How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (15 page)

“Hardly. I knew my father’s faults as well as I know my own.” His remote tone warned her not to pry.

“Oh? And what precisely
are
your faults, Giles? Aside from
your tendency to spend your evenings in the stews and your inability to take life seriously.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Sounds to me as if you already know my faults. No point in my helping you add to your list.”

She tapped her finger against her chin. “I wonder if I should consider your ability to pick a lock as a fault or an asset. Your amazing facility for lying convincingly is certainly a fault.”

“One you share,” he said drily.

She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon!”

He shot her a piercing look from beneath incredibly thick brown lashes. “You told your brother that Desmond’s door was unlocked, and he believed you. So that makes you as convincing a liar as I.”

She jerked her gaze from his. Well, he had her there.

He continued with apparent relish. “Revealing to your brothers that I possess such questionable talents would only have helped your cause. It would have sent Oliver right to your grandmother to protest our courtship. I can’t imagine what you were thinking to pass up that opportunity.”

“Neither can I,” she said tartly.

The truth was, something had held her back from revealing that little tidbit. It certainly hadn’t been Giles’s flimsy excuses about how he’d learned to pick a lock. It hadn’t even been the wary way he’d watched her as she’d told her tale, almost as if he’d been waiting for her to betray him.

No, something else kept her silent about his . . . peculiarities. She felt a strange kinship with him, borne of their shared secrets. Somehow she knew that whatever suspicious activities he was engaged in must remain between the two of them, at least until she could find out exactly what they were.

Careful now
, her sensible self told her.
You said you weren’t
going to let him steal your heart this time. Yet you lied for him
.

A pox on her sensible self. Where had it been when Giles was sliding his hand under her skirts? It had no business chiding her.

“So you won’t admit the real reason you lied about my lock picking,” he drawled.

“What
real
reason?”

He shrugged. “You want to protect me. Despite everything you think you believe about me, you trust me.”

That was uncomfortably close to being true. “I don’t trust any man,” she countered, “most especially not you.”

“Then why did you lie for me?”

“Why did you steal those papers nine years ago?” When he said nothing, she primly smoothed her skirts. “You’re no more willing than I to explain yourself. And until you are, you can hardly expect me to trust you.”

They were nearing Halstead Hall now, and Oliver’s coach was already slowing in preparation to make the turn.

“Then perhaps I should show you a different side of me.” Giles’s voice held steely determination. “One more apt to make you trust me.”

“Oh? And what side is that?”

He flashed her a crooked smile. “How would you like to attend a trial tomorrow, one where I’m barrister for the defense?”

An instant surge of excitement filled her chest. She’d never even been in a courtroom. “What sort of trial?”

“The kind you’re sure to like, given the dark bent of your mind. I’m defending a man accused of killing his wife. Since I’ve spent the last few weeks determining that he didn’t, tomorrow’s trial promises to be most enlightening.”

A murder trial—that
would
be fascinating. “How long will
it take?”

“No more than a day, I expect, since we’re the first trial up.” His voice hardened. “Some trials are done in a matter of minutes. Justice is occasionally more swift than fair. Though I hope that’s changing, as more people hire barristers to look after their interests.”

He eyed her closely. “So what do you say? If you want to attend, I can send my carriage for you at whatever time you think you can be ready.”

“I can be ready at dawn if it means having a chance to witness a murder trial!”

He chuckled. “Court doesn’t go into session until eight o’clock. I’ll send a carriage for you at seven.”

“Someone will have to accompany me to town, though.” She grimaced. “Propriety and all that.”

“Perhaps one of your brothers could do it.”

A slow smile lit her face. “Actually, I have a much better choice in mind.”

“No,” Stoneville told Minerva as the three of them sat in his study a short while later. “Absolutely not.”

Giles couldn’t help laughing. “What the hell did you expect him to say, Minerva? She’s his wife.”

