Tempting the Marquess (9 page)

Still, he had a responsibility as head of the house, even if he only recalled that responsibility when it was to his advantage.

“Charles,” he called out. “A word with you.”

His brother-in-law trudged back down the stairs. “What?”

“Let’s adjourn to my study, shall we?”

Once the two men were closeted inside the masculine domain, Charles turned to Jason. “What have I done this time?” he demanded.

“I am sure you’ve done a great many questionable things since last I saw you, but that’s not why I asked to speak to you.”

“Ordered, more like,” Charles grumbled. “Go on, then. What’s this matter of great urgency?”

“I wanted to speak to you about Miss Weston.”

“And this couldn’t have waited? Oh, very well, what about her?”

“She isn’t one of your Town flirts. She’s young and impressionable. She has probably never been exposed to attention from a man like yourself.”

“A man like myself.” Charles busied himself with brushing an imaginary speck of dirt off his pristine coat. “You certainly don’t have a very high opinion of me.”

“Damn it, Charles, you know what I mean. Your name’s always being paired with some new woman or other—”

“Idle speculation. Every other bachelor in London with more than two shillings in his pocket suffers the same fate. One dance and a glass of orgeat and a man is practically engaged. You won’t mind if I help myself to your excellent brandy, will you?”

Jason indicated that Charles was free to take what he wanted, at least as far as the cellar was concerned.

Charles continued to chatter as he poured himself a drink. “I had no idea you followed the gossip rags all the way out here. Are you only keeping tabs on me, or do the latest ladies’ fashions interest you as well?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Jason moved to tend the fire. “Of course I don’t read that trash, nor am I trying to keep tabs on you. That would imply a certain level of concern for your well-being. If you must know, my man of business in London takes great delight in regaling me with your exploits in his monthly letters.” He poked at the kindling with unnecessary force. The logs crackled and hissed, shooting sparks every which way, as if to protest their mistreatment.

Charles seated himself in a leather wing chair near the marble fireplace. He took a sip of brandy and gave an appreciative sigh. “Such an overflowing of love warms my heart. I assure you the rumors are greatly exaggerated.”

“Be that as it may, it would be very uncomfortable for everyone if you broke Miss Weston’s heart.”

“Set your mind at ease. I have no intention of toying with her emotions.”

Jason looked up from the dancing flames. “Then you’ll let her alone?”

Charles looked at him speculatively over the rim of his glass. “You know, I don’t think I will.”

“You can’t mean you plan to seriously pursue the girl!” Jason swung around to face Charles, the red- hot iron in his hand.

“For God’s sake, put that down before someone—namely me—gets hurt. I can’t think why you’re so shocked. I have to settle down eventually. Why shouldn’t I see if Miss Weston and I suit?”

“Because . . .” Jason put the fire poker back as he weighed his words. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Charles nodded sagely. “So the wind blows in that direction, does it?”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“You’ve taken an interest in Miss Weston yourself.”

“I have not.”

“No need to be embarrassed. It’s about time you remembered there’s a fair sex,” Charles said, clearly enjoying himself. “Being a widower doesn’t have to mean a life sentence of loneliness. Laura wouldn’t—”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t.”

“I miss her as much as you do, but you need to live your life. Edward is still at an age where he could benefit from a stepmother.”

“What could a stepmother give him that I don’t?”

“Lessons in how not to be so defensive?”

Jason massaged the tendons in the back of his neck. “My apologies. Edward hasn’t been well and I haven’t had enough sleep as a result.”

“Damn. I keep hoping he’ll outgrow it.”

“Maybe he will. He went months without an episode before this last one. As you just pointed out, he’s still young. Christ, I just feel so helpless every time it happens. He tries to be so brave. . . .” His throat swelled, making it impossible to continue talking.

Charles got to his feet and moved to stand next to Jason. “Wouldn’t it help to have someone to share that burden with? I don’t mean to say Edward is a burden, of course, but there’s comfort in being able to let down your guard and confide in someone.”

“Someone like a wife, you mean. What do you know about it? I don’t recall you being married.”

“It doesn’t have to be a wife,” Charles argued. “Laura was my confidante from the time we were children, ever since our mother died.”

“I know. I always envied you that.”

Charles was silent for a long moment. “I didn’t realize. Is that why you disliked me so much in the beginning?”

Jason laughed. “I disliked you because you were ill-mannered and bent on ruining yourself, neither of which made your sister happy. You’ve grown up, though, and I’m glad to see you finally taking an interest in your estate.”

“I . . . er . . .” Charles stammered, caught off-guard by the unexpected praise.

Jason grinned at him. “Don’t mistake me, you’re still an annoyance. Thank the Lord I only have to put up with you for a few weeks every year.”

“Oh, good. For a moment there I was beginning to wonder who you were and what you’d done with my stuffy, sneering brother-in-law.”

Jason sketched a bow. “At your service.”

“Now, about Miss Weston . . . ,” Charles started.

Jason sighed. “I thought we were finished with that topic.”

