“I will.” Blackheart swallowed hard. Jules presumed that Blackheart’s brother was never far from his worries. “Has Jackson’s chit accepted you?”
The question surprised him. “She will.” Failure was never an option.
Blackheart nodded. “I won’t commiserate with you quite yet.” He reached out a hand, apparently eager to make his departure. “I thank you for your hospitality. Will you extend my gratitude to your mother as well? I imagine I’ll run into you soon enough.”
Jules laughed, curious about the bet, but just as he went to bid his friend safe travels, a flash of femininity dressed in evergreen muslin came rushing around the corner, nearly careening into them.
“Pardon me.” Miss Jackson’s eyes widened when she caught sight of Blackheart. “Your Grace.” And to Jules. “Sir.”
Blackheart laughed under his breath and tipped his hat, stepping backward. “No worries, Miss Jackson. But I’m afraid I must be on my way. Good day, Madam. Best of luck to you, Westerley.”
At the same time Blackheart began striding away, Jules’ little American moved to skirt quietly around him.
“Miss Jackson.”
She halted and turned a cool gaze in his direction. “Yes?”
He had not been mistaken, then. Shehadbeen avoiding him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am.” She seemed a little startled by her admission.
Jules stepped tentatively in her direction, feeling rather as though she might take flight if he approached her too quickly.
“You don’t look as though you are enjoying yourself presently. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you are annoyed at something in particular.” Jules tilted his head and peered into bright green eyes. “Or someone?”
She lifted one hand in the air, pointing a single finger upward, and then lowered it toward him. “You.”
He’d sensed as much and yet her very deliberate answer jolted him. Earlier, she had declared her intent to refuse him, but she’d tolerated him well enough. His heart rate kicked up a notch, and his fingers tingled. “Because I intend to court you?”
“Because you are a phony. That is why.”
Her answer ought to enrage him, but it was mostly… confusing. “I have been perfectly honest with you.”
Her eyes narrowed and pink spots appeared on her cheeks. Her fiery tresses had been knotted behind her head into what ought to have been a tidy chignon, but enough tendrils had escaped to lend her a somewhat harried appearance.
“My honor this, my honor that. And yet I learn that you are promised to another lady? How will Lady Felicity feel when she sees you with me?”
Jules could almost believe she was jealous—if he didn’t know better, that was.
She was wrong about this, however, and it irritated him that she’d been led to believe otherwise. “I am not promised to Lady Felicity.”
“Tell that to your sisters.” Miss Jackson frowned.
Jules inhaled a deep breath and then slowly let it out. His meddling younger siblings hadn’t been lying outright, and yet, their assumptions were incorrect.
“It’s complicated.” And before she could interrupt him, he asked, “Will you walk with me?”
In some things, Miss Jackson was quite adept at shuttering her thoughts, but in that moment, he could almost read them word for word. She was practically vibrating in her disgust of him, expecting him to make up some convoluted excuses.
And—he supposed—that was precisely what he was going to do.
But she had not told him to go to Hades, so some part of her obviously wanted to hear them.
He winged his elbow. “Let’s walk this way and I will give you the grand tour of the Westerley galleries.”
She stared at him, at his arm, and then capitulated without an argument. “Either a person is promised to a woman or he is not.”
“That isn’t necessarily true.”
