HE last of the officials and the doctor filed out of the room, and Nicholas’ valet, Harris, closed the door. Nicholas allowed himself a smile, but the movement turned to a grimace as the cut on his lip stretched.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll manage that smile for the both of us,” Harris offered. And then he actually did, his drooping mustache leveling out as he smiled widely.

“It did end better than I could have hoped, didn’t it?” Nicholas said.

“That it did, sir. Instead of coming before the magistrate on a simple matter of assault, he’ll face the charge of piracy.”

Nicholas wanted to smile again, but thought better of it. Now he knew how Captain Hawke felt about evening scores. Well, Hawke’s victory had been very, very short-lived.

“I suppose I shouldn’t gloat, but the fellow deserves no better,” Nicholas said.

“Indeed not, sir. Why, the doctor said you’re lucky your jawbone is still intact. And I never in all my days saw so many bruises and—”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. You don’t think he’s not suffering now, too? It’s the principle of the matter. I never would have met the cur if he hadn’t attacked my ship to begin with. Yet he held a bloody grudge! But I don’t think he’s laughing about it now, sitting in jail.”

“It’s fortunate the watch found you when they did, sir.”

“Yes. Pure luck, that.”

Nicholas had regained consciousness a few moments after Hawke and the red-haired Connie left in Nicholas’ carriage. And it was only a few more moments when he heard horses’ hooves not too far away. He managed to call out, and the two night watchmen heard him. It took some convincing to get them to leave him and go after his carriage instead. Thirty minutes later they came back for him with the happy news that his carriage was recovered and the injured assailant apprehended— though the other one managed to outrun capture.

Nicholas told the whole story to the good fellows who brought him home, and Hawke’s name nagged at one of them. Sure enough, a host of officials descended on Nicholas while the doctor was still working on him. They announced that Hawke was a felon wanted by the Crown.

“It is also fortunate, sir,” the valet continued chattily as he straightened the bedcovers over Nicholas, “that Lady Ashton was not with you when you encountered the thugs. I assume the evening went as planned and she left without you again?”

Nicholas did not answer. When he thought of what might have happened… no, it did not bear thinking about. She was safe because George Fowler had taken her home.

Hmm. George Fowler indeed. Unreasonable anger, hot and vicious, took hold of him.

“Sir?”

“What?” Nicholas barked, then recovered. “Ah, yes, Harris, the evening went as expected where the lady is concerned.”

The middle-aged valet had been with Nicholas for ten years and was privy to his thoughts and feelings the way no one else could be. He knew Nicholas didn’t want to marry Regina Ashton, though he didn’t know why—nor would he dream of asking. He and Nicholas had discussed the strategy Nicholas was employing to deal with the commitment.

“Lady Ashton had words with you, sir?”

“It didn’t go that well,” Nicholas replied tiredly. The sedative the doctor had given him was starting to take effect. “I am still engaged.”

“Well, surely next time…”

“Yes.”

“But there’s not much time before the wedding,” Harris added hesitantly. “The doctor wants you to have three weeks’ bedrest.”

“Bother that,” Nicholas retorted. “I will be up and about in three days, no more.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“I do say so.”

“Very good, sir.”

Never having suffered such a beating before, Nicholas had no way of knowing he would feel ten times worse the next day. He roundly cursed Captain Hawke and would have liked the pirate hanged.

It took a full week before he could move even slightly without pain. And though he was finally up and moving in another week, the cuts on his face were still raw.

He was in no fit condition to see Regina. But he couldn’t afford to lose any more time.

The wedding was only a week away. He had to see her.

He called at the Malory house in Grosvenor Square despite his appearance. He was told Regina was out of the house, shopping for her trousseau. This information increased his panic. He waited for an hour, and when she arrived he very rudely whisked his fiancée away from her cousins the moment she walked in the door.

He led her through the garden and on into the square, saying nothing, his stride long and fast, his expression darkly brooding. Her soft voice breaking into his thoughts brought him to a halt.

“You are recovered?” she asked. A brisk autumn breeze whipped leaves through the air and played havoc with the feathers on Regina’s bonnet. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled with blue lights. She was too damnably lovely by far, blooming with health and vitality. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered.

“Recovered?” Nicholas demanded, wondering how on earth she had found out about the attack when he had avoided her these last two weeks just so she wouldn’t find out.

