How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (7 page)

He broke off, the scowl on his dark brow deepening. “What the deuce is going on here? Masters, I thought you were in the study, waiting for Jarret.”

Minerva faced her brother with a forced smile. “Actually, he came to be interviewed.”

That was Giles’s cue. “Sorry for the subterfuge, old chap, but I thought you’d forgive it in this case.” He slipped his hand into the small of her back. “You see, your sister has made me the happiest of men. Minerva has finally agreed to be my wife.”

Over my dead body!”

Hetty heard Oliver’s roar from two halls over and hurried toward it as fast as her cane could take her. He must have found Minerva. Damned girl. Why couldn’t she just marry some decent fellow and be done with it? Why did she have to drum up this nonsense about interviewing fools she solicited in the papers like a common whore?

Well, Oliver would put an end to that—he wouldn’t want Minerva marrying some stranger either, thank God.

She followed the sound of heated voices into the Chinese drawing room, then stopped short. Oliver was squared off against that rogue Giles Masters—God only knew when
he
had snuck in. And Minerva stood with her hand tucked in the crook of Giles’s elbow.

“What has happened?” Hetty demanded.

Oliver shot her an angry glance. “Masters has some idiotic idea that he’s going to marry Minerva.”

Hetty dragged in a breath. Masters? With her granddaughter? Never.

“Of course,” Oliver went on, “I’ve just informed him that it’s impossible.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Minerva said stoutly. “I’m
the only one who decides whom I marry. Besides, you’ve been pressing me to marry just as much as Gran. So why should you care who I choose?”

“Because it’s
Masters,
” Oliver said, “and he’s—”

“A gentleman,” Minerva said.

“You have no idea what he is,” Oliver bit out. “Give me five minutes, and I can tell you stories that would blister your ears.”

“I’m sure you could,” Minerva said. “You’re probably in every one of them. Don’t you think it’s hypocritical of you to malign his character when it’s no worse than your own has been?”

“Are you just going to let her go off with this scoundrel?” Oliver asked Hetty.

Minerva shot Hetty a sly glance. “You gave no rules for
whom
we could marry, Gran, just
when
we had to marry.”

“I don’t give a damn about Gran’s rules,” Oliver snapped. “You can’t marry Masters. As head of this household, I forbid it. He’s unworthy of you.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Masters said mildly. “But she doesn’t seem to agree, and that’s all that matters.”

Oliver’s fingers curled into fists at his side. “Angling after her inheritance, are you?”

Masters bristled. “Careful, Stoneville. We’ve been friends a long time, so just this once, I’ll excuse your insult to my honor. I have no designs on Minerva’s inheritance or her dowry. She can keep it all if she wishes. You can put that in the settlement.”

Hetty watched Minerva to see what response that got. The start the girl gave when the word
settlement
was spoken gave Hetty pause.

“So you mean to support her on a barrister’s pay?” Oliver snapped.

A dark flush rose in Masters’s face. “I can afford to keep a wife well enough, if that’s your concern.”

Could that be true? Masters
was
well known for his competence as a barrister, but many a man of the law spent his evenings in whorehouses and gaming hells, where his money drifted away like desert sands. By all reports, Masters was one of them.

Just then Jarret and Gabe came in. “We got rid of most of those fools,” Jarret said, “but some are—Masters? I thought you were in the study waiting for me.”

“No,” Oliver ground out. “He’s in here, coaxing Minerva into marrying him.”

“The hell he is!” Jarret growled at the same time that Gabe cried, “We’ll just see about that!”

The men began to close in on Masters, who stood there with an odd glitter of defiance in his eyes.

“That’s enough!” Hetty said sharply. “All of you, out. I wish to speak to Mr. Masters alone.”

“Let us handle this, Gran,” Jarret said.

“I will not have you brawling in your mother’s favorite drawing room.” She made a shooing gesture. “Go on, out with the lot of you. You too, Minerva. The only person who gets to decide if Mr. Masters is an acceptable suitor is me.”

