Lady in Red (20 page)

“You—I—” The young lord snatched up the papers, grip-ping them so tightly his fingers left indentions. “You will not regret this.”

“We don’t have an agreement yet. I’ll give you two weeks to find a solution. After that, we are back where we started, and then you
will
sign those papers. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord. I will return in two weeks and you’ll see—”

“I’m certain we shall.” Marcus picked up his pen and pulled the rest of the day’s correspondence toward him. “Thank you for coming to visit, Lord Melton.”

Melton reached across the desk and, heedless of the damage he was inflicting to the papers between them, he grabbed Marcus’s hand and shook it. “You will not be sorry, my lord! Not for a moment!” And with that impulsive gesture, Lord Melton left, a spring in his step, his head held high.

As his tread faded down the hallway, Marcus threw down his pen and sighed. “I hope I have no cause to regret that.”

Donaldson wiped his glasses and then blew his nose in a most suspicious manner. “From the look on Lord Melton’s face, I don’t think you will. That was— It was quite good of you, my lord.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus said, though he had to admit that his heart felt oddly lighter. “It was just good business, that’s all. Now the lad will work his heart out, and be the better for it, too.”

Donaldson replaced the papers in his satchel. “Of course, my lord. I look forward to seeing what type of endeavor the young man will undertake. Will there be anything else today?”

“No. But tomorrow we will go over the annual rents and—”

A soft knock sounded, and then Jeffries once again stood at the door. “Pardon me, my lord. A Mr. McTabish wishes a word with you.”

Marcus nodded to Jeffries. “Send him in.”

Jeffries bowed, then withdrew.

“Now we shall see which foot is in the fire,” Marcus said with some satisfaction.

Donaldson raised his brows in inquiry.

“A former Bow Street runner,” Marcus said. “I had the man watching something that belongs to me.”

The door opened to admit Jeffries. He introduced Mr. McTabish and then withdrew. >

Marcus waited for the door to close before he looked at the rough-looking individual before him. “Well? What have you to report?”

McTabish straightened his shoulders. He was a squat, square man with blunt features and sharp, black eyes. Greatly flushed, his face red and perspiring, his neck cloth damp and askew, as if he’d run a great distance, he appeared a little distressed. He tugged his forelock at Marcus, never sparing as much as a glance for Donaldson. “I apologize fer comin’ in like this, me lord, but ye said to tell ye quick if’n anyone from that household were to so much as look at a jeweler’s.”

Marcus tensed. “Jeweler? Which one?”

“Rundell’s, sir. The lady went there not two minutes ago.”

“Which lady?”

“The tall one, my lord. The one ye said I was to watch particularly.”

Marcus stood so suddenly a stack of papers caught on his sleeve and scattered to the floor. “Tell me all.”

“Aye. She took that ring to a jeweler. I waited ‘til she went in then I peeked inside a window and saw her takin’ it off and handin’ it to the gent inside the store. She’s there now, tryin’ to sell it.”

* * *

“Ten pounds.”

“Ten pounds? That is not even enough to justify my trip here.”

Mr. Rundell straightened his stooped shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I am sorry I cannot go higher, Miss Baker-Sneed. But I have a surfeit of these items and—”

“Not like this one! It is an exquisitely made snuffbox. Look at the painting on the inside. And the silverwork is perfection.”

The jeweler lifted his glass and peered at the snuffbox once more. He lowered the glass and regarded Honoria from beneath his lashes. She knew he was assessing her worth— the more funding she might have, the more likely it was that, after she left her current embarrassments behind, she might return as a customer. It was for that reason Honoria had dressed in her best gown of green silk with a scattering of pink rosettes and her favorite bonnet with Russian trim.

She looked well and she knew it. In fact, catching a glimpse of herself as she’d left her home, she’d been somewhat saddened to think that Treymount would not see her in such a fetching bonnet.

Not that she cared. She didn’t. Especially after he’d been so presumptuous as to kiss her, and in the middle of the British Museum, too. Ye gods, if they’d been-caught—

The jeweler finally laid down his glass. “It is a lovely piece. I suppose… fifteen pounds, but that is as high as I will go.”

“Fifteen? But—” She clamped her lips closed. She could tell by Mr. Rundell’s expression that this was his final price. Feeling slightly misused, she sighed, then nodded. Fifteen pounds was still a goodly sum, though nowhere near what the box was worth. Muttering to herself, she took the money and left the shop. She’d taken a hackney here, wanting to arrive just as the store opened, and the shilling it had cost her had been worth it. But now she was faced with a long, rather windy walk home.

Oh well. She’d just put her head down and go her way. She grasped her reticule and was about to put the pound notes in it when a band of steel snapped about her wrist. She blinked at her ringers, surprised to see that the band of steel was made of a human hand. A rather strong, masculine human hand at that. She allowed her gaze to travel from the hand to a muscular wrist enclosed in a snowy white cuff and then on up a strong arm to a wide shoulder. From there her startled gaze slipped to the marquis’s face.

Honoria’s heart sank a bit. His lips were thinned, his face almost white as he glared down at her gloved hand. He forced her hand into the air, his fingers tightening cruelly.

Honoria clamped her lips around a cry, but she could not but gasp when the money fluttered to the ground.

He stared down at it, anger darkening his gaze.

Honoria took advantage of his distraction to wrench herself free and scoop up the dropped money. The crumpled notes in hand, she flicked a furious glance on her captor. “What is the meaning of this?”

His eyes flashed with fury. “Fifteen pounds? Is that all you thought it was worth?”

