How to Woo a Reluctant Lady

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She sipped some brandy. “You do not approve of my methods.”

  “No. But that won’t stop me from taking advantage of them to get close to Minerva.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s the only woman I’ve ever seriously considered marrying. I wasn’t about to let some other fellow snag her.”

  She would swear that he was telling the truth—which was rather astonishing. “Come now, we both know she had no intention of marrying some stranger. She just wanted to rile me.”

  “Did it work?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the fool my granddaughter takes me for. This nonsense with you is just another attempt to force my hand.”

  He gave her a considering glance. “Let’s put our cards on the table, shall we? As you’ve already guessed, Minerva doesn’t really want to marry me. What she wants is for me to pretend to be her fiancé until you grow so alarmed by the betrothal that you rescind your ultimatum.”

  “And you agreed to this scheme because . . .”

  “I genuinely want to marry her.”

  “Again, I must ask you why.”

  “Have you ever read Minerva’s novels?”

  That threw her off guard. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Minerva puts her whole self into her books. I should know—I’ve read them all. When she’s with people she hides behind her clever quips and her cynical views, but you can see the real Minerva in her novels. And I like that Minerva.”

  So did Hetty. Still, she’d never told Minerva that she read her novels. Granted, they were rather good fun—full of twists and surprises and intriguing characters. But Hetty had never wanted to encourage her granddaughter in such a bluestocking profession.

  Bluestockings didn’t get married, they didn’t provide their grandmothers with great-grandchildren, and they created scandal willy-nilly for the remaining great-grandchildren to endure. Just look at that fool Mary Shelley, who’d stolen a woman’s husband and been ostracized for it. Hetty wanted better for her granddaughter. The Sharpes had quite enough scandal for one family already, thank you very much.

  But sometimes when she was reading the girl’s books, she felt as if she were brushing up against a part of her granddaughter she never saw. The part that missed her parents. The part that wanted a family of her own.

  The part she hid from the world. How extraordinary that a man like Masters had seen it, too.

  “Do you love her?” she asked bluntly.

  His expression grew shuttered. “I admire and respect her.”

  “And want her in your bed.”

  He started, then flushed a dull red. “I would imagine most men want their wives in their beds.”

  “But you don’t love her.”

  Something hard flickered in his eyes. “Love is for fools and dreamers. I am neither.”

  That didn’t mean Masters was wrong for Minerva. It also didn’t mean he was right. It was good that he hadn’t lied about his feelings, but the fact that he didn’t trust in love was a bit worrisome.

  Still, he sounded just like Oliver and Jarret before they’d met their wives. And probably Gabe, too, if the rapscallion had ever taken the time to think about it. Oliver and Jarret had found love. And why? Because most men were fools and dreamers. They just didn’t want to admit it to themselves.

  “I do not wish to see Minerva hurt,” Hetty said softly. “I did not come up with this scheme to punish her, no matter what she thinks. I did it to nudge my grandchildren out of the nest. To force them to face life instead of running from it. But that does not mean I will stand idly by while some blackguard steals her heart and tramples on it. Men like you tend to spend their nights with their mistresses and whores—”

  “I mean to be faithful to Minerva,” he said firmly. “I would make her a good husband, I swear. My profession is quite lucrative.”

  “And you gamble it away regularly, from what I understand.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear. All I ask is that you give me the chance to win her. I need time, and you need to give her some rope to hang herself. Let me court her. In the meantime, you can inquire about my business affairs if that will set your mind at ease.”

  “Don’t worry, I will. And I assume that means you have no problem with Pinter sniffing into your life.”

  Jackson Pinter was the Bow Street Runner whom Oliver had hired to examine the backgrounds of any prospective spouses for Hetty’s grandchildren.

  That seemed to give Masters pause, but after a moment’s reflection, he conceded with a terse nod. “If you hear anything that alarms you, then withdraw your approval, and I’ll abide by your decision.”

  “Even at the risk of angering Minerva?”

