“But I am, Miss Thorne. I’m deadly serious.” Someone had to make her understand how foolishly she was behaving, coming here and recklessly tossing down a gauntlet in front of a man who could crush her as easily as snapping his fingers.
Her cheeks went positively scarlet, the pretty blush spreading down her throat and disappearing underneath the absurdly high color of that dreadful gown. “But I—”
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Thorne.”
She hesitated, and triumph surged through him. Her blackmail plot was going to die with a whimper right here and now before she could squeeze a single concession out of him, and perhaps she’d think better of it before attempting such a dangerous trick again.
It went without saying that she wouldn’tdaredescribe the—
“You’re, ah, standing up in both portraits, and you’re . . . in a state of undress.”
He stared at her, his jaw dropping open like a door with a rusty hinge. By God, was she really going to go through with describing those portraits? Didn’t the girl have any sense at all? “Do you suppose I won’t call your bluff, Miss Thorne?”
Her chin hitched up another notch. “You demanded I describe the paintings to you, Your Grace. I’m doing as you bid me.”
Very well, then. If she wanted to toy with him, he wouldn’t make it easy on her. “A gentleman is said to be in a state of undress when he’s in his shirtsleeves, Miss Thorne. That is not the case in those portraits, as I’m not wearing a shirt in either of them.”
“You’re not in a state of undress so much as . . . not dressed at all.”
He settled back against the settee. “Ah yes, I recall now. Do go on, Miss Thorne. Am I alone in the portraits?”
“In the first one, yes.”
Yes, the first one was relatively tame, as illicit paintings went. “And the second?”
“No. There’s a dark-haired lady with you in the other one. Your mistress, I presume.”
Hismistress! What did naïve Miss Thorne know about his mistress, or anyone’s mistress, come to that? She was meant to be an innocent. Then again, she wasn’t so innocent she’d hesitated to blackmail him, was she? “Formermistress. Do go on, Miss Thorne. What is my former mistress doing in the second portrait?”
There. That should put an end to this nonsense.
She sucked in a breath, the scarlet blush draining from her cheeks, her voice dropping to a whisper. “In the second portrait, the lady is kneeling at your feet, and she’s . . . well, she’s—”
“Stop!” Before he realized what he was doing, Jasper was on his feet, striding toward her and seizing her shoulders. “That’s enough. Not another word, Miss Thorne.”
“But you told me to—”
“Because I didn’t think you’d dare! For God’s sake, blackmail isn’t a game!” Damn it, she was shaking. His fingers tightened around her slender shoulders, anger flooding through him, but the devil of it was, he couldn’t say whether he was angry at her for being so bloody foolish, or at himself for humiliating her.
He released her abruptly and pointed at the door. “Go back to Park Lane at once, Miss Thorne, and don’t ever try such a foolish stunt again, or you can be certain I’ll tell Basingstoke all about it.”
“But what about the trade? Your earrings—”
“Do what you will with them. Take your tale to the scandal sheets, if you must. That story is worth far more than five hundred pounds.” His grandfather would be livid if those scandalous earrings ever saw the light of day, but he’d wager every last penny he had that they never would.
Miss Thorne might play at blackmail, but she’d never go through with it.
She gaped up at him. “What?That’s all?”
“I don’t care for being threatened, Miss Thorne, but if you insist upon blackmailing a duke, you may as well get your money’s worth.” He nodded at the drawing room door. “Now go.”
He threw himself back onto the settee as she stumbled toward the door, but just as she was about to leave, he stopped her. “One word of caution, Miss Thorne. Take care when you attempt to sell those rubies. They’re quite distinctive, and easily recognizable to any jeweler in London. I wouldn’t want you to be taken up for theft.”
She didn’t reply, but fled the drawing room, and a moment later he heard Keating, his butler, usher her out the front door.
Reckless, foolhardy chit! He’d have done better to remain in his bed and have Loftus toss her out, after all. He threw an arm over his eyes, collapsed against the settee, and lay there seething until he heard voices on the street outside and poked his head up again. “Good Lord, what now?”
He got up, went to the window, and peered out, and damned if Prudence Thorne wasn’t lingering at the bottom ofhisfront steps, in front ofhistownhouse, doing her best to charmhisgrandfather, and making a decent job of it, if the old man’s grin was any indication.
