What lesson is this?” she choked out.
His wild gaze met hers. “That even a low bastard can be tempted above his station when a lady is as lovely as you.”
“A lady? Not a tomboy?”
“I wish you were a tomboy, sweeting,” he said bitterly. “Then you wouldn’t have viscounts and earls and dukes vying for your favors.”
Was he jealous? Oh, how wonderful if he was! “And Bow Street Runners?” she prodded.
He shot her a dark glance that was apparently supposed to serve as her answer, for he then bent to close his mouth over one linen-draped breast.
Good. Heavens. What deliciousness what this? She shouldn’t allow it. But the man she’d been fascinated with for months was treating her as if he truly found her desirable, and she didn’t want it to stop.
Clutching his head to her, she exulted in the hungry way he sucked her breast through her chemise, turning her knees to water and her blood to stream.
He pleasured her breast with teeth and tongue as his hand found her other breast and teased the nipple to arousal. Her pulse leapt so high she feared she might faint. “Jackson…ohhh, Jackson…I thought you…despised me.”
“Does this feel like I despise you?” he murmured against her breast, then tongued it silkily for good measure.
A sensual tremor swept through her. “No.” But then, she’d been a fool before with men. She wasn’t good at understanding them when it came to this. “If you desired me all along, why didn’t you…say anything before?”
“Like what? ‘My lady, I keep imagining you naked in my bed?’” He slid one hand down to her hip. “I’m not fool enough to risk being shot for impertinence.”
Should she be thrilled or disappointed to hear that he imagined her in his bed? It was more than she’d expected, yet not enough.
She dug her fingers into his shoulder. “How do you know I won’t try shooting you now?”
He nuzzled her breast. “You left your pistol on the breakfast table.”
A strange excitement coursed through her. It made no sense, considering what had happened the last time a man had got her alone and helpless. “Perhaps I have another hidden in this room.”
He lifted his head to gaze steadily into her eyes. “Then I’d best keep you too busy to use it.”
Suddenly he was kissing her again, hard, hungry kisses…each more intoxicating than the last. He filled his hands with her breasts and fondled them shamelessly, distracting her from anything but the taste and feel of him.
A moan escaped her, and he tore his mouth from hers. “You shouldn’t let me touch you this way.”
“Yet I am,” she gasped against his cheek. “And you aren’t stopping, either.”
“Say the word, and I will.” Yet he dragged her skirts up and pressed forward between her legs. “This is mad. We’re both mad.”
“Are we?” she asked, hardly conscious anymore of what she was aying.
Because it felt utterly right to be in his arms, as if she’d waited ages to be there. Her heart had never clamored so for anyone else.
“I don’t generally take advantage of my clients’ sisters,” he rasped as his hands slid to grip her thighs. “It’s unwise.”
“I’m your client, too. Do I look as if I’m complaining?” she whispered and drew his head down to hers.
You will make a very good Chief Magistrate, I think.”
Shock swept over him that he fought mightily to disguise. So she knew of that, did she? “I’m only one of several possible candidates, madam. You do me great honor to assume I’ll be chosen.”
“Masters tells me that the appointment is all but settled.”
“Then Masters knows more than I do on the subject.”
“And more than my granddaughter as well,” she said.
His stomach knotted. Damn Mrs. Plumtree and her machinations. “But I’m sure you took great pains to inform her of it.”
The woman hesitated, then gripped the head of her cane with both hands. “I thought she should have all the facts before she threw herself into a misalliance.”
Hell and blazes. And Mrs. Plumtree had probably implied that a rich wife would advance his career. He could easily guess how Celia would respond to hearing that, especially after he’d fallen on her with all the subtlety of an ox in rut.
His temper swelled. Although he’d suspected that Mrs. Plumtree wouldn’t approve of him for her granddaughter, some part of him had thought that his service to the family-and the woman’s own humble beginnings-might keep her from behaving predictably. He should have known better.
“No doubt she was grateful for the information.” After all, it gave Celia just the excuse she needed to continue in her march to marry a great lord.