  He flashed her a lopsided smile. “I’m not an idiot, Mrs. Plumtree. I recognize who really runs this family. If you’re not on my side, then I’ll never have a chance with Minerva, and we both know it.”

  “Finally, a man who appreciates me.” She liked Mr. Masters more by the moment, although she would still reserve judgment until she had a better sense of his prospects.

  “Is it a bargain, then?” he asked.

  She hesitated. But nothing else had worked with Minerva. Why not give Masters the chance to shake her up? “Very well.”

  “Thank you.” He let out a long breath. “I believe I’ll have that drink now.”

  With a smile, she poured him some brandy and handed him the glass. “You’ll need it. My grandsons are preparing to beat you to a bloody pulp. And I’m going to let them.”

  He sipped the brandy. “So am I.” He met her gaze steadily. “She’s worth it.”

  “Are you sure about that? She will lead you a merry dance these next few weeks, I can promise you.”

  “I can handle Minerva.”

  She laughed. “Better men than you have tried and failed.” She drank some brandy. “But you’ve got ballocks, boy. I’ll give you that. That might just be enough.”

  He held up his glass with a devilish grin. “To my future wife.”

  Hetty eyed him askance but clinked his glass all the same. “We shall see.”

  Chapter Four

  Minerva waited for Giles and Gran to come out, still shocked that he’d proposed marriage. Granted, he’d only done it to get her to stop writing about him, but still . . .

  She tamped down the little thrill that coursed through her every time she remembered his saying that he couldn’t forget her. It was the sort of thing all scoundrels said to women. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Could he?

  No. After she’d given him what he’d wanted, he’d been only too eager to fall in with her plan for a pretend courtship. Undoubtedly he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to sacrifice himself on the altar of respectability for his secrets, whatever they were.

  “You can’t really intend to marry him, sis,” Jarret said for the third time.

  “I thought you were his friend,” Minerva shot back.

  “I am. That’s why I know he’s not right for you.”

  “You don’t know a thing about him.” She turned her gaze toward her other brothers. “None of you do.”

  They all began to talk at once, babbling about this escapade or another.

  “Quiet! I shan’t listen to another bad word about him. I know what he’s done in the past, and I’ve made my choice. You three have naught to say about it.”

  They were sweet to be so concerned, but she was tired of their viewing her as some innocent who had to be protected from men at all costs. They didn’t treat her like that in any other arena.

  “Very well,” Oliver shot back. “I’m sure Gran will have plenty to say.”

  Minerva certainly hoped so. Still, she grew more uneasy the longer Gran took with Giles. Whatever were they discussing? No doubt Giles was trying his patented charm on her.

  Well, he might get around other women, but not Gran. Minerva had heard enough from the servants about her brothers’ exploits—all of which had included Gil
es—to know that he was more familiar with brothels and debauchery than most of London’s rakehells. Gran would never countenance his suit. Then Minerva would be free of her ultimatum at last.

  As they stood in the hall waiting, Freddy, the cousin of Oliver’s new wife, walked up. He and his own wife had been visiting since their return from America.

  He made straight for a dish of lemon drops on a side table. “What’s going on?”

  Oliver’s expression softened slightly. “Nothing that concerns you, lad.”

  “Minerva wants to marry a scoundrel,” Gabe bit out. “Gran is giving the fellow what for.”

  “Is that why a group of men are pouring into the Crimson Courtyard?” Freddy asked. “Are they friends of his?”

  Her brothers gaped at him, then bolted down the hall.

  Minerva smiled. Freddy might be obtuse, but he had his uses. “How many men would you say there were?”

  With a shrug, Freddy popped two lemon drops in his mouth. “Twenty, maybe?”

  That should keep her brothers out of the way for a bit.

  “At first I thought the fellows might be here for the race,” Freddy went on. “Then I remembered that the race is tomorrow.”

  Minerva narrowed her gaze. “What race?”

  Freddy looked at her, then blinked. “Dash it all, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say anything to you ladies.”

  “The race involves Gabe, I take it?”

