The Genuine Article (6 page)

A portly man with silver buttons on his vest and a monocle dangling from a silver chain came to stand beside Montague. Without a word of warning, he bent to open the satchel Marian had set on the carpet.

Marian made a startled cry, but the man's soft whistle of respect stayed her hand from slapping him away. Montague's fingers on her arm further held her.

"Jacobs knows the business inside and out. If you are a collector or purveyor of antiquities, he is the man to see."

The man called Jacobs reverently removed the Medieval manuscript from the satchel. Setting it tenderly on a glass counter, he donned a pair of soft white gloves before picking the manuscript up again. His expression was one of great awe and fascination as he delicately turned the pages.

"Surely you do not mean to sell this, miss," he murmured, his gaze never swerving from the pages.

Marian was aware of Montague's sharp look. She was not easily embarrassed, but the situation had her struggling for some semblance of dignity. All the
ton
undoubtedly knew the Oglethorps were not in funds. She would not be revealing family secrets by assuring him she must sell the manuscript. Her embarrassment came from the fact that it was this book that she was selling. She would rather it were the family jewels any day. Any lover of books would despise her for what she was doing.

"I must," she whispered, wishing Montague to the devil. It was much easier to be angrier at him for her humiliation than at the genial man who so respected her precious manuscripts.

Jacobs let the monocle fall from his eye as he glanced at her. His gaze took in her dowdy attire, the battered satchel, and the expression on her face. Without a word to her, he gestured to someone in the back. "Bring the lady some tea and a chair. Tell her driver to come around in half an hour."

Montague asked her sarcastically, "You do have a carriage, don't you. Lady Marian? I wouldn't want the poor boy to waste his time looking for it."

She bit her lip and prayed hard. Her nerves were on edge; her emotions were all too clearly on the brink of exploding. She really and truly needed to tell this braying jackass what she thought of him. With admirable restraint, she merely accepted the gilded chair the boy brought for her.

Montague took out another chair and sat down without invitation, leaning over to rifle through the rest of the contents of her bag.

"Just precisely what do you think you are doing, Mr. Montague?" she asked tartly. It was impossible to be completely quiet with this arrogant monster.

"Seeing how much your soul is worth. Lady Marian," he replied, examining the dramatic hand-colored illustrations of her copy of
Odyssey.

"It is not any of your business, Mr. Montague." She resisted the urge to jerk the book from his hands. She would behave as a proper lady; she would, even if it killed her.

Jacobs was still engrossed in the manuscript, much to the detriment of other customers. The boy who brought the tea hurried to wait on a young gentleman looking for something in carved ivory.

"I make it my business, Lady Marian. I am a collector of old books. These are extraordinarily rare and valuable. Have you some proof of ownership?"

Marian knew what it was to see red. Through a haze of fury she glared at the gentleman who so insulted her. It was quite possible that Montague was a handsome man. He had a strong chin with a cleft, and thick, dark, remarkably mobile eyebrows. She wasn't aware of ever having seen him smile, but his mouth had a fetching tilt to it. She wanted to bash him in the middle of his aristocratically patrician nose. She wouldn't be satisfied until the red she saw was his blood.

Clenching her gloved fingers, she turned to Mr. Jacobs. "I am sorry, sir, I have evidently come to the wrong place. If you will please return my manuscript, I will be leaving now."

Jacobs's mouth fell open and he sent a beseeching gaze to the arrogant gentleman. He looked near to tears. Marian wished she had only to deal with him. Perhaps she could come back and find him alone later. She held out her hand demandingly.

Montague set her teacup in it. "You will be doing no such thing. You will break Jacobs's heart. Besides, I will wager every other vendor you've seen has offered you only half the sum these are worth."

Marian sent him a scathing glance. "Not one of them accused me of thievery, either. I would thank you to return the volumes to the bag, sir."

Montague retained his hold on the
Odyssey.
"I only wished some documentation to go with them. Volumes as rare as these will sell at a better price when their provenance is documented."

She clenched her hands around the teacup and tried not to look at him. She had always wished she could read the book he was holding now. The illustrations had held her captivated. She tried to remember the duke and the ball and her anxious family.

"They belonged to my stepfather, sir. It would be a trifle difficult for him to come back from the grave to cite their history. Not that he would know it, anyway," she added a trifle bitterly. She might not be able to express all her anger and humiliation and sadness, but a dead man wouldn't care about sarcasm.

Montague's expressive eyebrows raised a trifle. "He was not a collector?"

"He didn't even know what he possessed, or he might have sold them with the paintings." There wasn't much use pretending anything else. She needed this honesty to balance the pressure of being polite to a man she despised and feared.

"But you knew?" He scarcely bothered to keep the incredulity from his voice.

If only she could smack him. Or throw the teacup at him. Or simply tell the ass what she thought of him. She would feel so much better. Marian tightened her lips and clenched her teeth. She couldn't speak through clenched teeth. She gave him what she hoped was a speaking glare.

Amusement flared in his gray-green eyes, as if he understood her predicament. Then an expression of cool disdain dropped in place, and he was back to normal. "Of course, if you were a collector, you would know the value of the good squire's library. And if you were aware that antiquities have become very valuable of late, you need only make inquiries to ascertain their worth. If you were a true lover of books, you would not even think of parting with them."

