How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (6 page)

“So
that’s
what this is about.” Her tone grew bitter. “You’ve found an easy way to plump up your pockets. Why not marry a shrewish spinster with no chance at a decent husband? Then
at least you’d have a fortune to make up for your having to marry an ‘unpredictable hellion.’”

He fought to keep his temper. “If you mean to insult me, try another tack. No amount of money would convince me to marry a woman I didn’t want.”

“I doubt that. You’re a second son. They’re all looking for an easy fortune.”

“I’m also a barrister who is widely sought after for his legal advice and who charges exorbitant fees. Trust me, I can afford to keep you in gowns and jewels perfectly well without your grandmother’s money.”

“That very statement shows how little you know me. I don’t care about gowns and jewels—”

“But you care about your siblings and their families,” he said softly. “They’ll be left destitute if you don’t marry. Jarret had me look over your grandmother’s terms for any legal way out of her demands. There is none.”

A troubled expression knit her brow. “I’m working on a plan to change that.”

“This interview idea?” he said with a mocking smile. “First of all, your brothers are nipping that in the bud as we speak. They’re not about to let their sister marry some stranger off the street. They’re not even going to let you be
exposed
to such men. Secondly, you know perfectly well that Mrs. Plumtree won’t let your antics sway her from her purpose. You’ll only delay the inevitable.”

“Jarret was able to sway her from her purpose,” Minerva retorted.

“Because he had something to bargain with. You don’t.”

She turned on her heel. “Feel free to leave at any time, Mr. Masters.”

“You know what I don’t see in this list of bloody questions?”
Giles bit out, determined to provoke her into dealing with him. “I don’t see any mention of the intimate side of marriage. No questions about what your future husband would expect from you in the bedchamber. Or what
you
could expect from
him.
”

She whirled on him. “That would be vulgar.”

“And interviewing gentlemen for the position of husband isn’t? The trouble with you, my dear, is you’ve looked at marriage from every angle except the one that matters.” Tossing her list onto the table, he approached her with determined steps. “How you feel about a man. What he does to you whenever he comes near. Whether he makes your heart race and your body heat. And in that one area, I am the perfect husband for you.”

“Really?” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “Is this the part where you sweep me into your arms and prove how you alone make my heart race and my body heat?”

“If you insist,” he said and caught her to him.

She didn’t resist when he covered her mouth with his. She even let him deepen the kiss. Though she didn’t throw her arms about him or melt into him as she had that night long ago, she participated actively in the kiss, letting him drive his tongue into her mouth with slowly deepening strokes. She even twined hers with his, raising his pulse to a feverish pitch and his cock high enough to be uncomfortable.

Then she jerked back with a siren’s smile that made his confidence falter. “Well.” She tapped her chin. “That was a decent kiss, all things being equal.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “My heart is, if not quite
racing
, then heading into a quick walk. But I need a thermometer to determine if and how high my body heated. I shall just go—”

“Don’t you dare.” He caught her by the arm as she was on
the verge of fleeing. “You know bloody well that you responded to that kiss.”

With a suspicious glee in her eyes, she tugged her arm from his grip. “I’m not saying I didn’t respond—just that I didn’t respond to any overwhelming degree. But it was a good kiss, I suppose. Better than some, not as good as others.”

“What the hell do you mean? How many chaps have you kissed in the last nine years, anyway?”

“No more than you’ve kissed women, I should imagine.”

“My God.”

“But don’t worry—I don’t think the average woman would complain about your kissing. You’re perfectly competent.”

Competent?
Bloody insolent chit. Even knowing that she was trying to provoke him didn’t ease his wounded pride. “Perhaps we should try it again.”

She darted back from him. “I think not. You really ought to go, Giles—my brothers will be none too pleased to find you here alone with me. They don’t approve of you for me at all.”

That was true. Jarret had warned him away from Minerva only a few weeks ago.

“And Gran positively despises you,” she went on. “She thinks you’re a bad influence on Gabe. Last week, she said that the next time she saw you—”

She halted as if struck dumb, her gaze wandering to the sheaf of papers.