“Derek told us of your illness,” she explained. “I am sorry you were not well.”

Damnation! So he was to receive her sympathy, thanks to Derek’s coloring the truth. He would have preferred her anger.

“Actually, I was visiting a favorite tavern of mine on the waterfront and was set upon by ruffians who beat me soundly for my purse. Still, there is a certain excitement in frequenting unsavory places.”

She smiled tolerantly. “Tony was sure you would use your illness as an excuse to postpone the wedding. I told him that wasn’t your style.”

“You know me so well, love?” Nicholas asked sardonically.

“You may be many things, but cowardly isn’t one of them.”

“You presume—”

“Oh, stuff,” she interrupted. “I won’t believe it if you try to convince me otherwise, so you needn’t try.”

Nicholas gritted his teeth and she flashed him an amused grin. Looking at her beauty affected him strongly, as it always did, and his thoughts were quite scattered for the moment.

“I suppose I should ask how you have been getting on?”

“You should, yes,” Reggie agreed. “But we both know that what I do with my time doesn’t interest you. For instance, you wouldn’t be wounded, would you, if you knew I have been so busy I haven’t missed you? And you wouldn’t care if you knew that other men have escorted me to the affairs my cousins insist I attend?”

“George Fowler?”

“George, Basil, William—”

“Careful, or I will begin to think you are trying to stir my jealousy in retaliation.”

“Retaliation? Oh, I see, you judge me by your own behavior. How amusing, Nicholas. Just because you find other women fascinating—”

“Blister it, Regina!” Nicholas finally lost all patience. “Why do you wrap your anger up in polite nonsense? Scream at me!”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Aha!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “I was beginning to think you had no spirit.”

“Oh, Nicholas.” Reggie laughed softly. “Am I supposed to call you a foul, despicable creature, and swear tearfully that I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man and so forth?”

Nicholas glared furiously. “You mock me, madame?”

“What makes you think that?”

She said this with such an innocent expression that he put his hands on her shoulders, ready to shake her. But her magnificent blue eyes widened in surprise as her own hands came up to brace against his chest, and Nicholas flushed red hot.

He stepped back from her, nearly trembling. “The press of time forces me to be blunt, Regina,” he said coldly. “I asked you before to end this farce of an engagement. I am asking you again. Nay, I am begging you. I do not want to marry you.”

She dropped her gaze, staring fixedly at the high polish of his Hessian boots. “You don’t want me… in any way then? Not even as a lover?”

His honey-gold eyes flashed at the turmoil the question caused, but he said only, “You would no doubt make a fine mistress.”

“But you are not interested?”

“Not any longer.”

She turned her back on him, her shoulders drooping, a dejected little figure. Nicholas had to restrain himself with every ounce of will from reaching out and gathering her into his arms. He wanted to take it all back, to show her what a lie it had been. But it was better for her to be disillusioned for a time, and then to forget him. He could not let this lovely woman marry a bastard.

“I really thought I could make you happy, Nicholas.” Her words floated to him over her shoulder.

“No woman can, love, not for any length of time.”

“I’m sorry then. I really am.”

He didn’t move. “You will jilt me then?”

“No.”

“No?” He stiffened, disbelieving. “What the devil do you mean?”

“The word no means—”

“I know what the bloody word means!”

She finally turned around. “You don’t have to shout at me, sir.”

“Formal again, are we?” he cried, his temper cresting.

“Under the circumstances, yes,” she answered curtly. “You have only to absent yourself from London next week. I assure you I am quite strong enough to bear up under the humiliation of being jilted.”

“I gave my word!” he exclaimed.

“Ah, yes, the word of a gentleman—who is a gentleman only when it suits him to be one.”

“My word is my bond.”

“Then you must stick to it, Lord Montieth.”

She started to walk away, but he caught her arm, his fingers hard. “Don’t do it, Regina,” he warned darkly. “You will regret it.”

“I already do,” was the whispered reply. It took him aback.

“Then why?” he asked desperately.

“I—I must,” she replied.

He let go of her arm and stepped away, his face a mask of fury. “Damnation take you then! I will be no husband to you, this I swear. If you persist in this farce, then that is what you will have, a mockery of a marriage. I wish you happy.”

“You don’t mean that, Nicholas!” There were tears in her eyes.

“I give you my word, madame, and a last warning: Do not come to the church.”