A Lady Never Surrenders

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Yet he beat your suitors this afternoon so he could gain a kiss from you.”

  Celia gave a brittle laugh. “Rather, so he could avoid having to pay his portion of the rifle they would have owed me if I’d won. Mr. Pinter is nothing if not careful with his money. Didn’t you hear the whole tale? He gave me a peck on the forehead. Hardly the action of a man seeking my favors.”

  With an attempt at nonchalance, she bent to pick up a book. “In any case, even if he was trying to court me, it’s not as if I would fall for his tricks. I have three perfectly eligible suitors here this week—why should I care if a Bow Street Runner dangles after me?”

  Gran watched her carefully. “So you have no feelings for the man.”

  “I have a duke practically in my pocket,” she managed. “What would I want with Mr. Pinter?”

  Who made her blood race and her heart soar. Who made her hope, for the first time, that she might still find a man to love her. A man she could love.

  Love? He’d said nothing of love or even affection. He’d spoken only of desire. For that matter, he’d said nothing of marriage.

  Then again, if what he wanted was a rich and influential wife, he’d be a fool to make that too obvious too soon.

  Blast it all! Gran was muddling her mind, playing with her heart. And for what? To make sure she didn’t marry too low? It was hardly fair, under the circumstances.

  “I do find it odd,” she went on, “that you should care how Mr. Pinter feels about me. I thought all you wanted was to have some man marry me. He would be as good as any.”

  Gran winced. “Not if he is after your fortune. That is what happened to your mother, and I regret to this day that I did not see beneath your father’s winning smiles and title to his mercenary motive.”

  Celia swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Well, since Mr. Pinter has no title and barely knows how to smile, you needn’t worry. If he has a mercenary motive, he’s hiding it well.” She surreptitiously kicked her tucker under the table as she stepped forward. “Now, let’s go have some tea, shall we?”

  After another hard look about the room, Gran took the arm Celia offered and let her granddaughter accompany her out the door. But while they walked down the corridor, Celia’s mind kept stumbling over Gran’s revelation.

  A rich wife of rank would enhance his chances.

  It wouldn’t be the first time a man had pretended to find her fetching for his own reasons. But if Gran’s suspicions about Jackson’s motives proved true, it would definitely be the last. Because Celia would rather enter a loveless marriage with the Duke of Lyons than be used by Jackson Pinter.

  Chapter Eleven

  That night, Jackson stood in the corner of Halstead Hall’s spacious ballroom, downing one glass of punch after another and wishing he could be anywhere else. But of all the events of the house party, he couldn’t miss his lordship’s birthday ball. Even Lord Basto had chosen to stay this evening instead of going home to his sister, though he’d said he would return to London later.

  Jackson surveyed the room, trying not to fix on the one person who interested him. Celia was merrily dancing with that damned Lyons, letting the duke put his hands all over her while Jackson could only stand and watch.

  He’d made a muck of things today. He’d let his feelings show, and now he was paying for it. All evening, Celia had vacillated between ignoring him entirely and giving him veiled glances that he didn’t know how to interpret.

  Meanwhile, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. She danced like a creature from another realm—a sparkling fairy of the forest. He must have been under some enchantment to think he could ever have such a sprite for his own, yet the illusion persisted, no matter how he fought it. After tasting her this afternoon, he ached to claim her before them all.

  Sheer madness. She belonged here among her kind, not in Cheapside with a bastard. Perhaps one day, if he became Chief Magistrate …

  But she would never let her brothers and sisters lose their fortune. She would choose a suitor long before then.

  That suitor could be you.

  He stifled a bitter laugh. What a ridiculous pipe dream. So far she’d given no indication that their encounter this afternoon had meant anything to her but a moment’s enjoyment. If she’d wanted to be caught with him, wanted to force the issue, she could have. It certainly would have solved her problem of how to gain a husband, because he would have offered for her right then.

  But she’d panicked at the idea of her grandmother catching them together. No doubt their interlude had just been a case of a gently bred female indulging her curiosity about men.

  It wouldn’t be the first time a lady dallied with a man beneath her rank merely because he gave her pleasure. He’d seen plenty enough young ladies with infatuations for their footmen that came to nothing, plenty enough gently bred females who swooned over tutors they had no intention of marrying. There was no reason to believe that Celia felt more for him than just an unwise desire.

  And even if she did have some vague notion that they could marry, even if he could set her mind at ease about his not being interested in her fortune, it wouldn’t make a difference. She couldn’t possibly be happy married to him, given his station and hers. How could she?

  The butler appeared at the entrance to the ballroom and announced in a voice that could barely be heard over the music, “Mr. and Mrs. Desmond Plumtree and Mr. Edward Plumtree.”

  Jackson’s jaw dropped. “What the devil are they doing here?” he muttered as Desmond strolled in with his wife and son.

  “Desmond is still my nephew, after all,” said a voice very near him.

  Mrs. Plumtree, of all people. That put Jackson instantly on his guard. He still had no idea why she’d shown up in the north wing this afternoon, or if she realized he’d been in there alone with her granddaughter.