“Yes? The next time she sees me . . .”

“Oh my word, that’s brilliant.” Her gaze swung back to him. “You’re brilliant, Giles!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past half hour,” he grumbled.

“I mean it. This is the perfect solution to all my problems with Gran.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is?”

“You! And me! We’ll tell Gran that I’ve accepted your marriage proposal.” Minerva began to pace, her face flushed with excitement. “She’ll never approve. Seriously, she thinks you’re a ‘conscienceless scapegrace who would as soon sell his mother as behave honorably.’”

He scowled. “I knew she wasn’t fond of me, but that’s a bit harsh. I’ll have you know I treat my mother damned well, considering that she spends all her time trying to marry me off to women half my age. And your entire family seems to overlook the fact that I am a well-respected barrister with a practice that is—”

“Yes, yes, you’re a pillar of virtue.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re missing the point. Gran will never let me marry you. She’s always regretted letting Mama marry Papa, and you’re practically
him.
”

“For God’s sake,” he said irritably, “are we back to that again?”

“It’s the perfect plan. You pretend to be betrothed to me, and once she realizes I’m serious, she’ll stop this nonsense.”

He liked this plan of hers less and less the more he heard of it. “It didn’t work for Oliver. He took Miss Butterfield as his pretend fiancée and look what happened. Not only did your grandmother hold fast to her plans, but he’s now married to the chit.”

Minerva shot him an exasperated glance. “Gran liked Maria from the very beginning. She just pretended not to, which is why his plan didn’t work. Besides, it’s not the same for my brothers as it is for me and Celia. They can take care of themselves, and Gran knows it. Men have all the power in marriage—they can legally beat their wives, take their money, and force them into anything they please.”

“I hope you’re not saying that
I
would—”

“I’m just saying that’s why Gran wasn’t worried about whom Oliver or Jarret married. But she worries a great deal about whom Celia and I marry, because our future husbands will take us out of her control. Anything could happen.” A devilish gleam lit her eyes. “And
you
will send her into fits.”

This was becoming annoying. “You underestimate your grandmother, my dear.”

“Trust me, I know her too well to do that. But this will push her over the edge—I’m sure of it. The longer we’re betrothed, the more alarmed she’ll get.” She rounded on him with a little cry of delight. “And if she doesn’t, Jarret and Oliver will make sure she does! They definitely won’t approve of you as my husband. They’ll work on her to get her to relent, especially if they think I really mean to marry you.”

She clapped her hands together. “Eventually I’ll have her exactly where I want her, and she’ll be forced to rescind her ultimatum. What a brilliant plan!”

“Only if I agree to it. And I don’t.”

That took the wind out of her sails. “Why not? All you have to do is court me.”

“I don’t want to court you—I want to marry you. Tomorrow, if possible, although I suppose we could push it off a few days—”

“I am
not
going to marry you, Giles!” She planted her hands on her hips. “Can’t you get that through your thick head?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Then why should I help you with your plan? What advantage is there to it for me?”

That finally got through to her. She uttered a low curse that was decidedly unladylike. Then she began to pace again, this time with her pretty brow knit in a frown. “You do have a point. You have every reason to expect something in return.”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, you’ll have to make it a proper courtship, squiring me to balls and parties, giving me little gifts—”

“I thought you said you didn’t like gifts,” Giles pointed out.

“You have to make it convincing.”

“Then I definitely expect compensation.”
You in my bed would be good.

But she’d never agree to that.

“Compensation . . . compensation . . .” Suddenly she faced him, her face bright. “What if I kill off Rockton? Then you won’t have to worry about my books anymore.”

He eyed her skeptically. “You’re not going to murder your most popular character.”

“I can kill off whomever I please. And if I wish to do away with Rockton, I will.”

“You don’t have to say it with such enthusiasm,” he grumbled, not sure he liked the fact that she could dispense with his character as easily as she might throw out an old gown. “Besides, aren’t you worried that killing Rockton will damage your future as an authoress? What if your readers stop buying your books as a result?”

