How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (24 page)

“Your brothers are far too chatty.”

“No, I’m just an eavesdropper.” She tipped up her chin. “In any case, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Stealing is nothing to be ashamed of?” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, stealing isn’t good, of course, but I’ve always thought it horrible that a man’s debts of honor should pass on to his children after his death. They didn’t contract them, after all. Why should they have to suffer for
his
sins?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why indeed?”

“Well, is that it? Is that what you were stealing?”

“It sounds as if you’ve figured it out perfectly well on your own,” he bit out. “I don’t know what else I can say.” When she was about to press him for a more definitive answer, he added, “Except that despite what you seem to think is acceptable behavior, the bar would be alarmed to hear of it. My career would be ended.”

Well, of course it would. That’s why he’d been so angry over her writing about him. She’d figured that out already. “I’m not going to tell anyone. That would be rather foolish of me, don’t you think?”

He eyed her cautiously. “How so?”

“I’m not going to ruin my own husband’s career.”

It took him a moment to grasp what she was saying, but when he did, the look of hope in his eyes went a long way to reconfirming that she was making the right decision.

“You’re going to marry me? You mean it?”

He started to reach for her, but she held him off. “Not yet. I have some conditions.”

A laugh escaped him. “Of course you do. I’d expect nothing less.”

“First, you have to swear that you’ll never forbid me to write my books.”

“Forbidding you to do things is a choice?” he asked sarcastically. “Truly?”

“Giles, be serious!”

He laid his hand on his heart and gave her his most lawyerly look. “I solemnly swear never to forbid you to write your books, so help me, God. What else?”

“You have to swear to be faithful.”

His eyes turned solemn. “I told you once, I’m not your father. I believe in marriage, Minerva. That means I believe in fidelity and till death do us part. You’ll never have to worry that there’s any other woman in my life but you.”

The words were so sweet that she was a little wary of trusting them. “I suppose if you were inclined to misbehave, you wouldn’t exactly tell me the truth anyway.”

“Darling, you have a brother fond of holding a gun on me, a sister who can shoot anything that moves, two other brothers who’ve repeatedly threatened to thrash me, and a grandmother who buys off constables. Do you really think I’m fool enough to antagonize them by committing adultery?”

It was hard not to smile at that. “An excellent point.”

“I think so.”

She stared at him a long moment, debating. “I have one more condition. You’re not going to like it.”

“I have to swim naked with you at least once a week in the pond?” he said hopefully.

“You have to be truthful with me.”

He sucked in a breath. “About what?”

“Everything. Papa engaged in all sorts of wicked behavior
behind Mama’s back, and it made her life a misery. I will not suffer that sort of deceit to go on in our marriage.”

His gaze bore into her. “There are things in my past that I can’t talk about with you. Things I’ve done. Things I’ve been. And I’ll be damned if I lay them all out for you just so you won’t worry that I’m like your father. I’m not even sure you’d want me to.”

She swallowed. It really
was
a lot to ask. If they were in love, perhaps she could demand it, and he might feel comfortable enough to talk. But they weren’t.

Were they?

She stared at him. She didn’t want to be in love with him, but every time she was near him, it became easier to trust him, easier to believe in him. Easier to consider loving him. That was the trouble with Giles. He had this way of making a woman want him . . .

But he certainly didn’t love
her.
Even now, when he appeared to want to marry her, he said nothing about loving her.

Very well, she could do without that. They could still have a very good, contented marriage. Plenty of people did, with merely a deep affection to bind them. And he was the only man she’d ever even
considered
wanting to marry. She mustn’t be greedy and expect love. Not under these circumstances.

“Fine,” she said softly. “Then will you promise to be truthful with me about everything from now on?”

Relief flooded his features. “That I can promise.” He took her hand and entwined it with his. “So are we done? We’re agreed?”

“One more thing.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Minerva—”

“Would you please fasten up this gown for me?”

He blinked, then burst into laughter. “Absolutely.”