  “I beg your pardon, madam,” he said stiffly as he tossed back the remainder of his punch and girded himself for doing battle with Mrs. Machiavellian Plumtree. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Believe me, I understand your surprise.” She stared over to where her nephew and great-nephew stood talking to Stoneville and looking awkwardly about them. “It was Minerva’s idea to invite them.”

  “Even after the two of them threatened her life?”

  “Minerva doesn’t see it that way. She considers it a misunderstanding borne of Desmond’s idiotic resentment of our family. But Jarret has been working with Desmond and Ned to make their mill more successful, and he and Minerva thought it might be a good idea to mend fences. I confess I was eager for that, too. They are still my family, after all.”

  The dance ended, and the duke led Celia over to a chair on the wall opposite from the Plumtrees. She didn’t seem to have noticed their entrance—no doubt she’d been too busy dancing to hear them being announced. The duke said something to her, then headed off to the room that held the punch table.

  The minute the man was gone, Ned broke away from his parents and sauntered over to where Celia sat. She caught sight of him, and the blood drained from her face.

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t think all your grandchildren agree with your assessment,” he said, nodding to where Celia had risen stiffly to greet Ned.

  Mrs. Plumtree followed his gaze. “Celia has never liked the fact that Desmond hires children in his mills. Even though Jarret has put an end to that practice, she still dislikes her cousin for it.”

  “It’s not Desmond she’s reacting to.”

  Ned stepped nearer and she took a quick step back, raising the hackles on the back of Jackson’s neck. He moved forward, but Mrs. Plumtree laid a hand on his arm. “It is none of your concern, Mr. Pinter.”

  “Even if you trust the fellow, madam, I don’t,” he snapped. “Look at how your granddaughter stands, as if poised for flight. Look at her face. It’s not dislike of his father that plagues her. She looks almost frightened. Or rather, she looks as if she’s pretending not to be frightened. And
that’s not a look I’ve seen on her before.”

  “If that is true, the duke will take care of matters,” Mrs. Plumtree said smoothly. “He’s approaching her now.”

  Jackson held his breath as Lyons came to Celia’s side and Celia visibly relaxed. She said something to the duke, who took her arm and led her away. Only then did Jackson let out his breath. But Ned continued to watch her with palpable tension, and that worried him.

  Then Celia glanced over at Jackson, catching sight of him and her grandmother standing together, and the mix of emotions on her face made a new concern take hold of him. What exactly had Mrs. Plumtree told Celia after he’d left the room this afternoon? Whatever it was seemed to have made her cautious around him. God save him, between that and her odd reaction to Ned, he didn’t know what to think.

  “You see?” Mrs. Plumtree remarked. “The duke has matters well in hand.”

  “It appears so,” he clipped out. That was all he could manage. He couldn’t stand that the duke had been the one to protect her and not him.

  “A tactful response,” she said, gazing out over the dancing couples. “You will make a very good Chief Magistrate, I think.”

  Shock swept over him that he fought mightily to disguise. So she knew of that, did she? “I’m only one of several possible candidates, madam. You do me great honor to assume I’ll be chosen.”

  “Masters tells me that the appointment is all but settled.”

  “Then Masters knows more than I on the subject.”

  “And more than my granddaughter as well,” she said.

  His stomach knotted. Damn Mrs. Plumtree and her machinations. “But I’m sure you took great pains to inform her of it.”

  The woman hesitated, then gripped the head of her cane with both hands. “I thought she should have all the facts before she threw herself into a misalliance.”

  Hell and blazes. And Mrs. Plumtree had probably implied that a rich wife would advance his career. He could easily guess how Celia would respond to hearing that, especially after he’d fallen on her with all the subtlety of an ox in rut.

  His temper swelled. Although he’d suspected that Mrs. Plumtree wouldn’t approve of him for her granddaughter, some part of him had thought that his service to the family—and the woman’s own humble beginnings—might keep her from behaving predictably. He should have known better.

  “No doubt she was grateful for the information.” After all, it gave Celia just the excuse she needed to continue in her march to marry a great lord.

  “She claimed that there was nothing between you and her.”

  “She’s right.” There never had been. He’d been a fool to think there could be.

  “I am glad to hear it.” Her sidelong glance was filled with calculation. “Because if you play your cards right, you have an even better prospect before you than that of Chief Magistrate.”

  He froze. “What do you mean?”

  “You may not be aware of this, but one of my friends is the Home Secretary, Robert Peel. Your superior.”

  “I’m well aware who my superior is.”

  “It seems he wishes to establish a police force,” she went on. “He is fairly certain that it will come to pass eventually. When it does, he will appoint a commissioner to oversee the entire force in London.” She cast him a hard stare. “You could be that man.”

  Jackson fought to hide his surprise. He’d heard rumors of Peel’s plans, of course, but hadn’t realized that they’d progressed so far. Or that she was privy to them.

  Then it dawned on him why she was telling him this. “You mean, I could be that man if I leave your granddaughter alone.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “I see that I was right to consider you a very perceptive fellow, Mr. Pinter.”

