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Authors: Sabrina Jeffries

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Historical

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BOOK: How to Woo a Reluctant Lady
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But she looked agitated as she paced the Persian rug. He couldn’t imagine why. Her grandmother sat in a chair by the fire, seemingly content to watch Giles take her granddaughter off for a drive.

He bowed to them both. “Good morning, ladies.”

Minerva glared at him. “This isn’t a good beginning at all, Mr. Masters. I said nine o’clock. It’s a quarter past.”

“Don’t be rude, Minerva,” her grandmother chided.

“Well, it
is.
And punctuality is important in a husband.”

How odd that she would care about his being a few minutes late for a drive in the country. “Forgive me, I had some work to attend to.”

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Mrs. Plumtree said. “Her brothers interrogated her about you last night, and she’s been cranky ever since.” Her gaze sharpened on Giles. “They seem to think you two have been friendly for some time.”

“They said they got the idea from
you,
” Minerva said, with a telling lift of her brow. “I can’t imagine why you would imply such a thing. I told them that we danced together once, nothing more, but they already knew that.”

“So you didn’t tell them about our secret trysts through the years?” he said lightly. “The castle I carried you off to in
Inverness so that I could have my wicked way with you? The nights in Venice? Our elopement to Spain?”

“Very amusing, Mr. Masters,” Mrs. Plumtree put in, suspicion fading from her face. “I daresay my grandsons didn’t guess that your connection was through her books.”

Minerva gaped at her grandmother. “How did you guess that those incidents were in my novels, Gran?”

Mrs. Plumtree sniffed. “I do know how to read, girl. And apparently so does Mr. Masters, even if your brothers don’t seem to.” She glanced around. “Speaking of your brothers, I’m rather surprised they went off to Tattersall’s instead of staying around to protest this outing.”

Minerva blinked, then said, “Yes, so am I.” Taking Giles’s arm, she gave it an unsubtle tug. “Which is why we should go, before they
do
show up to protest.”

“I’ll see you out,” her grandmother said.

That was odd. Had Mrs. Plumtree heard from Freddy about what had happened yesterday? Surely not, or she wouldn’t be allowing him to go off alone with Minerva in the first place.

Once they reached the drive, however, it became apparent why Mrs. Plumtree had followed them. “That’s a very nice curricle, Mr. Masters,” she said, running her keen gaze over the glossy black paint of his two-wheeled equipage. “And a nice pair of matched horses, eh? Must have cost you a pretty penny.”

Her mercenary remark made him smile. “You assume that I bought it. How do you know I didn’t win it at cards?”

“Because from what my grandsons tell me, you rarely win.”

There was a reason for that: losers became privy to far more secrets than winners. They got to drown their sorrows in ale and hear other losers spill their stories. Since England was in a fight for its future, it needed lots of stories to find those
unhappy citizens who did
not
want to play by the rules. Like the villains who’d spawned the Cato Conspiracy and plotted to murder the cabinet a few years back, before he’d alerted Ravenswood to their existence.

“Yet here I am, driving a nice rig,” he said mildly. “So either I can afford it from my earnings or I don’t lose as often as your grandsons contend.”

“Or you’re a spy for the French,” Minerva said with a sharp-edged smile.

Mrs. Plumtree laughed. “Never had a spy in the family. Although as I recall, your father said there was a spy who came to visit—Sir Francis Walsingham, who did all sorts of treachery for Queen Elizabeth.” She frowned. “Oh, dear, I may be confusing him with that vice admiral who stayed at Halstead Hall while fleeing Cromwell. His name was Main-something . . . Or am I thinking of that famous general? What was his name?”

“Gran!”

“Oh, forgive me. Don’t mean to keep you from your drive.” She flicked her hand toward the rig. “Go on then. Enjoy yourselves.”

“We will,” Minerva said and pointedly placed her foot on the step.

Giles hastened to hand her up. She was falling all over herself in her eagerness to get away with him. He’d be flattered, if not for her calculating expression. She was up to something, and it was undoubtedly something he wouldn’t like. She looked far too much like the cat who ate the canary.

She patted the seat beside her. “Well, are we going or not?”

