Unclaimed (Turner, #2)

Mark was already half out the door.

The room seemed darker after he left, and smaller. She’d come to know Mark when he lived in an isolated house, all by himself, with a few servants to come in and look in on him from time to time—as if he were mere gentry, surviving on a few hundred pounds a year. Even then, the gap between their stations had seemed enormous.

But this… The candelabra on the wall were edged with faceted crystal. The dark, polished wood of the wainscoting met gold and cream and red paper. And when she craned her neck, she saw a ceiling of clever plasterwork, gilt-and-blue edging cunning landscapes. She felt as if she’d walked into a royal hall while wearing a sack. She reached out one finger—not because she wanted to stroke the impossibly delicate vase before her, but just to make sure that it was solid. It couldn’t be real. None of this could.

A tap-tap sounded behind her. Jessica whirled around, knotting her hands together behind her back. She felt as if she were a thief, caught in the act of slipping valuables into her skirt pockets.

But this wasn’t the Duchess of Parford standing in the doorway—not unless the duke was even more broad-minded than Mark had represented.

“Mrs. Farleigh.” The man who stood before her was thinner than Mark, and taller. He was dressed in dark blue. His hair was ebony, his eyes blue. She could see traces of Mark in his face—and none of Mark’s innocence in his eyes.

“You must be Mr. Sm—Mr. Turner, I mean.”

“I see my brother has disclosed my appalling name.” He didn’t smile at her, and she swallowed. They stared at each other a long time, like strange cats, not sure what to make of one another. If she looked away, she feared he might be upon her in a second, rending her fur.

“I don’t bite,” he finally offered, and he came into the room.

“No? You are the magistrate, are you not?”

He sat next to her. “Guilty conscience? Never fear. My jurisdiction doesn’t extend to London.”

She swallowed and looked away.

“That,” he said, “was supposed to be a joke. I’m starting this off completely wrong.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Welcome to the family.”

That had to be some kind of trap. “You can’t want a connection with one such as I.”

He shrugged. “Has Mark told you about me at all? I live alone in Bristol, and I infuriate the local gentry by letting various ragtag scoundrels go from time to time, simply because I believe they’re innocent of the crime with which they’ve been charged.”

“Oh.”

“They’ve taken to calling me Lord Justice,” he said. “Which normally I would object to, but it’s a damned sight better than Smite.”

“So you and Mark have both captured the ton’s imagination.”

“Ah. It’s the common people who call me Lord Justice.”

He still wasn’t smiling, but Jessica caught something suspiciously like a twinkle in his eye.

“What do the gentry call you, then?”

“Your Worship,” he said, drawing himself up. Then he winked at her. “To my face. Behind my back, now…”

She laughed, then, and finally he did smile at her.

“That is all that matters,” he declared solemnly. “Let them say what they wish behind your back. You need only be strong enough that they don’t say it to your face.”

Jessica swallowed. “Well. Then. Lord Justice, what should I do?”

“You had better marry my brother.”

She stared at him. “You can’t hope that. The scandal—”

“Will be tremendous.” He shrugged. “But not impossible. I would list my brother’s many sterling qualities, but if you are not yet aware of them, you don’t deserve him. You appear to be intelligent, but so far you’ve exhibited the decision-making capabilities of a lizard.”

“A lizard!”

“Don’t misunderstand me. Lizards aren’t stupid. But they also drop their tails and flee at the first sign of danger.”

“That’s amusing,” she tossed back. “Mark told me once that I reminded him of you.”

“Really?” He glanced at her, then twisted up his mouth. “I’m not sure this reflects well on either of us.”

“You are not the cruel, sober magistrate I was led to imagine,” Jessica said, shaking her finger at him. “I have been deceived.”

“I’ll only say this once.” His voice was very quiet. “You will not understand, because Mark does not see it. We want very desperately to like you, and for you to like us. If I had an appalling wife, it would make little difference to…” He spread the fingers of his hand, indicating the household. “But Mark. It would be too impossible, you see, if Mark’s wife disliked me. He keeps every one together.”