Chapter 15: The Wild, Young, and Free Things

"Blanche," Nicola grumbled, turning away against her pillows and pulling the covers over her head, "go away."

Blanche shook her more vigorously and Nicola blearily recalled now what woke her the first time. Her friend was relentless, and shook her with even more roughness, now for the third time. Nicola groaned and cracked open her eyes, consumed by darkness.

"Nicki, you have to come see this," Blanche was whispering, but why Nicola wasn't sure. They were still in her room and there was nobody else around, or probably awake at this hour.

"The sun... where is it?" Nicola grouched, yanking the cover down and giving the incorrigibly tiny woman a vehement glare through a tangle of tawny hair.

"Not to rise for a few more hours yet," Blanche explained, pushing off the mattress and taking the covers from Nicola's hands, ripping them over the other end of the bed and effectively exposing her friend. "Get up, I desperately need you to see this."

"What is so important that it can't wait until the morning?" Nicola sat up and rubbed her face, realising that she had only probably been asleep for a couple of hours at least, and weariness lingered heavily against her.

"It probably won't be there if we wait until then." Blanche skipped around the room and procured a shawl from Nicola's armoire, tossed it over her head. "Quickly, now. We don't have all night."

"We do." Nicola groaned as she swung her legs over the bed and stood up, wrapping the shawl that Blanche had tossed her around her shoulders. Through the darkness of the room, she pinned her friend with a grumpy look. "Whatever it is surely can't be worth this."

"Oh, it is." Blanche leapt forward and grabbed Nicola's hand, beginning to tug her out the room. "Trust me."

"The last time you said those words to me, our carriage got stuck in a ditch and we had to wait hours for your mother to come rescue us." She glanced around furtively, attempting to search for a pair of slippers to cover her bare feet, but there was none close by and she noticed Blanche's feet were bare, too, so she chose to forego opening the armoire and searching for a pair.

Blanche gave her a peeved look over her shoulder, dark hair bouncing in a loose braid down her back as she trotted down the passage. "You always remember the worst things."

"They do tend to linger with no small amount of dread, Bee."

Blanche chose not to respond to that remark and practically dragged Nicola down the steps, lingering on the last one to turn back and whisper, "We need to quiet now." She ignored the question on Nicola's face and pressed forward.

Nicola heard low voices as they tiptoed across the entrance hall of the manor house and past the drawing room, towards the library adjacent where soft light spilled across the floor from the heavy wooden door that stood slightly ajar. It was here that Blanche dropped to her knees and pushed in close against the tiny space that separated the door from its frame. She gestured with her hand for Nicola to join her, which she did, the voices louder now and decidedly male, and one of them she recognised with an aching familiarity.

The scene before her was largely obscured by the rest of the door, but what she could discern was the profile of one gentleman, Mr Nathaniel Southill, who was seated close to them on a plush leather sofa, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand as he smiled at something. There were two other voices, but their owners were not within her range of sight, though she knew that Jason was one and assuredly Lord Oliver Hollingsworth the other.

"Blanche, what the devil are you playing at?" Nicola hissed to her companion, sure that she was quite mad.

"Ssh!" Blanche hissed. "Just look at him."

"Who? Mr Southill?"

"Yessss."

And Nicola did, but not before she made sure Blanche saw the shocked look she gave her. Nathaniel Southill was spectacular to behold, indeed, but Nicola couldn't identify what was so astounding about the man that Blanche would pull her from slumber just to ogle him through the crack of a door in the early hours of the morning. His sharp profile was hard and angular, his jaw and cheek darkened with the need for a shave, and his unconventionally long hair was banded at the nape of his neck with a strip of narrow leather.

Nicola raised her brow at her friend. "If you have risked us being lambasted by your mother just to stare at this man, Blanche, I swear-"

She shrugged and grinned. "He's just... so different."

Nicola blinked. "You LIKE him?"

"SSH!"

But the damage done and the unintentionally high octave of her voice at the shock she felt ripple through her at the realisation that Blanche Blackwood had a crush on possibly the most inappropriate man to ever make her acquaintance drew the cheerful voices from within the chamber to a crashing halt.