Leaping up into the seat, Giles took the reins from his tiger, waited until the young groom was settled on the back perch, then set the horses off. Mrs. Plumtree waved to them, then hobbled back through the archway.

As they headed down the drive, he stole a glance at Minerva. Her choice of attire seemed designed to drive him mad with lust. All those little frog fastenings—he itched to unfasten them one by one. And her bodice was just snug enough to make him wonder what it would be like to delve beneath the corset that barely constrained its ample treasures.

One honey dark curl fell across her cheek, and he felt a sudden impulse to sweep it back into place. Or tug off her bonnet to set her hair free to cascade down her slender back in a glorious display of wanton tresses—

Good God, wanton tresses indeed—he must be mad. How did she manage to do this to him every time he saw her?

As they reached the road he started to turn to the left, but she put her hand on his. “No, let’s go the other way, shall we?”

His eyes narrowed on her. “It’s not as pretty a drive.”

“It’s pretty enough,” she said with a coy look that put him on the alert. She knew exactly what she did to him. The teasing seductress reveled in it, probably even meant to take advantage of it.

“Is there somewhere in particular you wanted to go, Minerva?”

“Certainly not. I just . . . prefer the other way.”

He didn’t believe her, but he’d let it go. For now. Until he figured out her game.

He turned his rig to the right.

With satisfaction on her face, she sat back in her seat. “So tell me, Giles, what
did
you say to my brothers to make them question me last night?”

“That there was more between us than they realized.”

Glancing back at the tiger, she lowered her voice. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll reveal the truth about that night at the masquerade?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t serve your purpose. And you’re nothing if not practical.”

“Practical! If you’re trying to flatter me, that’s not the way to go about it.”

He kept his voice low. With the noise from the horses, he doubted his tiger could hear, but no point in taking any chances. “You told me this was a pretend courtship. You said nothing about my having to exert myself to flatter you.”

She laughed. “And would that really be such a chore?”

“Of course.” He tooled the curricle around a sharp curve. “You’re a writer—you’ll expect the best in pretty compliments. And between dealing with your family yesterday, and rising at dawn to get some work done for an upcoming trial so I could be at your beck and call this morning, I’ve scarcely had time to prepare.”

Her eyes scanned the road ahead, as if looking for something. “I thought you barristers had a natural bent for speechifying.”

“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “Lady Minerva, you are charged with attempting to disturb the peace of an esteemed barrister. How do you plead?”

She eyed him askance. “That is hardly a speech.”

“It’s the only kind of speechifying we barristers know. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

“I have a vast amount of evidence that says otherwise. For one thing, you’re writing books about me.”

“That evidence isn’t pertinent to your case, sir. I didn’t write them to disturb your peace, since I never thought you’d read them. I wrote only to satisfy my own whim. So there goes your evidence.” She leaned forward. “Can’t this curricle go any faster?”

He did nothing to increase his speed. If she wanted something from him, she’d have to ask for it. “I have more evidence. You’re using me to fight your grandmother.”

“But I’m not doing it to disturb your peace.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “That just happens to be a happy side benefit. Without proving intent to commit a crime, you will lose your case against me very quickly.”

“I see that you know the law a bit yourself. But you should know that I wouldn’t take a case without being able to prove intent.” He dipped his head toward her and dropped his voice to a seductive murmur. “My first piece of evidence is that you dressed to entice me this morning, in a gown that shows your fetching figure to best advantage. You’re wearing rouge on your cheeks, which you never do. Nor do you ever wear jewelry, yet your ears are adorned with pearl earrings that accentuate your creamy skin, and gold bracelets that draw the eye to your slender wrists. All of it is quite weighty evidence that you deliberately set out to disturb my peace.”

A blush brightened her cheeks. “You are very observant.”

“I always have been.” The talent had served him well as an informant for the government. And it was going to serve him very well in dealing with the sly Minerva. “That’s why I’ve noticed that you’re clearly bent on going somewhere in particular, probably somewhere you know I won’t want to go. Are we far enough away from Halstead Hall for you to feel comfortable springing our new destination on me? Or must I wait until we drive halfway to London?”

He had the distinct satisfaction of seeing her start. Did she think him an idiot?