“She claimed that there was nothing between you and her.”
“She’s right.” There never had been. He’d been a fool to think there could me.
“I am glad to hear it.” Her sidelong glance was filled with calculation. “Because if you play your cards right, you have an even better prospect before you than that of Chief Magistrate.”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
“You may not be aware of this, but one of my friends is the Home Secretary, Robert Peel. Your superior.”
“I’m well aware who my superior is.”
“It seems he wishes to establish a police force,” she went on. “He is fairly certain that it will come to pass eventually. When it does, he will appoint a commissioner to oversee the entire force in London.” She cast him a hard stare. “You could be that man.”
Jackson fought to hide his surprise. He’d heard rumors of Peel’s plans, of course, but hadn’t realized that they’d progressed so far. Or that she was privy to them.
Then it dawned on him why she was telling him this. “You mean, I could be that man if I leave your granddaughter alone.
I suppose she’s very proud of you.”
“Do you find that surprising?” he drawled.
“No!” She cast him a considering glance. “Why shouldn’t she? You’re a very skilled investigator, I’m told.”
“But not skilled enough to suit your ladyship,” he said, feeling a perverse urge to bait her.
“I didn’t say that. From what I’ve seen, you’re very thorough.” She turned her gaze to the road ahead. “It’s no wonder that you’re being considered for the position of Chief Magistrate.”
His stomach knotted. He should have known that every conversation with Celia had the potential to be a bog-ridden moor. “I suppose your grandmother told you about that.”
A troubled expression crossed her face. “She says you must be careful not to be accused of any impropriety. That it would hurt your prospects for advancement. She says I should take care not to let you be caught in that position.”
“Oh, she does, does she?” Mrs. Plumtree was even more Machiavellian than he’d given her credit for. “And I see you listen to her very well, for here we are, alone together again. At your instigation.”
A blush suffused her cheeks that so enhanced her beauty, he had to look away. “Don’t worry,” she said, “no one will ever know about this. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Like no one knew about our being alone together yesterday?”
“No one did!” she protested.
“Right. And your grandmother didn’t guess that we’d been together, either. The last time anyone saw us, we were walking off arm in arm, remember?”
“Oh, but I told her some nonsense about how we parted before I came into the north wing.”
“And she believed you,” he said skeptically.
“Yes.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Well, I think she did.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.
She asked about my intentions toward you.” He steadied his nerve to speak words that might hurt her. “I told her there was nothing between us.”
“Did you?” Her expression was impenetrable as she shifted her gaze to the road ahead. “Fortunately, I told her the same thing.”
He gripped the reins. So much for hurting her.
“But you know Gran,” Celia went on lightly. “She’ll think what she wants, no matter what either of us say.”
“Well,” he managed, “her mind will surely be put to rest about you and me when you announce that you’re marrying the duke.”
“When I announce?” she echoed, then fell silent for a long moment. “There’s something I…ought to have mentioned before.”
He gritted his teeth. Damn, damn, damn. She must have already announced it, last night after he’d left the ball. It was set in stone now. She was planning to let that bloody duke into her bed and her life, even though she didn’t-
“I never had any intention of marrying the duke.
She thinks no one would ever marry ‘a reckless society miss’ and a ‘troublemaker.’”
He winced to hear his own words thrown back at him. Celia was all that…and so much more. Not that he dared tell her. Bad enough that he’d revealed too much of how he felt yesterday. For now, she could chalk it up to mere desire. If he started paying her compliments, she might guess how far his feelings went, and that wouldn’t do.
So he tempered his remarks. “Your grandmother is merely worried that you will waste yourself on some man who doesn’t deserve you.” Like a bastard Bow Street Runner. “I suspect that if you tell her you’re going to marry the duke, she won’t be a bit surprised. And she certainly won’t agree to rescind the ultimatum, now that she’s finally achieved what she wanted.”
