“You two go over after dinner,” Florentia said, “and I will bring Nicholas shortly thereafter.”
“Let’s hope this works,” Beaumont said.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Florentia said. “If it does, we have to figure out where to put eleven men and their families and servants.”
NICHOLAS DID NOT FEEL like sparring with Florentia this evening. He’d known she would most likely see Rafe at some point and confront him about their guest. He just wished it hadn’t been today. He had enough on his mind without having Florentia try and worry him about Rafe being discovered before he could return to the United States.
For one, he had to come up with a plan for how to keep from breaking down the door between his chamber and Amelia’s and doing what he wanted with her. He’d only barely restrained himself the night before. How would he resist tonight? The problem, he told himself, was that he didn’t even need to break down the door. She would have left it unlocked. And she would welcome him into her bed. She wanted him, and that made everything that much more difficult.
They’d taken the coach the short drive to Catmint Cottage and since the coachman and outriders were nearby, neither Nicholas nor Florentia discussed Rafe on the ride over. But as soon as they arrived at the cottage and sent the coach away, Nicholas prepared for a tongue lashing. They stepped into the vestibule of Catmint Cottage, and Nicholas immediately said, “I can explain.”
“I’ve already done that, Nickers,” said Rafe, stepping out of the dining room.
“It’s no wonder she found you out,” Nicholas groused, following his sister toward the candlelight spilling out of the dining room. “You refuse to stay in your chambers.”
He stepped into the dining room and then halted. The room had been lit by candles, and at the other end of it was Amelia, dressed in blush pink with an anxious expression on her face.
Rafe closed the door behind Nicholas.
“What is this about?” Nicholas asked, looking from Amelia to his sister to Rafe. “Does my wife know who you are as well?”
“She does,” Amelia answered.
“You’re even worse at this than I thought,” he told Rafe.
“We’ve brought you here for a reason,” Florentia told him. “Mr. Beaumont has a confession to make.”
“Do I need a drink before I hear this?” Nicholas asked.
“That might be best,” Amelia said, bringing him a glass of port.
“Do you want to sit?” Rafe asked.
“No.” He preferred to stand, one hand on the back of a chair to keep his balance and the other holding the port.
“Then I hope you don’t mind if I do.” Rafe sat as did Florentia. Amelia stood beside Nicholas. He appreciated the gesture even if her presence distracted him. Already he’d begun to plan how he might return home with her alone in the coach.
“I’ve done something you might not like,” Rafe said.
“That’s nothing new.”
“This is even more egregious,” Florentia added.
He’d already surmised that being that the four of them were gathered clandestinely to discuss whatever it was Rafe had done now.
“Just spit it out,” Nicholas said.
“I’ve invited Draven’s Dozen for a house party.”
“All of them? Where?”
“Battle’s Peak,” Florentia supplied.
Amelia took the port from his hand as it had begun to slip.
“All of them?”
Rafe nodded. “All ten of them and Draven himself. Plus wives and children, where applicable.”
“I don’t understand. You’ve invited the entire troop to my home for a house party. Without my consent?” He looked at Florentia. “Did you know about this?”
“Not until the acceptances began to arrive. Initially I blamed Lady Nicholas, but she was as innocent as I in this.”
Nicholas felt the anger rising up, and he took his port back and sipped it. He wasn’t sure if he was angry because Amelia had been blamed for Rafe’s idiocy or because he had known Rafe was an idiot and had allowed him to stay at Battle’s Peak regardless. He should have known something like this would happen.
“Just hear me out before you begin yelling,” Rafe said.
“I don’t yell.”
“Right. Well, before you say no.”
“I don’t think there is anything you could say that would convince me, but you are welcome to try.”
Rafe opened his mouth to speak, but Amelia’s voice was the one Nicholas heard. “It’s his last chance,” she said.
Nicholas turned to her. “Pardon?”
“He’ll be leaving the country again soon, and this is his last chance to see all of his friends. Perhaps for the rest of his life.”
Nicholas didn’t believe that. Rafe would be back. He was as British as they came. He would find a way to return to his home. But there was no guarantee it would be anytime soon. No guarantee when he did return everyone would be hale and hearty and able to gather.
“That’s right,” Rafe said belatedly. “I might never have another chance.”
How was Nicholas supposed to oppose that argument? How could he sentence Rafe to never seeing his friends again? He was already facing the very real possibility that he would never see his parents alive again. And Rafe was no traitor. He’d done nothing but save the woman he loved from capture—a woman who was only suspected of wrongdoing.
“There’s another reason,” Rafe said. “With the war several years behind us now, we are all moving on with our lives. We’ll never forget the bond we have, but perhaps now is the time to bid farewell to the past and embrace the future.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “You have definitely been spending too much time alone.”
Rafe laughed. “I know. Another week and I’ll be writing philosophy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Florentia muttered.
Amelia put her hand on Nicholas’s arm, and he glanced at her in surprise. It was such a comforting, supportive gesture. He wasn’t used to having anyone standing at his side and supporting him. “You don’t have to agree,” she said quietly. “We’ve only received three acceptances. We can still call it off.” She looked up at him, her chocolate brown eyes large and full of understanding. A man could melt in those eyes.
“You could call it off,” Rafe said. “Or you could put on your dancing shoes and prepare to dance with the devil.”
Nicholas slanted his gaze toward Rafe. The phrase was one they’d always used before going into battle or embarking on a dangerous mission. The fact that Rafe was using it now proved he understood how difficult this situation was for Nicholas. Even before his injury, he hadn’t enjoyed large groups of people. Several hours at a ball or a dinner party was enough to tide him over for days. He liked quiet and solitude.
In the army, he had cherished the friends he made and grown quite close to several of the men from Draven’s troop. Not all of those men had returned from battle. But those who had—Ewan Mostyn, Neil Wraxall, Phineas the Duke of Mayne, Colin FitzRoy, Jasper Grantham, Nash Pope, Duncan Murray, Stratford Fortescue, Rowden Payne, Aidan Sterling, Rafe Beaumont, and Draven himself—were like brothers to him. Though he might prefer them one-on-one, as opposed to in a large gathering, Rafe was right—damn him. Perhaps they all did need the opportunity to say farewell to the era of the Survivors and begin anew.