Jackson gaped at her, wondering how this had all turned so terrible wrong. But he knew how. The woman was clearly daft. Bedlam-witted.
And trying to drive him in the same direction. "You can't be serious. Since when do you know anything about investigating people?"
She planted her hands on her hips. "You won't do it, so I must."
God save him, she was the most infuriating, maddening-"How do you propose to manage that?"
She shrugged. "Ask them questions, I suppose. The house party for Oliver's birthday is next week. Lord Devonmont is already coming, and it will be easy to convince Gran to invite my other two. Once they're here, I could try sneaking into their rooms and listening in on their conversations or perhaps bribing their servants-"
"You've lost your bloody mind," he hissed.
Only after she lifted an eyebrow did he realize he'd cursed so foully in front of her. But the woman would turn a sane man into a blithering idiot! The thought of her wandering in and out of men's bedchambers, risking her virtue and her reputation, made his blood run cold.
"You don't seem to understand," she said in a clipped tone, as if speaking to a child. "I have to catch a husband somehow. I need help, and I've nowhere else to turn. Minerva is rarely here, and Gran's matchmaking efforts are as subtle as a sledgehammer. And even if my brothers and their wives could do that sort of work, they're preoccupied with their own affairs. That leaves you, who seem to think that suitors drop from the skies at my whim. If I can't even entice you to help me for money, then I'll have to manage on my own."
Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.
Hell and blazes, she was liable to attempt such an idiotic thing, too. She had some fool notion she was invincible. That's why she spent her time shooting at targets with her brother's friends, blithely unconcerned that her rifle might misfire or a stray bullet hit her by mistake.
The wench did as she pleased, and the men in her family let her. Someone had to curb her insanity, and it looked as if it would have to be him.
"All right!" he called out. "I'll do it."
She halted but didn't turn around. "You'll find out what I need in order to snag one of my choices as a husband?"
"Yes."
"Even if it means being a trifle underhanded?"
He gritted his teeth. This would be pure torture. The underhandedness didn't bother him; he'd be as underhanded as necessary to get rid of those damned suitors. But he'd have to be around the too-tempting wench a great deal, if only to make sure the bastards didn't compromise her.
Well, he'd just have to find something to send her running the other way. She wanted facts? By thunder, he'd give her enough damning facts to blacken her suitors thoroughly.
Then what?
If you know of some eligible gentleman you can strong-arm into courting me, then by all means, tell me. I'm open to suggestions.
All right, so he had no one to suggest. But he couldn't let her marry any of her ridiculous choices. They would make her miserable-he was sure of it. He must make her see that she was courting disaster.
Then he'd find someone more eligible for her. Somehow.
She faced him. "Well?"
"Yes," he said, suppressing a curse. "I'll do whatever you want."
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. "That I'd like to see." When he scowled, she added hastily, "But thank you. Truly. And I'm happy to pay you extra for your efforts, as I said."
He stiffened. "No need."
"Nonsense," she said firmly. "It will be worth it to have your discretion."
His scowl deepened. "My clients always have my discretion.
But if her idiot suitors were staying at Halstead Hall with her, then by thunder, he'd be here, too. They wouldn't take advantage of her on his watch. "We're agreed that you won't do any of that foolish nonsense you mentioned, like spying on them, right?"
"Of course not. That's what I have you for."
Her private lackey to jump at her commands. He was already regretting this.
"Surely the gentlemen will accept the invitation," she went on, blithely ignoring his disgruntlement. "It's hunting season, and the estate has some excellent coveys."
"I wouldn't know."
She cast him an easy smile. "Because you generally hunt men, not grouse. And apparently you do it very well."
A compliment? From her "No need to flatter me, my lady," he said dryly. "I've already agreed to your scheme."
Her smile vanished. "Really, Mr. Pinter, sometimes you can be so..."
"Honest?" he prodded.
"Irritating." She tipped up her chin. "It will be easier to work together if you're not always so prickly."
He felt more than prickly, and for the most foolish reasons imaginable. Because he didn't like her trawling for suitors. Or using him to do it. And because he hated her "lady of the manor" role. It reminded him too forcibly of the difference in their stations.
"I am who I am, madam," he bit out, as much a reminder for himself as for her. "You knew what you were purchasing when you set out to do this."
She frowned. "Must you make it sound so sordid?"
He stepped as close as he dared. "You want me to gather information you can use in playing a false role to catch s husband. I am not the one making it sordid."
"Tell me, sir, will I have to endure your moralizing at every turn?" she said in a voice dripping with sugar. "Because I'd happily pay extra to have you keep your opinions to yourself."
"There isn't enough money in all the world for that."
Her eyes blazed up at him. Good. He much preferred her in a temper. At least then she was herself, not putting on some show.
She seemed to catch herself, pasting an utterly false smile to her lips. "I see. Well then, can you manage to be civil for the house party? It does me no good to bring suitors here if you'll be skulking about, making them uncomfortable."
He tamped down the urge to provoke her further. If he did she'd strike off on her own, and that would be disastrous. "I shall try to keep my 'skulking' to a minimum."
"Thank you." She thrust out her hand. "Shall we shake on it?"
