But Celia had no old beaus waiting in the wings, no best friends with eligible brothers, and no fellow sharpshooters who fancied her. She had three men who might consider marrying her. She had to make do with that.
“It’s too late for love, Mr. Pinter,” she said wearily. “Gran is breathing down my neck, and this is hardly the season for matrimony. There are a few country balls and little else before the end of the year. The likelihood of my stumbling upon any other eligible gentlemen at this late date is quite small.”
“There must be someone else, someone more—”
“No one whom I know, whom I’m comfortable with. At least I like these gentlemen. I can see myself married to one of them.” Possibly. If worse came to worst. “And since they’re all titled and wealthy, Gran would find them irreproachable.” Which was the point, though she couldn’t tell him that.
His expression turned cynical. “So that’s what you’re looking for in a husband,” he said coldly. “A rich man of rank.”
“No!” How like him to assume she was mercenary. “That’s what Gran is looking for. I merely want a man I can tolerate. But if my suitors are wealthy, at least they won’t marry me simply to gain my fortune.” As Papa had done with Mama. “I prefer not to marry a fortune hunter.”
“I see.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Still, wealthy lords and fortune hunters aren’t your only choices. Surely there are other respectable gentlemen.”
“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Suddenly it dawned on her. “Wait, is it because my suitors are noblemen? I know that you consider titled gentlemen to be beneath contempt, but—”
“That’s not true,” he grumbled. “I count Lord Kirkwood and his brother among my friends, and even, if I venture to be presumptuous, your brothers. It’s not all men of rank I find beneath contempt—just the ones who prey on women. Like Devonmont. And probably the other two, as well.”
“To my knowledge, none of them has ever taken advantage of a respectable female. Even my brothers had their … dalliances as bachelors.”
“So did your father.”
He would point that out. “That’s different. Papa broke his marriage vows. That doesn’t mean my suitors would do so.” She swallowed. “Unless you think it impossible for a woman like me to keep men like them satisfied and happy?”
He started. “No! I wasn’t trying to say … That is—”
“It’s all right, Mr. Pinter,” she said, fighting to keep the hurt out of her voice. “I know what you think of me.”
His gaze locked with hers, confusing her with its sudden fierceness. “You have no idea what I think of you.”
She twisted her bracelet nervously, and the motion drew his eyes down to her hands. But as his gaze came back up, it slowed, lingering on her bosom.
Could Mr. Pinter … Was it possible that he …
Certainly not! Proper Pinter would never be interested in a reckless female of her stamp. Why, he didn’t even like her.
She’d dressed carefully today, hoping to sway him into doing her bidding by showing that she could look and act like a lady, hoping to gain a measure of his respect.
But the intimate way his gaze continued up past her bosom to her throat, and then paused again at her mouth, was more how her brothers looked at their wives. It wasn’t so much disrespectful as it was … interested.
No, she must be imagining that. He was merely trying to make her uncomfortable; she was misinterpreting the seeming heat in his glance. She refused to let herself be taken in by imagining what wasn’t there. Not after the nasty things Ned had said to her when she was fourteen.
I only kissed you to win a bet, you know.
She’d learned her lesson then. Men had an annoying habit of pretending interest in a woman just to gain something they wanted. Just look at Mama, dreaming of fairy tales when Papa had been dreaming only of finance.
Well, she would marry a man who didn’t need or want her fortune. Mr. Pinter didn’t fall into that category.
And given how blank his expression became as his gaze met hers, she’d been right to be skeptical. He would never be interested in her in that way.
He confirmed it by saying, with his usual formality, “I doubt any man would consider your ladyship unacceptable as a wife.”
Oh, when he turned all hoity-toity, she could just murder him. “Then we agree that the gentlemen in question would find me satisfactory,” she said, matching his cold tone. “So I don’t see why you assume they’d be unfaithful.”
“Some men are unfaithful no matter how beautiful their wives are,” Mr. Pinter growled.
He thought her beautiful?
There she went again, reading too much into his words. He was only making a point. “But you have no reason to believe that these gentlemen would be. Unless there’s some dark secret you already know about them that I do not?”
Glancing away, he muttered a curse under his breath. “No.”
“Then here’s your chance to find out the truth about their characters. Because I prefer facts to opinions. And I was under the impression that you do, too.”
Take that, Mr. Pinter! Hoist by your own petard. The man always insisted on sticking to the facts.
And he was well aware that she’d caught him out, for he scowled, then crossed his arms over his chest. His rather impressive chest, from what she could tell beneath his black coat and plain buff waistcoat.
“I can’t believe I’m the only person who would object to these gentlemen,” he said. “What about your grandmother? Have you consulted her?”
She lifted her eyes heavenward. He was being surprisingly resistant to her plans. “I don’t need to. Every time one of them asks to dance with me, she beams. She’s forever urging me to smile at them or attempt some flirtation. And if they so much as press my hand or take me for a stroll, she quizzes me with great glee on what was said and done.”
