The Bride's Seduction

‘We have no reason to suppose Lord Mortenhoe is a card player,’ Marina pointed out, giving up the effort to turn her sister’s thoughts to a more seemly topic.

‘It might be anything,’ Lizzie countered. ‘Racing, cards, hazard—anything. Someone told me Charlie would even bet on which of two flies would land upon a window first. When I am out in society and playing cards I will be like dear Papa and always win. I do not know why Charlie never does.’

Marina contemplated a lecture on how fatally fast it would be to be seen gambling and decided it was pointless just now. There were two more years before Lizzie came out—if the money lasted that long. Time enough to instil some decorum.

‘He is very good looking, is he not?’ Lizzie observed. ‘Is he an earl?’

‘Lord Mortenhoe is an earl, yes. As for looks, I am sure he presents a most amiable and gentlemanlike appearance.’ She was certainly not going to agree that the breadth of Lord Mortenhoe’s shoulders, his classically moulded features or the flexible, deep voice were more than enough to flutter any lady’s pulse. They had certainly fluttered hers, an unusual occurrence in a well-regulated existence. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation. ‘That,’ Marina added firmly, more to herself than to her sister, ‘is all a lady should be concerned with.’

‘Poppycock,’ Lizzie announced reprehensively. ‘I think how a gentleman looks is very important. After all, fancy being married to someone with bad teeth like Mr Percival or to a man who looks like a codfish.’

Much struck by this, Marina swallowed a laugh and demanded, ‘Whoever do we know who looks like a codfish?’

‘Sir Willoughby Cavendish. Have you not noticed?’

Now it was pointed out, Marina could easily see the likeness. ‘Certainly not. And what are you about, young lady, thinking of gentlemen at all, let alone about marrying one?’

‘Well, I will have to, will I not?’ Lizzie pointed out. ‘A rich one, because of not having any dowry. So it would be nice if he was handsome too, I think.’

Kyte returned the now gleaming Hessians and assisted Justin into them with much play of gloved hands and soft polishing leather.

‘I venture to say, my lord, that your man will be unable to detect the slightest defect. We must be thankful that the Animal did not paw at them.’

Justin had a strong suspicion that Shepton would be distinctly put out that another valet had so much as touched the boots, especially since the finish obtained was so fine, but he smiled and thanked the man. With a final pat at the tassels, Kyte bowed himself out.

His host did not immediately take advantage of their privacy, fidgeting around the room and pouring himself another brandy before finally returning to his seat.

‘I suppose you find it strange that I should decide to sell Knightshaye after all this time,’ he said abruptly.

‘Considering that I have offered to purchase it on at least a dozen occasions since I came of age seven years ago, and first your father, and then you, has always refused to even discuss it, then, yes, you may say I am surprised.’ Justin kept his tone even. He had no reason to distrust the young baron, no reason to suppose that, however rackety his reputation, he took after his father in any way. To project his loathing for the late Lord Winslow on to his son would be both unfair and counterproductive.

‘My father always swore he would never sell to you, and he would never sell to anyone else either, in case you approached them. He told me I must do the same thing. Damned if I know why.’

‘You do not?’ Despite his control, the words sounded sceptical to Justin’s own ears.

‘And you do know? Something to do with a quarrel between our respective fathers, that is all I could ever gather.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘Ancient history now, and whatever it was, I can’t afford to cut off my own nose just to prolong some pointless feud.’

‘Then you definitely intend to sell?’ Justin was conscious of a tightness in his chest and switched his gaze from the face opposite him to the scene outside. Feigning indifference was pointless, but pride forced him to at least an appearance of calm. Miss Elizabeth threw the ball for her brother and an ecstatic hound to race after while Miss Winslow stood gracefully, watching. She had a calm poise, which suggested not only that she was past her green years but that, despite her single state, she had acquired much of the style of a young married lady. He found his lips had curved into a smile; she seemed to have that effect on him.

‘Fact is, I’m going to hell in a handcart,’ his host announced abruptly, startling his attention back.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I drink too much, game too much and, unlike my revered Papa, I lose too much. I’ve tried reforming my way of life, and it don’t last above a week or two, mostly.’ Winslow shifted uneasily in the high-backed chair. ‘But I’m not so far gone I can’t see what effect it’s going to have on the family if I don’t do something about it. So I’ve spoken to the lawyers and what I’m going to do is sell Knightshaye to you, put the whole lot in a trust and that will look after Giles’s education, Lizzie’s dowry and set Mama up comfortably in the Dower House, which is where she’d rather be most of the time anyhow. I won’t be able to touch a penny, even if I wanted to.’