The minute his fingers closed about hers, he wished he'd refused. Because having her soft hand in his roused everything he'd been trying to suppress during this interview.
He couldn't seem to let go. For such a small-boned female, she had a surprisingly firm grip. Her hand was like her-fragility and strength all wrapped in beauty. He had a mad impulse to lift it to his lips and press a kiss to her creamy skin.
But he was no Lancelot to her Guinevere. Only in legend did lowly knights dare to court queens.
Releasing her hand before he could do something stupid, he sketched a bow. "Good day, my lady. I'll begin my investigation at once and report to you as soon as I learn something."
He left her standing there, a goddess surrounded by the aging glories of an aristocrat's mansion. God save him-this had to be the worst mission he'd ever undertaken, one he was sure to regret.
Foreign, eh?" Hetty frowned. "Then I am glad Mr. Pinter is looking into his background. You have to be careful with foreigners."
"Right. I wouldn't want to rush into marriage with a stranger," Celia said tartly. "Oh, wait, yes, I would. My grandmother has dictated that I must."
Hetty stifled a smile. "Sarcasm does not become you, dear girl."
"Draconian ultimatums don't become you, Gran."
"Complain if you must, but I still mean to see you married by year's end.
Then don't give me a deadline. Let me do it in my own way."
"As you have been until now, keeping every man at arm's length, scaring them away with your target shooting?" Gran shook her head. "You cannot fall in love if you do not let a man close. And you will not let a man close unless you have a reason. I know you. If I rescind that ultimatum, you will bury yourself on this estate and never come out.
Not until you eat."
"Oh, for God's sake, Aunt Ada-"
"None of that swearing, now. If you mean to be chosen as Chief Magistrate, you can't talk like a dockworker."
With a lift of his eyebrow, he held out his hand. "I won't be chosen as anything if I don't satisfy those who require my help."
"Humph. They can wait a few minutes." Her eyes glittered a warning. "I mean it. Don't make me throw these in the fire."
He flashed her his darkest scowl. "You wouldn't dare."
She set her shoulders. "Try me. And while those black looks of yours might intimidate criminals, they won't work on me. They didn't when you were ten, so they certainly won't now."
"Then I'll have to resort to force." He fought a smile as he stalked toward her. "I outweigh you by a good five stone. I could snatch those papers before you got anywhere near a fire."
"I could bash you over the head with a skillet, too."
The idea of his sweet-natured aunt bashing him over the head with anything made him laugh. He held up his hands. "Fine, I'll eat. But I must make it quick.
I'm investigating Lady Celia's potential suitors."
"Oh," she said in a small voice.
He glanced at her, surprised to find her looking stricken. "What's wrong?"
"I didn't know she had suitors."
"Of course she has suitors." Not any he could approve of, but he wasn't about to mention that to his aunt. "I'm sure you read about her grandmother's ultimatum in those reports you transcribed. She has to marry, and soon, too."
"I know. But I was rather hoping...I mean, with you there so often and her being an unconventional sort..." When he cast her a quizzical look, she went on more forcefully, "There's no reason you couldn't offer for her."
He nearly choked on his bread. "Are you out of your mind?"
"She needs a husband. You need a wife. Why not her?"
"Because marquess's daughters don't marry bastards, for one thing."
The coarse word made her flinch. "You're still from a perfectly respectable family, no matter the circumstances of your birth." She eyed him with a sudden gleam in her eye. "And I notice you didn't say you weren't interested."
Hell. He stopped up from gravy with his bread. "I'm not interested."
"I'm not saying you have to be in love with her. That would perhaps be asking too much at this point, but if you courted her, in time-"
"I would fall in love? With Lady Celia? That isn't possible."
"Why not?"
Because what he felt for Celia Sharpe was lust, pure and simple. He didn't even know if he wanted to fall in love. It was all fine and well for the Sharpes, who could love where they pleased, but for people like him and his mother, love was an impossible luxury...or a tragedy in the making.
That's why he couldn't let his desire for Lady Celia overcome his reason. His hunger for her might be more powerful than he cared to admit, but he'd controlled it until now, and he would get the best of it in time. He had to. She was determined to marry someone else.
His aunt was watching him with a hooded gaze. "I hear she's somewhat pretty."
Hell and blazes, she wouldn't let this go. "You hear? From whom?"
"Your clerk. He saw her when the family came in to the office one time. He's told me about all the Sharpes, how they depend on you and admire you."
He snorted. "I see my clerk has been doing it up brown."
"So she's not pretty?"
"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever-" At her raised eyebrow, he scowled. "Too beautiful for the likes of me. And of far too high a consequence."
"Her grandmother is a brewer. Her family has been covered in scandal for years. And they're grateful to you for all you've done so far. They might be grateful enough to countenance your suit."
"You don't know the Sharpes."
"Oh, so they're too high and mighty? Treat you like a servant?"
"No," he bit out. "But..."
"By my calculations, there's two months left before she has to marry. If she's had no offers, she might be getting desperate enough to-"
"Settle for a bastard?"
"Ignore the difference in your stations." She seized his arm. "Don't you see, my boy? Here's your chance. You're on the verge of becoming Chief Magistrate. That would hold some weight with her.