“She’s been letting you go out on private strolls with these scoundrels?” Mr. Pinter said in sheer outrage.
“They aren’t scoundrels.”
“I swear to God, you’re a lamb among the wolves,” he muttered.
That image of her, so unlike how she saw herself, made her laugh. “I’ve spent half my life in the company of my brothers. Every time Gabe went to shoot, I went with him. At every house party that involved his friends, I was urged to show off my abilities with a rifle. I think I know how to handle a man, Mr. Pinter.”
His glittering gaze bored into her. “There’s a vast difference between gamboling about in your brother’s company with a group of his friends and letting a rakehell like Devonmont or a devilish foreigner like Basto stroll alone with you down some dark garden path.”
A blush heated her cheeks. “I didn’t mean strolls of that sort, sir. I meant daytime walks about our gardens and such, with servants in plain view. All perfectly innocent.”
He snorted. “I doubt it will stay that way.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, why are you being so stubborn? You know I must marry. Why do you even care whom I choose?”
“I don’t care,” he protested. “I’m merely thinking of how much of my time will be wasted investigating suitors I already know are unacceptable.”
She let out an exasperated breath. Of course. With him, it was always about money. Heaven forbid he should waste his time helping her.
“Your family has also hired me to investigate your parents’ deaths,” he went on. “Would you rather have this scheme of yours draw my attention away from that matter?”
Leave it to him to try and make her feel guilty about that. “Of course not, but you said that you’re waiting to hear from Major Rawdon and Elsie’s family. Aside from questioning my nurse and Mr. Virgil, you aren’t terribly busy right now, are you?”
Hah! He certainly didn’t like that observation. Eyes like ice bored into her. “I do have to find your nurse and Mr. Virgil. And I have other clients. But if you could present me with more acceptable choices, I’m sure I could find time
to examine their backgrounds and give you a thorough report.”
“If I had other choices, I would have presented them,” she snapped. “But if you know of some eligible gentlemen you can strong-arm into courting me, then by all means, tell me. I’m open to suggestions.”
He blinked. “There has to be some fellow—”
“Right.” Lifting her skirts, she headed for the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Pinter. I can see I’ll have to pursue this on my own.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She glared at him. “That should be obvious. Since you refuse to investigate the gentlemen I’ve chosen, I shall have to do it myself.”
Chapter Three
Jackson gaped at her, wondering how this had all turned so terribly wrong. But he knew how. The woman was clearly daft. Bedlam-witted.
And trying to drive him in the same direction. “You can’t be serious. Since when do you know anything about investigating people?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You won’t do it, so I must.”
God save him, she was the most infuriating, maddening— “How do you propose to manage that?”
She shrugged. “Ask them questions, I suppose. The house party for Oliver’s birthday is next week. Lord Devonmont is already coming, and it will be easy to convince Gran to invite my other two. Once they’re here, I could try sneaking into their rooms and listening in on their conversations or perhaps bribing their servants—”
“You’ve lost your bloody mind,” he hissed.
Only after she lifted an eyebrow did he realize he’d cursed so foully in front of her. But the woman would turn a sane man into a blithering idiot! The thought of her wandering in and out of men’s bedchambers, risking her virtue and her reputation, made his blood run cold.
“You don’t seem to understand,” she said in a clipped tone, as if speaking to a child. “I have to catch a husband somehow. I need help, and I’ve nowhere else to turn. Minerva is rarely here, and Gran’s matchmaking efforts are as subtle as a sledgehammer. And even if my brothers and their wives could do that sort of work, they’re preoccupied with their own affairs. That leaves you, who seem to think that suitors drop from the skies at my whim. If I can’t even entice you to help me for money, then I’ll have to manage on my own.”
Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.
Hell and blazes, she was liable to attempt such an idiotic thing, too. She had some fool notion she was invincible. That’s why she spent her time shooting at targets with her brother’s friends, blithely unconcerned that her rifle might misfire or a stray bullet hit her by mistake.
The wench did as she pleased, and the men in her family let her. Someone had to curb her insanity, and it looked as if it would have to be him.
“All right!” he called out. “I’ll do it.”
She halted but didn’t turn around. “You’ll find out what I need in order to snag one of my choices as a husband?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it means being a trifle underhanded?”
He gritted his teeth. This would be pure torture. The underhandedness didn’t bother him; he’d be as underhanded as necessary to get rid of those damned suitors. But he’d have to be around the too-tempting wench a great deal, if only to make sure the bastards didn’t compromise her.
Well, he’d just have to find something to send her running the other way. She wanted facts? By thunder, he’d give her enough damning facts to blacken her suitors thoroughly.
Then what?
If you know of some eligible gentlemen you can strong-arm into courting me, then by all means, tell me. I’m open to suggestions.
All right, so he had no one to suggest. But he couldn’t let her marry any of her ridiculous choices. They would make her miserable—he was sure of it. He must make her see that she was courting disaster.
Then he’d find someone more eligible for her. Somehow.
She faced him. “Well?”
