Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord Read online

  Nick recalled the stack of invitations that awaited his return—every one from a family with an unmarried daughter—and took a long drink of ale. Setting the pewter mug down, he muttered, “How awful, indeed.”

  “I should take advantage of it if I were you. Now you may have any woman you want.”

  Nick leveled his friend with cool blue gaze. “I did perfectly well without the damned magazine, thank you.”

  Rock’s response was a noncommittal grunt as he turned to wave the young barmaid over. An arrow shot from a bow, she arrived at their table with speed and purpose. Leaning low over Nick to best display her voluptuous curves, she spoke in a low whisper. “My lord? Do you have … needs?”

  “Do we, indeed,” Rock said.

  The brazen female seated herself in Nick’s lap, leaning close. “I’ll be anythin’ you want, luv,” she said, low and sultry, as she pressed her breasts against his chest. “Any-thin’ you want.”

  He extracted her arm from its place around his neck and fished a crown from his pocket. “A tempting offer, to be sure,” he said, pressing the coin into her hand and lifting her to her feet. “But I am afraid that I want only for more ale. You had best look elsewhere for companionship this evening.”

  Her face fell for a split second before she redirected her attention to Rock, considering his wide chest, brown skin, and thick arms with an appreciative gaze. “Care for a go? Some girls don’t like ‘em dark, but I think you’ll do just fine.”

  Rock did not move, but Nick noticed the tensing of his friend’s shoulders at the blatant reference to his heritage. “Farther elsewhere,” the Turk said, flatly turning away from the barmaid.

  She turned up her nose at their combined rebuff and left—to fetch more ale, Nick hoped. As he watched her make her way across the room, he felt the keen attention of the other women in the tavern. “They are predators. Every last one of them.”

  “It seems only right that the bulan finally know what it is to be hunted.”

  Nick grimaced at the Turkish name and the long history that came with it. It had been years since anyone had called him the bulan—the hunter. The name meant nothing now; it was a leftover of his days in the East, deep in the Ottoman Empire, when he’d been someone else—someone without a name—with only a skill that would ultimately be his downfall.

  The irony was not lost on him. His time in Turkey had ended harshly when a woman had set her sights upon him and he had made the mistake of allowing himself to be caught, quite literally.

  He had spent twenty-two days in a Turkish prison before he had been rescued by Rock and ferreted to Greece—where he had vowed to put the bulan to rest.

  Most of the time, he was happy to have done so … appeased by the world of London, the business of his estate, and his antiquities. But there were days when he missed the life.

  He much preferred being hunter to hunted.

  “Women are always like this around you,” Rock pointed out, returning Nick to the present. “You are merely better attuned to it today. Not that I have ever understood their interest. You are something of an ugly bas—”

  “Angling for a pounding, are you?”

  The Turk’s face split in a wide grin. “Sparring with me in a public house would not be the appropriate behavior for such a paragon of gentlemanliness.”

  Nick’s gaze narrowed on his friend. “I shall risk it for the pleasure of wiping that smile from your face.”

  Rock laughed again. “All this feminine interest has addled your brain if you think you could take me down.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table between them, underscoring his bulk. “What has happened to your sense of humor? You would have found this vastly amusing if it had happened to me. Or to your brother.”

  “Nevertheless, it has happened to me.” Nick surveyed the rest of the room and groaned as the door to the pub opened and a tall, dark-haired man entered. The newcomer paused just inside the room, scanning the heavy crowd, his blue eyes finally settling on Nick. One lone brow rose in amusement and he began to weave his way through the throngs of people toward them.

  Nick turned an accusing gaze on Rock. “You are asking to be returned to Turkey. Begging for it.”

  Rock looked over his shoulder at the newcomer and grinned. “It would have been rather unfriendly of me not to invite him to join in the amusement.”