  “How did you guess?” he said, alarmed.

  She eyed him askance.

  “Oh. Right. He’s the only one around here who races.”

  “He’s a complete and utter fool, is what he is,” Minerva grumbled. “Even after breaking his arm racing a few months ago, he’s driven his phaeton in three more. Gran chides him every time, but it seems to make no difference.”

  Freddy sucked calmly on the lemon drop. “I think that’s why we’re not supposed to tell her about it.”

  “I daresay you’re right.” And that’s why the only ones in the family who’d seen him race were her brothers, since the private affairs generally involved Gabe’s rather fast set. Women weren’t supposed to attend them because of all the drinking, gambling, and soiled doves.

  Hmm. Perhaps there was a way she could use this in her fight with Gran. “Are Jarret and Oliver going?”

  “They said they were.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I wanted to go myself, but Jane wants me to take her and Maria shopping in town tomorrow. I hate shopping. There’s never anything to eat. Just gowns, gowns, and more gowns. Why do you ladies need so many gowns, anyway? You can only wear one at a time.”

  “We have to have something to fill up the closet, or the mice move in and build nests,” she joked.

  “Really?” he said with perfect sincerity. “I had no idea.”

  Sadly, he probably didn’t. “What time is this race?”

  He looked uncertain. “I don’t know if I should say.”

  “If you tell me, I’ll tell you where Cook puts the kidney pies to cool.”

  His eyes lit up. Freddy was remarkably easy to bribe. “It’s at ten in the morning.”

  “And where is it taking place?”

  “Not quite sure. Near some inn in Turnham. That’s all I know.”

  The door to the drawing room opened and Giles and Gran came out, looking suspiciously convivial. Minerva tensed. That wasn’t a good sign.

  Gran started. “Where did the lads go?”

  “Apparently, the gentlemen who’ve come to be interviewed are overrunning the house,” Minerva said with some satisfaction. “Freddy tells me they’re filling the Crimson Courtyard.”

  “God help us all,” Gran muttered. “I suppose I shall have to go marshal more servants.”

  When she headed down the hall, Minerva called out, “Wait! What about me and Giles?”

  “I gave him permission to court you,” Gran said with a dismissive gesture. “At least he is a legitimate suitor and not some riffraff who answered an advertisement.” She shot Freddy a dark glance. “Keep an eye on those two, will you, lad?”

  Minerva was still gaping at her when Gran hurried off. Drat the woman. Minerva should have known that Gran wouldn’t give in so easily.

  “What does she mean, ‘keep an eye’ on you?” Freddy asked.

  “I believe she wants you to chaperone,” Giles said drily.

  “Oh, God,” Freddy said with a hint of panic. “Don’t know a thing about chaperoning.”

  Mischief glinted in Giles’s eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll just chaperone ourselves.”

  “That’s like asking a dragon to guard the virgin,” Minerva mumbled under her breath. She smiled brightly at Freddy. “There’s no need for you to chaperone anyway. Our guest was just leaving.” Though she meant to get some questions answered privately before he did. “I’ll see him out and be back in a flash.”

  Freddy looked nervous. “Should I go with you?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said lightly. “What could possibly happen between here and the door?” Leaving a place as large as Halstead Hall required navigating several corridors and at least two courtyards, but with any luck Freddy wouldn’t think of that. “I’m sure Mr. Masters can be a gentleman for that long.”

  “Masters,” Freddy said, his brow furrowed. “I’ve heard that name before.” He brightened. “Wait, did you bet Lord Jarret that you could drink ten tankards of ale in an hour and still pleasure a wo—” He broke off with a look of chagrin.

  “Yes, Giles, are you that Masters?” Minerva asked sweetly.

  “Absolutely not.” Giles tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, then started down the hall.

  As soon as they were out of Freddy’s earshot, she said, “Liar.”

  “Not at all,” he said grimly. “It was only five tankards.”

  He seemed embarrassed. That wasn’t like Giles, from what she knew. Like her brothers, he’d always acted the carefree rogue with no apparent shame.

