He didn’t believe for one minute she was interested in anatomy and tried as hard as he could to figure out what her motivation was for wanting the book. She was a study in contradictions and didn’t fit anywhere into his well-ordered life, and the way he placed most people he knew into well-defined boxes.
Lady Marigold was a definition of her own. Pretty, sharp-witted, shapely, intelligent, flighty, sensuous, yet something about her made him think what she showed the world was not the true Marigold. A man could spend a lifetime trying to unwrap all the layers of the woman.
On the other hand, he wished her to perdition, so he could get on with the purchase of Dr. Paglia’s journal and retire to his comfortable library with a glass of brandy and the book. “Since Mr. Sedgewick gave us only two hours and then he intends to place the journal back up for sale, I suggest we get on with a solution or we will both lose it.”
“I do not intend to give up. Do you, Lord Stanley?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest we return to Lord St. Clair’s estate sale and ask Mr. Sedgewick to decide who is to get the book.”
Jonathan shrugged. “That would be an easy answer for him. He would most certainly sell it to the highest bidder.”
“I possess a fortune, Lord Stanley, as I am sure you—and every other gentleman in the ton knows—and I intend to pay whatever I need to pay to possess the book.”
Lord Stanley placed coins on the table and took her elbow to escort her out of the building. Remarkably enough, she did not pull back, but allowed him his gentlemanly manners. “Then I guess we must have Mr. Sedgewick decide the owner, then. I, too, possess enough coin to pay whatever is necessary to own the journal.”
Lips tightened, they climbed into the carriage and headed back to the estate. The silence on the return ride was painful. He could not lose that book. He would happily spend the remaining evenings of his life going over and over the pages, delving into the mind and writings of the most remarkable man of the century. No, he would not give up.
There were about the same amount of interested parties browsing the library when they returned. Mr. Sedgewick was again going from patron to patron and speaking briefly with them, most likely negotiating prices.
Lord. St. Clair had not moved from his spot and still glared at everyone in the room as if an unidentified person was about to abscond with an article without paying for it. He was certainly a surly looking man.
Jonathan needed to get this over with. His fingers actually itched to touch the book again. He and Lady Marigold moved across the room and caught Sedgewick’s attention. He raised his eyebrows as he approached them. “Do we have a solution, then? If not, I will have to insist on returning the book to the table for others to bid on.”
Lady Marigold offered one of those smiles that most likely brought many a London gentleman to his knees. “I am afraid we are at a stalemate, Mr. Sedgewick. Perhaps we can impose upon you to decide who shall get the book?”
Bloody hell, the woman actually batted her eyelashes. Was there no pride whatsoever in the chit? One minute she was a serious contender for a book most women would not even care to touch, and then used her female wiles on the man.
“Ah, still unable to settle your differences?” Sedgewick tapped his chin and thought for a moment. “I believe the best solution is to ask the owner who he prefers to have the book.”
Three pairs of eyes slid in Lord St. Clair’s direction, who hadn’t changed positions since the crowds had entered. This was probably the stupidest answer Sedgewick could have given them, but before Jonathan could object, the man strode over to where his lordship held up the wall, waving at Jonathan and Marigold to follow him.
“My lord, may I ask a question of you?” Sedgewick’s voice was lowered to keep the others from hearing their discussion.
The man didn’t answer, but only looked at his man of business.
Sedgewick continued, apparently undisturbed by the lack of response from St. Clair. “My lord, these two people both want to purchase this journal. They cannot decide between them who shall have it. I ask you to decide who you will sell it to.”
“What is it?” He may have asked the question, but his dead eyes showed no real interest.
Sedgewick looked at the cover. “It appears to be the journal of a Dr. Paglia.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.” Sedgewick turned to Jonathan. “Who is this man?”
“Dr. Vincenzio Paglia is perhaps the most renown scientist and man of medicine of this century.”
“The century is only two and twenty years,” Lord St. Clair pointed out.
Would he never rid himself of dealing with morons? “Nevertheless, I am certain the book contains a great deal of information that someone like myself who is interested in anatomy would love to read, and own.”
St. Clair waved at Mr. Sedgewick. “Give it to him.”
Lady Marigold gasped. “But, my lord, I haven’t spoken, and I want the book, too.”
St. Clair stared at her for a few minutes, his eyes roving over her body from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. “A woman has no need of such things. If you wish to know about anatomy, I will be more than happy to instruct you.”
***
The next afternoon, Marigold lay sprawled on the settee in her drawing room with the book she was pretending to read laying open on her stomach and sighed once again.
Damn that Lord Stanley.
She was barefoot, and the large toe on her left foot peeked out from the hole her maid had fixed, but no longer held. Her hair was in disarray, and her skirts were around her knees. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was losing that journal to Stanley.
The only saving grace for the man had been when he’d punched that obnoxious Lord St. Clair in the nose. Right after he’d given Mr. Sedgwick the amount of money he wanted for the journal and had the book in his hands. His lordship went down like a boulder dropped from a cliff.
