Nick waited to hear the explanation himself, but neither brother nor sister answered.
“You,” Danfield said, looking at the Lady Olivia. “You did this.” He remained propped on one elbow and used his free hand to massage the back of his head.
Every eye, including Nick’s, turned to look at the young woman who appeared to be trying to edge behind her brother. In spite of the seriousness of the moment, Nick felt a chuckle lodge in his throat. The dainty lady hardly looked capable of physical violence. But the evidence was rather irrefutable.
He didn’t know whether to applaud her handiness or say a prayer for his own well-being.
“It was a misunderstanding,” the young woman de fended.
“My…my mother will hear…” The words died as the butler slid his foot out to knock the man’s elbow from under him. Without the support, Danfield fell back to the floor, bumping his head again on the way.
The siblings and Nick turned to stare at the butler.
“He was starting to aggravate me,” the older man said with a shrug.
Marcus looked around at the occupants in the room. “Has everyone lost hold of their senses?”
“I still have mine, I think,” Nick said as he knelt over the viscount and raised the man’s eyelids one after another, looking at them intently.
At least he appeared to be still alive. “We should get him home before he wakes up again,” Nick suggested.
“I’ll have a carriage brought around,” the butler intoned, disappearing into the hallway.
After carrying the viscount to his carriage, Nick stood back while Marcus slipped several banknotes into the driver’s hands and whispered instructions. Seconds later, the coachman flicked the reins, and the conveyance rumbled down the road.
Nick dutifully followed the pair of siblings into a sitting room, curious to hear whatever explanation the lady had to offer. Not that he minded a bit of excitement, of course, provided he wasn’t the unconscious body on the floor.
Once in the room, Marcus’s sister, the Lady Olivia, curtsied to him again and began edging toward the door. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves. Surely, there is a great deal of catching up to be done.” She then practically ran toward the cracked opening and supposed safety.
“I think you should stay awhile.” Marcus’s voice stopped her hasty retreat.
“Whatever for?” Her tone suggested he would be wiser to simply let her walk away.
“Allow me first to make introductions.” Marcus turned toward Nick. “I hope you’ll forgive the rather odd circumstances you found upon your arrival and meet the cause of them, my sister, Lady Olivia.”
Nick took a few steps forward and bowed over her hand. “A pleasure,” he murmured, smiling to himself when she blushed.
Thick lashes framed her dark eyes, which widened as he spoke. She was more beautiful than he’d originally thought. As she stood close to the window, the sun streaming in made her hair seem as though the rich brown was shot through with threads of amber.
He was unaware he was still lightly holding her hand until she hastily withdrew it. The blush on her cheeks deepened, and Marcus’s sister glanced with apparent nervousness at him and then her brother.
“And, Olivia, this is Nick, my old friend and the new Marquess of Huntsford.”
Nick watched as she dropped a flawless curtsy.
“Well, I suppose I should leave you to your meeting, brother.” She briskly turned on her heel and this time made good her escape before her brother could stop her.
Nick was sad to see her go.
He turned back to Marcus, who was looking at the open door with a mix of harried resignation and amusement. Nick was familiar with the look—Marcus often wore it when they were in school together, while reading letters from his sister.
“Your sister is an interesting woman,” Nick commented.
Marcus stared at him for a long moment, then grinned. “Interesting is a good word. If she weren’t my sister I would maybe say troublesome…” Marcus let the sentence trail off.
“Are you implying there’s been more than one suitor found unconscious on your floor?”
His friend shook his head, “No, but I’ve fielded a fair amount of offers for her.”
Nick could understand that. Lady Olivia was a beauty. A beauty who probably had an uncommonly large dowry, and came from an old, highly respected family. Those factors combined would be enough to have every young buck and eligible bachelor knocking on the front door.
“I can’t see how that would be anything but good. Isn’t the point of the Season to marry off all the young, single ladies?” Nick asked.
“If it is the point, someone needs to tell Olivia that. She’s determined to spurn the offer of any man who asks. And I nearly have to twist her arm to get her to attend a ball.”
The lady grew more puzzling with each revelation. Wasn’t it every woman’s ambition to marry? To enjoy a glamorous Season in London, filled with balls, dinner parties and elegant luncheons?
And if those weren’t her aims, why was Marcus insisting on her attendance?
What reason would any sane man have for enduring—even wanting—to experience the fripperies of the Season?
“Don’t tell me you’re here looking for a wife,” Nick said in mock horror.
Marcus shuddered. “Absolutely not. I’ve no interest in marriage. At least not right now. I’d like to see Olivia settled with a suitable gentleman before I turn my own ambitions to the marriage mart.”
If finding a husband for his sister was his friend’s goal, Nick thought Marcus was going to have his hands full. If this trip to London was solely for his sister’s benefit—who showed not even the slightest inkling of interest in marriage—Marcus would likely end up being in London for a long time.
“What about you?” Marcus asked. “What’s made you come to town—to England, for that matter—after all those years on the continent?”
Nick hesitated.
“Other than your father’s death,” Marcus said before Nick could decide exactly what to say. “I heard about that, and I’m sorry.”
Marcus knew the relationship, or lack thereof, between Nick and the deceased marquess. It wasn’t good. Not by any stretch of the imagination. As soon as Nick had reached the age of majority, he’d also reached the conclusion that he could no longer abide living beneath his father’s roof. So he left, with the intention of distancing himself as much as possible from the scandalous reputation his parents had brought to his family name.
“It was time to retire, so to speak,” Nick said. He’d returned because as the only heir to the marquessdom, he had responsibilities that couldn’t be taken care of unless he came home. To England.
“Are you going to miss it?” Marcus asked.
Nick didn’t have to think about his answer at all. “No.” His escape to France had been exactly that, a way to get as far from his father as possible. While he might have enjoyed the work at first, the excitement had waned, giving way to an aching hollowness.
But Marcus didn’t really know what he was asking. He knew Nick’s reasons for leaving, but didn’t know exactly what he would be doing while he was away. The Home Office was strict about who was allowed to know about his activities—the espionage he’d performed in the service of his country.
Which was, essentially, no one.
And since it wasn’t common knowledge what Nick had been doing for the past