tempt a man to sin, Mariah."

  "And I have no will to stop you," she murmured, throwing back her head to give him better access. "I can't understand how a simple kiss can contain so much power."

  "I never would have imagined it either, had I not experienced it. I almost believe I've been enchanted by a wood sprite," he replied with a twitch of his mouth.

  They were thus engaged and utterly caught up in the pleasures of the moment when Marcus came upon them, sounding a loud cough. Nick and Mariah instantly separated. Mariah lowered her lashes and smoothed her skirts. Both of them were panting with frustrated lust. Nick had never before desired to strangle a man with his bare hands until that moment. He stepped toward Marcus, hoping to shield Mariah and give her a moment to compose herself.

  "So the sluggard is out of his bed at last."

  "Yes, but it was far from my preference. Duty alone dragged me from it." Marcus's gaze raked lazily over first Nick and then Mariah. "But now I perceive we all would have been better . . . satisfied . . . had I remained abed," Marcus replied with a smirk.

  "I shall come and watch you play later, Mr. Needham," Mariah murmured, her cheeks tinged bright pink. "You must practice for the match, and I must return."

  "You bloody jackass!" Nick hissed under his breath as a mortified Mariah scurried away. "Did you really have to do that?"

  "I'm afraid so." Marcus chuckled. "You may be a slow starter, but I credit you with making damned short work of it. She descended the stairs looking quite tumbled last night, and now I nearly catch you in flagrante delicto. Funny, I've never known you to indulge in dalliances before."

  "Bloody hell, Marcus, it's not like that. I would never—"

  Marcus arched a brow. "Never?"

  Nick groaned. It was obvious his best friend wasn't about to let it go. "It was innocent. I merely kissed her."

  "There are many kinds of kisses," Marcus remarked with a lascivious leer. "I wonder what kind you shared?"

  "We're done discussing it," Nick snapped.

  "Pity. We were just getting to the good part. As to the rest, should I seek out a new secretary?"

  "Why would you ask that?"

  "Because it appears you have set your sights on matrimony."

  "I'm not in a position to offer for her, Marcus."

  "What did I say before about the glass of wine?" Marcus clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You are the best of men and a true friend, Nick. Rest assured that I shall do my utmost to help you achieve your desire." Marcus considered him for a thoughtful moment. "I wonder, would you be averse to a post in Turin?" Marcus asked.

  "Turin? You mean with Rochford?"

  "Yes. He claims that Duke Charles Emmanuel is quite an Anglophile. He's become quite enamored of English country dancing and now Rochford has a mind to bring the great English sport of cricket to the Italians. Impress him with yours skills today, and I am certain he will find a place for you. I will certainly do all I can to encourage the idea."

  "Very well," Nick replied. "Since both of our livelihoods depend on this afternoon's match, I suggest you begin by bowling for me."

  ***

  Mariah left the cricket field with a hasty stride and cheeks aflame. She had left her room for a simple morning walk. How mortifying that it had ended by being caught in the middle of a torrid embrace. She couldn't help wondering what would have transpired had Lord Marcus not come upon them. Perhaps he'd saved her from herself? Every time Nick touched or kissed her, her desire only increased. Was this the same fiery passion that had brought Lydia and Lord Marcus back together? Appearances seemed to suggest it. Would he say anything to Lydia? She was dying to confide in someone, but she'd promised Nick not to reveal their relationship. Then again, she doubted Marcus would keep his lips sealed from his new bride.

  She returned to her chamber to find her cousin waiting for her. "Mariah!" Lydia exclaimed "I have been looking all over for you."

  Her pulse accelerated at the worry lines etching Lydia's face. "Is something wrong, Lyddie?"

  "A coach and footman have arrived from Morehaven. Your mother bids you come home at once."

  "Is it Papa?"

  "Yes. The doctor says it's a lung fever. It began three days
ago. He fears this may be the end."

  "Poor Mama," Mariah said. "She is surely falling to pieces."

  "Sally is already packing your things. Shall I come with you, dearest?"

  "And leave your new husband?"

  "Marcus will surely understand. Besides, he will be leaving soon anyway. I was planning to return to London with his mother until such time as he sends for me."

