She cast him a skeptical look. He couldn’t blame her. The elephant had whelped a litter of malformed puppies. Or perhaps jellyfish.
He scooped Hecuba into his arms as he sat. Predictably the cat’s rapturous welcome contrasted with her mistress’s wariness.
Genevieve stuck her needle into the linen with an emphasis that made him suppress an “ouch.” As she started to rise, he touched her arm. Nothing so blatant as grabbing her, but she stilled, trembling.
Oh, yes, she definitely remembered their kisses.
He released her. “I know you don’t want to talk to me—”
“Correct, Mr. Evans.” Her tone was repressive and temper set her lovely eyes sparkling.
He continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “But if you don’t stay, Lord Neville will monopolize you.”
Although her manner didn’t thaw, she subsided onto the seat. “You imagine I prefer your company to his?”
“Don’t you?” To his chagrin, the only times she welcomed Richard’s presence was when Fairbrother was around. Being treated as the lesser of two evils wasn’t especially flattering.
She shot him a disgruntled look. “You’re insufferable.”
He smiled. An insult from her lush lips was more arousing than another woman’s fawning. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself besotted with Miss Genevieve Barrett. Which wasn’t his plan at all. This was meant to be a short adventure, followed by a serious hunt for a suitable wife. “Absolutely.”
“And conceited.”
He heard how hard she fought not to laugh. “Probably.”
“And lacking in principle.”
“Now that’s going too far.” His tone indicated that while he agreed, he’d never admit it.
“I don’t know why I bother with you.”
“I’m entertaining?” he said hopefully, stroking Hecuba. The other night, Genevieve had purred. Too fleetingly.
“No, that can’t be it,” she said flatly. She tugged the needle free and placed two more clumsy stitches into her sampler.
“You’re making progress.”
She didn’t look up. “If my hands are occupied, it keeps me from wringing your neck.”
He flung his head back and laughed. Damn, but she was wonderful. He enjoyed her conversation almost as much as he enjoyed kissing her.
Richard’s unfettered hilarity attracted attention. Objecting to the noise, Hecuba sprang to the floor. The vicar jumped as if someone had poked him with a sharp stick. Mrs. Warren appeared delighted, while Fairbrother looked like he contemplated murder. Richard plastered on a cool smile and stared down the odious lordling.
“So glad that I amuse you, Mr. Evans.” Miss Barrett placed another stitch into the elephant’s rump. Try as he might, he still couldn’t make out any deuced peonies.
“I am too, Miss Barrett.” He meant it.
“People are listening,” she muttered, head bent over the embroidery.
“Don’t worry. I’m careful of your reputation.” He paused. “More than you are, given what I caught you doing three nights ago.”
She frowned as she looked up. “You have no right to censure my behavior, Mr. Evans. You’re neither my father, brother, nor husband. You’re a chance-met stranger.”
“Who would like to be more,” he responded smoothly.
She arched her eyebrows and her tone turned scathing. “My clandestine lover? I swoon with excitement.”
“Careful, Miss Barrett. As you pointed out, we’re not alone.”
Color surged into her cheeks and she glanced around the room. Mrs. Warren and Fairbrother still watched intently. The vicar returned to his reading. “You make me forget myself.”
“I’d certainly like to,” he murmured, then exhaled with audible irritation. “Hell, I can’t talk to you here.”
Her smile hinted at triumph. “That’s the general idea.”
“So where can I talk to you?”
“Nowhere,” she snapped. “You don’t seem to understand, which is odd because you’re not completely stupid.”
This time he didn’t contain his response. “Ouch.”
She plowed on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I don’t want to see you alone. Given a choice, I’d rather not see you at all. Despite the other night’s unfortunate encounter, I don’t like you, Mr. Evans. I’d prefer that you devoted your attentions to your studies. And if you take yourself off to wherever you originated, be assured that I’ll experience no pang upon your departure.” She paused for breath. “I hope I make myself clear.”