Lord Stanley had glared at the man as he lay on the ground unconscious. “That was for insulting the lady.”
He then cupped Marigold’s elbow and practically pulled her from the house as she kept twisting and turning to see if Lord St. Clair was all right. Mr. Sedgewick was much too busy trying to revive his employer to worry about her and Stanley.
She clasped her hands over the flattened book and sighed again, staring at the symmetrical pattern on the ceiling, trying to multiply the parts by the area to come up with…she didn’t know. Despite her uncanny ability with numbers that had stunned Papa since she’d been a little girl, sometimes math failed her.
No more than two minutes later the sound of very loud—male—voices caught her attention. Before she could even sit up, Lord Stanley burst into the drawing room with her butler, Macon, right behind him. “I’m so sorry my lady, but the gentleman would not wait for me to announce him.”
Lord Stanley came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Marigold. Spurred into action, she scrambled to a sitting position and smoothed her skirts, tucking her bare feet under her gown. “My lord. Do what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Wasn’t that what was said when a gentleman called on a young lady? It had been so long since she had encouraged anyone enough to do it, she’d forgotten.
His lordship marched right up to her and leaned over far enough that Marigold was practically climbing over the top of the sofa. “Where is it?” he growled. His warm breath scented with mint and something sweet wafted over her.
“Where is what?”
“Don’t play false with me, Lady Marigold. Where is the journal?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” They were face to face, almost nose to nose and her back was hurting. “Please move back, my lord. I am in pain.”
He jerked himself up and paced, running his fingers through his hair. “I knew you wanted that journal—for what reason I am still puzzled—but I never thought you would stoop so low as to steal it.”
Marigold
hopped up, landing on her twisted foot, losing her balance. Lord Stanley reached out and grabbed her and she fell against his body. Again. His rock-hard body. His well-scented, very warm body. She came to a complete standstill and stared up at him, licking her lips. His eyes were wide, and he looked at her like no one had ever looked at her before.
Especially a man.
He shook his head as if coming out of a trance. “The journal is missing, and I know you had something to do with it. If you didn’t steal it directly, you had someone do it for you.”
She pulled back and patted the back of her hair. Which didn’t matter since it was all falling over her shoulders anyway. Lord, she must look a fright. “How dare you accuse me of thievery. I demand you leave my house immediately!”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not until I retrieve my journal.”
“Well then you will have to go somewhere else because your journal—that you stole from me, I might add—is not here.”
He raised his finger in the air. “Ah ha! You just admitted that you believe I stole the book from you, so now you feel it is your right to steal it back.”
Marigold stomped her foot, which didn’t offer too much of an impression since she was barefoot. “I did not steal your book.” Once again, she pointed to the door. “Do I have to get one of the footmen to throw you out?”
“Children, children, whatever is going on in here?” Lady Crampton swept into the room, looking back and forth between Marigold and Lord Stanley.
After a few breaths, Lady Crampton pointed to the sofa. “Marigold, sit down.” She turned to Lord Stanley. “Lord Stanley, I believe? Please take a seat. You two are so loud I heard you all the way upstairs in my bedchamber.”
They both sat and glared at each other. Lady Crampton very delicately took a seat next to Marigold on the edge of the sofa, her back ramrod straight, just as she had tried numerous times to teach Marigold to do. Without success. “Have you rung for tea?”
They both stared at her companion. “Tea?” Marigold sputtered. “This man came here to accuse me of thievery.”
Lady Crampton patted her hand. “Now, my dear, we will get to the bottom of this, but things always go better with tea.” She turned to Lord Stanley. “Isn’t that right, my lord?”
He looked as confused as Marigold felt. They had been in the middle of a blustering battle and Lady Crampton wanted to send for tea?
“Very well. I will send for tea.” Marigold stood and stomped over to the brocade bell pull. “Perhaps with any luck his lordship will choke on it.”
“Marigold. Really!”
Chapter Five
Jonathan reached the bottom step of the staircase to the Wycliffs’ ballroom. Without even trying, he spotted Lady Marigold across the room. She was a woman he had pretty much ignored at social events for a few years and now his eyes zeroed in on her like an arrow for its mark.
He snorted. As usual, she was surrounded by numerous gentlemen. All ages, all shapes and sizes, and all clamoring for her attention. Since his recent encounter with the woman, he’d asked around at his clubs and it seemed Lady Marigold had a reputation.
Not a scandalous reputation, but nevertheless, it was known in Polite Society that she had broken a few hearts and turned down numerous men who had offered for her over the last four and a half years. Yet, they continued to flock to her side, begging for dances and the chance to eat supper with her.
Well, he wouldn’t be one of those ninnyhammers who danced attendance on the chit. However, it was in his best interests to request a dance from the girl. There was important information he needed to relate to her he’d only learned this morning, and he was anxious to speak with her.
The best dance, of course, would be a waltz since they would have the opportunity to speak freely. Also, a supper waltz would be preferable, so they could continue their conversation over their meal.