  It took all his will to tamp down his anger. He did not like being ordered about by anyone, but especially by a woman who’d let her long acquaintance with the aristocracy convince her that she had the right to run roughshod over whomever she pleased.

  “And if I choose to ignore your ‘bribe,’ madam?” he snapped.

  She stiffened, then shifted her gaze to where Celia was dancing again with that bloody duke. “I might decide to disinherit my granddaughter.”

  He gaped at her. “You would cut her off even though she has met your ultimatum?”

  “I might. If she chooses badly.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I never said I would give my money to them if they married. I only said I would not give it to them if they did not.”

  “And here I thought you were an honorable woman. I guess I’m not so perceptive after all.”

  She flinched. “The rest of them would get their money. Just not her.” She searched his face. “If I thought it best, that is.”

  A futile anger choked him that he barely understood; he’d known all along that nothing could come of his foolish attraction to Celia.

  Still, if she had her inheritance, she might stoop to marry him. At least he wouldn’t be forcing her to give up all her creature comforts along with her place in society. Then she might not mind that the high sticklers wouldn’t accept her.

  But without the money?

  He could easily afford a wife, but not one used to living like this. Glancing around at the liveried footmen and the glittering ballroom with its crystal chandeliers filled with beeswax candles, he choked down the bile rising in his throat. He remembered how casually she’d spoken of offering him an expensive bracelet as payment, probably because she knew there was plenty more where that came from.

  How could he think for even one moment that she would consider giving all this up for him? If wealth and position didn’t matter to her, she wouldn’t be seeking a lofty lord for a husband at this very moment.

  He forced himself to meet Mrs. Plumtree’s questioning glance. “As I said before, there’s nothing between me and your granddaughter. She has no interest in being married to a nobody’s bastard.” And certainly not one whose modest income was nothing to that of a lady of her means. “I’m sure she’ll choose a suitor more to your liking in due time.”

  “You misunderstand me, sir,” she said irritably. “I am only trying to protect her.”

  “By driving her into the arms of the first man of rank who offers for her? Whether or not she loves him or he loves her? Do you think so little of her worth?”

  Mrs. Plumtree glowered at him. “You are impertinent, sir.”

  “I’ll be even more impertinent if that’s what it takes to keep Lady Celia from making a mistake she may regret the rest of her life.” He glanced over to where Basto was now holding her far too close in the waltz. “The viscount there isn’t as young as he appears, nor are his finances as healthy as they appear. And the earl has a longtime mistress. Did you know that?”

  “How can I trust you to tell the truth about these men?”

  “Do you really think you can trust them? Lady Celia’s future is tied inextricably to a fortune. That muddies the water with any man.”

  “Even the duke? I should think he has no need to marry for money or anything else.”

  Jackson tensed. “That’s true. Except for the rumors of madness in his family, he is eminently eligible.” And that irritated Jackson beyond all endurance. “But she doesn’t love him.”

  Mrs. Plumtree cast him a searching glance. “How do you know?”

  Because she spent the afternoon in my arms, letting me kiss and caress her, eagerly responding to my desire for her. Even hinting that she might feel the same. Until she tossed me from the room in a panic when she realized what I’ve known all along—that mere mortals like us can never cross the divide.

  Still, that didn’t mean he had to stand by and watch her suffer in a marriage to the wrong man. “Because Lady Celia told me.”

  He cursed himself even as he said the words. It was a betrayal—he’d promised to keep their conversations private—but he refused to watch her marry a man she clearly didn’t love. That would be as bad as marrying a man like him and losing her fo
rtune.

  “She’s trying to gain a husband so precipitously only because you’re forcing her to,” he went on. “If you’d just give her a chance—”

  “She has had plenty of chances already.”

  “Give her another.” Remembering Celia’s insecurity over being thought a tomboy, he added, “This little experiment is sure to have increased her confidence with men. If you allow her more time, I’m sure she could find a gentleman she could love, who would love her in turn.”

  “Like you?” Mrs. Plumtree asked.

  He gave a caustic laugh. “Your granddaughter isn’t fool enough to fall in love with a man of my rank. So you’re wasting your bribes and threats on me, madam.”

  “And what about you? How do you feel about her?”

  He’d had enough of this. “I suspect that whatever I say, you’ll believe what you wish.” He knew better than to reveal how he felt about Celia, especially when he wasn’t even sure himself. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a servant with whom I need to speak about the investigation into your daughter’s and son-in-law’s murders.”

  “Have you heard something?” she asked, a sudden catch in her voice.

  “I’m following new leads, that’s all.”

  “Will they require your leaving the house party?”

  Though he detected nothing in her voice beyond curiosity, she must be itching to have him out of the way. He hated to fall in with her wishes, but …

  He glanced over to where Celia stood with the duke and her brothers, telling some story that had Lyons laughing uproariously, and the ache in his chest grew almost unbearable.

  “Yes,” he heard himself say. “If John has the information I’ve been waiting for, I’d like to go tomorrow morning. I should be back by evening.”

  She looked from him to Celia, and a thoughtful expression crossed her face. “I shall make sure that Oliver is informed of the reason for your absence.”

  “Thank you.” With a curt bow, he headed for John.