“I did not.” The admission was lowering.
“Your father is correct in that many of the owners would not speak so freely with him if you were there.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Charley straightened her shoulders with a jerk.
“It’s simply the truth.” He touched her elbow. “Would you care to step onto the terrace for a moment?”
“Did you set him up to do this?” She turned around to face him, unwilling to go anywhere at the moment.
He had been standing directly behind her, however, and in order to meet his gaze, she had to tilt her head back. She also hadn’t expected to find herself so close to him.
She stepped backward.
“Why would I do that?” An enigmatic smile danced on his lips.
“To keep me here so that you can make good on that stupid wager.”
At her words, his eyes hardened slightly. “I thought we were friends.”
“As did I.”
He scowled down at her and for the first time, she noticed little flecks of silver amongst the myriad of blues in his eyes.
“I would not stoop to come between you and your whiskey.” His voice sounded harder than it had before. “Have I not been honest with you in my intentions up until now?”
“To my knowledge.”
“Well, I have been.” He grasped her elbow again but squeezed it gently this time. “As my future betrothed, it would be better all-around if you could find it in your heart to trust me.”
His hand felt warm resting on the fabric of her sleeve and for some reason, the annoyance she’d felt ebbed away.
The irony of what he was doing wasn’t lost on her. He didn’t wish to marry her. She did not wish to marry him. But he would court her, knowing she’d refuse him.
And then it struck her. He was…
Safe.
She met his eyes again. “I’m not sure why, but I believe that I can—trust you, that is.” She would not have to worry that he wanted to claim her inheritance or do anything to trap her in England. “But not because I will ever be your betrothed.”
“Why then?” His fingers moved slowly back and forth where they clasped her elbow.
“Because you don’t really want to marry me and so you have no reason to interfere one way or another where my father and I are concerned.”
“Oh, Miss Jackson.” He seemed almost disappointed in her.
“Charley!” Bethany’s voice broke into their conversation. “I thought you might be downstairs already. Jules, why haven’t you poured Miss Jackson a drink?” She dismissed her brother and then took hold of Charley’s other arm. “Tabetha and Felicity will likely not arrive until just before it’s time to go into dinner. They were going to help the Blackheart Twins decide on what to wear. Did you rest well after tea?”
“Madeira wine, Beth?” Lord Westerley removed his hand and stepped back. “I don’t suppose you’d care for the same, would you, Miss Jackson?”
She made a face at that before she could stop herself.
“I thought not. I’ll see if there is anything that might be more to your liking.” His eyes darkened when he smiled, the little silver flecks dancing now. “Unless you’re hiding your flask in those sleeves.”
At his comment, his sister swatted him with her fan. “Really, Westerley! You are insufferable sometimes. You cannot make jokes like that with ladies who aren’t your sisters.” She slid a sideways glance at Charley. “He teases us mercilessly.”
Charley couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between the siblings and in the light of such lighthearted banter, she could almost forget her father’s betrayal. Perhaps if she rose early and spoke with him alone…
“Do you have any brothers or sisters, Charley?” Bethany had tugged her to a settee and lowered them both onto it.