“Hardly. We have barely begun to skim the surface. A very pretty surface, too, though I haven’t yet had a chance to closely examine it.”

“Nor will you ever,” Jason growled.

“So possessive already? How touching.”

“Charles,” he warned.

“Why is it so hard for you to admit that you’re attracted to her?”

“Very well, I’m attracted to her. She’s a pretty young woman and I’ve seen few of those in past years.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“If I could think of a way for it to be yours, I would.”

Charles’s face broke into a huge grin. “No such luck, old man. It was all you. Fortunately for you, women seem to like the dark, brooding type. The harder to catch, the better to have or some such rot.”

“Am I a fish to be hooked?” He meant the question to come out lightly, as a joke, but he couldn’t conceal the underlying bitterness of such a situation.

“Do you mind if the bait is as enticing as Miss Weston?”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve no wish to be trapped.”

“Does marriage have to be a trap?”

“Getting leg-shackled is always a trap. They don’t call it the parson’s mousetrap for nothing.”

Charles shrugged. “That may be. But from what I’ve seen, and from what I remember of you and my sister, sometimes it is worth it.”

Jason could see the discussion was going nowhere or, if it was, it wasn’t someplace he wanted to go. “All right, you’ve had your say.”

“And you yours.”

“Right, then. Just so we’re clear . . .”

Charles set down his drink on Jason’s desk and folded his arms behind his back in the manner of a child reciting lessons. “I am not to seduce Miss Weston, no matter how prettily she begs me. I am to ignore her so that, in her despair, she turns to you.”

Jason fought a smile. “So long as you let her alone, you may tell yourself whatever lies you wish.”

“I realize it’s been a while since you’ve interacted with the fair sex. If you need me to give you some pointers or—”

“Charles, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

His brother-in-law gazed around the study, as if searching for clues to jog his memory. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Then think harder,” Jason ground out. “I do not need your help, as I am planning on having as little involvement with Miss Weston as possible. I fear Katherine would be upset with me if I strangled the chit, and I have an alarming urge to do so nearly every time we converse.”

“I would suggest that’s frustrated desire, but I’m sure you would tell me I’m wrong.”

“You are correct.”

Charles eyed him warily. “I’m correct that your urge to strangle Miss Weston is frustrated desire?”

“No, you were correct that I would tell you that you were wrong. In any case, if I did happen to pursue a female, I would not need your help.”

He pushed a laughing Charles out the door and locked it. He sat down at his desk, savoring the quiet. Lord, he hoped what he had told Charles was true. He had no real experience with rejection.

The women of his youth had put themselves in his path. Actresses, bored widows, and the like. He never knew if they wanted him for his title or for his looks. They hadn’t wanted him for himself, that much was certain. Those women had had as little interest in knowing him as he had in knowing them. There was only one way they knew each other, and that was in the biblical sense.

And then, during his last year at university, Jason had met Laura. On the death of their father, Laura and Charles had moved to Cambridge to live with their uncle, the Master of Trinity College. From the first time he saw her, Jason was besotted. He had foolishly expected her to fall in line with the rest of the women of his acquaintance, but Lord, had he ever been wrong. Her serene, smiling exterior had masked a backbone of tempered steel. The first time Jason had tried to steal a kiss she’d given him a black eye.

The devil knew why, but he had gone back for more. Not for another shiner—he only had to be taught that lesson once—but for more of her. She hadn’t believed he was serious in his addresses, but she’d let him court her, hoping to attract a more suitable suitor. After a few months, however, he had managed to persuade Laura of his intent.

Her uncle had given them his blessing at once, but then Hinchliffe was no fool. His brother- in-law had been awarded a baronetcy, the title of which had passed to his nephew, but having his niece land the heir to a marquisate was beyond his wildest imaginings. Jason’s father had come from London, where he was relentlessly pursuing a young, beautiful widow, and had been delighted by his son’s choice of bride.

Jason hadn’t cared a whit for either Hinchliffe’s or the marquess’s approval—if necessary, he would have eloped to Gretna Green. To the moon, even. So long as he and Laura were together, nothing else mattered. They had been so happy, so in love. . . .

He should have known then it was too perfect to last.

She was pushing her food about her plate, rather than tucking into it as the rest of them were. A lonely air—stiff and melancholy—hung about her, one he knew all too well. The emotion did not sit right on her . . . and it bothered him.

“You look pensive, Miss Weston. Is something amiss?”

“No, not really. A touch of homesickness brought on by the quiet.”

“And how else should it be?” His words were more defensive than he meant them to be, but he somehow felt responsible for her unhappiness . . . and that bothered him, too.

“I don’t mean to say it’s a bad thing exactly, but it’s very different from what I am used to.”

Jason looked at Katherine and Charles to see if they were making any sense of this.

“You’re forgetting that Lord Sheldon is an only child, Livvy, or he was for most of his life.”

“What’s that to do with anything?” Jason wanted to know.

“I’ve six brothers and sisters,” Miss Weston explained, “and two are older than I am. So whether I was taking meals in the nursery or old enough to eat with the adults, I’ve always had at least one sibling, usually more, at the table with me.”