“Yes, I’ve come to that conclusion myself. And besides…well…it wouldn’t be fair to involve him in such a plot behind his back when he’s a genuinely nice man offering marriage. If word got out that he had offered and I’d accepted, only to turn him down, people would assume I’d done it because of the madness in his family. That would just be cruel.”
Now that Jackson knew she wasn’t actually going to marry the duke, he could be open-minded. “It certainly wouldn’t be kind,” he agreed. “But I’d be more worried that if word got out, you’d be painted as the worst sort of jilt.”
She shrugged that off. “I wouldn’t care, as long as it freed me from Gran’s ultimatum.”
It took him a moment to digest that. “So you lied when you said at our first discussion of your suitors that you had an interest in marriage?”
“Of course I didn’t lie.” Her cheeks pinkened again. “But I want to marry for love, and not because Gran has decided I’m taking too long at it. I want my husband to genuinely care for me.” Her voice shook a little. “And not just my fortune.” She cut him a sidelong glance. “Or my connections.”
He stiffened in the saddle. “I understand.” Oh yes, he understood all right. Any overtures he made would be construed as mercenary. Her grandmother had made sure of that by telling her of his aspirations.
Not that it mattered. If he married her, he risked watching her lose everything. A Chief Magistrate made quite a lofty sum for someone of Jackson’s station, but for someone of hers?
It was nothing. Less than nothing.
“So what do you plan to do?” he asked. “About your grandmother’s ultimatum, I mean.”
She shook her head. “If presenting her with an offer and begging her forbearance didn’t work, my original plan was just to marry whichever of the three gentlemen had offered.”
“And now?”
“I can’t bring myself to do it.”
He stopped clenching the reins. “Well, that’s something then.”
“So I find myself back where I started. I suppose I shall have to drum up some more suitors.” She slanted a glance at him. “Any ideas?
But she doesn’t love him.”
Mrs. Plumtree cast him a searching glance. “How do you know?”
Because she spent the afternoon in my arms, letting me kiss and caress her, eagerly responding to my desire for her. Even hinting that she might feel the same. Until she tossed me from the room in a panic when she realized what I’ve known all along-that mere mortals like us can never cross the divide.
Still, that didn’t mean he had to stand by and watch her suffer in a marriage to the wrong man. “Because Lady Celia told me.”
He cursed himself even as he said the words. It was a betrayal-he’d promised to keep their conversations private-but he refused to watch her marry a man she clearly didn’t love. That would be as bad as marrying a man like him and losing her fortune.
“She’s trying to gain a husband so precipitously only because you’re forcing her to,” he went on. “If you’d just give her a chance-“
“She has had plenty of chances already.”
“Give her another.” Remembering Celia’s insecurity over being thought a tomboy, he added, “This little experiment is sure to have increased her confidence with men. If you allow her more time, I’m sure she could find a gentleman she could love, who would love her in turn.”
“Like you?” Mrs. Plumtree asked.
He gave a caustic laugh. “Your granddaughter isn’t fool enough to fall in love with a man of my rank. So you’re wasting your bribes and threats on me, madam.”
“And what about you? How do you feel about her?”
He’d had enough of this. “I suspect that whatever I say, you’ll believe what you wish.
Do you love him?”
“I wish people would stop asking me that,” Celia muttered under her breath.
“What people?”
“Gran.” She swallowed. “Mr. Pinter.”
“Mr. Pinter?” Minerva echoed with decided interest.
“It’s not what you think,” Celia protested. “I hired him to find out the truth about my suitors, so he wanted to know if I was in love with any of them.”
Minerva arched one eyebrow. “And why should he care?”
“That’s what I said. And ever since, he’s been baiting me in front of them and telling me awful things about them to blacken them in my mind.”
“Even Lyons?” Minerva said.
“Well, no. I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard about the madness in the duke’s family, but beyond that, Jackson hasn’t found a single thing-“
“Jackson?”
Celia colored. “Mr. Pinter.” When Minerva kept staring, she added sullenly, “We’ve been in each other’s pockets because of the investigation. That’s all.
