Nick narrowed his gaze on his friend. “I don’t think it’s a houseful. And I don’t believe that she’s doing anything wrong. Neither do you.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Then?”
“I thought marriage was not for you?”
Nick did not pretend to misunderstand. He had said the words dozens, hundreds of times over the last years, certain that marriage would ruin him. He’d never seen a marriage that was a success. And he knew better than to believe that he could make one from any of the options that had presented themselves. He would not bind himself to some woman for a mere strategic alliance, he had no need for a daughter of the aristocracy, no need for a boost in finances.
But he would not mind a partnership.
And when they were together, they would find pleasure in each other.
Immense pleasure.
Yes, a marriage to Isabel could be ideal.
“I have changed my mind. I quite like the idea of aligning myself with her.”
“Aligning yourself? Is that what it will be?” Rock raised a brow. “And what will you do when she discovers that you came here looking for one of her girls?” Nick did not respond. It was precisely the question he had avoided answering for the last two days. Rock dealt the cards again, and Nick considered his hand absentmindedly. “Marry her for the marbles. Marry her because you want to bed her. But don’t marry her because she needs you.”
“I don’t need to marry her for the marbles. I would buy them anyway. And I’m not entirely certain she does need me.”
“I note you don’t deny the desire to bed her.”
Nick signaled for another card. He wanted her. With a visceral intent. The events of the afternoon, the way she had given herself so freely, the way she had tilted her head back as she had fallen apart in his arms had made dancing with her—touching her—sheer torture. It had taken all his control to keep from kissing her in the darkened ballroom in the face of her confession, and when she’d finally taken to her bed, he’d had to force himself to remain belowstairs instead of following her into her bedchamber and showing her every conceivable pleasure.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ignoring Rock’s knowing smirk.
“I can tell you that I do not care for your phrasing.” Nick tossed a coin onto the table. Rock matched the bid, turned over a card for himself, and swore under his breath. “What was it you were saying about my losing to you? ”
“What is it you Englishmen call them? Red-letter days?” Nick began to shuffle as Rock continued, “The girl doesn’t need you. She needs money. Buy the marbles.”
“She needs more than money.” He paused. “And she doesn’t really want to sell the marbles.”
Rock snorted. “Then what are we doing here? ”
“Until five minutes ago, we didn’t have a choice.” Nick met his friend’s dark gaze. “And you were enjoying yourself, reading your effeminate novels and quietly fleecing me of my fortune. What has changed? ”
Rock reached to pour himself a new snifter of brandy. “Nothing. I am simply ready to leave.”
“Has something happened with Lara? ”
“Miss Caldwell, to you.” Rock scowled.
“I beg your pardon. Has something happened with Miss Caldwell? You seemed thick as thieves earlier.” Nick stopped, the words sinking in. “Ah.”
Rock looked up sharply. “What does that mean? ”
“It seems I am not the only one with a female predicament. Is yours as infuriating as mine? ”
Rock threw a coin onto the table. “Deal the cards.”
Nick did as he was told, and the next few rounds passed in silence. Finally, Rock said, “She’s quite lovely.”
Nick nodded. “She is.”
“Not simply lovely. Perfect.”
The words were so unexpected that it took Nick a few seconds to register their meaning. “I do not understand. What is the problem, then? ”
“Nothing can come of it.”
“Why not?”
Rock leveled Nick with a frank look. “Look at me, Nick.”
“I am looking.”
Rock threw his cards down on the table. “She’s a gentleman’s daughter. I am a heathen, born in the back alleys of Turkey.”
“She lives in a house designed to harbor fugitives. She cannot be entirely beholden to the rules of society. At least, not in the way you suggest.” Nick paused. “I assume that your intentions are honorable?”
Rock stood, unable to remain still. He moved to the window, throwing it open and letting in fresh air, still heavy with the recent rain. “If anything were to happen between us … she would be exiled.”
“Farther than Yorkshire?” Nick said dryly.
Rock did not look back as he said, softly, “Her current exile is self-imposed.”
Nick watched his friend for a long moment before standing and moving to join him at the window. “You overthink this. You have dozens of friends who are wealthy and titled, plenty of whom would happily accept your interactions with her.”
Rock shook his head. “You know that isn’t true.”
“I know no such thing,” Nick scoffed. “Not one of them would care.”
The Turk turned away from the window, meeting Nick’s eyes. “You only think that because you would not care. But they would. When I descended from the carriage in London with a beautiful blond Englishwoman by my side, they would care. And I would no longer be a friend. I would be a dark-skinned enemy, robbing them of their women.”