The others hesitated, then moved reluctantly toward the door. All except Oliver. He came up close to Hetty to murmur, “I’m the one who should make this decision. I’m the head of this household.”

“Who has spent the past few hours trying to undo the damage that your sister’s latest shenanigan has wrought.” Hetty glanced past him to where Minerva was lingering, trying to hear what they were saying.

Hetty lowered her voice. “You cannot control the girl any more than I. She is long past the age of consent, and she will do
as she pleases. I daresay she is hoping I will cut her off so she can molder in a cottage somewhere writing her books. She will keep getting into trouble until I give in or you and your brothers fight duels with half the county. It is time for another tack.”

“Involving
Masters
, of all men?”

“I don’t like it any better than you. But before we decide anything, let me talk to him.”

“Fine. As long as I get my shot at him after.” Oliver threw Masters a foul glance on his way out the door.

Masters returned it with a cool nod.

Once they were alone, Gran hobbled over to the brandy decanter atop a chinoiserie chest. “Something to drink, Mr. Masters?”

“None for me, thank you.”

With a sly glance at him, she poured herself a glass. “Come now, I know you are no green lad.”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Plumtree, I prefer to keep my wits about me in the presence of a master of manipulation like yourself.”

A chuckle escaped her. “You always were forthright.” She sipped her brandy. “So why not continue to be forthright, and tell me what this is really about?”

He eyed her warily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She snorted. “My granddaughter has fought the idea of marriage for nine years now. There is no chance in hell that she decided to marry you just because you happened to show up to visit Jarret today.”

“Actually, I came here purposely to interview for the position of her husband.”

That took Hetty by surprise. “You read of it in
The Ladies Magazine
?”

“Exactly.”

This got more interesting by the moment. “And you decided you were going to put aside your scapegrace ways and trot over here to make her your wife. For no other reason than you heard she was interviewing men to find a husband.”

He smiled faintly. “No other reason.”

“You do realize she is just using you to annoy me.”

A moment passed while he searched her face. “I know.”

Hetty went on a hunch. “She is hoping I will be so outraged by her choice that I will give up on asking her to marry.”

“Asking?” he said, a sudden glitter in his eyes. “Is that what you call it?”

She sipped some brandy. “You do not approve of my methods.”

“No. But that won’t stop me from taking advantage of them to get close to Minerva.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s the only woman I’ve ever seriously considered marrying. I wasn’t about to let some other fellow snag her.”

She would swear that he was telling the truth—which was rather astonishing. “Come now, we both know she had no intention of marrying some stranger. She just wanted to rile me.”

“Did it work?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the fool my granddaughter takes me for. This nonsense with you is just another attempt to force my hand.”

He gave her a considering glance. “Let’s put our cards on the table, shall we? As you’ve already guessed, Minerva doesn’t really want to marry me. What she wants is for me to pretend to be her fiancé until you grow so alarmed by the betrothal that you rescind your ultimatum.”

“And you agreed to this scheme because . . .”

“I genuinely want to marry her.”

“Again, I must ask you why.”

“Have you ever read Minerva’s novels?”

That threw her off guard. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“Minerva puts her whole self into her books. I should know—I’ve read them all. When she’s with people she hides behind her clever quips and her cynical views, but you can see the real Minerva in her novels. And I like that Minerva.”

So did Hetty. Still, she’d never told Minerva that she read her novels. Granted, they were rather good fun—full of twists and surprises and intriguing characters. But Hetty had never wanted to encourage her granddaughter in such a bluestocking profession.

Bluestockings didn’t get married, they didn’t provide their grandmothers with great-grandchildren, and they created scandal willy-nilly for the remaining great-grandchildren to endure. Just look at that fool Mary Shelley, who’d stolen a woman’s husband and been ostracized for it. Hetty wanted better for her granddaughter. The Sharpes had quite enough scandal for one family already, thank you very much.

But sometimes when she was reading the girl’s books, she felt as if she were brushing up against a part of her granddaughter she never saw. The part that missed her parents. The part that wanted a family of her own.