“If I have to marry some officious lord to please Gran, I won’t be able to
write
any books.” When he opened his mouth, she said, “And no, I didn’t mean you. If I married
you
, you’d make sure I never wrote about Rockton again, so either way, he’s got to go.”

He closed his mouth. It was unnerving how she sometimes read his mind.

“So how about it?” she said brightly. “Will you agree to be my pretend fiancé if I agree to kill off Rockton?”

He could point out that killing off Rockton wouldn’t prevent her from starting over with another character based on
him. He could reiterate that her plan was doomed to failure—that her grandmother was no fool and would never let her granddaughter pull the strings. He could argue yet again that Minerva ought to just marry
him.
But that argument wasn’t working so far, and as long as her wall of misconceptions about him remained, it never would.

He wished he could tell her the truth—about why he’d stolen the papers, what he’d been doing since, why she had to keep silent about their encounter. But he couldn’t.

For one thing, he didn’t trust her. Writers were magpies—they took bits of things and wove them together to make their stories. She had no reason to protect his interests . . . or those of his superiors. For God’s sake, she’d already made him into a spy—that was skirting far too close to the truth for his comfort. If anyone recognized the bits from her novels and his theft was unveiled, he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer.

Ravenswood would be forced to explain why the government had countenanced a theft from a well-known lord’s home, performed by a private citizen. Newmarsh would almost certainly want vengeance for it, considering that he’d been exiled from England for his part in the fraud. And everyone in Giles’s sphere who’d found himself in trouble with the Home Office would assume it was Giles who’d put them there. That couldn’t possibly help his career.

He simply couldn’t risk telling her the truth about that night. Minerva was too unpredictable to trust with his future.

Besides, if he could skate past this issue until they were married, it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t be working for Ravenswood anymore; she’d have no reason to suspect him of anything. In time she’d lose interest in that one theft, and his secrets would fade into the past where they belonged.

If
he married her. And he fully intended to. Agreeing to her plan wasn’t a bad idea, actually. He could court her and let her get to know him. They would be in each other’s pockets for weeks, possibly months, and if he couldn’t convince her to marry him in that amount of time, he deserved to lose her.

A sudden bellow from somewhere in Halstead Hall’s 356 rooms broke the stillness. “Minerva! Damn it, Minerva, where are you?”

Minerva jumped. “Oh, Lord, that’s Oliver. He’s probably coming to lecture me about this whole interviewing business. What do you say, Giles? I need your answer
now.
”

“First, I want another kiss,” he said, stepping toward her. “To help me make up my mind.”

She colored. “Absolutely not. And don’t think that this pretend courtship will include kissing, because it won’t.”

He eyed her askance. “Why not, if you find my kissing so uninspiring? Why should you care if from time to time I give you one of my merely ‘competent’ kisses?”

“Drat it, Giles, we don’t have time for this!”

“Kissing is part of it, or no deal,” he said firmly.

“Minerva!” roared Oliver from much closer.

She hurried to the door and opened it, then came back to him with a frustrated expression. “All right. From time to time you may kiss me, I suppose.”

“Then I agree to your terms.” He stepped nearer. “So let’s seal our bargain with a kiss.” He was going to get another crack at it if it killed him.

“Are you mad? If Oliver sees us kissing, you won’t get the chance to court me—it’ll be duels at dawn.”

“How do you know it won’t be duels at dawn when you tell him you’ve accepted my proposal of marriage?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not
that
hotheaded. Though I
daresay he may try to . . . er . . . knock some sense into you. He and Jarret. And possibly Gabe.”

“Our bargain is looking better and better all the time,” he said drily. “I get to fight the Sharpe men while you stand around pretending to care.” He came close enough to whisper, “I will definitely require a few kisses of you if
that
comes to pass, minx.”

“Step back!” she hissed just as the door swung fully open.

“Damn it, Minerva,” Oliver began, “come out and tell these idiots—”