Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

He avoided her gaze, and her heart pounded.

“Come, Laura,” Gareth said. “Enough of these questions. I had better take you home.”

If he was going to hate her, Jenny decided, she’d give him real reason to do so. “No, Laura,” she said. Her own voice sounded a little deeper to her own ears, perhaps a bit more mysterious. It was almost as if she were Madame Esmerelda again. But she was not. This time, Jenny Keeble did all the talking.

“Listen to me.” She dropped her voice, and Laura leaned close. “And ignore him for now. Do not ever make the mistake of believing that as a woman, you must submit to men’s rules—that if your husband beats you, your choice is either to submit, or to find a man to intervene on your behalf. Because when the moment comes, and he raises his hand to strike, there will be no man there to save you. Not in that moment, maybe not for days. Men leave. It’s in their nature. If that time ever comes, you will save yourself.”

“Legally, though—”

“A pox on legalities. If you know what you want, you’ll find a way to get it. Men, or no men. And no husband or brother or—” she chanced a look at Gareth, who watched stonily “—lover will ever stop you. And that’s the truth.”

“You told me you couldn’t see the future.”

“I can’t. But I can see the present.” Jenny laid her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “What you did—coming to me, today, and asking these questions—was deeply courageous. Courage is stronger than physical strength. Remember that. Today, I see a powerful woman.”

Laura blushed, deep red. “I don’t know—”

“Maybe your brother could save you. But if you ever have need, you will save yourself.”

Laura’s hands clenched at her sides.

“Enough,” Gareth said. His teeth gritted together. He didn’t look at Jenny—he didn’t even look at his sister. “More than enough. Come, Laura.”

“Blakely,” Miss Edmonton said, “I only wanted to—”

He inhaled. “You can argue your onlys on the way home.”

He walked from the room without a backward glance.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE BEST Gareth could manage for his sister was a hired hack. The seats were sticky—with what, he dared not guess. The interior smelled like mold and vinegar. He spread his handkerchief on the seat, a flimsy barrier between Laura and the rest of the world.

The thin white cloth seemed so inadequate. She was vibrant and unsullied. She was scared of marriage. The weight of her fears settled in his chest.

“Blakely,” she said. “Are you angry at me?”

Angry at her? He didn’t know how to answer. He was angry at himself. He’d negotiated the settlements and had her fiancé investigated. He’d gruffly told her the man would do, but in his heart of hearts he had harbored doubts.

He would have harbored doubts no matter who the man was, so he’d swallowed his complaints. No man was good enough for Laura.

He regarded her. “I remember when you were born. I was at Harrow, of course, and living with Grandfather in the meantime. I didn’t see you until you were six months old. And you grabbed my hair and smiled at me.”

“I’m not six months old any longer.”

“No,” Gareth said. “You’re not pulling my hair, either.”

He sounded cold even to himself. He slouched against the cushions.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Laura was saying. “Miss Keeble’s. She said you wouldn’t be happy if I talked to her. But I insisted. I was just so scared, and I had nobody to talk with, and—”

“Laura,” Gareth heard himself say. His voice sounded like icicles. Steel bands encircled his chest. But he didn’t know how to change. When it came to Laura, he’d never been able to warm up. “You have me.”

She was silent. Too silent. When he looked up at her, her lashes were wet. Gareth swore inside.

“Have I?” she said, shakily. “How? Every time I try, you brush me off. You make one of those horrible cutting comments. You make me feel so stupid.”

God. He had no idea what to do. None at all. She was frightened. She was actually shaking. And the hell of it was, she was scared of him.

When his mother had remarried, Gareth’s time with her had dwindled to a few days snatched between school terms. Learning to become Lord Blakely at his grandfather’s estate had taken up his summers. Laura had worshipped him, almost painfully, on the days when he appeared. But she’d treated him as an Old Testament God—and one who would smite her at the first sign of perfidy.

“And now,” Laura said, angrily swiping at a tear, “you’re going to call off the wedding.”

“How could I? I’ve signed the settlements, and I have no legal hold over you.”

“You could convince Papa.”

A fiercely protective part of him growled in agreement. If she feared this marriage so much, she’d be best off not marrying the man. He tested the waters tentatively. “And is it so important to marry him, then?”