She stared at him a long moment, as if weighing her choices. Then she said, “Actually, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear our destination. Gabe is racing this morning at ten
o’clock. I want to watch the race. Undoubtedly you do, too.”

That caught him off guard. How had he missed that bit of news? Ah, but he knew how. He’d been busy trying to corral a certain skittish female yesterday. “To be honest, I had no idea he was racing today.”

She snorted. “Stop bamming me.”

“I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. In closing ranks around you, your brothers have clearly decided not to trust me with their secrets.”

Her lips tightened into a line. “It doesn’t matter. I know where they’re racing. And I want you to take me there.”

“It’s no place for a woman.”

“Exactly. When Gran hears that you took me to one of Gabe’s private races and exposed me to the unsavory sorts who run in his fast set, she’ll be appalled at the very idea of your marrying me and adding more scandal to the family name.”

God, he hoped not. “If you say so.”

“So hurry it up, will you? I don’t have to arrive for the very beginning, but my brothers must at least see me there for this to work.”

Damn. “You’re determined to watch them thrash me, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t let them thrash you. What use would you be to me then?”

He gritted his teeth. What use indeed? He began to think Minerva was enjoying her new game. Apparently she was tired of using him for a whipping boy in her books and had decided to use him as one in real life.

“Where exactly is this race?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Would I be asking if I did?” he bit out.

“You don’t have to be so snippy.” She settled herself into the seat. “According to Freddy, it’s near some inn in Turnham.”

A cold chill went down his spine. “Gabe is threading the needle again?”

“Well, I can’t see how he’d be threading a needle and racing at the same—”

“Not
a
needle, Minerva.
The
needle. That’s the only reason he’d be racing near Turnham.” Giles reined in the horses to stare at her. “Did Freddy say whom he was racing?”

“No. And why are you stopping?”

“Because I’m taking you home.”

As he began to turn the rig, she jumped down. “You are
not
! I want to see Gabe race!”

He halted the horses to jump down, too, but motioned to his tiger to stay put. “You don’t want to see
this
race, my dear. The last time Gabe threaded the needle, he broke his arm. This time, God only knows . . .”

The blood drained from Minerva’s face. “Oh, Lord.”

The course ran between two boulders on the outskirts of Turnham. The sporting set called the dangerous course “threading the needle” because the path between was too narrow for two rigs to run abreast, so one carriage had to fall behind to allow the other to pass through. Whoever reined in first generally lost the race; it was nearly impossible to make up lost ground between the boulders and the finish line.

Some of Turnham’s townspeople had proposed blocking the track, but the local publicans and innkeepers made too much money off the private races run by reckless young blades to stand for that. Even the one death that had occurred hadn’t dampened anyone’s enthusiasm. Indeed, for the young men racing, it only lent more appeal to the course.

“There’d been talk about a rematch between Gabe and Chetwin because Gabe’s accident kept them from finishing the race,” Giles said grimly, “but I never thought your brothers would let Gabe go through with it.”

Minerva’s eyes turned cold. “You don’t know Gabe very well if you think he’ll listen to
them.
Not when it comes to Chetwin and that course. We have to stop him.” Hitching up her skirts, she climbed back into the rig. “Come on!”

“Damn it, Minerva, you cannot—”

She took up the reins and flicked them to get the horses moving. “I’m going with you or without you.”

As his tiger looked back at him in a panic, he sprinted to catch up with the rig, then leaped into it. Jerking the reins from her, he sent the horses into a run.

“If your brothers can’t stop him,” he clipped out, “what makes you think you can?”

“I have to try, don’t you see?” Her face looked bleak now. “Do you know how difficult it has been for Gabe all these years since Roger Waverly died? All that nasty talk about Gabe being the Angel of Death . . .”

She bit her lower lip. “It wasn’t
his
fault Mr. Waverly hit the boulders. If Mr. Waverly had just reined in when he saw he couldn’t make it… But no, the man
had
to beat Gabe. He could never stand Gabe doing anything better than him. And Gabe hasn’t been the same since. He acts like a happy-go-lucky fellow, but I’ve seen his face whenever Mr. Waverly is mentioned. I’ve seen how Gabe suffers.”

BOOK: How to Woo a Reluctant Lady
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