A Lady Never Surrenders (5 page)

His glittering gaze bored into her. “There’s a vast difference between gamboling about in your brother’s company with a group of his friends and letting a rakehell like Devonmont or a devilish foreigner like Basto stroll alone with you down some dark garden path.”

A blush heated her cheeks. “I didn’t mean strolls of
that
sort, sir. I meant daytime walks about our gardens and such, with servants in plain view. All perfectly innocent.”

He snorted. “I doubt it will stay that way.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, why are you being so stubborn? You know I must marry. Why do you even care whom I choose?”

“I
don’t
care,” he protested. “I’m merely thinking of how much of my time will be wasted investigating suitors I already know are unacceptable.”

She let out an exasperated breath. Of course. With him, it was always about money. Heaven forbid he should waste his time helping her.

“Your family has also hired me to investigate your parents’ deaths,” he went on. “Would you rather have this scheme of yours draw my attention away from that matter?”

Leave it to him to try and make her feel guilty about that
.
“Of course not, but you said that you’re waiting to hear from Major Rawdon and Elsie’s family. Aside from questioning my nurse and Mr. Virgil, you aren’t terribly busy right now, are you?”

Hah! He certainly didn’t like
that
observation. Eyes like ice bored into her. “I do have to
find
your nurse and Mr. Virgil. And I have other clients. But if you could present me with more acceptable choices, I’m sure I could find time to examine
their
backgrounds and give you a thorough report.”

“If I had other choices, I would have presented them,” she snapped. “But if you know of some eligible gentlemen you can strong-arm into courting me, then by all means, tell me. I’m open to suggestions.”

He blinked. “There has to be some fellow—”

“Right.” Lifting her skirts, she headed for the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Pinter. I can see I’ll have to pursue this on my own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She glared at him. “That should be obvious. Since you refuse to investigate the gentlemen I’ve chosen, I shall have to do it myself.”

J
ackson gaped at her, wondering how this had all turned so terribly wrong. But he knew how. The woman was clearly daft. Bedlam-witted.

And trying to drive him in the same direction. “You can’t be serious. Since when do you know anything about investigating people?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You won’t do it, so I must.”

God save him, she was the most infuriating, maddening— “How do you propose to manage that?”

She shrugged. “Ask them questions, I suppose. The house party for Oliver’s birthday is next week. Lord Devonmont is already coming, and it will be easy to convince Gran to invite my other two. Once they’re here, I could try sneaking into their rooms and listening in on their conversations or perhaps bribing their servants—”

“You’ve lost your bloody mind,” he hissed.

Only after she lifted an eyebrow did he realize he’d cursed so foully in front of her. But the woman would turn a sane man into a blithering idiot! The thought of her wandering in and out of men’s bedchambers, risking her virtue and her reputation, made his blood run cold.

“You don’t seem to understand,” she said in a clipped tone, as if speaking to a child. “I have to catch a husband
somehow
. I need help, and I’ve nowhere else to turn. Minerva is rarely here, and Gran’s matchmaking efforts are as subtle as a sledgehammer. And even if my brothers and their wives could do that sort of work, they’re preoccupied with their own affairs. That leaves
you
, who seem to think that suitors drop from the skies at my whim. If I can’t even entice
you
to help me for money, then I’ll have to manage on my own.”

Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.

Hell and blazes, she was liable to attempt such an idiotic thing, too. She had some fool notion she was invincible. That’s why she spent her time shooting at targets with her brother’s friends, blithely unconcerned that her rifle might misfire or a stray bullet hit her by mistake.

The wench did as she pleased, and the men in her family let her. Someone had to curb her insanity, and it looked as if it would have to be
him
.

“All right!” he called out. “I’ll do it.”

She halted but didn’t turn around. “You’ll find out what I need in order to snag one of my choices as a husband?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it means being a trifle underhanded?”