Honoria blinked at him, her previous sense of outrage returning. “It’s too little, isn’t it? I thought so, too, but that blasted jeweler would give no more.” She glanced back at the shop front with a baleful glare. “If I’d had the time, I’d have sold it at the auction being held two weeks hence, but—” She suddenly realized she was giving away far more information than she should. “Never mind. This isn’t your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

Honoria stiffened. “I beg your pardon!”

“Just because I did not accept your ridiculous offer for the ring, you think to pawn it off on whomever just to punish me.”

“Punish? Why…” Her gaze went to the notes, comprehension dawning. “Oh:! You think I sold your ring.”

A moment’s silence met this, his blue eyes never wavering. “Didn’t you?”

“No.” She tucked the notes into her reticule and then peeled off her left glove. There, shimmering gently, was the St. John talisman ring.

Relief flickered over his face. “Thank God! I thought you had gotten upset with me and disposed of it.”

“Not yet.”

She was gratified by his instant reaction. His brows twitched lower, his eyes narrowed in irritation. Really, the man was devilishly attractive on a normal day, but for some reason, when angered, he appeared positively devastating.

His eyes flashed blue. “If you didn’t sell the ring, what
did
you sell?”

She pulled her glove back on and turned on her heel. “That, my lord, is none of your concern.”

She made it two steps before his hand grasped her elbow and he inexorably led her toward his waiting carriage.

Honoria planted her heels and drew them both to a halt. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Taking you home.” He pulled her another step.

She forced him to a halt. “Do you ever
ask
for things?”

“You cannot think that walking some twenty blocks is preferable to riding there in my coach?”

He had her there. And she had not been looking forward to the walk at all. Not to mention that the wind was picking up and would have tossed her skirts and bent her poor bonnet to bits. “I didn’t say I didn’t wish to ride in your carriage. I just said it would be nice if you would ask instead of demand.”

He grimaced. “It is in your best interest to—”

“It is
my
job to decide what is in my best interest and what isn’t. Not yours.”

“Damn it!” He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off an unpleasant thought. “Very well. Have it your way.” He made a curt bow and said in a voice of exaggerated civility, “Miss Baker-Sneed, will you do me the honor of riding with me to whatever location you wish?”

“That is much better,” she said approvingly. “Now say it again, only unclench your teeth.”

“Unclen—” He snapped his lips together. “I was not clenching my teeth.”

“Yes, you were. You were also playacting in a very poor manner, rather like a participant in a family theatrical.” She arched a brow at him. “Did you ever have those? A family play?”

“No.”

“Not even when you were young?”

“No.”

“I find that hard to believe. I mean… all those brothers. What did you do for entertainment?”

The arch to his brows was plainly supercilious. “When we weren’t playing practical jokes on one another, we fought. Fisticuffs were our main form of amusement.”

“I see. What a pity you never acted, for I’m certain you could at least pretend to be polite if you’d had some acting lessons of some sort. My sisters and I do plays all of the time. In fact, we are doing
Romeo and Juliet
during the holidays for the amusement of our aunts and uncles. You might wish to attend and get some instruction on how to perform more credibly.”

“No, thank you,” he said, plainly unamused.

“Pity. Believe it or not, my sister Portia is quite the thespian. She might have some suggestions on how to rid yourself of that unpleasant wooden manner.”

An astonished silence met this generous offer. Honoria smiled kindly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have several errands to run before I return home.” That wasn’t true, but it made it sound as if her life was somewhat more important. She turned on her heel once more, only to be stopped yet again.

She sighed, looking down at his hand on her wrist. “Must you do that?”

“Miss Baker-Sneed, I will have a private word with you. Now.”

Honoria sighed and cast a careful glance at his carriage. Plush and well sprung, it would be much more comfortable. And it would be wonderfully snug and much warmer than trudging home on foot. Still… she had promised herself to never again be alone with the marquis.

A gust of cold wind skittered across the road and teased the edges of her skirts. She shivered, then said, “I suppose it won’t hurt. I can conclude my errands later.”

“Excellent.”

“But… you must promise not to stop anywhere along the way.”

He nodded and went to open the door of the carriage, but a tall, cadaverous-looking gentleman got there first. His clothing proclaimed him the coachman, though he met Honoria’s gaze with an impudent grin that showed most of his missing teeth. “‘Ello there, miss! Allow me to open the door fer ye!”

Honoria smiled uncertainly and went to climb in, but was halted by the sight of his lordship’s groom’s hand thrust before her, cupped as if for a vale. Good heavens, she hoped she still had some pennies left. She started to open her reticule, but Treymount interceded.

“Herberts, put that blasted hand away. If I see it again, I shall make you drive with it tied up behind you.”

“Ye wouldn’t!” the man said, plainly horrified.

“I would.” Treymount placed a hand on Honoria’s elbow and almost lifted her into the seat.

He requested her address for the coachman and then, just as Marcus climbed into the seat, he added, “And Herberts, through the park if you please.” With that, he shut the door firmly and then pulled the curtains.

Honoria frowned. “You promised—”

“I promised to take you home and not stop anywhere, but I did not promise to use the most direct route.”

“That’s—Oh! Why are you closing the curtains?”

“Because I don’t wish your reputation to be in jeopardy.

Therefore, we will leave the curtains closed, at least partway. No one should be able to see through them without pulling up directly beside us, and the way Herberts drives, that would be nearly impossible.“

As if in answer to this, the carriage lurched forward and they were underway, the jolting motion rocking Honoria back in her seat. Marcus watched her through his lashes. Somehow he could not help but be pleased. She hadn’t tried to sell his ring after all. But the scare had made him determined to end this standoff. Somehow, some way, he had to get that ring.

He supposed he was being rather high-handed in his dealings with his delectable Diana, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She challenged him just by the way she sat, shoulders back, chin tilted up, her eyes snapping fire and disapprobation.