Their eyes clashed and Nicola pressed her fingers to her lips, praying fervently that their mistake would be dismissed as the wind or an entirely other natural element, and hence ignored, but it was not to be as the sound of heavy footsteps thudded over the flagstones of the library, directly towards them.

Nicola did not waste any time as she scrambled backwards from the door, bumping into Blanche and sending them both sprawling as their legs tangled in their nightgowns, just as the door swung wide and spilled orange light over them, thwarting her attempt at an awkward escape.

"Well, well," Jason said with a grin as he looked down at them, "seems like we have two little mice snooping around outside."

Nicola could have murdered Blanche, but instead she pushed herself up on her elbows and then rose to her feet. "Blanche... heard something and asked me to inspect the sound with her," she offered with a weak smile.

Jason laughed at that, and offered his hand to his sister, who accepted it with a begrudging look on her face. "We need to work on your fibs, Nicki," he told her. "You're a remarkably terrible liar."

"I shouldn't like to think what sort of person I'd be if I were good at it," she grumbled.

"It's my fault," Blanche admitted sheepishly. "I made Nicki come down here with me to see what you were doing."

"No doubt in my mind." Jason was amused, however, and Nicola eyed him warily. He looked decidedly unkempt, his hair in disarray and his face a bit haggard, though not unpleasant. He had removed his jacket and formal waistcoat as well as his cravat from earlier, dressed now in his loose cotton shirt, the stays untied around his neck to reveal a smooth expense of the chest underneath, and the sleeves he had rolled up to his elbows. The corded muscles of his forearms were defined and, upon noticing them, Nicola was perplexed at the way her body warmed.

She even found his wrists attractive, and that smarted somewhat.

"Join us and see for yourself." Jason stood to one side and gestured to within the library, where his companions were sitting and listening curiously to the interchange.

The two women shared a look that only the closest of friends would be able to understand and decipher the silent dialogue that was taking place between them.

This is a bad idea, Nicola's stern wide eyes seemed to yell, whereas Blanche's were more pleading, I would do the same for you!

Nicola relented, wondering if she were indeed mad to endure the torture of being in the same vicinity of the man who had just hours before kissed her senseless and knew it, and they wordlessly turned to Jason, a simultaneous decision made. It must have painted a ridiculous picture, entering that library with three of England's most notorious libertines, while they were dressed in flimsy white nightgowns. And when Oliver and Nathaniel, understanding what was transpiring, sprang to their feet and bowed to them, the gesture seemed so ludicrous to Nicola in that moment it caused a smile to wobble on her lips. Jason came round to them and caught it, his eyes meeting hers with a knowing and agreeable smirk.

"Sister, Nicola," Jason began wryly, "I believe you are both acquainted with my friends, Oliver and Nathaniel." The other two men grinned at them. Jason gave them a quelling look. "Gentlemen, behave." It was greeting enough, and the three men threw decorum out the window entirely when Jason offered his sister and Nicola a glass of whiskey before flopping down into the chair he had previously left.

Oliver and Nathaniel followed similarly, leaving only one winged-back chair available for use. The library was a grand and majestic room, with rich dark panelling covering the walls that were lined with shelves and shelves of tomes. Where they were seated before the hearth of a fireplace, a low table in the centre of the chairs, a dying fire burned behind the iron grate which was unnecessary considering the warmth of the summer evening. A single oil lamp had been lit, which illuminated the chamber enough for each to consider the other, and a confused look crossed all of their faces when they determined that there simply wasn't enough chairs for all of them.

Nicola made the quickest judgement of them all and pushed Blanche into the available chair, which just so happened to be next to Nathaniel – the reason they were down here in the first place – and Nicola dropped to her knees on the floor before the small table, her back to the fire. When they all protested, she held up her hand and laughed lightly. "I am fine, really," she said. But Jason reached behind where he slouched and procured his coat that he had draped on the back of the chair, offering it to her.

"Use it, I insist." He was beside her and there was a teasing light in his eyes when she accepted his clothing and tucked it under her, sure that he must be thinking something wicked considering where she was putting his coat.

