Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

Even if she didn’t take his coins, she could not lie to herself any longer. His equal? She wasn’t acting as if she were his equal. She sat here, awaiting his return so that he could pass judgment on her behavior. And so had it been ever since he’d visited her on that fateful night. He decided whether to come to her or not. He waited on no invitation, and of course extended no reciprocal visiting privileges.

Something snapped inside her. She could do nothing about Mr. Sevin. She had no power to stay in London, once her coins ran out.

But she’d be damned before she let this dreadful imbalance continue.

She donned half boots and trundled out the door. The wind tossed her hair on the way and mussed her skirts. She looked a fright. But her anger had not lapsed by the time she reached the great stone edifice Gareth called home. She cast one look at the servants’ entrance and then raised her nose in the air.

Right. His equal.

Jenny marched up to the solid black double doors that fronted the street, raising her chin in borrowed bravado. She rapped the brass knocker sharply.

The door swung open. The butler took one look at her and his face tightened in recognition. He drew himself up, and glanced down his nose at her faded blue dress.

“Tell Lord Blakely Miss Keeble is here to see him.”

He pushed a silver salver at her. “Have you a card?”

“No. But you have a voice. Tell him.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Keeble. He’s not home.” His tone was depressing.

“Oh, dear. But his lordship specifically said he would be here at this hour.”

“He is about to leave.”

“Excellent. I’ll just sit here on the stoop and wait, then.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Although he may be delayed in his departure. Perhaps for as much as two hours.”

Jenny smiled angelically. “Then won’t he be angry when he finds you’ve made me wait all that time? Maybe you ought to consult him.”

The butler grimaced and shut the door. Perhaps fetching reinforcements to oust her? Maybe asking his almighty Lordship what to do about the annoying woman encamped upon his doorstep. Jenny waited.

It was a bare minute before the door opened again. “His Lordship will see you, Miss Keeble.” To his credit, the butler did not let a hint of his former contempt show.

Jenny let out the breath she’d been holding. Gareth allowed her entry into his home. She didn’t know what to make of it. The butler led her down the familiar hallway.

Gareth’s back was to her as she entered his study. He was seated, talking to another man. As the butler opened the door, both gentlemen stood. Gareth turned.

Any lingering anger on Jenny’s part evaporated. He smiled. Not in polite welcoming greeting; in unpracticed pleasure. The expression was like a sunburst over her heart. And those golden eyes lit at her arrival. Her fingers curled of their own accord.

“Ah,” said the other man before Jenny could be announced. “The hypothetical Miss Keeble.”

“White?”

The other gentleman nodded at Gareth’s terse command.

“Out. Now.”

As short and rude as Gareth sounded, Mr. White grinned and raised his fingers to tip an imaginary hat. And then he disappeared. The door shut on him and the butler, and silence fell.

Jenny ought to start the conversation. But her righteous anger had evaporated with his smile, and it seemed silly to declare war on a man who looked at her with that much pleasure.

He spoke for her. “Do you know what it’s like to know your sister is afraid of you?”

His tone was calm, conversational. And like that, he sucked all the air from her lungs. Jenny shook her head, mutely.

“My grandfather had my guardianship after my mother remarried. He kept me on the estate with him, or here in London. To teach me, he said. But what I learned was not to show any emotion. Most particularly not tears, laughter or enjoyment. Those things, Grandfather said, were softness, inherited from my mother. She remarried as quickly as she dared after my father died. And she did so, knowing it would mean leaving me alone with my grandfather.”

Jenny looked up into Gareth’s eyes.

“Eventually, I just stopped showing what I felt. It was easier. And Grandfather was right. Because when you’re a marquess, and you don’t laugh when you should, people jump to make things right. When you’re a marquess and you send a man a cold, cutting glance, he shivers. He taught me to be a scalpel.”

“Well,” Jenny said slowly, “given your skills at carving, that was foolish of him.”

A smile fluttered on his lips. “Indeed.”

“Would you know,” Jenny remarked, “I don’t believe I would have liked your grandfather.”

“He was a complicated man.”

Another pause. This one, Jenny felt, she must fill. She walked round Gareth’s desk and glanced at the papers stacked on top. Columns of figures filled them.

“No drawings of birds this time?” she asked.

“It’s after noon. I bundle up all the things I care about after noon. Now, it’s only estate business.”

“Hmm.” Jenny poked under a stack of hot-pressed paper and found more figures. “Where did they go?”