  “What an immense stroke of good luck. I confess, I had not thought I would be able to get near London’s Lord to Land,” a low, amused voice drawled, and Nick looked up to find his twin brother, Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston, towering above them. Rock stood and clapped Gabriel on the back, motioning that he should join them. Once seated, Ralston continued, “Though I should have expected to find you here …” He paused. “In hiding. Coward.”

  Nick’s brows knit together as Rock laughed. “I was just pointing out that had you been named one of London’s Lords to Land, Nick would have taken immense pleasure in your pain.”

  Gabriel sat back in his chair, grinning foolishly. “Indeed, he would have. And yet your mood seems less than cheery, brother. Whatever for? ”

  “I suppose you are here to revel in my discomfort,” Nick said, “But surely you have better things to do. You do still have a new wife to entertain, do you not?”

  “Indeed, I do,” Gabriel said, his smile softening. “Though, to be honest, she nearly pushed me out the door in her eagerness to find you. She is hosting a dinner on Thursday evening and is reserving a seat for you both. She does not want Lord Nicholas wandering wistfully through the streets that evening, wanting for a wife.”

  Rock smirked. “It is entirely possible that he would have been doing just that without the invitation.”

  Nick ignored his friend. “Callie reads the damned thing? “ He had hoped his sister-in-law was above such things. If she had read it, there was no escape.

  Gabriel leaned forward. “This week? We have all read it. You’ve brought respectability to the St. John name, Nick. Finally. Well done.”

  The barmaid returned then, setting another round of drinks on the table; surprise flashed in her eyes, followed quickly by pleasure as she looked to Nick, then Gabriel, then back again. Twins were rare enough that strangers tended to stare when the St. John brothers ventured into public together; Nick found he had no patience for her curiosity. He looked away as Gabriel paid the girl handsomely, saying, “Of course, those women who coveted me must be thrilled to have a second chance of sorts—title or no, you at least share my good looks. If a younger, lesser version of them.”

  Nick’s blue gaze narrowed on his brother and friend, now guffawing like idiots. Lifting his ale, he toasted the duo. “May you both go straight to hell.”

  His brother lifted his own tankard. “I do believe it would be worth it to see you so put out. You know, it is not the worst of things to be labeled an eligible bachelor, Nick. I can attest to the fact that marriage is not the prison I once believed it to be. It is quite enjoyable, I find.”

  Nick leaned back in his chair. “Callie’s turned you soft, Gabriel. Do you not recall the pain caused by clamoring mamas and cloying daughters, all hoping to secure your attention? ”

  “Not remotely.”

  “That is because Callie was the only woman willing to have you with your history of wickedness and vice,” Nick pointed out. “My reputation is rather less tarnished than yours was—I am a far more valuable catch, Lord help me.”

  “Marriage might do you well, you know.”

  Nick considered his ale long enough for his companions to think that he might not reply. “I think we all know that marriage is not for me.”

  Gabriel offered a small, noncommittal grunt. “I might remind you that the same was true for me. Not all women are like the cold bitch who saw you nearly killed, Nick,” Gabriel said firmly.

  “She was merely one of a long line of them,” Nick pointed out, drinking deep. “Thank you, but I have learned to keep my women to the best of encounters—brief and unemotiona
l.”

  “I wouldn’t brag about brevity if I were you, St. John,” Rock said, flashing a wide grin at Gabriel before he continued. “Your problem is not the women who choose you, but those whom you choose. If you were not so easily wiled by those who play the victim, you might have better luck with the fairer sex.”

  Rock had not said anything Nick did not already know. Since his youth, he’d had a soft spot for women in need. And while he understood it to be one of his biggest weaknesses—having brought more trouble than fortune upon him in his lifetime—he seemed unable to resist the trait.

  So he kept his women at arm’s length. His rules were clear. No mistresses. No regular assignations. And, most definitely, no wife.

  “Well, either way,” Gabriel said, returning lightness to the conversation, “I shall enjoy myself immensely while you run the gauntlet of this impressive superlative.”