He gritted his teeth. This would be pure torture. The underhandedness didn’t bother him; he’d be as underhanded as necessary to get rid of those damned suitors. But he’d have to be around the too-tempting wench a great deal, if only to make sure the bastards didn’t compromise her.

Well, he’d just have to find something to send her running the other way. She wanted facts? By thunder, he’d give her enough damning facts to blacken her suitors thoroughly.

Then what?

If you know of some eligible gentlemen you can strong-arm into courting me, then by all means, tell me. I’m open to suggestions.

All right, so he had no one to suggest. But he couldn’t let her marry any of
her
ridiculous choices. They would make her miserable—he was sure of it. He must make her see that she was courting disaster.

Then
he’d find someone more eligible for her. Somehow.

She faced him. “Well?”

“Yes,” he said, suppressing a curse. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “
That
I’d like to see.” When he scowled, she added hastily, “But thank you. Truly. And I’m happy to pay you extra for your efforts, as I said.”

He stiffened. “No need.”

“Nonsense,” she said firmly. “It will be worth it to have your discretion.”

His scowl deepened. “My clients always have my discretion.”

“But the only client in my family actually paying you at the moment is Oliver. I want to be your client on my own terms, especially since you must keep my plans secret from him and Gran.”

That roused his suspicions. “And why is that?”

Her expression grew guarded. “In case this doesn’t turn out how I want.”

Under his pointed stare, she flushed. Damn if it didn’t make her look even prettier.

She dropped her gaze to the jewel-encrusted bracelet she kept twisting about her slender wrist. “They think me incapable of gaining a husband, and I mean to prove them wrong. But I don’t want them knowing I’ve stooped to such devious tactics to accomplish it. It’s embarrassing.” She glanced up at him. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. Pride was a powerful motivator. Sometimes the urge to prove people wrong was the only thing that kept a man—or a woman—moving forward.

“This conversation will stay between us,” he said tightly. “You may depend upon that.”

Relief shone in her lovely face. “All the same, I wish to pay you for whatever work isn’t covered by your arrangement with Oliver.”

He was
not
taking money from her for this. “I tell you what. Assuming that all goes well and you gain one of these gentlemen as a husband, you may cover my fee from the money you inherit from your grandmother.”

“But what if it
doesn’t
go well? You still deserve compensation for your efforts. Gran gives me an allowance. Just tell me what you want.”

What he wanted was
her,
naked in his bed, gazing up at him with a smile as she opened her arms and drew him down to kiss that thoroughly enchanting mouth.

But that was impossible for more reasons than he could count.

“My clients only pay me if they get results,” he lied. “So until you achieve your goal, there’s no fee.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Surely you require at least a pledge of some kind.” She unclasped her bracelet and held it out to him. “Take this. It’s worth a few pounds, I’ll warrant.”

More like a few
hundred
pounds. Leave it to a fine lady like her to act as if it were some bauble.

When he merely stared at it, she added softly, “I insist. I don’t want to be obligated to you in case this doesn’t work out. You could always sell it or give it to your sweetheart. Or perhaps your mother.”

He tensed. “I don’t have a sweetheart, and my mother is dead.”

Her face fell. “I’m sorry, I forgot that your mother … That is…” She drew back the bracelet. “How awful of me to remind you of it.”

The gentle regret in her voice clutched at his gut. He’d never seen this side of her. “It’s fine. She died a long time ago.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Some wounds even time doesn’t heal, no matter what people say.”

They shared a glance borne of their mutual loss, both their mothers vilified in death as they’d been wronged in life.

“You live with your aunt,” she said hesitantly. “Is that right?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, she lives with
me
. My uncle willed their house in Cheapside to me when he died last year, with the condition that she be allowed to live there until her death. I’d planned to remain in my regular lodgings, but she’s been so lonely of late…” Realizing he was revealing more than he wanted, he said, “Anyway, I moved in last week.”

She held out the bracelet again. “Then keep this as a surety and give it to her if our agreement doesn’t prove fruitful.”