“I expected him not to be a prig.” Minerva scowled at Stoneville. “You know perfectly well that Maria would be thrilled to attend a criminal trial. She devours every issue of
The Proceedings of the Old Bailey
and
The Newgate Calendar
, not to mention my books. And it’s not as if it would be dangerous. Mr. Masters will be there.”

“He’ll be preoccupied doing his job,” Stoneville pointed out. “He won’t be able to protect you.”

“Then go with us,” she said.

“I can’t. My meeting with the tenants is scheduled for three days from now, and I have to prepare. I haven’t met with them since my return from America, so I don’t want to delay it.”

“We’ll take Freddy with us, then,” she said breezily.

“That’s hardly reassuring,” Stoneville muttered.

Minerva’s exasperation was evident in the stubborn set of her mouth. “I swear, Oliver, when did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?”

“I’ve always been a stick-in-the-mud.” Her brother cast her a thin smile. “I just hid it beneath all the debauchery.”

She sniffed. “I wish you’d hide it again. It’s quite annoying.”

Giles decided it was time he stepped in. “I promise, Stoneville, that your wife and sister will be perfectly safe.”

“You may not know this, Masters, but Maria is bearing my child. I won’t risk having her—or the baby—come to any harm.”

“I’ll have one of my clerks sit with Lady Stoneville and Minerva during the trial, and I’ll accompany them wherever they go afterward. I swear upon my honor that I will protect them as well as you would yourself.”

“
One
of your clerks?” Minerva interrupted. “You have more than one?”

“Most barristers of any consequence do.”

“Oh.”

That one word, spoken with such surprise, reinforced for him that this was a good idea. She needed to see him as something other than a rogue who couldn’t be trusted. She needed to see him in his element, especially after the impression she’d gained this afternoon when he’d used his lock-picking skills.

“So you see,” he went on, “you have nothing to worry about, Stoneville. I’ll take excellent care of your womenfolk.”

“The way you did today?” Stoneville snapped.

“Don’t blame
him
for that,” Minerva surprised him by saying. “Blame me. Besides, aren’t you glad we followed Desmond and Ned? We learned more in one afternoon than we’ve learned in all the time since Mama and Papa died.”

Stoneville crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, perhaps it’s time you tell me about that.”

Giles had scarcely begun the tale when Jarret entered the study.

“I thought you were going to keep an eye on Gabe,” Stoneville said.

“He gave me the slip. One minute we were drinking in the taproom and the next he was gone. I looked for him, but his rig had disappeared. Apparently he didn’t like the idea of his older brother hanging about after him.”

“Oh dear,” Minerva said, worry plain upon her face.

Stoneville sighed. “He’ll be fine, I’m sure. The lad just needs some time alone.”

What Gabriel Sharpe needed was a swift kick in the arse, but Giles wasn’t fool enough to say that aloud. For one thing, they would find it highly suspicious coming from him, and for another, Minerva seemed disinclined to agree. Besides, Giles rather suspected that Gabe had received precisely what he needed this afternoon in the form of Miss Waverly and her challenge.

“When I came in, you were talking about Desmond,” Jarret prodded.

“Right.” Giles told them everything he and Minerva had learned. When he got to the map, Stoneville sat up straight.

“Are you sure it was of the estate?”

“No,” Minerva said. “That’s the point.”

“Give me some paper, and I’ll draw it for you,” Giles said.

As Giles sketched, he felt Minerva’s eyes on him, and when he handed the map to her she gaped at him. “Why, this is it exactly, as far as I recollect. How did you—”

“Masters has always had an amazing memory for images and the written word,” Jarret put in. “It’s as if it’s imprinted on his mind. That’s how he managed to do all right in school even when he spent most of his time in dissolute pursuits—he could remember every line he ever read.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “It seems that Mr. Masters has a number of interesting talents.”

Giles smiled at her. “I keep telling you that. You just don’t believe me.”

Stoneville was examining the sketch. “If this
is
my estate, it’s a map of how it looked decades ago, before Desmond was even born. The hunting lodge that Father built isn’t on it, nor are the gardens on the east side that were put in by the fourth marquess. A map like this wouldn’t be of much practical use to anyone now.”