"Well," Lord Oliver declared to the room, "this is a rather nice surprise. I don't think we have ever had the privilege of sharing a room at Northwick with two pretty girls before."

"I believe I told you to behave," Jason warned, pinning the other man with a look as he sipped the liquid in his glass.

"Blackwood," Nathanial intoned in a deep baritone, his voice as rough-hewn as the way he looked. The sound caught Blanche's attention and she latched onto him as if her eyes were glued to him now. "You did invite them to join us, as I recall. Surely you expected them to witness us at our very worst. It is the middle of the night and we are well into our cups."

"I will remind you, Nate, that it is my youngest sister and her companion that you address."

"I stand by what I said."

"I would not hesitate to call you out for untoward behaviour."

"Perhaps then," Nicola mused, glancing between the two men, who were addressing each other with serious words but there was something humorous in their tones, "it would be better if Blanche and I left."

It was disconcerting having all of their eyes suddenly on her and Nicola fought the urge to squirm against Jason's coat. "In light that someone may inflict bodily harm on another person," Nicola offered an explanation when nobody felt inclined to talk after a moment.

Oliver scoffed. "Jason is a poor shot. He wouldn't be able to graze the broad side of this house."

"Well, that is uncalled for," Jason protested wryly, "from the man who can't stay astride his horse for more than ten minutes."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I fell off once, Blackwood, and you deliberately spooked the stallion."

Nathaniel laughed at the memory. "A talentless lot, we are. Our pretty guests would be better off with their prospects inside the ballrooms."

"Well, I wouldn't say entirely talentless," Oliver drawled, eyeing Jason slyly. "His lordship over here can paint a pretty enough picture when he desires it."

Nicola turned to him, surprised. "You can paint?"

Jason shrugged lazily, his eyes lightly drifting over her face and shoulders as she addressed him. "Perhaps."

"I didn't know," Blanche declared, suddenly roused out of her stupefied silence. It had been odd that she hadn't spoken in so long. Nathaniel Southill must be having a drastic effect on her sensibilities, indeed.

"It's no secret, Bee."

"Will you show me?" Nicola asked, truly intrigued by an aspect of him she had never known about before.

His smile was indolent. "Perhaps the next time you're snooping outside my chambers, I'll invite you inside to take a look."

There was no way she could help the furious blush heat her cheeks as Blanche gasped and gave her brother a venomous look. Nathaniel and Oliver were chuckling. "I take it back," Nicola muttered, tracing circles against the wood of the table with her finger. "I do not need to see anything you have created, my lord."

Something flickered in his gaze, perhaps annoyance at the deliberate use of his title again, perhaps regret, but Jason didn't respond to her.

"Jason will show you," Oliver was saying, unable to read the tension between them, "there is nothing he likes better to prattle on about the subject of art. Given the chance, he has almost talked our ears off about Michelangelo and that cabbage fellow."

"Caravaggio," Jason corrected with a sigh. "Mock me all you like, Hollingsworth, but leave the greats out of it."

"See what I mean?" Oliver addressed Nicola directly, quirking his brows up for emphasis. Jason lobbed a cushion at his face.

"If you want to be tossed into that lake again, continue." Jason's warning was laced with humour, enunciated by the good-natured wink he gave Nicola.

"That would be a moot point considering the whole purpose of us lingering on at Northwick was for the traditional annual dunking after your mother's little event," Nathaniel mused.

Jason leaned his head back against the chair and groaned softly. "You're a fool, Nate. Honest to God."

"What?" Blanche demanded, her wide eyes now on her brother. "You mean to tell me... every year the three of you go swimming in the lake?"

"Look at what you've done." Eyes that glowed like storm clouds glared at his companion.

"Only since two years ago," Oliver explained to Blanche happily.

"Really?" Blanche leaned forward eagerly. "Does mother know?"

"Most assuredly not." Jason looked as if he was praying silently for patience. "And she must never know, Bee. Can you imagine?"

"How?" Nicola asked. "How did this start? And how has nobody... found out?"

