A Lady Never Surrenders (18 page)

“That isn’t the point,” he bit out. “Why the bloody hell do you want to be there, anyway?”

She blinked at his sharp tone, then stared off at the fields ahead. “I have to know, don’t you see? I have to hear for myself whether it was a dream or something that really happened.” She cast him a pleading glance. “You never know what might come up in your interrogation. Nurse might say something that triggers another memory in me.”

Damn it, she was right. If it were any of the other Sharpes, he wouldn’t balk. But the idea of spending several hours in her company was both intoxicating and terrifying.

“If you don’t let me go along,” she continued, “I’ll just follow you.”

He scowled at her. She probably would; the woman was as stubborn as she was beautiful.

“And don’t think you can outride me, either,” she added. “Halstead Hall has a very good stable, and Lady Bell is one of our swiftest mounts.”

“Lady Bell?” he said sarcastically. “Not Crack Shot or Pistol?”

She glared over at him. “Lady Bell was my favorite doll when I was a girl, the last one Mama gave me before she died. I used to play with it whenever I wanted to remember her. The doll got so ragged that I threw her away when I outgrew her.” Her voice lowered. “I regretted that later, but by then it was too late.”

The idea of her playing with a doll to remember her late mother made his throat tighten and his heart falter. “Fine,” he bit out. “You can go with me to High Wycombe.”

Surprise turned her cheeks rosy. “Oh, thank you, Jackson! You won’t regret it, I promise you!”

“I already regret it,” he grumbled. “And you must do as I say. None of your going off half-cocked, do you hear?”

“I
never
go off half-cocked!”

“No, you just walk around with a pistol packed full of powder, thinking you can hold men at bay with it.”

She tossed her head. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”

“Not as long as we both shall live.”

The minute the words left his lips, he could have kicked himself. They sounded too much like a vow, one he’d give anything for the right to make.

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to have noticed. Instead, she was squirming and shimmying about on her saddle.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’ve got a burr caught in my stocking that keeps rubbing against my leg. I’m just trying to work it out. Don’t mind me.”

His mouth went dry at her mention of stockings. It brought yesterday’s encounter vividly into his mind, how he’d lifted her skirts to reach the smooth expanse of calf encased in silk. How he’d run his hands up her thighs as his mouth had tasted—

God save him. He couldn’t be thinking about such things while riding. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as they reached the road and settled into a comfortable pace.

The road was busy at this early hour. The local farmers were driving their carts to market or town, and laborers were headed for the fields. To Jackson’s relief, that made it easy not to talk. Conversing with her was bound to be difficult, especially if she started consulting him about her suitors.

After they’d traveled a few miles, she asked in a conversational tone, “Does your aunt mind that you’re away this week?”

At least she’d picked a safe topic. “No. She understands I’m working.”

“I suppose she’s very proud of you.”

“Do you find that surprising?” he drawled.

“No!” She cast him a considering glance. “Why shouldn’t she? You’re a very skilled investigator, I’m told.”

“But not skilled enough to suit your ladyship,” he said, feeling a perverse urge to bait her.

“I didn’t say that. From what I’ve seen, you’re very thorough.” She turned her gaze to the road ahead. “It’s no wonder that you’re being considered for the position of Chief Magistrate.”

His stomach knotted. He should have known that every conversation with Celia had the potential to be a bog-ridden moor. “I suppose your grandmother told you about that.”

A troubled expression crossed her face. “She says you must be careful not to be accused of any impropriety. That it would hurt your prospects for advancement. She says I should take care not to let you be caught in that position.”

“Oh, she does, does she?” Mrs. Plumtree was even more Machiavellian than he’d given her credit for. “And I see you listen to her very well, for here we are, alone together again. At your instigation.”

A blush suffused her cheeks that so enhanced her beauty, he had to look away. “Don’t worry,” she said, “no one will ever know about this. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Like no one knew about our being alone together yesterday?”

“No one did!” she protested.

“Right. And your grandmother didn’t guess that we’d been together, either. The last time anyone saw us, we were walking off arm in arm, remember?”

“Oh, but I told her some nonsense about how we parted before I came into the north wing.”

“And she believed you,” he said skeptically.

“Yes.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Well, I think she did.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Her brow knit with worry as she glanced over at him. “What did she say to you last night at the ball?”

That she’ll disinherit you if I’m fool enough to offer for you.

No, he couldn’t reveal that. Celia liked being told what to do about as much as he did. She might attach herself to him just to annoy her grandmother. He didn’t want her that way. Especially when she had no idea what it was like to live without money.

“She asked about my intentions toward you.” He steadied his nerve to speak words that might hurt her. “I told her there was nothing between us.”

“Did you?” Her expression was impenetrable as she shifted her gaze to the road ahead. “Fortunately, I told her the same thing.”

He gripped the reins. So much for hurting her.

“But you know Gran,” Celia went on lightly. “She’ll think what she wants, no matter what either of us say.”

“Well,” he managed, “her mind will surely be put to rest about you and me when you announce that you’re marrying the duke.”

“
When
I announce it?” she echoed, then fell silent for a long moment. “There’s something I … ought to have mentioned before.”

He gritted his teeth. Damn, damn, damn. She must have already announced it, last night after he’d left the ball. It was set in stone now. She was planning to let that bloody duke into her bed and her life, even though she didn’t—

“I never had any intention of marrying the duke.”

