‘Well, just so that you don’t think me completely beneath contempt, yes, that is the reason I am stuck here, but it’s all for the sake of the woman in question, so her husband has time to calm down and life can carry on its merry way.’
‘As I said, it’s no concern of mine.’
She was completely correct, it wasn’t her concern, but for some reason he wanted her to know that he did have some redeeming features.
‘It is the lady’s marriage I am trying to protect.’
She continued to stare at him as if nothing he said or did would change her opinion of him, that he was a vain, self-important peacock.
Once again, she extended her hand, and with reluctance he placed the drawing in her palm, but before she could take it, a footman entered carrying a silver tray and bowed in front of Jacob.
‘A letter for you, Your Grace.’
Jacob quickly tucked the cartoon inside his jacket pocket, thanked the footman and opened the letter as the man departed. He could have allowed Miss Whitmore to take the drawing, and the outraged expression on her face made it abundantly clear she was not happy that it was now in his pocket, but this had been the most enjoyable conversation he’d had during this dull weekend party, and he was rather pleased to have been able to further delay her escape from him.
He quickly scanned the contents, eager to continue the teasing of Miss Whitmore, then emitted a low groan.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, stepping towards him.
He looked up to find her staring at him with what appeared to be compassion. It was rather nice to be looked at like that, but he doubted she would have much compassion for him if he revealed the contents of the letter.
‘I’ve had some rather unfortunate news,’ he said with a woeful expression that was hopefully worthy of her pity.
‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
Jacob shook his head slowly, then a decidedly wicked idea occurred to him. ‘Yes, thereissomething you could do.’
She tilted her head and waited.
‘You could marry me.’
Margaret huffed out her exasperation. The man was either completely deranged or playing a stupid, childish game. Either way, she had no intention of remaining in this room a moment longer than necessary, but she did need to retrieve her incriminating sketch.
‘My drawing, please,’ she said, giving his absurd statement the attention it deserved.
His lips continued to quirk with amusement as if there was nothing outrageous in his behaviour and she continued to glare back at him, letting him know she was not impressed by his attempt at humour in the slightest.
He really was a superficial, frivolous peacock, just as she had depicted him. And thank goodness that was how she had drawn him, and not as a Greek god, as she had initially intended.
She would hate him to think she saw him in that manner, but his height and masculine physique, combined with his dark blond, slightly curly hair, his blue eyes and sculpted lips did remind her of the statues of Greek gods she had seen in the British Museum. But she had depicted his personality rather than his appearance: overly confident, self-entitled and far too glib for her liking.
Whether a peacock or a Greek god, he seemed to think every woman should fall instantly under his spell, including her, and she would not be doing or saying anything to further inflate his puffed-up opinion of himself.
‘I’ll return your drawing once you’ve heard me out,’ he said, smiling at her in a manner she assumed was meant to charm.
It was tempting to grab it off him, just as she would do with her younger brother when he played such silly games, but the thought of getting close to this man was disconcerting to say the least, and she certainly was not about to put her hand inside his jacket. The mere thought of it did strange things to her she’d rather not think about, so she frowned at him in an even more severe manner.
‘There’s nothing to listen to and I don’t appreciate being the butt of your jokes,’ she said, her tone as full of reproach as she could make it.
‘There are no butts, no jokes, just a sensible proposition. And what have you got to lose by just listening? And I promise once I’ve said my piece you will get your drawing back.’
Margaret drew in a long, slow breath and released it just as slowly, hoping she could exhale her irritation and several other emotions she chose not to name. She couldn’t. His continued refusal to return her sketch made it obvious she had no choice but to listen, so she gave a small nod to inform him he could continue.
‘As you already know, I have got myself into a bit of bother in London. Things were getting rather messy so I thought it prudent to retreat to the countryside while tempers cooled.’ He looked down at the letter in his hand. ‘Tempers, it seems, have not cooled but have become more inflamed, and it is time to take some drastic action.’
Margaret said nothing. She had agreed to listen to what he had to say and that was all she intended to do.
‘It would be in everyone’s interest if I presented myself to the world as a reformed man, a respectable man, a man who has met the woman who changed everything—the woman he is to marry. Then the aggrieved party would be appeased and everyone will be happy.’
