“Nonsense. If I’d intended to shoot you, Your Grace, you’d be dead. But that’s neither here nor there. We didn’t begin on the most cordial terms, as I said, and thus I had no reason to expect any kindness from you, but you did me a good turn today, and I’m grateful to you for it.”
“You might return the favor if you had a mind to, Miss St. Claire.” He leaned back in his chair, assessing her. “As you know, you possess something I want very much.”
“You mean Hammond Court, of course.” She shook her head. “As much as it pains me, I’m afraid I must disappoint you, Your Grace.”
“I did you a good turn, Miss St. Claire. You said so yourself. I might even have saved your life. Your life, in exchange for a ramshackle house? It seems a fair trade to me, but of course, I’d pay you handsomely, nevertheless.”
“Perhaps it would be a fair tradeifyou had saved my life, andifHammond Court were just a house, but it’s not, Your Grace. Not to me.”
No, not to him, either. It was a piece of his history, a part shadowed by loss, anger, and grief, yet he wanted it back, just the same. Ironically, Miss St. Claire might be the only person in England who could understand what Hammond Court meant to him.
“I came to thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured when he didn’t reply. “I don’t know how you happened to be there at such an early hour, but I’m grateful you were.”
He glanced down at his blotted letter, his dripping pen, the uncapped bottle of ink on his desk—anywhere but ather, into those green eyes shining with gratitude. “Yes, well, despite our differences, Miss St. Claire, I’ve no wish to see a young lady injured, or worse.” He cleared his throat. “Even if such a tragedy might easily have been prevented and was a result of her extreme foolishness.”
He deployed the eyebrow then, which conveyed better than words ever could how unwise it was of her to remain at Hammond Court in the first place.
But the eyebrow didn’t appear to have any effect on Miss St. Claire, who only raised her own eyebrow in return. “Yes, well, it was good of you, Your Grace.” She cocked her head to the side, considering him. “I’m rather glad I didn’t shoot you, after all.”
A wild laugh swelled in his throat—really, the chit was half-mad—but he swallowed it back before his lips could so much as twitch. It wouldn’t do for her to think he found her ridiculous antics amusing.
“I didn’t wish to leave today without expressing my thanks,” she went on. “And to assure you I’m sensible of the kindness you’ve done me.”
“Leaving?” He leaped up. “You can’t mean you’re returning to Hammond Court?”
She blinked. “But of course, I am. Where else would I go?”
She rose to her feet, but she was a trifle unsteady. He hurried around the desk, taking her arm. “Sit down, Miss St. Claire, before you fall over.”
“Nonsense. I’m perfectly well, and I must be going. Billy will be wondering where I am.”
“You’renotgoing back to Hammond Court.” For God’s sake, was the girltryingto put an end to her existence? “It isn’t safe. One would think you’d have come to that conclusion on your own after the roof toppled down upon your head.”
“Nonsense. It did no such thing. It was merely the ceiling, and only a small part of it, at that.”
She tugged at her arm, but he held her fast. “It will be awkward, indeed, Miss St. Claire, if I’m forced to lock you in the guest bedchamber to prevent you from returning to Hammond Court.”
She glared at him, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, it would make it a great deal easier for you if I gave up, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately for you, Your Grace, I don’t intend to make it easy for you to tear Hammond Court to the ground!”
God above, the girl was driving him mad. “These theatrics are hardly necessary. It does not, alas, make you any less a half owner of the house if you’re not living there. Here or there, you are, I assure you, still very much in my way.”
“Be that as it may, I prefer to be in your way fromthere.” She glanced pointedly at his hand, which was still on her arm. “Unhand me, if you please, Your Grace.”
Damn it, he couldn’t let her go now, not when he was so close to putting his plan into action. But how the devil was he going to persuade her to remain at Grantham Lodge long enough for his chosen viscount to come to Fairford, court, and marry her?
How long did a courtship take? No more than a fortnight, surely, or, if she could be persuaded to fall in love with Viscount Dunwitty, the entire tedious business shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, at most.
Love was—if he could judge by his friends Basingstoke’s and Montford’s recent marriages—a thing one could fall into with astonishing rapidity, and Miss St. Claire was a young lady, and thus susceptible to the sorts of romantic notions that plagued all young ladies.
Why, it should be the easiest thing in the world for her to fall in love. “I must insist, Miss St. Claire, that you remain here at Grantham Lodge through to Twelfth Night. Indeed, I demand it.”
“Twelfth Night!” She stared at him. “Are you mad? I can’t stay in this house alone with you for weeks on end!”
“We’d hardly be alone, Miss St. Claire, with two dozen servants wandering about.”
She drew herself up, her lips in a prim line. “You know servants aren’t considered proper chaperones, Your Grace.”
“Mrs. Watson would be highly offended to hear you say so, Miss St. Claire, but of course, I didn’t meanonlythe servants. There will be, er, some others here, as well.”
