Instinct tightened his muscles. “What sort of snag?”
And why was he even asking when his intention was to quit the job before he began?
“One that requires you to add faux fiancé to your job description.”
“What?” The word was more of a croak.
“There really isn’t a choice. It’s completely out of my hands.”
“Out of yer hands?” Good God, he was starting to sound like an imbecile. He cleared his throat. “Miss Russell, I came to inform ye that I’ve changed my mind about accepting the job ye offered. And that was before ye added this new stipulation.”
“Naturally, the salary shall be increased according to the extra requirement,” she said as if she were deaf to his protest. “I’ll add another five pounds per week for the inconvenience.”
Ten pounds per week for however long Miss Russell required his help would be a splendid addition to what he’d managed to stow away so far, but playing fiancé to an upper-crust lady was further than he was willing to go for any amount.
Not because he didn’t think himself capable of pulling it off. Not even because the people he’d have to mingle with intimidated him in some way. Rather, it was because the very last thing he needed after keeping his head down for nineteen years to avoid a good hanging was making the headlines in every paper published within the British realm. No matter what, his height, looks, and Scottish heritage would be noted and that alone might prompt his uncle to hunt him down.
Blayne shuddered. He could not under any circumstance let that happen.
“Your imposing size and handsome features are an excellent start and…” She waved her hand as if hoping to grab the necessary words from the air around her. “I’ll simply have to think of a good excuse as to why you haven’t managed to groom yourself lately. Come along.”
She marched off, disappearing through an open doorway and leaving Blayne with little choice but to follow. Which he finally managed to do once his brain had finished processing what she’d just said about him being handsome. Christ above, it almost felt like he’d been clubbed on the head. Hell, no woman had ever told him any such thing. They just commented on his size and the pleasure he gave them in bed. And since he’d never entertained the sort of woman with whom he’d consider building a future, he hadn’t cared what they thought of his looks as long as they satisfied him in return.
Shoving away those thoughts, he sought out Miss Russell amid the dainty furniture neatly positioned throughout the parlor he’d just walked into. She’d taken a seat on one of the sofas. Blayne moved toward her, intent on saying his piece, when he realized they weren’t alone. Another woman of a similar age to Miss Russell sat in the far corner, examining him with the pinched expression people tended to use when they came across a piece of refuse.
He scowled at her and she instantly drew back as if seeking shelter against the backrest.
“Daisy, would you please be so kind as to tell Mama and Papa Mr. Wright has arrived?”
Only the briefest hesitation conveyed Daisy’s disapproval of this request before she stood, spoke a quick, “Right away, miss,” and departed.
Blayne waited until he could no longer hear her retreating steps before he raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Wright?”
“Yes.” Miss Russell folded her hands in her lap. “That is your name from now on.”
He actually laughed, dismayed by her audacity. The situation was more ridiculous than he’d supposed, and it was high time he up and left before she decided to do something truly horrendous like tell her parents he’d gotten her with child. A surge of panic went through him on that thought. He studied her calmly composed features.
Dear merciful God, he’d not put it past her. Which prompted him to march forward, lean over, and ask, “Are ye demented?”
She clenched her jaw. Sparks danced within the emerald green of her eyes until they blazed with righteous indignation. Unable to move, Blayne stared back at her while doing his damnedest to fight the effect she was having on him. Lord, she was a passionate creature and he couldn’t quite help but wonder what it might be like to encourage this fiery streak of hers in other more interesting ways.
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “And no, I am not. But I cannot very well introduce you as Mr. MacNeil. Can I? Since even I know who you are I’m sure Mama and Papa must have heard of you too, which would not be to my advantage at all. Besides, I hardly see the issue with you employing a different name when bearing in mind the exorbitant price I’ve agreed to pay you.”
Mentioning their deal helped banish the inappropriate thoughts attempting to gain a foothold in his brain. He shoved his hands in his pockets and straightened his posture until he was truly towering over her. “Ye’re making an excellent effort to force my hand, Miss Russell, for which I must give ye credit. Unfortunately, I have nae come here to start work or to let myself be bamboozled into deceiving yer parents or whoever else ye may have in mind. Indeed, I’ve come to inform ye that ye must find someone else to fill the position.”
She blinked and proceeded to smooth out her skirt. Blayne watched as she swallowed and took a few breaths. It was almost as if he’d finally managed to knock the wind out of her sails, and for some peculiar reason, he hated the result.
“I’m sorry if you feel as though I’ve attempted to trick you in some way. No doubt I’d imagine the same if I were in your position, hired to do one thing and promptly asked to do another.” The sincerity with which she spoke surprised him. Until now, she’d been the very image of cool self-assurance, forging ahead with the sort of manipulative expertise the swindlers of London could learn a great deal from. A hint of uncertainty and remorse softened her features. She bit her lip. “My situation has changed a great deal since yesterday.”
“That may well be, but I’m afraid ye will have to ask someone else for help.”
“But…” She stood with hasty resolve. Her brows drew together above a pair of imploring green eyes. “I need you, Mr. MacNeil. Please. Don’t go.”
Blayne’s gut twisted in response to the urgency in her tone. He deliberately hardened his features in order to bury the inconvenient sensation beneath the annoyance he ought to be feeling. “I’m sure ye think so, but whatever yer reason for wanting a fake fiancé, the truth is ye ought to steer clear of men like me. In fact, I’d advise ye never to venture into St. Giles again. It was downright foolish of ye to go there to begin with.” Anger rose at the memory of Mr. Evans pawing her thigh. “What happens if ye’re attacked by a group of thugs working together? What will ye do when they hold ye down and force themselves on ye?”
“My intention was to avoid such a scenario by employing you,” she muttered.
“Except ye’re also asking me to attend social functions with ye now, are ye not?”