The part she hid from the world. How extraordinary that a man like Masters had seen it, too.

“Do you love her?” she asked bluntly.

His expression grew shuttered. “I admire and respect her.”

“And want her in your bed.”

He started, then flushed a dull red. “I would imagine most men want their wives in their beds.”

“But you don’t love her.”

Something hard flickered in his eyes. “Love is for fools and dreamers. I am neither.”

That didn’t mean Masters was wrong for Minerva. It also didn’t mean he was right. It was good that he hadn’t lied about his feelings, but the fact that he didn’t trust in love was a bit worrisome.

Still, he sounded just like Oliver and Jarret before they’d met their wives. And probably Gabe, too, if the rapscallion had ever taken the time to think about it. Oliver and Jarret had found love. And why? Because most men
were
fools and dreamers. They just didn’t want to admit it to themselves.

“I do not wish to see Minerva hurt,” Hetty said softly. “I did not come up with this scheme to punish her, no matter what she thinks. I did it to nudge my grandchildren out of the nest. To force them to face life instead of running from it. But that does not mean I will stand idly by while some blackguard steals her heart and tramples on it. Men like you tend to spend their nights with their mistresses and whores—”

“I mean to be faithful to Minerva,” he said firmly. “I would make her a good husband, I swear. My profession is quite lucrative.”

“And you gamble it away regularly, from what I understand.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. All I ask is that you give me the chance to win her. I need time, and you need to give her some rope to hang herself. Let me court her. In the meantime, you can inquire about my business affairs if that will set your mind at ease.”

“Don’t worry, I will. And I assume that means you have no problem with Pinter sniffing into your life.”

Jackson Pinter was the Bow Street Runner whom Oliver had hired to examine the backgrounds of any prospective spouses for Hetty’s grandchildren.

That seemed to give Masters pause, but after a moment’s reflection, he conceded with a terse nod. “If you hear anything that alarms you, then withdraw your approval, and I’ll abide by your decision.”

“Even at the risk of angering Minerva?”

He flashed her a lopsided smile. “I’m not an idiot, Mrs. Plumtree. I recognize who
really
runs this family. If you’re not on my side, then I’ll never have a chance with Minerva, and we both know it.”

“Finally, a man who appreciates me.” She liked Mr. Masters more by the moment, although she would still reserve judgment until she had a better sense of his prospects.

“Is it a bargain, then?” he asked.

She hesitated. But nothing else had worked with Minerva. Why not give Masters the chance to shake her up? “Very well.”

“Thank you.” He let out a long breath. “I believe I’ll have that drink now.”

With a smile, she poured him some brandy and handed him the glass. “You’ll need it. My grandsons are preparing to beat you to a bloody pulp. And I’m going to let them.”

He sipped the brandy. “So am I.” He met her gaze steadily. “She’s worth it.”

“Are you sure about that? She will lead you a merry dance these next few weeks, I can promise you.”

“I can handle Minerva.”

She laughed. “Better men than you have tried and failed.” She drank some brandy. “But you’ve got ballocks, boy. I’ll give you that. That might just be enough.”

He held up his glass with a devilish grin. “To my future wife.”

Hetty eyed him askance but clinked his glass all the same. “We shall see.”

Minerva waited for Giles and Gran to come out, still shocked that he’d proposed marriage. Granted, he’d only done it to get her to stop writing about him, but still . . .

She tamped down the little thrill that coursed through her every time she remembered his saying that he couldn’t forget her. It was the sort of thing all scoundrels said to women. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Could he?

No. After she’d given him what he’d wanted, he’d been only too eager to fall in with her plan for a pretend courtship. Undoubtedly he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to sacrifice himself on the altar of respectability for his secrets, whatever they were.

“You can’t really intend to marry him, sis,” Jarret said for the third time.

“I thought you were his friend,” Minerva shot back.

“I
am.
That’s why I know he’s not right for you.”

“You don’t know a thing about him.” She turned her gaze toward her other brothers. “None of you do.”

They all began to talk at once, babbling about this escapade or another.