“Yes,” he said, suppressing a curse. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “That I’d like to see.” When he scowled, she added hastily, “But thank you. Truly. And I’m happy to pay you extra for your efforts, as I said.”
He stiffened. “No need.”
“Nonsense,” she said firmly. “It will be worth it to have your discretion.”
His scowl deepened. “My clients always have my discretion.”
“But the only client in my family actually paying you at the moment is Oliver. I want to be your client on my own terms, especially since you must keep my plans secret from him and Gran.”
That roused his suspicions. “And why is that?”
Her expression grew guarded. “In case this doesn’t turn out how I want.”
Under his pointed stare, she flushed. Damn if it didn’t make her look even prettier.
She dropped her gaze to the jewel-encrusted bracelet she kept twisting about her slender wrist. “They think me incapable of gaining a husband, and I mean to prove them wrong. But I don’t want them knowing I’ve stooped to such devious tactics to accomplish it. It’s embarrassing.” She glanced up at him. “Do you understand?”
He nodded. Pride was a powerful motivator. Sometimes the urge to prove people wrong was the only thing that kept a man—or a woman—moving forward.
“This conversation will stay between us,” he said tightly. “You may depend upon that.”
Relief shone in her lovely face. “All the same, I wish to pay you for whatever work isn’t covered by your arrangement with Oliver.”
He was not taking money from her for this. “I tell you what. Assuming that all goes well and you gain one of these gentlemen as a husband, you may cover my fee from the money you inherit from your grandmother.”
“But what if it doesn’t go well? You still deserve compensation for your efforts. Gran gives me an allowance. Just tell me what you want.”
What he wanted was her, naked in his bed, gazing up at him with a smile as she opened her arms and drew him down to kiss that thoroughly enchanting mouth.
But that was impossible for more reasons than he could count.
“My clients only pay me if they get results,” he lied. “So until you achieve your goal, there’s no fee.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Surely you require at least a pledge of some kind.” She unclasped her bracelet and held it out to him. “Take this. It’s worth a few pounds, I’ll warrant.”
More like a few hundred pounds. Leave it to a fine lady like her to act as if it were some bauble.
When he merely stared at it, she added softly, “I insist. I don’t want to be obligated to you in case this doesn’t work out. You could always sell it or give it to your sweetheart. Or perhaps your mother.”
He tensed. “I don’t have a sweetheart, and my mother is dead.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry, I forgot that your mother … That is…” She drew back the bracelet. “How awful of me to remind you of it.”
The gentle regret in her voice clutched at his gut. He’d never seen this side of her. “It’s fine. She died a long time ago.”
Her eyes searched his face. “Some wounds even time doesn’t heal, no matter what people say.”
They shared a glance borne of their mutual loss, both their mothers vilified in death as they’d been wronged in life.
“You live with your aunt,” she said hesitantly. “Is that right?”
He cleared his throat. “Actually, she lives with me. My uncle willed their house in Cheapside to me when he died last year, with the condition that she be allowed to live there until her death. I’d planned to remain in my regular lodgings, but she’s been so lonely of late…” Realizing he was revealing more than he wanted, he said, “Anyway, I moved in last week.”
She held out the bracelet again. “Then keep this as a surety and give it to her if our agreement doesn’t prove fruitful.”
“She could never wear that,” he counter
ed. It was too expensive for even the widow of a lauded magistrate to sport at church or in the shops.
A flush filled her cheeks. “Oh, of course. I see.”
He hadn’t expected her to take his meaning, but her mortification showed that she had. He’d never thought Lady Celia was so perceptive. Or sensitive.
“My aunt’s wrists aren’t as delicate as yours,” he added hastily. “It wouldn’t fit her.” When relief showed in her eyes, he was glad he’d lied. “Still, I’ll accept it as a gesture of good faith on your part, though I fully expect to return it in a few weeks.” He took the bracelet from her.
“Of course.” Her bright smile warmed him. “So, what do you think of the idea of inviting the gentlemen to the house party? It will give me more chances to get to know them, and Halstead Hall is certainly large enough to accommodate a few more guests.”
What an understatement. The marquess’s seat was called a “calendar house” because it had three hundred and sixty-five rooms, seven courtyards, fifty-two staircases, and twelve towers. Henry VIII had given it to the first marquess.
“And if you attend, too,” she went on, “you can investigate the gentlemen more easily.”
Damn. Attending a house party would mean vails to pay the servants and fine clothes for him, a definite strain on his funds. Especially now that he was trying to do improvements on the house he’d inherited.
But if her idiot suitors were staying at Halstead Hall with her, then by thunder, he’d be here, too. They wouldn’t take advantage of her on his watch. “We’re agreed that you won’t do any of that foolish nonsense you mentioned, like spying on them, right?”
“Of course not. That’s what I have you for.”
Her private lackey to jump at her commands. He was already regretting this.
“Surely the gentlemen will accept the invitation,” she went on, blithely ignoring his disgruntlement. “It’s hunting season, and the estate has some excellent coveys.”
A Lady Never Surrenders Page 4