“Which equates to noise?”

“Naturally. Or perhaps it is not at all natural. I suspect my family is unnaturally vocal.”

“But ever so much fun to be around,” Katherine insisted. “Why do you think your brother always had so many school friends wanting to come home with him for the holidays?”

Her niece looked at her in surprise. “I always supposed it was for Izzie, once she started showing signs of being a Great Beauty.”

“Goose. It’s because everyone in your family is so welcoming. You’ve big hearts, all of you, and you want to share the blessings you’ve been fortunate enough to have been given.”

“Aunt Kate . . . ” Miss Weston protested, looking quite pink in the face.

“You’re right,” Katherine said, a determined look on her face. “This place is too quiet.”

“Hear, hear!” Charles raised his glass to her.

Jason had a feeling—one he was growing quite used to—he wasn’t going to like whatever was brewing in his stepmother’s mind. “Now see here—” he began, but he stopped when Katherine turned to him, her eyes bright with excitement.

“It’s the season for giving, isn’t it?”

No
was the answer Jason wanted to give her, but she was looking at him so expectantly, he forced himself to say instead, “Where exactly are you headed with this?”

“I know it is short notice but I thought perhaps we could host an entertainment. Not a ball, for I doubt we’ve the numbers for that, but a dinner party with dancing and games. The neighbors will come, if only out of curiosity. This household has been kept in mourning too long. I know you still grieve, Jason, but—”

“What date did you have in mind for these festivities?” he asked quickly, hoping to distract her from talking about the past.

“It must be Twelfth Night. Olivia can be our guest of honor, for her birthday is nearly upon us, and she is named after the character in the play, you know.”

“I did not. Shall I have a willow cabin made at the gate for the occasion?”

Miss Weston looked pained. Charles and Katherine just looked confused.

Jason gave a disgusted sigh. “Don’t you know your Shakespeare?”

“Not particularly,” Charles answered cheerily. “I’m afraid my mind is on other things when I attend the theater.”

“I’m sorry, dearest,” Katherine said to her niece. “I should have warned you. My stepson is very fond of Shakespeare.”

“What have you got against him?” Jason demanded of Miss Weston.

“How long do you have?” she retorted.

“I’m afraid my sister is a bit Shakespeare- mad,” Katherine said. “It started when she was a girl and only grew worse over the years. She’s been working on a book about all the great heroines for, oh, heaven only knows how many years now.”

“It’s practically impossible to have a conversation with her without some bit of Bardic brilliance worming its way in,” added Miss Weston. “And she named me and all my siblings after characters in the plays, though my father made certain she kept within the bounds of normalcy. The truly outlandish names were reserved for the horses and hounds.”

“Poor beasts.” Charles shook his head in sympathy.

Livvy laughed. “I doubt they know the difference and, in any case, I must point out such literary names are a bit more dignified than the, um, colorful names so popular here.”

“I am just thankful Edward was in the midst of learning his colors when I brought them home,” Jason put in. “Only imagine if he had still been learning to count. We would be stuck with One Dog and Two Dog instead of Red Dog and Blue Dog.”

“Once Aunt Kate promised Charlotte a great Danish dog, my mother began campaigning most vociferously for the name to be either Hamlet or Ophelia, depending on the gender, of course.”

Jason laughed. “I think your mother sounds delightful.”

“Oh, I love her dearly, but it is quite frustrating to ask for a bedtime story and have your mother fetch a volume of the Complete Works. Not,” she said thoughtfully, “that it didn’t put us to sleep quickly.”

“ ‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t,’ ” Jason quoted.

Miss Weston groaned. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

“Not to mention dull,” Charles put in. “I fear you are going to need my pointers after all.”

Katherine looked interested. “Pointers for what?”

“How to be sociable. So he won’t scare off the . . . guests,” Charles improvised, transferring his gaze from Katherine to Miss Weston as he spoke.

Jason wondered, not for the first time, if his brother-in-law wasn’t a great deal more intelligent than he let on. Fortunately, Katherine misunderstood Charles’s subtle jab.

“Then we may have our Twelfth Night revels?”

Jason thought of the torture such an undertaking would likely inflict. Not only would the entire place have to be thoroughly cleaned and aired out, but he would have to endure the actual party. The whispers and stares of his former friends and acquaintances . . .

“No” hovered on the tip of his tongue.

Then he thought about Miss Weston’s concern for his son, and Charles and Katherine coming every Christmas to see that he and Edward were not alone. If this would make them happy, then he could suffer a bit of discomfort in return.

“Oh, very well. But keep it small, mind you. Charles, make yourself useful to the ladies. Laura always used to say I—” He stopped himself and rose. “Forgive me, I have some work I must see about. I cannot waste my time in idle chatter.”

“Be off with you then.” Katherine made a shooing motion. “We have important matters to discuss, Charles, Olivia, and I, and we will not have you meddling in our affairs. I shall send someone to fetch you when the children come down for the toffee making.”

Jason stalked off to his study.

He feared he knew exactly what important matter they had to discuss.

Him.