You guys, thank you thank you thank you for sticking with me and waiting even though I didn't update for a month. Hehe. So, as a treat for you aaand to celebrate the 4th of September, the International FuyuSarah Day (the day I was popped into the world of the living), here's a fast update! Yey!

This was, by far, the hardest chapter to write. Partly because the whole chapter was in the book, so I had to be careful about writing it and making sure that I had enough original stuff to claim this as fanfiction. I couldn't omit anything, either, because this is, like one of the key chapters, so...Ahehe. For the most part, though, this was tricky because this is one of the most anticipated chapters, and screwing it up would be immensely disappointing.

So here's the long-awaited Chapter Twelve. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Nicola and the Viscount is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. All the characters and all the spoken dialogue in this chapter are conjured up by Meg Cabot. I just tried to fill in the blanks in between in an attempt to satisfy my fluff-hungry self.

CHAPTER TWELVE

He wanted to hug her.

That was all he wished to do at the moment: cross the room, scoop her into his arms and hug her. She looked so frail and helpless, curled up in the divan...

The other thing Nathaniel wanted to do was go after the Grouser so he could beat him to a pulp for being responsible for the deflated state Nicola was in. Yes, that idea was very tempting indeed.

But, Nicola was right there in the room, her beautiful face looking pale amidst the roses, and she needed him. Well, she needed someone; Nathaniel was just lucky that he happened to be there.

Deciding that it was better to take action instead of standing silently by the doorway, Nathaniel took a step forward and called, "Nicky?"

She shot up, startled, her sapphire eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"It's only me," Nathaniel said, carefully sitting beside her, giving her time to shoo him out of the room if she needed some more time alone. "I heard the shouting. Are you all right?"

Nicola nodded wordlessly, her lips clamped shut. She made a move to quickly dab her eyes with the lace trim of her sleeve — a move that was most probably meant to hide her tears from him.

It disappointed Nathaniel a little to see Nicola try to put a front for him, especially at a time like this. Did she assume that he would think less of her for crying? Why, of course he wouldn't! He had known her for so long, he practically knew her inside out, and he would still love her even if she cried like a child. Surely she knew that... didn't she?

Or maybe she thought he was going to tease her about being a crybaby. Well, given his record of being a merciless teaser, it shouldn't be a surprise if she did.

Suppressing a sigh, Nathaniel fished his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked up at him when she noticed it; Nathaniel wasn't sure if it was from surprise that he noticed her tears, or that he was offering the cloth at all.

"Go ahead," he said. "It's clean."

She thanked him quietly and accepted the handkerchief. As she daintily wiped her cheeks, Nathaniel inwardly rolled his eyes at himself.

"It's clean"?

"It's clean"?!

What on earth was that? Couldn't he have said something more helpful? Then again, perhaps something so irrelevant and fitting for small talk was what was needed at the moment. One couldn't very quickly go and talk about serious matters from one person to the next. A fair amount of time was usually given to small talk and silence.

Nicola gave a small sniff — one so small that it could have been involuntary — and Nathaniel decided that it was about the right time to strike a conversation.

"I suppose," he began, "that Lord Renshaw isn't too happy with you just now."

"Not very," Nicola said. "Not only won't I marry anyone he's picked out for me, but I won't make proper business decisions, either. He said he's quite washed his hands of me."

"Well, the Grouser has poor taste in picking out blokes for you," Nathaniel wanted to say. But, instead of fueling negative thoughts, he decided to be the optimist and point out that it was actually as good thing, because a fellow like the Lord Renshaw wasn't the type anyone would want mucking about in their personal business.

Nicola agreed, adding, "I can only hope he's telling the truth when he says he shan't bother about me anymore. The way my luck's been going lately, I hardly dare believe it."

"I wouldn't say that," Nathaniel had to say, looking at the vase of golden yellow roses beside him. "I think you're luck's been extraordinarily good lately."

To that, Nicola laughed in surprise and disbelief.

"Me?" she cried. "Good luck? Are you mad? I get engaged to a horrid fellow who was apparently only marrying me so his father could run a railroad through my parlor" — Ah, so Nathaniel had been right about that, after all — "and you say my luck's been good?"

Well, she had a point right there, and perhaps Nathaniel was being a bit selfish when he said that things were getting better... But still, everything had a good and bad side, didn't it?

It was just like a rose, Nathaniel thought as he took one from the vase he had been gazing at. Roses were truly beautiful, but their soft, colorful petals were first protected by long thorns that were painful to touch. And the only way to keep from repeatedly getting pricked by those thorns was to break off the bloom neatly, just as Nathaniel just did.

Examining the half-blown flower in his fingers, Nathaniel absently thought how fragrant those flowers were, if only one were to forget who had sent them.

"I'd say so," he answered Nicola. "After all, you found out the truth in time, didn't you?"

"Thanks to you."

Recognizing the slight sourness in her voice, Nathaniel looked up to see her sporting a disappointed look.