As Minerva stood beside Giles in the Halstead Hall gardens, greeting the guests at their wedding breakfast, the gold ring on her finger felt heavy and cold, and making polite conversation with the steady flow of gentlemen instrumental to Giles’s success began to wear on her. Scarcely more than two weeks had passed since she’d proclaimed this scenario impossible, and only a week had passed since she’d agreed to it. How Giles and Gran had managed to get so many important people here at such short notice was beyond her. Why, even the undersecretary of the Home Office himself, the Viscount Ravenswood, was here.

She’d had no idea that her husband had such connections. She cast Giles a furtive glance as he spoke to some judge, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him so finely dressed. Lord, but he was handsome in his profusion of blues—the dark blue coat of superfine, breeches of light blue silk, and his beaver hat dyed blue. Though the whites of his silk waistcoat, cravat, shirt, and stockings stood as a stark counterpoint to all those blues, it was still the blue that one noticed first—bringing out the eyes that burned bright whenever he looked at her.

It was fitting, in a way—most of the people were here to see
him.
Was this to be her life now, always playing the cordial wife, watching every word she said for fear it would hurt Giles’s chances at becoming a K.C.? If it hadn’t been for his presence beside her, she might have turned tail and run. But the touch of his hand on her lower back steadied her nerves.

She’d missed him this week—there’d been far too much to do for them to spend time together. He’d been willing to wait for a proper wedding, but Gran had insisted on a quick wedding, probably out of fear that her granddaughter would change her mind. Or worse yet, worry about what Oliver was convinced had happened at the pond.

So Gran and Giles had compromised. They’d gained a special license, invited fewer people, and had the wedding and the breakfast at Halstead Hall. It had thrown Maria into quite a tizzy—it was the first time she and Oliver had entertained at the crumbling old mansion.

Giles had set Maria at ease by insisting that she and Oliver not make much fuss. As he put it, Halstead Hall was famous for being a moldering old pile—no one would think twice about a few frayed linens, and everyone would count themselves lucky to be invited. As it turned out, he’d been right. Even with the short notice, nearly everyone they’d invited had come.

At last the guests had all passed through the receiving line and were happily filling their plates with the ample dishes provided by Gran’s French cook from town. Giles’s mother, the elder Lady Kirkwood, who stood on Minerva’s other side, faced her with a warm smile. “Giles tells me that you’re taking your wedding trip to Bath.”

“Yes,” Minerva said, “though tonight we’re staying in the Berkeley Square house.” Which she still hadn’t seen. Giles’s builder had been working like a demon to get enough of it ready so they could inhabit it. She wondered if her mother-in-law had been there yet.

Her
mother-in-law.
Good Lord, she couldn’t believe she had one. She probably ought to stop writing wicked mother-in-laws like the one in
The Stranger of the Lake
. No point in antagonizing her husband’s mother when she barely knew the
woman.

“Our wedding trip will be short, I’m afraid,” Giles said. “I have some trials going on right now, so I couldn’t leave town for long.” He gazed down at Minerva with a softness in his eyes that made her blood sing. “But I’ve promised my wife that we’ll take a more extended trip to Italy once I can get away.”

My wife.
That sounded perfectly wonderful.

“And what do you intend to do about your novels, my dear?” Lady Kirkwood asked.

Minerva stiffened. “I intend to keep writing them, of course.”

“But surely, now that you’re married—”

“Now that she’s married,” Giles interrupted, “she’ll have a more extensive experience of life from which to draw her fiction.”

Minerva wanted to kiss him.

Lady Kirkwood’s smile was brittle. “Of course. And will you be . . . writing them under your married name?”

“No. I’ll keep the same name as before.” She’d discussed it at length with her publisher. She didn’t want to risk losing readers.

“So do you . . . er . . . intend to go by Lady Minerva Masters everywhere else?”

“Mother, please,” Giles interrupted. “Must we do this today, of all days?”

“I need to know how to address invitations to affairs in the future,” Lady Kirkwood said with a sniff. “With such a hasty wedding, there was no chance for us to discuss these things. I was fortunate we could even arrive from Cornwall in time for it.”