"A drunken wager two years prior," Oliver explained happily. "We were bored and foxed. I believe I initiated it, betting Nathaniel ten pounds that he couldn't swim, and then the only place we could determine the outcome of the bet... was the lake. And nobody found out because, well, the timing. Not many nosy little mice wondering about in the early hours of the morning."

There was a wicked look that crossed Blanche's face then, and Nicola knew it all too well. "Blanche," she began by warning, but the other girl beat her to it, speaking over it.

"We should like to take part, as well." She notched her chin up in the air and challenged any of the men present to denounce her.

"We?" Nicola asked her.

Jason grinned at his sister and there was an equally wicked look in his eyes. Oh, blasted Blackwood siblings indeed. "Bee, I am your brother, not your master. You can do as you wish, just don't expect me to save you from drowning, or mother when she finds out."

Nicola rather thought that drowning was the least of their concerns, but Blanche was rising. "Come on, Nicki," she urged.

"I beg your pardon?"

But Jason leaned forward and set his now empty glass down on the table, his expression soft as he studied her, a look that was private and meant only for her. "Go on," Jason murmured, a smile slashing across his lips, "show me that wild thing that's begging to be set free." His voice was an intimate caress, probably meant only for her, but everyone in the chamber heard it, focused on the interchange solely.

And Nicola knew that she wanted to do it, that she was secretly revelling in the excitement, and so was Blanche. There was something wild running rampant through her veins, coaxing her on, urging her to dip her toes into the waters that tasted of freedom, of pleasure, of abandon. She glanced up at her friend and grinned, grabbing her hand, and together they ran from the chamber.

Peels of giggles and hushed laughter trailed through the house as they tripped over their feet, exploding from the doors that lead out to the terraces. Together, Blanche and Nicola flew down the steps, the gardens still decorated with traces of the party that had occurred earlier, oil lamps still flickering determinedly from between bushes. It was while they were descending the final level did the three men overtake, crashing down the steps behind them.

The first, a great hulking bear of a man, promptly intercepted Blanche and swung her around as if she were nothing but a sack of potatoes and tossed her over one broad shoulder. She screeched, her eyes wide with shock at Nathaniel's audacity, her hair a dark wild curtain over her face. It was only then that Nicola realised that he was topless, only then that she realised her own path had been intercepted, and realising what Jason was about before her, stopped her dead.

"Jason, don't you-" she made to turn, laughing, but he caught her, spun her, and just like with Blanche, unceremoniously slung her over his hard shoulder. The wind left her as that solid part of him encountered her soft flesh and she splayed her hands for support against his back as his arms banded across the backs of her thighs. "This is unnecessary!" Nicola gasped, feeling every movement as he loped to the water. "We were going to do it!" His skin was silk over hardness, feverishly warm against the naked flesh of her hands, and she tried to ignore how much she enjoyed the feel of him against her fingers.

She could hear an uproarious splash nearby, followed by Blanche's indignant squealing and spluttering. She even cursed the burly gentleman who had manhandled her. "Unnecessary but, oh, so much fun," Jason told her, and Nicola swore she felt him swat her backside, but before she could dwell on that inappropriate action, she was shifted and launched into the water of the lake.

Dark water swallowed her whole and it was so unbelievably bracing she very suddenly doubted the wisdom of the idea very much. Surfacing, Nicola gasped, and she tread the icy coldness for a moment before her feet touched the slimy bottom. Beside her, Blanche was splashing Nathaniel furiously as they swam nearby.

Nicola's assailant emerged from the water close to her; his grin spoke volumes for whatever remorse he was indeed not harbouring. She splashed him lightly, pushing the hair out of her face, not failing to note the appealing boyishness of his expression as his damp hair draped over his forehead. "This," he said to her, drifting close, and she considered his half-submerged shoulders, wondering where he had abandoned his shirt since the library, "that smile... you try so hard to hide it, hide who you are."

"Do you honestly expect me to jump into every lake in England?" Her teeth were chattering, and she moved aimlessly, generating as much warmth as she could from her body.