Striding with confidence across the room, he approached Lady Marigold just as Lord Hemmingway was leaving her group, most likely to find his partner for the upcoming cotillion. Before the man who had this dance with her could arrive, Jonathan slipped in and bowed to Lady Marigold. “My lady. You are looking exceptionally well this evening.”
She viewed him with narrowed eyes. “Good evening, my lord.”
“May I request the pleasure of standing up with you?”
Glancing down at the small card dangling from her wrist, she said, “I don’t believe I have any dances left.”
“Let me see.” He ignored her shocked gasp as he took hold of her wrist and examined the card. She had been correct. There wasn’t a single dance left. He quickly scanned the names and then bowed to her. “I am sorry to not have arrived sooner. Have a pleasant evening.” He turned on his heel and began his search for Mr. Bridgewater. The man who had written his name on the line for the supper waltz.
While he searched for the man, he thought back to his visit two days ago to Marigold’s townhouse. In retrospect, his behavior had been more storming the walls of the castle than a gentleman calling on a lady. He’d been absolutely certain Lady Marigold had either stolen the journal or arranged for it to be stolen.
Perhaps he should have treated the situation with a bit more finesse, but his anger had overtaken him when he retired to his library after a restful night’s sleep, a hardy breakfast and practically rubbing his hands together to get to the journal.
That was when he found the book missing. After a brief, albeit fruitless search, he left the house, certain he would find the woman reading the journal when he arrived.
It had taken the tea Lady Crampton had suggested, along with an hour of conversation before he was convinced Lady Marigold had nothing to do with the journal missing. It was then, with his tail between his legs, he’d returned home and did some investigation.
What he’d discovered, combined with what he’d heard just this morning was, to say the least, disturbing. And like it or not, he wanted to bring Lady Marigold into the mix. He had grudgingly admitted the woman did know her anatomy, had mentioned she was gifted in math, and as he had suspected for some time, what the frivolous-appearing lady showed the world was not all there was to be seen.
That discovery, along with his body’s annoying reaction to her nearness could possibly be the most disturbing factor in this entire matter. He’d always known he needed to marry one day and produce an heir or two. Always in his mind had been the image of a sweet, biddable, eager to please young girl.
He would train her in the running of his household to his liking, introduce her to the pleasures of the marriage bed—hoping she would not find the act too disagreeable, since he believed in fidelity—and have a happy, calm life.
That continued to be his aim, but he’d never thought he would be attracted to the flirty, silly, social butterfly who had now revealed herself as quite intelligent. She would never be biddable, would most likely run rampant over him and his staff, cause numerous issues that he would have to resolve, and never offer him the life he’d envisioned.
On the other hand, all that fire and enthusiasm would make bedsport quite a bit entertaining. To say the least.
An hour later, he arrived at Lady Marigold’s side. “My lady, my dance, I believe.”
She whirled from where she spoke with Lady Crampton. “What?” She checked her wrist. “Mr. Bridgewater has this dance.”
He shook his head, arranging his features to show sadness. “I am sorry, my lady, but Mr. Bridgewater was called back home a bit of time ago. It seems one of his prize horses escaped the mews, and he was most anxious to find the animal.”
Lady Marigold crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “And how is it you obtained this information?”
Jonathan shrugged, pretending indifference. “Because I was the one that brought the disturbing information to Mr. Bridgewater.”
“How did you know this?”
“Um. I didn’t really know this, but I assumed if one of his prized horses did escape the mews he would want to retur
n home immediately.”
Instead of the scowl and dismissal he’d expected, Lady Marigold laughed and shook her head.
And the sound of her laughter did not annoy him at all.
***
Marigold extended her hand. “Very well, Lord Stanley. I will be honored to stand up with you.” She had to give the man credit. For whatever reason, he’d wanted a dance with her, and made sure he got what he’d wanted. That was another point in his favor. She’d always viewed him as stiff-necked and condescending, with a way of looking down at people—especially her. The man she’d assumed he was, would not have pulled the trick he did tonight to get his way.
A disturbing thought, that.
He led her to the dance floor and placed his large, warm hand on her lower back. She shifted, suddenly aware of his scent, strength, and size. She took his hand and looked up into his eyes, and immediately looked away. This was not good. She must remember Lord Stanley was the enemy. He disapproved of her, accused her of thievery and most likely only wanted to dance to further question her.
She stiffened her shoulders and the music began.
After they gained their rhythm, he pulled her a little closer than she would have liked and bent his head. “There is important information I want to relate to you. That is why I maneuvered to gain this particular dance. We will have time to discuss it now, and then at supper.”
Goose flesh broke out on her arms at his change in demeanor. “What is it?”
“I no longer believe you took my journal.”
“That is all? All this trickery to merely tell me what I’ve already told you?” Honestly, the man was so difficult to deal with. Here she’d thought they’d put the entire matter of her stealing his journal behind them. In fact, she had intended to request to borrow the book once he found where he had misplaced it. She was sure it hadn’t been stolen, only his imagination had run away with him.
For the Love of the Baron (The Noble Hearts Series Book 3) Page 3