‘An admirable plan,’ Justin said drily. ‘I am honoured by your confidence.’ Odd he had made no reference to Miss Winslow, but perhaps she would be expected to become her mother’s companion. Or perhaps there was a respectable suitor in the background.

‘You do still want it?’ Lord Winslow looked anxious.

‘Yes,’ Justin admitted, suddenly wary. ‘Considering it is my family home and I have been intending to retrieve it for twenty years, you may be confident that I still wish to buy it back from you.’

‘Twenty years? But you must only have been, what, six, seven...?’

‘Eight. I was eight when my father lost Knightshaye to your father in a card game and eight when he...died three months later.’ And he had been ten when his mother died, apparently of no other cause than a broken heart.

‘Why do you question whether I still want it?’

‘Well, I, er... Have you been there recently?’

‘No. I have never been back.’ As the carriage had pulled away, his mother weeping, his father with a face set like stone, he had vowed never to set foot on Knightshaye land until it was his again. But he saw no reason to confide that to the son of the man who had taken it from the Ransomes. ‘Why do you ask? Is something wrong there?’

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Charlie said with a somewhat suspicious carelessness. ‘Never been there myself. The tenanted farmland’s all in good enough heart—the rents are fine, so my steward tells me. The house is shut up. My father left instructions for its maintenance, so I just told our steward to get on with everything in the same way as before.’

So, the late Lord Winslow had taken Knightshaye entirely for revenge, not because he wanted it for itself. If spite had not been the reason, then surely the family would have used it: it was a far finer mansion that their own small estate. It was as Justin had always suspected, and he knew the reason why, even if apparently old Winslow’s heir did not.

‘Why not name your price?’ Justin suggested, unclenching his left hand, which had fisted until the nails cut into the palm.

Charlie Winslow got to his feet and began to pace again, finally coming to rest by the window where he stood watching his brother and sisters. ‘There’s a price—and a condition,’ he said finally.

Justin raised his eyebrows. He had been willing to buy back Knightshaye without negotiation and without insisting on examining the books. Winslow had him over a barrel as far as striking a bargain was concerned; it was not possible to conceal his interest, not after seven years of persistent requests to buy the place. ‘What condition?’

‘That you marry my sister.’

‘What?’ Justin found himself on his feet, staring at the baron.

‘That you marry Marina,’ Charlie said stubbornly. ‘Or I won’t sell. There won’t be enough for a dowry for her as well as for Lizzie and she doesn’t deserve to dwindle into a spinster aunt or my mother’s unpaid companion. I’m dashed fond of my sister,’ he added, ‘and I am damned sure my reputation and the lack of the readies is what scuppered her chances on the Marriage Mart.’

‘So you hit on this idea to provide for her,’ Justin observed coldly. ‘And what does Miss Winslow have to say to it, might I ask?’

‘She knows nothing about it. And that’s another thing, you must not tell her, not a word, or she will never agree.’

‘You flatter me.’

Charlie flapped a hand, dismissing his own tactlessness. ‘Don’t mean you’re not as eligible as they come—title, fortune and all that—and now that other matter with Miss Henslow has blown over, there’s no reason why—’ He broke off in the face of the hard glint in Justin’s eyes. ‘Well, no need to go into that, all a hum, I dare say, but you aren’t involved with anyone now, are you? You’re not engaged—if you ever were, that is...’ He found himself in the mire again, took a deep breath and restarted. ‘Thing is, Marina’s dashed proud and she wouldn’t like it if she thought I was fixing something up, do you see?’

‘I think I do,’ Justin said grimly, trampling firmly on thoughts of his former love’s golden beauty and avaricious little heart. The two men sat down again, eyeing each other warily. It was as though they were sitting over the opening hand of a game of cards, sizing up the odds, deciding their wagers. ‘And what is the price—beside your sister’s hand, that is?’

Lord Winslow named a sum that was at the top end of Justin’s expectations and sat there, looking hopeful.

‘I will pay that and add another two thousand—but I will not marry your sister.’

‘Thought you might say that,’ Charlie said equably. ‘But it’s the money and Marina, or nothing. If you won’t buy on my terms, I’ll sell to someone else and I will get the lawyers to put a clause in the deeds so it can never be sold to you or your heirs.’

Justin felt the anger surge up hot and powerful and was surprised to find himself still sitting down, hands calmly clasped. His self-control must be better than he thought.

‘So, like your father, you have a talent for blackmail,’ he observed evenly.

‘Damn it—’ the younger man looked hurt, but not insulted ‘—I’m doing it for my sister.’ He frowned. ‘What do you mean about my father?’