Pinter is leaving for the day?” Isaac commented. “That’s a pity.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you noticed how he looks at Celia sometimes? I think he might have set his sights on her.”
“I thought so, too. Until just now.”
“Just now?”
“He did not react exactly as I expected when I-“ Oh, dear, perhaps she should not mention that. Isaac might not approve.”
“Hetty?” Isaac prodded. “What mischief have you been up to now? You weren’t warning him off, were you?”
The disapproval in his tone made her bristle. “And what if I was? The man is the love child of a light-heeled wench and God knows whom.”
Isaac’s jaw tautened. “I didn’t know you were such a snob.”
“I am not,” she protested. “But given his circumstances, I want to be sure he is interested in Celia for something other than her fortune. I watched my daughter marry a man whom she thought loved her, only to discover that he was merely a more skillful fortune hunter than most. I do not want to make that mistake again.”
He sighed. “All right. I suppose I understand your caution. But Pinter? I’ve never seen a less likely fortune hunter. He talks about people of rank with nothing but contempt.”
“And does that not worry you? She is one of those people, after all.”
“What it tells me is that he doesn’t think much of marrying for rank or fortune.”
She gripped his arm. “I suppose. And I must admit that when I hinted I could disinherit her if she married too low-“
“Hetty!”
“I would not do it, mind you. But he does not know that. It is a good way to be sure how he feels about her.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he gritted out. “And what did he say to it?”
“He told me she would never marry anyone as low as him, then tried to convince me to rescind my ultimatum for her so she could marry a man she loved. And that was after I made it clear that it could not be him. He was very eloquent on the subject of what she deserved. Accused me of not knowing her worth, the impertinent devil.”
“Good man, our Pinter,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, bristling.
“A man in love will fight to see that the woman he cares for is given what she deserves, even if he can’t have her.” Isaac eyed her askance. “Even if some meddler has dictated that marrying her would ruin her future forever.”
A chill ran down Hetty’s spine. She had not considered her tactic in quite that light.
“Be careful, my dear,” Isaac said in a low voice. “You’ve been dabbling in your grandchildren’s lives to such good effect you’ve forgotten that the heart is beyond your purview.”
Was he right?
But when he crested the hill, the sight that greeted him made him pause. At the bottom of the hill stood Celia in a riding habit, her gun pointed in his direction. He halted just as she spotted him.
After emptying the gun by firing it in the opposite direction, she set it on the ground facing away from them, picked up her skirts, and came up the hill with fire in her eyes. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she cried.
Only then did he notice the target that was set into the hill below him. So this was where she did her shooting practice. He should have known she’d have a secret spot for it.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” he said dryly as she approached. “When I heard shots, I thought it was poachers.”
“And you were going to confront them alone?” She planted her hands on her hips. “What if there were several, armed and ready to shoot?”
The very idea made him roll his eyes. “In my experience, poachers run when they see someone coming. They don’t brandish guns.” He couldn’t resist taunting her. “You’re the only person who does that, my lady.”
At his use of her title, she stiffened. “Well, you could have been hurt all the same. You really mustn’t sneak up on people like that. And what are you doing up so early, anyway?” Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t be going to London-you’re heading in the wrong direction.”
“I’m off to High Wycombe. Apparently your old nurse lives there, so I’m going to question her about the events on the morning of your parents’ deaths. That way I can confirm if your dream is just a dream or something more.”
Her face lit up. “Let me go with you.”
Hell and blazes. This is what he got for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” she asked.
Because the sight of you so delicately perched on your sidesaddle makes my blood heat and my hands itch to touch you.
“If you go missing, everyone will worry.”
She snorted. “First of all, it’s barely an hour after dawn. ‘Everyone’ will be asleep for another several hours. Secondly, my maid Gillie knows to say that I’m sleeping off a headache, as she always does when I’m target shooting.” She flashed him a sheepish smile. “Gran doesn’t approve of the shooting, you know. So I get a lot of headaches.”
He gritted his teeth. Of course Celia did what she must to get her own way.
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