“And surely if he were sneaking about on the estate, we’d have noticed,” Minerva said.

“Not necessarily,” Stoneville pointed out. “We haven’t been here much until recently. And the place is massive. That has always been the problem. It’s just too damned big.”

“But then where
is
he going?” Jarret asked. “And why has he started coming to Turnham in the last few months after all these years?”

“I don’t know.” Stoneville set down the paper. “Perhaps Pinter can find out.”

“Oh yes, set Mr. Pinter on it,” Minerva said enthusiastically. “He’s a clever fellow and very good at his job.”

Giles frowned. Pinter was also a
handsome
fellow and closer to Minerva’s age. And the Bow Street runner was more the sort of man Minerva claimed she wanted, honorable and forthright.

Damn the man. “I’ll see what I can find out at the courthouse,” Giles said. “Perhaps some old records of the estate will show for certain if this is it.”

“Pinter can take care of that,” Stoneville said.

“I don’t mind.”

Stoneville’s expression hardened. “All the same, I’d rather Pinter did it.”

Awareness dawned. “You don’t trust me.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t mind when Jarret involved you in the legal aspects, but the issue of what really happened to our parents is more . . . personal. Family business. And none of your concern.”

“But it’s fine to involve Pinter in this personal family business?” he bit out, struggling to contain his anger.

“He’s discreet.”

“Ah. And you think I’m not.” He rose. If he didn’t leave soon, he would say things he’d regret. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

Minerva stood up, too. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No,” Jarret said firmly. “
I’ll
walk him out. We have a few matters to discuss.”

Great. Stoneville spoke to him as if he were some loose-tongued nitwit, and now Jarret was going to do the same. The Sharpe brothers were sorely trying his patience.

As they headed for the door, he stopped by Minerva to press her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said.

She gave him a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, if I were you,” Stoneville said.

“Oh, shut up, Oliver,” she snapped. “Haven’t you said enough? And I’ll go where I please, thank you very much.”

She probably would, too. That was one thing in his favor—Minerva was good at plaguing her idiot brother until he came around. She would never let him cheat her out of a chance to witness a real murder trial. That’s why Giles had chosen tomorrow for her day in court.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the others, Jarret said, “I have a question for you that I expect you to answer honestly. What did you mean last night when you said there was more between you and Minerva than we realized?”

“I told you. You’ll have to ask her.”

“We did. She said something about your having danced together that one time. But that’s not what you meant, is it?”

Giles just kept walking.

“Look here, old chap, you can tell me. I thought we were friends, after all.”

His anger boiled over as he halted to stare Jarret down. “So did I.”

Although Jarret was five years his junior and Stoneville only two, Giles was closer to the younger man. Stoneville had always had a bleaker view of the world than Giles—Jarret’s view had been pragmatic, like his own. He’d assumed that Jarret understood him.

Until now. “I thought you knew me well enough to trust me around your sister. I thought your brother knew me well enough to know I’m discreet. Apparently I was wrong on both counts.”

Jarret had the good grace to look guilty. “Oliver has always been damned secretive—you know that. And I’ve seen how you are around women too many times—”

“I’ve seen the same of you,” Giles said curtly. “Does that mean you’re not being faithful to your wife? That you can’t be trusted to treat her well?”

“Of course not,” Jarret said with a scowl. “But it’s different for me than for you.”

“How so?”

He threaded his fingers through his hair, then glanced away before lowering his voice. “I didn’t gain a fortune by marrying Annabel.”

“No, but I gather that your wife’s family business played a part in why Plumtree Brewery is thriving once more. Plus, you gained your grandmother’s goodwill. Those are tangible advantages. Is that why you married her?”

“Certainly not!”

Giles let his point sink in. “I’m not marrying Minerva for her money, and that’s the last time I’ll say it. Choose to believe me or not, but you have no say in her affairs. She’s of age. We’ll marry if we wish.” Simmering with temper, he walked off.

“We could help you,” Jarret called after him.

Giles paused.