“Bravo.” Fairbrother planted himself at her other side. Good God, the cat would be among the pigeons if his lordship had heard the more revealing parts of Genevieve’s set-down. Richard struggled to smile through the burning need to plant his fist in the man’s face.
“My lord—” Clearly Genevieve too had missed Lord Neville’s approach.
“Glad to hear you put this upstart in his place.” He extended his arm. “I’d like a private word, if I may. Your father has said we may use the library.”
“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” Richard said in a silky tone, noticing how Genevieve paled.
Fairbrother regarded him as he’d regard a slug that crawled out from the salad. “You outstay your welcome, Evans.”
“That’s hardly for you to say, is it?” he asked lazily.
“Stop it, both of you.” Genevieve slapped her embroidery onto the seat. “My lord, I’m sure Mr. Evans will grant us privacy here.”
Fairbrother smirked. “Your father was most insistent that we speak alone.”
“Very well.” Her visible reluctance as she rose heartened Richard.
She disregarded the older man’s arm and strode toward the door with the free, hip-swaying walk that Richard so admired. With a smug glance at his rival, his lordship followed. Left behind on the window seat, Richard pondered the significance of Fairbrother’s gloating.
Genevieve resented how Mr. Evans transformed her into a woman she didn’t recognize and wasn’t sure she liked. She resented how he made her blood fizz. She resented how he made her feel alive, as though she’d spent the last twenty-five years buried in her books like some sleeping princess from a fairy-tale. A princess waiting for the handsome prince to ride up on his white steed and kiss her awake.
Mr. Evans was handsome. He wasn’t a prince. More an evil genie.
The snick of the closing library door disturbed her perturbing reflections. She glanced up sharply from where she stood in the middle of the room. “My lord, please open the door.”
Lord Neville ignored her request and stumped toward her. “I spoke to your father this afternoon.”
She frowned. “You threatened to expose him?”
Lord Neville’s smile didn’t calm her nervousness. “I wouldn’t be so blatant.”
Curse him, she heard the word “yet” at the end of that sentence. “My father doesn’t own the jewel. I do.”
“Your modesty is outshone only by your beauty, Genevieve.”
Seriously worried now, she backed away. His tone made the hair stand up on her skin. “I won’t sell the Harmsworth Jewel.”
“My dear girl, right now I’m interested in another treasure altogether.” To her consternation, he dropped to one knee and grabbed her hand. “You must know how eagerly I long to make you my wife.”
“My lord—” Shock jammed all response in her throat. Her stomach knotted in horror. Frantically she prayed for Mr. Evans to wander in and make some irritating remark.
Lord Neville frowned. “Our understanding has been clear for years.”
With a desperate tug, Genevieve broke away and retreated until she bumped into her father’s book-covered desk. “I’m flattered by your offer—”
“Your consent will make me the happiest man in the world.” He didn’t wait for her to finish. He never did. A habit unacceptable in a husband.
What on earth had she done to make him think she expected marriage? With a sick feeling, she realized th
at this proposal’s timing wasn’t coincidental. Lord Neville was worried about Mr. Evans’s interest and staked a claim that until now he’d assumed uncontested. And if she married him, he’d get the Harmsworth Jewel.
Still, he’d been good to her father. Despite the blackmail, he deserved politeness. “I’m truly sorry, my lord, if I’ve led you to believe that I considered you anything more than my father’s associate.”
He scowled and lumbered to his feet. His amorous manner degenerated into aggression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Although several feet separated them, she squeezed against the desk. “It means that I thank you for your regard, but I cannot accept your proposal.”
Lord Neville’s outrage swelled. “Do you expect me to court you?”
Actually if a man wanted to marry her, she did expect more than an abrupt proposal that already assumed her agreement. A romantic must lurk inside her, however often she’d told herself she was at her last prayers.
“I’m not playing coy games. Surely you know me better than that.”