“She could never wear that,” he countered. It was too expensive for even the widow of a lauded magistrate to sport at church or in the shops.

A flush filled her cheeks. “Oh, of course. I see.”

He hadn’t expected her to take his meaning, but her mortification showed that she had. He’d never thought Lady Celia was so perceptive. Or sensitive.

“My aunt’s wrists aren’t as delicate as yours,” he added hastily. “It wouldn’t fit her.” When relief showed in her eyes, he was glad he’d lied. “Still, I’ll accept it as a gesture of good faith on your part, though I fully expect to return it in a few weeks.” He took the bracelet from her.

“Of course.” Her bright smile warmed him. “So, what do you think of the idea of inviting the gentlemen to the house party? It will give me more chances to get to know them, and Halstead Hall is certainly large enough to accommodate a few more guests.”

What an understatement. The marquess’s seat was called a “calendar house” because it had three hundred and sixty-five rooms, seven courtyards, fifty-two staircases, and twelve towers. Henry VIII had given it to the first marquess.

“And if you attend, too,” she went on, “you can investigate the gentlemen more easily.”

Damn. Attending a house party would mean vails to pay the servants and fine clothes for him, a definite strain on his funds. Especially now that he was trying to do improvements on the house he’d inherited.

But if her idiot suitors were staying at Halstead Hall with her, then by thunder, he’d be here, too. They wouldn’t take advantage of her on
his
watch. “We’re agreed that you won’t do any of that foolish nonsense you mentioned, like spying on them, right?”

“Of course not. That’s what I have you for.”

Her private lackey to jump at her commands. He was already regretting this.

“Surely the gentlemen will accept the invitation,” she went on, blithely ignoring his disgruntlement. “It’s hunting season, and the estate has some excellent coveys.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

She cast him an easy smile. “Because you generally hunt men, not grouse. And apparently you do it very well.”

A compliment? From
he
r
? “No need to flatter me, my lady,” he said dryly. “I’ve already agreed to your scheme.”

Her smile vanished. “Really, Mr. Pinter, sometimes you can be so…”

“Honest?” he prodded.

“Irritating.” She tipped up her chin. “It will be easier to work together if you’re not always so prickly.”

He felt more than prickly, and for the most foolish reasons imaginable. Because he didn’t like her trawling for suitors. Or using him to do it. And because he hated her “lady of the manor” role. It reminded him too forcibly of the difference in their stations.

“I am who I am, madam,” he bit out, as much a reminder for himself as for her. “You knew what you were purchasing when you set out to do this.”

She frowned. “Must you make it sound so sordid?”

He stepped as close as he dared. “You want me to gather information you can use in playing a false role to catch a husband.
I
am not the one making it sordid.”

“Tell me, sir, will I have to endure your moralizing at every turn?” she said in a voice dripping with sugar. “Because I’d happily pay extra to have you keep your opinions to yourself.”

“There isn’t enough money in all the world for that.”

Her eyes blazed up at him. Good. He much preferred her in a temper. At least then she was herself, not putting on some show.

She seemed to catch herself, pasting an utterly false smile to her lips. “I see. Well then, can you manage to be civil for the house party? It does me no good to bring suitors here if you’ll be skulking about, making them uncomfortable.”

He tamped down the urge to provoke her further. If he did, she’d strike off on her own, and that would be disastrous. “I shall try to keep my ‘skulking’ to a minimum.”

“Thank you.” She thrust out her hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

The minute his fingers closed about hers, he wished he’d refused. Because having her soft hand in his roused everything he’d been trying to suppress during this interview.

He couldn’t seem to let go. For such a small-boned female, she had a surprisingly firm grip. Her hand was like her—fragility and strength all wrapped in beauty. He had a mad impulse to lift it to his lips and press a kiss to her creamy skin.

But he was no Lancelot to her Guinevere. Only in legend did lowly knights dare to court queens.