  "Then you wouldn't mind coming with me instead?"

  Lydia wrapped her arms around her. "Of course not! Besides, the coach trip will give us time to get caught up with one another. So much has transpired that I feel like years have passed between us instead of mere hours."

  "Thank you, Lyddie. How much time do you need?"

  "None at all. My arrival was so late that I haven't even unpacked yet. I only need to speak to Marcus, and then we can be on our way."

  "He's with Nick. They are practicing for the duke's cricket match." Mariah realized her slip the moment Lydia lifted a brow.

  "Nick?" Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Do you perhaps refer to my husband's secretary, Mr. Needham?"

  "Yes, Lyddie, I refer to Mr. Needham."

  "I was unaware that you were on terms of intimacy. Has he asked for your hand, Mariah?"

  Remembering her promise, Mariah licked her lips. "Not precisely."

  "Then what . . . precisely?"

  "Let us discuss it later, Lyddie. I must prepare to depart."

  "Of course," Lydia said. "I'll send a footman at once to locate Marcus."

  Mariah's thoughts and emotions collided in chaos. Only last night she'd fully intended on returning home, but one night had changed everything. Now, the idea of leaving Woburn Abbey, of leaving Nick, squeezed her chest, but Papa could be dying. There was no time even for good-bye. She was needed at home.

  She went to the writing desk, where she sat and smoothed out a clean sheet of foolscap. Taking up a quill, her hand hovered over the ink pot as she composed her scattered thoughts.

  My Dearest Nicolas,

  It pains me beyond measure that we are deprived of a final farewell, but duty cannot wait. My father is gravely ill. I must be off at once to Morehaven. Know that I take with me the fondest remembrances to sustain me in the coming months. I pray for your safety and success at Aix-la-Chappelle and live in hope and faith that I will see you again well before the year is out.

  Your most devoted,

  Mariah

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I am sore wounded but not slain. I will lay me down and bleed a while, and then rise up to fight again.” -John Dryden

  Derbyshire, England—Twelve Months Later

  My Dearest Mariah,

  Twelve long and agonizing months have passed since that fateful night I claimed a kiss and a promise from your sweet lips—the kiss meant to seal a pact that I have failed to uphold.

  I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet have now lost my way wandering in that golden maze.

  That night was the loveliest dream, but the future we spoke of is naught but a fantasy that can never be. Thus, it is with a heart burdened with the greatest regret that I release you from your vow.

  Please know that I will ever remain—

  Your most faithful, humble, and obedient servant,

  Nicolas

  Choking back a sob, Mariah reread the letter through blurred and burning eyes. It had arrived days ago, and she'd already read it a dozen times, but knowledge of its contents did nothing to diminish the pain. Had he truly abandoned hope, or had he found another woman? It was impossible to know the truth. No further explanation had followed. She'd held on to her own hope as long as she could.

  Until meeting him, she'd never expected to find love or passion. But now it was over. She slowly folded the foolscap, rose, and tossed it into the hearth, watching through blurred and burning eyes as the flames devoured the words that had shattered her dreams as well as her heart.

  Clinging to a passionate promise made in the heat of the moment, she'd put her life on hold, but her father's passing had changed her circumstances. She'd come into her rightful title, but his will demanded that she wed or wait four more years to come into her fortune. She'd held off as long as she could, but now financial obligations compelled her to look to her security as well as that of her mother.

  There was only one course of action. It was time to put away fantasies of love and find a suitable husband. She would write to the one person she was certain would help to guide her search—Philomena, Lady Russell.

  ***

  Turin, Northern Italy

  "Needham? Might I ask if you have a mistress?"

  The earl's blunt question quite took him aback. Nick's head jerked up from the stack of official correspondence that had just arrived on the express packet from England. "No, I have not," he replied stiffly.

  "Might I assume by your answer that you have recently parted with one?" Rochford suggested.

  "You are quite mistaken, my lord. I have never kept a woman for my pleasure."

  "Then perhaps it's time you did! Have you bedded an Italian woman, Needham? I tell you there is absolutely no comparison between English and Italian quim. It's the difference between fire and ice. If money is an object, I will even raise your salary—anything to improve this wretched aura of woe that you seem to be carrying about."

