Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

She could not. In fact, she was very afraid that the emotion that caused her hands to tremble was something close to the opposite. The man who hollowed himself out for the sake of a burden undertaken by his many-times-great-grandfather did not falter from responsibility, nor try to evade it.

Whatever it was she felt now, she knew it could not be love. Love would not feel like this. She would not feel his own hurt, as if she were clutching shards of glass to her chest.

“You understand—” He stopped, and took her hand. His fingers seemed cool against her own. His words sounded slow and metallic. “You understand,” he finally continued, “why I am telling you this. It is not so you will pity me. It is because you need to know I will never risk legitimate sons.”

Jenny’s heart thumped. The corner of his lip curled. Not a smile, but an expression of ineffable sadness.

“You see,” he explained, “I could never inflict the marquessate on anyone I cared about.”

All the best of Gareth, Jenny thought, had been bound over to serve Lord Blakely. She turned his hand over in her palm and squeezed.

“So it won’t bother you to inflict it on Ned?”

She intended to tease him, to make him forget his own pain. But he merely shook his head—not in answer, she thought, but frustration. “Now,” he said softly, “you understand why I tried not to care for the boy.”

Jenny looked away. Her chin trembled. He captured it with his fingers and turned her face to his. “And that,” he said gently, “is why I will buy you anything you want.”

He kissed her as if she were the sole source of sunlight. It felt as if he were spearing her with giant wooden splinters.

He wanted her to stay. He would give her anything she wanted. But what she wanted was to be able to respect herself. And the more he offered to buy her, the less likely the prospect seemed.

AFTER JENNY LEFT, grim responsibility once again beckoned to Gareth. He finished dressing. The journey to Ned’s home was short, but weighed heavily on his heart.

But when he stepped onto the walk outside the stone stairs that led up to his cousin’s door, he stopped in his tracks, unable to believe what he saw.

He’d pleaded with Ware and finally cajoled the man to agree to a second appointment. He’d informed Ned of the time most specifically. He’d underscored the importance of these discussions: As the days passed, gossip grew. Another tense week, and Ned could be ostracized, perhaps for good. Lady Kathleen was already the object of both pity and scorn.

But the situation could still be saved for the two of them.

Rather, it might have been saved, were it not for the scene unfolding before Gareth’s eyes.

The good news was that Ned was dressed. And washed and shaved. The bad news was, he was not waiting for Gareth in the parlor as instructed. Ned was stepping into a closed carriage. Without Gareth. Too-loud laughter rang from the conveyance as his cousin reached for the door.

The out-of-kilter sound of that laugh was all too familiar. Gareth remembered that lopsided tempo. At Cambridge, it had always been mixed with loud conversation and the heady smell of cheap spirits. It had heralded annoying interruptions to Gareth’s valuable study time. And complaints, of course, never had any effect on drunken men. Gareth’s skin prickled in visceral reminder. It was still light out, and the men were already drunk. And Gareth had specifically told Ned to wait for him.

Gareth jumped from his own carriage and strode toward his cousin. “Wait one moment!” he called.

Ned’s head turned. Gareth couldn’t make out his expression from this distance, but he didn’t need to be able to see his cousin’s face to translate the sharp jerk of his head back toward the carriage. It was no surprise when Ned pulled himself in. Another fellow—hatless, cravat-less, unbuttoned coat flapping untidily in the wind—looked around the street with a secretive air and then ducked inside the carriage, as well.

The door shut.

“Damn it.” Gareth considered his options. Run, and flag down the vehicle. Or let Ned disappear, and miss a second meeting with Ware. Incongruously, he noticed the silhouette of a hat atop the carriage. The driver flicked his whip, and the carriage started off.

Gareth grabbed hold of his own hat and ran. “Wait! You there!”

He caught up with the vehicle before the horses had picked up speed, and he beat on the side of the moving carriage. “You in there! Stop!”

The carriage slowed, and then halted. A burst of laughter rose inside, and Gareth’s spine prickled. He hated being laughed at. A voice inside broke through the cackles. “This will be excellent.”

The door swung open. Hanging on the side was that red-faced fellow Gareth had seen with Ned in the gaming hell the other night.

“How may I be of sher—of service?” The fellow bowed and lost his balance, grabbing the handle of the door for support. The hinges torqued under his weight, but held. For a moment, the fellow swung suspended against the door.