“How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
She didn’t look as though she could be much older than that now. “Being at odds with one’s parents at such an age isn’t all that unusual. My guardianship of my sisters is in place until they turn five and twenty. It seems, now, as though Tabetha has been hating me forever.”
“She did mention something to the effect of her older brother being overly protective and bossy.”
“Only once?” Jules teased.
“At least twenty times.” She smiled but then shot him a look with raised brows. “Along with mention of how it was high time you marry Lady Felicity.”
Jules grimaced. Felicity was as much a sister to him as Tabetha and Bethany. He’d hoped that would change but as time passed, the nature of his feelings for her had only solidified.
“For which I have no one to blame but myself. Until now, I’ve done nothing to dispel the notion of a union between our two families. I believe our mothers have gone so far as to discuss wedding plans.”
“You were walking with her,” she said almost too casually. “You escorted her from the hothouse.”
Any other chit and he would have imagined such an accusation to be jealousy. Miss Charlotte Jackson indeed needed schooling on the behavior of polite society.
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I refused a young lady who requested my escort?”
His question momentarily silenced her.
“A gentleman who was not very kind.” For all her stubbornness, Jules appreciated that she was open-minded to opinions that weren’t originally her own. “So, you are not promised to one another?”
Jules exhaled. “I am not. A betrothal was never agreed upon, either in writing or verbally. I wouldn’t have agreed to your father’s wager if that had been the case.”
“But you didn’t really consider it a risk. Since nothing is official.”
Jules guided her to his grandfather’s portrait. “I did not.”
“But therewasan implied agreement,” she pressed.
“That is not the same as if I’d given my word.”
She disengaged her hand from his arm, putting some distance between them. “That makes it even worse.”
Chapter 7
LEATHER AND SMOKE
For a man who expressed such passion upon the subject of his honor, Lord Westerley possessed an uncanny ability of turning circumstances to suit his purposes. Charley would be wise to remember this.
“I respectfully disagree, Miss Jackson.”
“Of course, you do. What would a gentleman such as yourself know about believing one thing and then later discovering that what you believed had only beenimplied? How is that any different from lying?”
He had stopped to stare at her. “Did someone do that to you, Miss Jackson?”
Someone had, but she wasn’t about to discuss how stupid she’d been with the earl.
So instead, she clasped her hands behind her back and kept walking along the line of portraits. Tamping down the shame of her naiveté, she focused her attention on the subjects in the portraits. The fashions changed, falling farther and farther back into history as they moved along the cool corridor. “All of these people are your ancestors?” Walking here was almost like visiting ghosts.
A tingling sensation ran up her spine and she shivered.
“Take this.” Lord Westerley held out his jacket.
“It’s not necess—”
