Page 93 of A Match of Misfortune

He appraised her. “You’re hiding something.”

Again, she shook her head.

“Very well. Keep your secrets.” But before Cecily could respond, Nash lunged at her hand that held the note. She crumpled it in her hand, trying to keep hold of it, her laughter at the unexpected assault making her effort more difficult. With his hand on her wrist, she spun so her back was to him, pulling her arm free. He took hold of her waist with one arm, keeping her close, and she reached her hand forward, but even with him behind her, his arm was nearly as long as hers.

“You’re going to injure your hand again,” she said, unable to prevent a giggle from escaping as he attempted another reach at the letter. Then she felt the fingers curled around her waist begin to wiggle. Before she could warn him to stop, her body reacted to his tickling and she arched backward, her head coming into contact with something solid.

She gasped and spun toward him as he leaned forward, groaning. “I’m so sorry. I’m extremely ticklish.” She put a hand on his back and leaned down to see what damage she had done. He was cupping his face, and his eyes were watering. “Did I hit your nose?”

“One minute,” he moaned, remaining hunched over. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and she finally noticed the drops of blood on the floor at their feet.

Her stomach contracted and her vision darkened ever so slightly at the edges. “I made you bleed.”

“No, I made me bleed.” He wadded up the handkerchief and set it over his nose, standing upright.

Cecily’s gaze settled on the white linen, now splotched red. She drew in a deep, steadying breath.

He turned his back to Cecily. “Perhaps you should sit. You appear rather ashen.”

“I am more than fine,” Cecily said, though with one more look at Nash’s handkerchief, she resumed her seat at the table with the chessboard.

Another knock sounded, and Caldwell stepped through the door again. “There is a visitor for—” His gaze halted on Nash, but he maintained a proper expression this time. “Might I get you something for that, sir?”

“Thank you, but I’m on my way upstairs. Though I dripped some blood on the floor, so if you can get a servant to see to cleaning it…” Nash paused, tipping his head upward. “Who is the visitor?”

“Lord Harlow. He wishes for an audience with Miss Bradshaw.”

Nash hmphed. “Of course he does.”

Caldwell looked from Cecily to Nash and back again. “What should I tell him?”

Though Cecily had little desire to speak with him at present, she owed him at least that much. “Give me a moment, then bring him into the drawing room. Adelaide and Sarah will make sufficient chaperones.”

With his chin still tilted toward the ceiling, Nash looked at Caldwell out of the corner of his eyes. “Also tell him if he dallies too long, I shall throw him out on his haunches. I’m the only man who should request an audience with Miss Bradshaw.”

Cecily touched Nash’s arm as she passed, but she did not look at him. She did not wish to glimpse his handkerchief. And she did not wish for him to glimpse how absolutely delighted she was by his bout of jealousy.

ADELAIDE AND SARAH sat on the side of the drawing room opposite Cecily when Caldwell announced Lord Harlow.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Cecily stood from her place on the settee, noting how discomfited he appeared.

His gaze slid to Sarah, then Adelaide, his gaze pausing briefly on her invalid chair, before he looked back to Cecily.

“I hope you do not mind, but my sister is working on a filagree project, and I insisted she remain.”

“Of course, I did not mean to intrude upon your day.”

How peculiar he was acting. “Will you have a seat?”

“Yes, thank you.” Instead of taking the chair across from her, he moved onto the settee at her side. He puffed out a breath of air.

“Is something the matter, my lord?”

With one glance at Adelaide and Sarah, he leaned in closer. “I’m not certain, but I believe so.” He sat erect on the edge of his seat as though he might rise again at any moment. “I overheard Lord Chatting, one of Mr. Markham’s investors, talking with a group of men at White’s today. After the vote of membership, he said he only proposed Mr. Markham’s name because he was unduly pressured to do so. He then spoke very poorly of Mr. Markham. Not only about his misfortunes, but also about his character—his lack of honesty in his business dealings, that he is only out to make a quick profit and cares little for his investors, and that he bullies others. He went so far as to claim Mr. Markham had some run in with Lord Walton at Vauxhall and threatened him for no reason.”

Cecily stared at Lord Harlow. “That is not true. Not any of it.”

“I know. In part, that is why I am here.” Lord Harlow put his hand on Cecily’s. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, but one of friendship. “He also mentioned another man a … Mr. Steele?”