Grinning, Quincy at once dropped to his knees, snorted, and spat, then set about the task of buffing with quiet determination. “You won’t be sorry, m’lord!”
Damned if he wasn’t already, Christian thought morosely.
Lord St.John was a balding, self-loving bore, with more hair than wit—though he didn’t have much of that!
Jessie thought if she heard once more about how influential he was, she was going to rip out his three remaining hairs, one by one.
Botheration!
And this was the man her brother would have her spend the whole of her life with? She shuddered at the thought.
“Really,” he was saying. “You’ll love Charlestown, m’dear—so much like London.” He gave her a meaningful smile, and boldly tapped her skirt with a finger.
Jessie started at his touch, jerking away. “Truly, m’lord?” She choked back the contempt from her voice. She loathed London! And she detested the man sitting beside her all the more! The very sound of his voice made her shudder. She hugged herself protectively, hoping he wouldn’t notice her disgust.
“Oh yes, indeed,” he crowed, grinning with pleasure over her feigned interest. “Some like to refer to it as Little Londontown, even. It was named after old King Charles, don’t you know!”
Jessie turned from him slightly, rolling her eyes. “Yes, my lord, so I’ve heard. In fact, I believe I heard it from you, quite recently,” she added, giving him a sweet little smile. She resisted the urge to ask him if he was addlepated. He must be, for it’d been a mere quarter of an hour since he’d last recounted that very thing to her. She peered anxiously at the door. What was her brother doing? Why wasn’t he back yet? He’d abandoned them so long ago. And where, she wondered crossly, was Eliza? Certainly she’d made herself visible enough for Christian. Jessie scooted forward impatiently, toward the edge of the settee.
Lord St. John cast her a questioning glance, as though to discern whether or not she mocked him. Apparently resolving she did not, much to her dismay, he carried on with his incessant rambling.
A discreet cough brought Jessie’s attention to the doorway. “Griffin!” She sprung from the settee at once, grateful for the butler’s interruption, and made her way to where he stood, leaning forward to hiss into his ear. “Where is my brother?”
“Er, yes, m’lady,” he said, not truly answering her question. “He bade me tell you to remain here in the salon, and to assure you he and Lord St. John will return anon.” Turning to St. John, he announced, “His Lordship awaits you in the Lib’ry, if you would be so kind to oblige, m’lord.” Gesturing with a hand, he urged St. John from the room.
“Yes, of course,” St. John replied. He turned to fix Jessie with a frightening smile. “I shall return in an instant, m’dear. Do not fret yourself over it.”
Jessie cringed as she watched him go, and was filled suddenly with a terrible foreboding.
Just what had Amos been up to for so long in the library when he knew full well that she was inappropriately ensconced in the salon with a man she barely knew? that her reputation might suffer because of it? True, she had managed to be alone with Christian, but never with Amos’ knowledge or approval. All but for a handful of times, Amos had been made aware of Christian’s presence, and had made certain Hildie was near to keep a watchful eye upon them.
Something was amiss... and be damned if she didn’t intend to discover exactly what it was. She waited until she was certain the way was clear, and then headed to the library after them.
11
“Bloody hell!”
For the last hour, Christian had tried in vain to convince Westmoor of his intent to wed his sister, but the son of a bitch seemed to have turned a deaf ear to his words.
“Damn you! I don’t want your blood money, not now—or ever!”
“I was under the impression, Haukinge, that we’d come to an agreement concerning my dear sister already.”
“Agreement, hell! You spoke, I listened, and you took my silence as an alliance!”
“I see,” Amos said stiffly. “Well, then, just what is it you require of me, sirrah?”
Christian’s jaw ticked with anger. “Jessamine,” he said with quiet menace. “I wish to have your sister’s hand in matrimony, and nothing more—as it should have been years ago!”
“Impossible, she’s already betrothed?—”
Amos halted his explanation as the library door creaked opened, revealing a mottle-faced Lord St. John behind it.
“Well, now, there he is!” Amos smiled broadly. “Jessamine’s intended himself!” With great satisfaction, he then decreed, “Haukinge, you may take great pleasure in making the acquaintance of Lord St. John, lately of Charlestown. It is to him I have granted my dear sister’s hand in matrimony. So, then,” he concluded, “as you now know, your request is far from a reasonable one.”
A cool nod was Christian’s only greeting as he acknowledged his longtime adversary. His gaze swept over St. John, and his lips formed a snarl as he turned again to Westmoor. “The pleasure has already been mine, I fear.” Turning to St. John, he nodded.
“Haukinge,” he replied disingenuously, “so very good to see you again.”