  “And did you win?” she asked with an arch glance. She hated how much it bothered her that he’d made a wager that involved pleasuring any woman, even a lady of ill repute.

  “Does it matter?”

  “You’re the one who said I should ask questions about what I could expect from my future husband in the bedchamber. I figure that if you won the bet, that shows you have enough stamina to keep me happy.”

  Giles steadied a piercing blue gaze on her. “If you’re trying to shock me, it won’t work. I’ve read your books, remember?”

  Yes, that was the trouble.

  A niggling suspicion entered her mind. “You didn’t tell Gran that I don’t really mean to marry you, did you?”

  His expression turned unreadable. “You promised to kill off Rockton. Why would I jeopardize that by scheming with your grandmother?”

  “Good point.” But she still didn’t trust him. “So what did you say to Gran? How did you convince her to allow a courtship between us?”

  “I told her I wanted to marry you. That I admired and respected you. That I could support you. Why? What did you want me to tell her?”

  “I don’t know. Something alarming.”

  “Like ‘Please let me marry your granddaughter, Mrs. Plumtree, so I can beat her every morning and chain her to the bed every night’?”

  She struggled not to laugh. “Something like that.”

  “You’re too immersed in your gothic novels, minx. If I told her such a whopping lie, she’d smell a rat. Or she’d refuse to let me court you, kick me out of the house, and that would be the end of your plan. She has to see me as a problem, and how can I be a problem if I let her dispense of me too easily?”

  “True. So how exactly do you mean to be a problem?”

  He tugged her through the nearest open doorway, which led into the deserted breakfast room. Then he hauled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his.

  He gave her no chance to think or marshal her defenses, as she had earlier. He just kissed her with a boldness that melted her to
her toes. Her pulse jumped into a martial beat, and her head began to spin. He swamped her with the sheer, visceral power of seduction and turned her resolve to mush. Along with her brain, her knees, and a few other body parts.

  Silky warmth stole through her body when the kiss turned blatantly wicked. Even knowing he was just behaving true to form for a scoundrel didn’t keep her from responding. She’d spent nine years remembering their one toe-curling kiss, and she wanted another one too badly. She’d curbed her desires earlier; she couldn’t curb them now.

  Especially when his hands began to roam her body with decided possessiveness. He swept them up and down her ribs, making her ache to feel them in more intimate places. Would he dare touch her where he shouldn’t? Did she dare let him?

  Then the kiss was over, leaving her shaking with unmet urges she’d never thought to feel again.

  He nuzzled her cheek. “Does that answer your question?” he asked in a husky murmur that resonated throughout her traitorous body.

  She struggled to regain control of it. And to remember what he was talking about. Ah yes. How he meant to become a problem for Gran. “Your kissing me cannot possibly help this situation.”

  “If your grandmother sees us, she’ll realize I’m more of a scoundrel than a suitor and she’ll grow alarmed.”

  Minerva drew back to glare at him. “If she sees us, she’ll proclaim me compromised and make me marry you.”

  “And that would work?” he said skeptically. “I got the idea that your grandmother couldn’t make you do anything.”

  “I don’t particularly want to test that theory.” She pushed at his chest. “Besides, I’ve got a less dangerous way to make you into a prob—”

  “God help me,” muttered a voice from the doorway.

  Minerva’s heart sank as she turned to see Freddy, his eyes round at the sight of Giles’s hands still clasping her waist. And Giles certainly took his sweet time about releasing her.

  “What are you doing here, Freddy?” Minerva asked, irritated at them both.

  “I thought there might be some muffins left from breakfast.” His gaze turned accusing. “You said you were just showing him out.” Freddy ran his fingers through his hair as he darted a glance in the direction of the Crimson Courtyard, named for its bright red paving tiles. “Dash it all, your grandmother will skin me alive. And your brothers will hold me down while she does it. I was supposed to chaperone.” His voice rose with his hysteria. “You said nothing could happen between the drawing room and the door—”