He rose on the balls of his feet in a threatening manner that made her stomach lurch. The library suddenly seemed cramped, the closed door ominous. “I know that you’d be living in penury without me and that you’re a damned ungrateful wench to expect me to dance attendance. And don’t forget that I can destroy your father’s reputation with a word.”
Appalled, she stared at him. “You’d blackmail me into marriage?”
“ ‘Blackmail’ is an ugly word.”
“And an uglier deed.” She straightened, temper feeding a recklessness that she already knew she might regret. “Tell the world.”
He scowled at her, although she read surprise in his eyes. “I may very well do that. When your father’s life is in ruins, remember how you brought it about, missy.”
She straightened, indignation swamping any remnants of fear. “You’ve requested my hand. I’ve refused. This meeting is at an end.”
With a swish of her meager skirts, she headed for the door. Despite her outrage at his proprietorial air, disbelief still gripped her. How long had he plotted this match? Her blood ran cold to think Lord Neville had spent years imagining her in his bed.
“Don’t you walk out on me!” He snatched her arm and dragged her closer. This time he didn’t care about bruises. Blood mottled his jowly cheeks and his hot male smell made her dizzy. “I haven’t finished.”
She stumbled to a stop and glared. “My lord, you’re under my father’s roof and obliged to act with discretion.”
His mouth twisted with contempt. “You should go on your knees in gratitude that a man of my station glances in your direction. I’m a Fairbrother and you’re a nobody.”
Could this get any worse? “In that case, I’m amazed that you lowered yourself to consider me as your wife,” she said with poisonous sweetness.
“I do lower myself, madam.” He shoved his sweating face into hers. “I’ll overlook your discourtesy and renew my suit in a few days. In the meantime, take time to consider consequences.”
She wrenched free. Her arm ached from his grip. She backed toward the door and fumbled behind her for the handle. “I’m not teasing,” she said unsteadily. “My answer is no.”
“That ridiculous boy has turned your head.” A sneer distorted his fleshy mouth. “If you imagine that fellow intends anything but your ruin, you’re sillier than I credit.”
“Mr. Evans has nothing to do with my refusal,” she said stiffly, tightening her grip on the handle.
He laughed dismissively. “I won’t take his leavings.”
“You exceed the bounds of propriety,” she choked.
“Just so you know that I won’t wait forever.”
“You will indeed wait forever,” she retorted, repelled by his arrogance.
He’d never believe that she didn’t toy with him before an inevitable yes. If only her father had given her some warning. Then the horrible thought struck that her father must think she was eager to become Lady Neville Fairbrother.
“Mark my words about that cur sniffing around you. My bride will be a virgin. That’s not negotiable.”
Nauseated, she turned away from him. She dearly wanted to cry. “Good evening, my lord.”
She escaped even as he protested. Carefully she closed the door behind her, just because the temptation to slam it was nigh overwhelming. She collapsed against the door, promising herself that she could cry once she reached her room.
If Lord Neville revealed the truth about her authorship, her father would never forgive her. Nor was she blind to the fact that a man with her suitor’s connections could put paid to her own nascent career.
What the devil was she going to do?
“Genevieve?”
“Dear God—” Mr. Evans with his ever-watchful eyes was the last person she wanted to meet right now.
“Are you all right?” He sounded concerned, not like the flirtatious scoundrel who destroyed her peace. She didn’t trust that voice. After the last half hour, she didn’t trust any man.
She whirled to face him. “For pity’s sake, leave me alone!”
On a betraying sob, she dashed upstairs. Mr. Evans remained below, silently observing her ignominious flight.
Chapter Eleven
Damn it, man, what the hell is taking so long?”
At Cam’s impatient question, Sirius looked up from his nap on the stillroom’s stone floor. Richard straightened the towel around his shoulders and stared disconsolately out the window at the rain sheeting onto Leighton Court’s palatial stables. His hair was wet, and stinking with the paste for turning blond to the brown that he grew to loathe. A freezing trickle dribbled down his neck. He hated this part of his ruse—dyeing his hair made him feel like a blasted cicisbeo.