There was the proverbial straw. With a great effort, Marian set the cup down, jerked the book from his hand, and stood up. "My opinion of you has not changed one iota, Mr. Montague. You are still a braying ass."

She returned the book to the satchel and reached for the manuscript.

Jacobs scrambled up and clutched it longingly to his chest, refusing to let it go.

Chapter 5

The situation was quite impossible. Marian was much too practical to be a watering pot, but she felt dangerously near to tears now. She could not leave without the manuscript. She could not stay in the company of the infuriating Mr. Montague. Tears might actually be the only solution, but she refused to allow the monster to drive her to them.

"Please, Mr. Jacobs, I must leave." She rose from her chair, holding out her gloved hand with what she hoped was a gesture of authority. She rather thought it looked more like a plea.

"Don't be ridiculous." Montague did not retrieve the
Odyssey
from the satchel, but stood up when she did. "I will give you forty pounds for it. I am certain that is more than anyone has offered you for all the books combined. The manuscript belongs in a museum, somewhere that it can receive the proper care and appreciation and can be shared by all."

Jacobs looked equally horrified by this suggestion. A man of obviously few words but eloquent expressions, he continued clutching the book and began to back away. Had the situation not been so rife with other emotions, Marian might have laughed.

Forty pounds. It was more than twice what she had been offered. Forty pounds could provide three gowns and all the accouterments and still leave funds for emergencies. She could not possibly turn down such an offer. Yet she could not possibly accept it from Montague.

When it seemed she still hesitated, Jacobs finally managed to squeak, "Fifty pounds, miss. I will give you fifty pounds."

Startled, Marian glanced to her nemesis. She had thought the two were somehow together on this transaction, that Jacobs was an appraiser and Mr. Montague a rich collector. Mr. Montague's frown put an end to that theory.

When he made no further offer, Marian gave a hesitant nod. "Thank you, Mr. Jacobs, you are a true gentleman."

Positively glowing with relief, caressing the cherished manuscript, Jacobs hurried to the rear of the establishment to obtain the necessary funds.

Montague looked down his impressive nose at her. "He is not a gentleman, you know. He is just a wealthy Cit."

My, how she despised the man! Marian gave him a frosty look and disdained to answer.

He seemed determined to draw some comment from her. "You would have done better to hock your jewelry, you know. There are more people inclined to buy jewels than books."

He seemed intent on rubbing her nose in it. She saw no reason why she should not rub his as well. Back stiff as a poker, staring at the doorway where Mr. Jacobs had disappeared, she replied coldly, "Jewels? You mistake me for someone else, I am sure. Had I jewels to sell, I would surely have done so by now." Let him know that she had reached her last straw before she lowered herself to selling books.

"I see you are a liar as well as a mercenary, sharp-tongued little actress," Montague responded pleasantly. "The ruby and diamonds you were wearing the other night would bring a small fortune in a modern setting."

Another female would have had the vapors by now. Marian could see where that would be an extremely convenient ploy for avoiding such unpleasant situations.

There was obviously little purpose in arguing with the gentleman, if gentleman he truly was. She didn't see how he could be, given his behavior. So a fit of the vapors would quite satisfactorily put an end to his obnoxiousness. She just wasn't inclined to falling into a heap on the floor. She was more than certain that Montague wouldn't bother to catch her.

Just thinking about Montague catching her gave her the vapors. He was exceptionally tall, and she didn't think the breadth of his chest beneath that coat had the benefit of padding. She tried not to think of just what lay beneath the gentleman's clothing. Obviously, her wits had gone to let at his insults.

"It is none of your business, but that necklace is my mother's, the only gift she retains from my father. Had I found some way of selling it without breaking my mother's heart, I should have done so long since. It is much more convenient to have a horse and carriage than to wear a stone around one's neck."

Montague raised his eyebrows. He had taunted her in all manner of ways, but she had not responded at all as he had expected. He had not produced ladylike tears, dramatic faints, or vitriolic insults. All in all, he had proved nothing about this enigmatic little harpy except that she was in desperate need of funds—and that she had the character of a stone Medusa when she wanted.

He almost had to accede to some respect for her intelligence and strength of character. He had tried to pretend he didn't see her despair at parting with the manuscript, but in light of her reaction to his suggestion of selling her jewels, he could see where her priorities lay.

He knew very well what it was like to have to part with something precious, and like her, he had a distaste for wasteful ornamentation. He, too, would prefer to keep the treasure of words than the glitter of gold. But he'd be damned if he'd let her know that. It was more than obvious that this woman was not the sweet helpmeet Darley wished for wife. A woman made of steel and stone would walk all over the young viscount.

When Jacobs returned with the pouch, Montague made a show of counting out the sum for Marian's benefit. She held herself aloof from the transaction, but he noticed her eyes followed every movement. Had he attempted to pocket a single shilling, she might have leapt upon him like a tigress defending her young. He was well aware that her kind of hunger came from going without for too long.

When he was finished counting, Montague slipped the pouch into his coat pocket, picked up her satchel, and held out his arm to the young lady. "I think it best that I escort you home. Lady Marian. It would not do at all for a lady like yourself to be carrying such sums through London streets. Your carriage should be waiting by now."