"It would have been better for you to find out after you'd married him that the bloke's a cheat and a scoundrel?" he asked, eyebrow raised. A soft pink hue colored Nicola's cheeks then — Nathaniel couldn't help but think how adorable she looked when she blushed — perhaps slightly embarrassed.

"Well... No, of course not. But"

"It would have been better if he hadn't been trying to use you at all," Nathaniel finished for her. "Yes, I agree. Still, you must admit, Nicky, as far as luck goes, if you're counting good friends, and people who care for you, you're flush with it."

That said, Nathaniel handed the half-blown rose to her, his calm face and confident words hiding his nervousness...

...the nervousness that hit him when he realized that what he had just said — coupled with his giving Nicola a flower, which he had never done before — was terribly close to actually admitting his feelings for her. He was already toeing the line bordering their formerly comfortable, bickering relationship, and, as Nicola took the rose with her eyes downcast, Nathaniel was certain that she would figure him out. The idea scared him a little; Nicola already had enough to worry about, thanks to that annoying git.

Finding the need to break the silence, Nathaniel spoke, as lightly as he could, the first words that came to mind.

And those words were, "So I suppose your heart is broken."

Nathaniel immediately winced at himself. Of course, because he had been thinking so worriedly about her heart, that was what he had blurted out.

How idiotic.

Still, the words had been released, and there was nothing to do but stand by it. After all, Nathaniel was also genuinely curious, despite his dislike for the topic. Fortunately, Nicola was too busy admiring the delicate rose, and she seemed to be completely oblivious of his discomfort as she passionately answered that she was naturally heartbroken at the thought that anyone would think of destroying such lovely meadows.

"What kind of wicked mind would even contemplate doing something so horrid?" she was saying. "Clearly the Grouser has never heard that 'Nature never did betray the heart that loved her'."

Good heavens, couldn't Nicola refrain from poetry?

"Wordsworth, again?"

"Tintern Abbey."

"Appropriate under the circumstances, I suppose," Nathaniel said, letting that one slide without much argument. "But I confess I wasn't talking about the Grouser. I meant Sebastian Bartholomew."

"Oh," she said, her gaze dropping to the rose again. She was silent for a moment, and Nathaniel found himself anxiously waiting for her reply. He directed his gaze towards another vase of roses — there were dozens in the room to choose from — just as Nicola spoke again.

"I don't know," she said. "Not irreparably broken, I imagine. They are supposed to be rather resilient, and mine oughtn't be any different from anyone else's... I suppose I shall have to wait and see."

Nathaniel nodded, keeping his eyes on the flowers, unable to look back at her yet. He had been worried about the effects of her broken engagement had on Nicola, but it looked like he needn't worry too much. She was a strong girl, and, even though Nathaniel had yet to find out what exactly her feelings for the viscount were, Nicola seemed to be recovering quite nicely. Still, the wave of relief he felt when he heard her answer was rather alarming; despite his encouragements to her, Nicola's situation wasn't really something to be too happy about.

Nathaniel felt that he was being very selfish at the moment. He had suspected — and, even more so, hoped — that Nicola did not actually love Sebastian Bartholomew, and was instead only infatuated with him. And now that she was not only released from their engagement but also appeared to be free from whatever power the viscount had over her, Nathaniel had to exert extra effort to be polite and not to smile too widely. To say the least, he was torn between feeling utterly guilty and being ridiculously overjoyed.

He stole a glance at Nicola, fully expecting her to still be gazing thoughtfully at her flower. To his surprise, her sapphire eyes were looking right at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks again. This was the first time, Nathaniel realized, that Nicola looked at him that way, her eyes lacking that feisty spark, but were instead filled with something else... Something so familiar yet brand new...

And then, all too quickly, the contact was lost when Nicola looked away. But Nathaniel, for the life of him, could not bring himself to avert his eyes; his gaze almost immediately fell to her lips. They seemed to draw him in, just as much as her bright blue eyes did, and Nathaniel felt himself on the verge of disregarding all rational thought. Truly, it would be highly irrational for him to raise his hand to gingerly touch Nicola's cheek, making her look at him again...

Her cherry lips moved, and, vaguely, as if it was in a distant reality, Nathaniel heard her ask, "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Nathaniel heard himself saying, barely able to focus on stringing more than two words together in a sentence. Nicola was close enough, he reckoned, and Nathaniel could easily swoop down and claim her lips.

"About Mr. Pease," Nicola said, effectively breaking Nathaniel out of his trance. "And his connection to Lord Farelly."

Well, that was the perfect way to yank him back to reality.

"Oh," Nathaniel said in an unintentionally flat tone, scrambling to put his mind back on track. "That. Yes. Well, I read about it in the newspaper. The Blutcher, I mean." He then proceeded to tell her a summary of how he put the pieces together — he tried to sound as far from an absent-minded professor as possible, but he feared that he had begun to ramble after a few sentences — and ended it with saying, "It was only a guess, but a reasonable one."