Cam hadn’t finished. “You’re not setting yourself up for life as the vicar’s clerk. When I helped you put this together, I didn’t imagine I’d be providing a cover story longer than a week. Your absence has been noted in Town. I’m assuming you don’t want to become such a mystery that people start asking about you all over the country. That might let the cat out of the bag.”
Richard contemplated the miserable morning. He’d been in a grim humor since Genevieve had fled him in tears three nights ago. He’d burned to comfort her. Whatever propriety’s dictates, it felt wrong to ignore her distress.
Cam growled. “Confound you, answer me. Have you lost your tongue as well as your wits in this godforsaken backwater?”
Richard laughed wryly and finally met his friend’s concerned eyes. Cam stood ruler-straight before the marble counter. Not for him the slouch that Richard affected. “What was the question again?”
“Good God, you’re bloody lovesick, aren’t you?” Cam pounded his fist against the counter. “That woman has turned your brain. You’ve always been so cynical about love. How the mighty have fallen.”
Richard’s gut clenched in denial. “Utter rot, dear fellow.”
Cam snorted disbelief. Richard cursed old friends who didn’t fall for his pose of good-natured vacancy. “I must meet this Genevieve Barrett. To think a prim bluestocking has you on your knees. I never thought to see the day.”
Richard shivered. It was deuced chilly weather to sit around in his shirt with sopping hair. “You and your wild imagination. I’m making sure I do this properly.”
“Do what? Steal the jewel or the girl’s virtue?”
His lips tightened with an impatience that would have astonished those who believed that Richard Harmsworth reserved his deepest reactions for his tailoring. “I can’t bloody well steal it. How can I taunt the ton with the deuced bauble if I do? The situation is more complex than I thought.”
He hoped Cam didn’t notice that he failed to comment on any plans for Genevieve’s virtue. Playing the gentleman became more onerous every day. Especially since he’d kissed her.
“So how much longer?” The duke frowned with the displeasure that invariably sent minions scurrying. �
�Surely you tire of rural amusements.”
Richard merely arched his eyebrows. If Cam knew the delights of Genevieve’s kisses, he wouldn’t mock the rustic life. “I’m making progress.”
Cam threw his hands up in disgust. “Not from what I see.”
The urge arose to confide in Cam about Genevieve’s work for her father. But his friend would only nag him to use the information to obtain the jewel. Richard wasn’t sure why he hadn’t taken advantage of the only secret he’d uncovered—unless he counted her propensity for swimming naked. Perhaps the unspoken threat in Fairbrother’s manner toward her stopped him. Galling at his age to discover that a knight in shining armor skulked under his nonchalant demeanor.
“I’m taking the subtle approach.”
“Well, that’s novel.”
He might fend off Cam’s jibes, but the time he devoted to brooding upon Genevieve was disturbing. Not to mention these unfamiliar protective instincts. Inconvenient protective instincts. After all, he meant to soften her up until she surrendered the jewel, not keep her from harm all her days.
He had a sinking premonition that those protective instincts might stymie his wicked schemes. Hell, they already had. After she’d run upstairs crying, his pursuit had relented.
The memory of that night reminded him that he wasn’t merely here for a scolding and somewhere private to dye his hair. “What do you know about Neville Fairbrother?”
“Leath’s uncle?” Cam’s dark brows contracted. “He doesn’t appear in society. He has a property a few miles away. Youngton Hall. By all reports it’s stuffed to the gills with treasures. I went up against him for that Titian in Rothermere House’s library. He didn’t take losing in good spirit.”
“That’s in character.”
“I imagine he’s plump in the pocket. All the Fairbrothers are.”
“Have you heard anything to the fellow’s detriment?”
Cam shrugged. “Haven’t heard much at all.”
“Can you find out?”
Cam’s mouth flattened with reluctant humor. “I have got a life separate from your madcap stratagems, my friend.”
“A word here, a word there. Not asking you to lay down your life, old man.”
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