  Nick paused, drinking deep before finally leaning back and placing his hands flat on the table. “I am afraid I am going to have to disappoint you. I do not plan to run the gauntlet at all.”

  “Oh? How do you expect to avoid the women of London? They are huntresses of the highest caliber.”

  “They cannot hunt if their prey has gone to ground,” Nick announced.

  “You are leaving? “ Gabriel did not look pleased. “To where? ”

  Nick shrugged. “I have clearly overstayed London’s welcome. The Continent. The Orient. The Americas. Rock? You’ve been itching for an adventure for months. Where would you like to go? ”

  Rock considered the options. “Not the Orient. A repeat of the last time we were there is not tempting. I would rather steer clear of it.”

  “Fair enough,” Nick conceded. “The Americas, then.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “You would be gone for a year at least. Have you forgotten that we have a sister just out and in need of a match? You will not leave me to deal with that sure-to-be-disastrous event simply because you fear the attention of a handful of ladies.”

  “A handful!” Nick protested, “They are a swarm.” He paused, considering his options. “I don’t really care where I go … as long as there are no women there.”

  Rock looked alarmed. “None whatsoever? ”

  Nick laughed for the first time that evening. “Well, not none, obviously. But would it be too much to ask that there be no women who have read that ridiculous magazine? ”

  Gabriel raised a dark brow. “Very likely so.”

  “St. John.”

  All three gentlemen turned at the sound of Nick’s name to find the Duke of Leighton beside the table. Tall and broad, if Leighton hadn’t been a duke, the man would have made an excellent Viking—fair-haired and stone-faced, he rarely smiled. But today, Nick noted that the duke seemed even more stoic than usual.

  “Leighton! Join us.” Nick used one foot to capture a nearby seat and drag it to the table. “Save me from these two.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot stay.” The duke’s words were clipped. “I came looking for you.”

  “You and the female population of London,” Gabriel said with a laugh.

  The duke ignored him, folding his giant frame into the seat and setting his gloves on the scarred wooden table. Turning to face Nick, nearly blocking Rock and Gabriel from the conversation, he said, “I’m afraid that you are not going to like what it is I have to ask of you.”

  Nick waved the barmaid over with a tumbler of whisky, keenly aware of the distress in his friend’s gaze.

  “Does it involve marrying him off?” Gabriel asked dryly.

  Leighton looked surprised. “No.”

  “Then I would think that Nick would welcome your request.”

  The duke took a large gulp of whisky and met Nick’s interest. “I’m not so sure. You see, I am not here for Nick. I am here for the bulan.”

  There was a long silence as the words sank in around the table. Rock and Gabriel stiffened, but did not speak, watching Nick carefully. Nick leaned forward, placed his forearms on the scarred wood, and tented his fingers. He spoke quietly, his eyes not leaving Leighton.

  “I do not do that any longer.”

  “I know. And I would not ask if I did not need you.”

  “Who?”

  “My sister. She’s gone.”

  Nick sat back in his chair. “I don’t chase after runaways, Leighton. You should call Bow Street.”

  Leighton’s frustration brought him forward in a rush of movement. “For Christ’s sake, St. John. You know I can’t do that. It will be in the papers yesterday. I need the bulan.”

  Nick recoiled from the word. He did not care for being the hunter once again. “I don’t do it any longer. You know that.”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

  Ralston laughed at that, drawing a growl from the duke. “What’s so amusing about that?”

  “Only the idea that my brother would take payment. I don’t imagine you’ve endeared him to your cause with that offer, Leighton.”

  The duke scowled. “You know, Ralston, you were never the twin I preferred.”

  “Most people feel that way,” Ralston said. “I assure you I am not overwrought at the idea. Indeed, I confess a modicum of surprise that you are even here, deigning to speak with us, what with our ‘questionable stock'—isn’t that how you refer to it?”

  “Gabriel, enough.” Nick stopped his brother from going too far into the past.