"You always did have a very sound and deductive mind," Nicola said. "My compliments, Mr. Sheridan."

Her words sent Nathaniel into near panic, and, almost instinctively, reached out to hold her hand in an effort to gain her full attention. When she looked up at him, Nathaniel charged on, ignoring her shock of his sudden movement.

"I hope you don't think, Nicky," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "that I wanted to be right. About Bartholomew, I mean. I hope you know I'd have given anything — anything — to have been wrong, if it would have meant sparing you any kind of pain."

And he truly would have. Right from the very beginning, even before he realized that he was in love with her, Nathaniel had already wished that he had deducted wrongly. In spite of what he thought about Sebastian Bartholomew, Nathaniel had truly prayed that he was only jumping to conclusions.

Nicola had to understand that.

Nathaniel needed her to understand that.

And then, as Nicola sat there, her wide, astonished sapphire eyes returning his own steady gaze, Nathaniel felt the urge to kiss her come back with full force. Whether it was from the feelings he had kept bottled up for days on top of being ignored for weeks — maybe even years— or from the rush of emotion brought about by the present topic of conversation, Nathaniel didn't know. What he did know, however, was that he wanted so much to embrace her, it took all his willpower not to lean forward and catch her lips with his own.

But... Why was he trying so hard to stop himself, again?

It was at that moment, that precise moment when Nathaniel finally decided to throw all caution to the wind and began to move in, that the doors burst open, causing Nathaniel to practically jump back to his end of the couch.

An award should have been given to Eleanor Sheridan for making such a dramatic entrance.

"Oh, there you are," she cried. "We saw the Grouser had left, but couldn't find you anywhere. Are you all right? He wasn't beastly to you, was he?"

"Only middling," Nicola replied with a laugh.

Nathaniel, though, was too busy willing his pounding heart to calm down to notice the exchange. Nevertheless, he was alert enough to feel someone's gaze on him, and he looked up to see Sir Hugh sporting a very familiar smirk.

Ha. Trust Hugh Parker to take one simple glance and immediately know what was going on. How inconveniently perceptive of him.

Glaring up at his friend whose smirk only widened in response, half of Nathaniel wanted to strangle Sir Hugh for interrupting. He would die an honorable death, saving Eleanor from Nathaniel's wrath, for, of course, the eldest Sheridan simply could not hurt his own sister.

But half of Nathaniel was also grateful for the other couple's impeccable timing. Nicola's engagement had only been broken for barely a week, and if word was to come out the she was already kissing her new hostess's brother... Well... Nathaniel didn't even want to think what that would mean for Nicola. More importantly, though, Eleanor could not have entered at a better time, because the last thing Nicola needed right now was a raw display of affection...

...especially if the affection was one-sided.

"I say," Sir Hugh spoke up as he inspected the state of the parlor. "This place has taken a bit of a funeral tone, don't you think?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at that statement, and Eleanor, for her part, kicked her fiancé's ankle for bringing up something so morbid at a time like this.

Sir Hugh, however, only raised an eyebrow and said, "What are you kicking me for, Eleanor? All I was saying is that if I were Miss Sparks, hanging about in this mausoleum of a room would not be at all appealing. What say you ride in my curricle, Miss Sparks? You haven't been out-of-doors in days, I know, and I think it would be just the thing, a little wind in your hair, and sun on your cheeks."

Nathaniel stole a glance at Nicola to see her look down at the rose on her lap. She seemed to contemplate Sir Hugh's suggestion for a moment, before the corners of her mouth slowly lifted to form a small smile.

"Why, thank you, Sir Hugh," she said, looking up. "I should like that very much... That is, if the Sheridans would join us."

As he heard Eleanor express her agreement, Nathaniel took a moment to gaze at Nicola — the girl who was looking up at him with sparkling eyes, her lovely face flushed and her cheeks pink as she held one golden bloom in her hand. And then, giving her his own smile, he nodded.

"It'd be my pleasure."

Oh, wow, it's been a while since I wrote one whole chapter in one sitting! I had to reread this over and over, though, editing things here and there, for the reasons I mentioned before the chapter itself.

Sorry, but am I making Nathaniel a tad bit too violent? Haha! See, it'd be terribly boring if Nathaniel really was as calm as he appears to be, so I let myself have some fun while we're inside his head.

Oh, and I have to admit that, after rereading the original chapter in the book, I realized that I made a LOT of mistakes in details in the previous chapters. Like, Nat and Nicky first met at her school recitation, not the first day Eleanor moved to Madame's. Also, I had written the Blutcher to be the name of a newspaper, when, in fact, it was the name of the train that was going to run across Beckwell Abbey. And, in this chapter, Nicola had received the Grouser in the drawing room, but then retreated to the parlor (which totally explains why Eleanor couldn't find her). But nobody seemed to notice, so...yeah. Hehe.

I'm not sure if I can update this fast again, so I apologize in advance if it takes a while.