  "Aura of woe?" Nick repeated incredulously. "I was unaware. I apologize if I have been preoccupied of late."

  "It's far more than that, Needham. For weeks now, I have remarked a distinct melancholy about you. It is almost as if you were in mourning. Indeed, I'm half inclined to call you Dismal Nick. Have you perhaps suffered a loss you have not informed me of?"

  Yes. And it's almost more than I can bear.

  "No, my lord. Are you dissatisfied with my work? Am I being sacked?"

  "No, man! It's nothing like that." Rochford waved his hand in the air. "Your work is above reproach. It's just your absence of joie de vivre is rather . . . depressing."

  Nick forced a smile to his stiff lips. "I will endeavor to improve."

  "Needham, the Foreign Service is not for everyone. Have you ever considered seeking a domestic post?"

  "That has not been a viable option to me, my lord. Indeed, I count myself most fortunate to be in your employ." Eager to divert the discussion away from his personal life, Nick began sorting through the official letters that had just arrived in the post. "You have a letter from His Majesty, my lord."

  The earl sighed. "Then I suppose I must put off my hunt with the duke to answer him."

  Nick crossed the expanse of pink-veined marble tiles to offer the elaborately sealed parchment to his employer. He then returned to his own desk in preparation to pen the earl's response, waiting patiently with quill poised as Rochford broke the seal and scanned the missive. After a moment, he threw it down with a curse. "Damnation! How the hell did the Duchess of Bedford get wind of La Bella Banti?"

  The earl referred to his latest mistress, a flamboyant Italian opera dancer. Nick didn't answer that Rochford's lack of discretion was a constant source of court gossip in Turin. His latest mistress was particular trouble. She thrived on notoriety and may well have encouraged the spread of rumors. Nick refrained from comment, knowing his silence would prompt the earl to elaborate.

  "It seems the Duchess of Bedford has expressed her disapproval of my keeping an Italian mistress," he continued in disgust, "and has convinced the king that I should wed. Why in infernal blazes must they concern themselves with my personal affairs? Just look at this Needham!" Rochford took to his feet and strode across the room. He slammed the parchment down on Needham's desk and stabbed it with a be-ringed index finger.

  "She has even generously provided His Majesty with a list of vetted candidates!"

  "Shall I congratulate you on your pending nuptials?" Nick asked.

  Rochford returned a glare. "Now is not the time to regain your humor, Needham!" Rochf
ord exhaled a martyr's sigh. "I suppose you are right though. There's naught to do now but accept my fate, given that his Majesty has all but commanded it."

  "How do you intend to proceed?" Nick asked. "Will you return to London?"

  "No. I cannot leave here," Rochford replied. "With the peace so newly minted, relations are still in a state of utter turmoil. I have no time to waste in wooing a bride. 'Tis a pointless pursuit anyway. They need husbands, and I need heirs. Now that I think upon it, this situation couldn't suit me better. I will remain here and attend to affairs of state and send my agent to England to attend to affairs matrimonial. Needham, it seems you may get your wish after all."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Given your impeccable manners and unimpeachable sense of discretion, I cannot think of a man better suited for this mission. I will send you to attend to this business in my stead."

  "You wish me to negotiate your marriage?"

  "Indeed I do. I will make it quite worth your while. Should you accept this commission and succeed in bringing the matter to a swift and mutually satisfactory conclusion, I will personally secure you a post in London in the department of your choosing."

  Nick's heart raced. Could it be that he had his chance after all? Rochford had just promised him precisely what he needed to claim Mariah's hand. The earl's offer was everything he'd wished and hoped for, but had it come too late? He'd posted the letter weeks ago. Surely she'd already received it.

  "I would need some direction on how you wish to proceed."

  "Of course." The earl smiled. "I already eliminated seven of the ten names at a glance. I refuse to take a wife I would have to bed under cover of darkness. As to those remaining, I would have you discover their temperaments, whether there is madness or disfigurement amongst their respective families, and of course the extent of property and dowry that would be transferred upon marriage. You will then choose the best amongst them and negotiate the settlements."