One of Giles’s sisters lived in Cornwall, and that’s where his mother had been until late last night.

“I plan to use the name Mrs. Giles Masters,” Minerva said quickly. Though she had the right to retain her courtesy title since she was marrying a man below her in rank, she thought perhaps it was time she separated her writing life from her private life.

“Well then, that’s all right, isn’t it?” his mother said, beaming at Minerva.

Clearly Minerva wasn’t the only one who thought it was time she make that separation. Suddenly she felt sorry for Lady Kirkwood. The woman had endured plenty of scandal in her own life—her husband’s suicide and the murder of her eldest son’s first wife. Watching her youngest son marry a character as scandalous as Minerva might not be easy for her to swallow.

Perhaps it was time for a little daughterly chat. “Lady Kirkwood,” Minerva said, “would you like to see our maze? I understand that your other son is putting one in at your estate in Berkshire.”

Lady Kirkwood brightened. “He is, indeed. And I would love to see yours.”

Minerva pressed a kiss to Giles’s cheek. “We’ll be back shortly, my dear.”

As they made their way down the path to the maze, Minerva said, “I want you to know, madam, that I intend to be a good wife to Giles. You needn’t worry that I’ll embarrass your family.”

“Thank you.” Lady Kirkwood sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that Giles finally seems to be settling down, and then this wedding comes out of the blue—”

“I know. It took both of us by surprise as well.” That was certainly an understatement. “But I would never do anything to harm his career or his reputation.”

“You can’t do anything worse than he’s done himself, I
suppose. All that gambling and nonsense. He should have grown out of that years ago.”

“I quite agree.”

His mother patted her arm. “I do hope you will be a steadying influence on him.” She spoke it more as a command than a wish.

Minerva smothered a smile. “I shall certainly try.” That was one thing she should have thought to demand of him—that he not gamble—but that seemed a bit unfair, given that practically every man of her acquaintance did.

Besides, according to Gran, Mr. Pinter didn’t seem to think it as much of a problem as she’d first feared. “Many men gamble, you know. He’s merely following in the footsteps of his father and all the gentlemen he—”

“Not his father,” Lady Kirkwood broke in. “My husband didn’t gamble a day in his life.”

Minerva eyed her skeptically. “No?”

“Certainly not.” Her voice turned cold. “Unless you include his reckless investments in businesses he knew nothing about. That was his undoing.”

Forcing a smile, Minerva led her into the maze. “I see.”

She showed her mother-in-law around it, keeping up a constant chatter about their plans for the new house, but meanwhile her mind was reeling. Lady Kirkwood might simply be one of those women who had no idea of what her husband was up to. Or she might just be embarrassed to admit that her husband had gambled.

But she didn’t seem the type to be unaware, and she certainly didn’t seem the type to be embarrassed. She’d just finished complaining about Giles’s gambling—why would she hide her husband’s?

And if her husband hadn’t been a gambler, then why had
Giles told her . . .

She thought back to that day a week ago and groaned. He hadn’t told her anything. Once again, he’d let her draw her own conclusions without admitting or denying anything. That was becoming a bad habit of his—she would have to nip it in the bud if they were to have any sort of marriage.

First chance she got, she would confront him with the truth—

What truth? That his father never gambled? She wasn’t even sure that was the case. Besides, he’d already said he wouldn’t talk about the past with her.

She ought to let it go. He’d promised to be truthful with her now, and that was all that mattered.

But it
wasn’t
all that mattered. His past shaped who he was as surely as hers did. He was only letting her partway into his life. Why? What was he hiding?

Well, one thing was certain. She wasn’t going to learn the truth by asking
him
. He’d either refuse to tell her anything or lie to her, which would break her heart. She would have to find another way to discover the truth.

As they left the maze she spotted Mr. Pinter talking to Oliver, and her eyes narrowed. Another way, indeed. Perhaps it was time she got some help.

She sighed. But she’d have to tell Mr. Pinter everything, even about the stealing—it was the only way to get at the truth. Did she dare? Was it too reckless of her? What if somehow it came back to harm Giles?