Virginia peered uncertainly at the pistol. "Only powder in it, right?"
"Enough to make a very loud bang. But I daresay it would quite frighten a fellow if fired."
"I daresay." Virginia began to grin.
"What?" Celia asked.
"Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea for you to go for a moonlight walk with Pierce. He could use a little shaking up."
Celia laughed. Then they both started laughing.
By the time they left the retiring room, she was almost hoping that Lord Devonmont would indeed take her out somewhere and try to ravish her. Though she'd already fired her pistol in a controlled situation, she'd been wanting to test it under more typical conditions.
Tell me something, Your Grace. Do you find me at all...appealing as a woman?"
He appeared startled. "Forgive me. I suppose my offer sounds rather cold-blooded."
"A bit, yes."
That brought a glint to his eye. "Then perhaps this will set your mind at ease." He reached up to catch her by the chin, then lowered his mouth to hers.
She held her breath. A kiss would certainly soothe her misgivings.
But as his lips touched hers, soft, coaxing...cool, she felt a stab of disappointment. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with his kiss. It was just too...
Careful. Reserved. As if he were testing the waters. She didn't ant a man to test the waters with her. She wanted him to seize her in an impassioned embrace and show her in no uncertain terms that he found her desirable. That he wanted-
"I suggest you release the lady, sir," growled a familiar voice, jerking her up short. "Or you won't like the consequences.
Secondly," he went on, "a Chief Magistrate is about as far beneath a marquess's daughter as a tree is beneath the moon."
A mutinous look crossed his aunt's face. "Sir Richard started out as a saddler's apprentice. He got himself a knighthood partly because he married a wife with good connections."
"A wealthy baker's daughter. That's a far cry from a lady of rank."
"That doesn't mean it can't happen. You're a fine man, a handsome man, if I do say so myself. You're young and strong, with a good education and gentlemanly manners-better manners than Sir Richard, anyway. And now that you own this house-"
"She lives in a mansion!" Snatching his arm free, he rose. "Do you really think she'd be happy here in Cheapside, with the butchers and merchants and tradesmen?"
Her aunt looked wounded. "I thought you liked this neighborhood."
Damn. "I do, but..." There was nothing for it but to tell her the truth. "She can't stand me, all right? I'd be the last person on earth she'd want to marry." Snatching up the report, he headed for the door. "I have to go."
"Jackson?"
"What?" he barked.
"If that's true, she's a fool."
Lady Celia was no fool. She simply knew better than to take up with a man who didn't know the identity of his own father. He managed a curt nod. "I'll see you tonight, Aunt."
As he left the house, an age-old anger weighed him down. He wouldn't hurt Aunt Ada for the world, but she didn't understand. Ever since he'd started working for the Sharpes, she'd hoped that his association with them would raise him up in the world, and nothing he said dampened that hope.
No doubt she believed that his father's supposedly noble blood made him somehow superior to every other bastard. But one day she would learn. An unclaimed bastard was an unclaimed bastard, no matter who his father was.
Then call me Pierce because we're friends." He bent in close in the turn, eyes gleaming as they dropped to her lips. "Intimate friends, if I get my wish."
This time there was no mistaking his meaning. But he was so practiced and smooth that she couldn't help herself-she laughed. When that made him frown, she tried to suppress her amusement, but that only made her laugh harder.
"What's so funny?" he muttered.
"I'm sorry," she said, swallowing her amusement. "It's just that I've heard my brothers make such insinuations to women in that tone of voice for years, but I've never been on the receiving end."
Pierce's smile would rival that of Casanova. "I don't know why not," he said in a lazy drawl. His gaze raked her appreciatively as they swirled about the room. "Tonight, in that purple gown, you look particularly fetching. The color suits you."
"Thank you." Minerva had been trying to get her to stop wearing browns and oranges for years, but Celia had always pooh-poohed her sister's opinions. It was only after Virginia had said exactly the same thing last month that she'd begun to think she should listen. And to order new gowns accordingly.
"You're a lovely woman with the figure of a Venus and a mouth that could make a man-"
"You can stop now." Her amusement vanished. She'd be flattered if he meant a single word, but clearly this was just a game to him. "I don't need the full rogue treatment, I assure you."
Interest sparked in his eyes. "Hasn't it occurred to you that I might be sincere?"
"Only if you're sincerely trying to seduce me."
He cast her a blatantly carnal glance as he held her tighter. "Well, of course I'm trying to seduce you. What else would I be doing?"
She pitched her voice over the music. "I'm a respectable woman, you know."
"What has that got to do with anything?"
She arched an eyebrow at him as they moved in consort.
"Even a respectable woman might be tempted into, say, slipping out with a gentleman for a walk in the moonlit courtyard. And if said gentleman should happen to steal a kiss or two-"
"Lord Devonmont!"
"Fine." He smiled ruefully. "Bu you can't blame me for trying. You do look ravishing this evening."
"There you go again," she said, exasperated. "Can you never talk to a woman as if she's a normal person?"
"How dull that would be." When she frowned, he shook his head. "Very well. What scintillating topics of conversation did you have in mind?
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