  Leighton at least had the grace to be embarrassed.

  For many years, the St. John twins, though aristocracy themselves, had been a primary outlet for young Leighton’s disdain. The scandal that had fallen on the house of Ralston when the twins were young—their mother’s desertion of her husband and family—had made them ideal prey for the more pristine families of the ton, and Leighton, in their class at Eton, had never failed to remind them of their mother’s disreputable actions.

  Until one day, Leighton went too far, and Nick had put him into a wall.

  Pounding a duke was not something that the second son of a marquess could get away with at Eton; Nick would have almost certainly been dismissed had he not been a twin—and Gabriel had taken responsibility for the event. The future Marquess of Ralston had been sent home from term early, and Leighton and Nick had come to a tentative truce, no one the wiser.

  The truce had become a friendship of sorts—one that had blossomed in the upper years of Eton, and withered during the years when Nick cut a swath across the Continent. Leighton had already ascended to the dukedom, and his fortune had, in no small part, funded Nick and Rock’s expeditions into the dark recesses of the Orient.

  Leighton had played an important role in making the bulan.

  But Nick was not that man any longer.

  “What do you know? ”

  “Nick …” Rock spoke for the first time since the duke had arrived, but Nick raised one hand. “Mere curiosity.”

  “I know she’s gone. I know she’s taken money and a handful of things she considers invaluable.” “Why did she leave? “ Leighton shook his head. “I don’t know.” “There’s always a reason.” “That may be … but I don’t know it.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “And you only come to me now?”

  “She had planned a trip to see a cousin in Bath. It was ten days before I realized she lied to me.”

  “Her maid?”

  “I terrified her into confessing that Georgiana went north. She knew nothing else. My sister was very careful to cover her tracks.”

  Nick sat back in his chair, mind racing, energy coursing through him. Someone had helped the girl. Was still helping her if she’d not given up and returned to her brother. It had been years since he had tracked someone—he’d forgotten the pleasure that came with a new search.

  But this was no longer his life.

  He met the duke’s worried gaze. “She’s my sister, Nick. You must know that I wouldn’t ask you if there were another way.”

  The wor
ds struck Nick to his core. He had a sister, too. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

  Damn.

  “My lord?”

  Nick turned at the tentative, feminine voice, to find two young women standing nearby, watching him eagerly. Nick spoke, wary. “Yes? ”

  “We—” one of them began to speak, then stopped, uncertain. The other nudged her toward him.

  “Yes?”

  “We are fans.”

  Nick blinked. “Of?”

  “Of yours.” “Of mine.”

  “Indeed!” The second girl smiled broadly and stepped closer, holding out what looked suspiciously like—

  Nick swore under his breath.

  “Would you be willing to autograph our magazine? ”

  Nick held up a hand. “I would, girls, but you’ve got the wrong brother.” He pointed to Gabriel. “That is Lord Nicholas.”

  Rock snorted as the two shifted their attention to the Marquess of Ralston, a dazzlingly handsome copy of their prey, and tittered their excitement.

  Gabriel instantly eased into his role, turning a brilliant smile on the girls. “I would be happy to autograph your magazine.” He took the journal and the pen they proffered and said, “You know, I must confess, this is the first time I’ve ever drawn the attention of ladies when in the company of my brother. Ralston has always been considered the more handsome of us.”

  “No!” the girls protested.

  Nick rolled his eyes.

  “Indeed. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you it’s the marquess who is the best specimen. Surely you’ve heard that.” He looked up at them with a winning smile. “You can admit it, girls. My feelings shan’t be hurt.”

  Gabriel held up the magazine, displaying the cover, which boasted: Inside! London’s Lords to Land! “Yes … there’s no question that this is going to do wonders for my reputation. I’m so happy to see that it’s getting around that I’m on the hunt for a wife!”

  The girls nearly expired from delight.

  Unamused, Nick looked to Leighton, “North, you said?”

  “Yes.”