Stunned, he turned to gape at her, a jolt of relief shooting straight to his soul. Then he caught himself. He could be reading her words entirely wrong. “Oh? Have you fixed on one of the others instead?”

She took a deep breath. “Actually I’d planned for another outcome entirely.”

His blood clamored in his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I was hoping that if I gained an offer from a man of high rank, I could throw it back in Gran’s face to prove I am just as marriageable as any woman. Then she would realize that her ultimatum was foolish, and she would rescind it.”

Sweet God.
That
, he hadn’t expected. “I see,” he muttered, rendered practically speechless by her revelation. All this time he’d assumed that she
wanted
to marry one of those arses. If she hadn’t really …

No, he couldn’t allow himself to hope. Nothing had really changed.

“I know, I know,” she went on, “you don’t have to say it—it was a stupid plan. I didn’t think it through.”

He weighed his words. “If it was a stupid plan—and I’m not saying it was—it’s only because you misconstrue your grandmother’s feelings about your eligibility to marry.”

She snorted. “She thinks no one would ever marry ‘a reckless society miss’ and a ‘troublemaker.’”

He winced to hear his own words thrown back at him. Celia was all that … and so much more. Not that he dared tell her. Bad enough that he’d revealed too much of how he felt yesterday. For now, she could chalk it up to mere desire. If he started paying her compliments, she might guess how far his feelings went, and that wouldn’t do.

So he tempered his remarks. “Your grandmother is merely worried that you will waste yourself on some man who doesn’t deserve you.”
Like a bastard Bow Street Runner.
“I suspect that if you tell her you’re going to marry the duke, she won’t be a bit surprised. And she certainly won’t agree to rescind the ultimatum, now that she’s finally achieved what she wanted.”

“Yes, I’ve come to that conclusion myself. And besides … well … it wouldn’t be fair to involve him in such a plot behind his back when he’s a genuinely nice man offering marriage. If word got out that he had offered and I’d accepted, only to turn him down, people would assume I’d done it because of the madness in his family. That would just be cruel.”

Now that Jackson knew she wasn’t actually going to marry the duke, he could be open-minded. “It certainly wouldn’t be kind,” he agreed. “But I’d be more worried that if word got out, you’d be painted as the worst sort of jilt.”

She shrugged that off. “I wouldn’t care, as long as it freed me from Gran’s ultimatum.”

It took him a moment to digest that. “So you lied when you said at our first discussion of your suitors that you had an interest in marriage?”

“Of course I didn’t lie.” Her cheeks pinkened again. “But I want to marry for love, and not because Gran has decided I’m taking too long at it. I want my husband to genuinely care for me.” Her voice shook a little. “And not just my fortune.” She cut him a sidelong glance. “Or my connections.”

He stiffened in the saddle. “I understand.” Oh yes, he understood all right. Any overtures he made would be construed as mercenary. Her grandmother had made sure of that by telling her of his aspirations.

Not that it mattered. If he married her, he risked watching her lose everything. A Chief Magistrate made quite a lofty sum for someone of Jackson’s station, but for someone of hers?

It was nothing. Less than nothing.

“So what do you plan to do?” he asked. “About your grandmother’s ultimatum, I mean.”

She shook her head. “If presenting her with an offer and begging her forbearance didn’t work, my original plan was just to marry whichever of the three gentlemen had offered.”

“And now?”

“I can’t bring myself to do it.”

He stopped clenching the reins. “Well, that’s something then.”

“So I find myself back where I started. I suppose I shall have to drum up some more suitors.” She slanted a glance at him. “Any ideas?”

C
elia didn’t know how to make it any plainer. If Jackson was interested in marriage, now was the time to speak up. She’d made it clear how she felt about being married for her fortune and connections. All he had to do was step in and declare that he didn’t care about any of that, that he was madly in love with her, and all would be well.

Instead, he said stiffly, “I can’t imagine how I could help you in that regard, my lady.”

The “my lady” particularly hurt. She’d thought that they’d moved past his acting like Proud Pinter, and her hurt made her peevish. “Well, you kept insisting when I hired you that there must be some suitable gentlemen out there who would marry me. So go find some, blast you. So far, all you’ve done is criticize the ones I found for myself.”

He flashed her a small smile. “Excellent point.”

“I know,” she shot back.

Though now it occurred to her that his vehement protests over her choice of suitors were odd. Given his heated caresses yesterday, his behavior smacked of jealousy. So if he cared enough to be jealous of the other men, why didn’t he care enough to court her himself?

I told her that there was nothing between us.

Was that just his way of soothing Gran’s fears and protecting his pride? Or had their encounter yesterday truly been only a dalliance?

“For a man whose task is to solve problems,” she grumbled, “you create more than you solve.”

“In my defense, I’m not used to matchmaking work,” he pointed out.

“Clearly.”

They rode a few minutes in silence. Slowly it dawned on her that she really wasn’t sure what his job entailed, aside from his work for Oliver. Indeed, she didn’t know much about him at all. Perhaps if she could learn more, she could figure out why he liked to kiss her passionately one minute and ignore her the next.

“So,” she said, “do you have a good chance of becoming Chief Magistrate?”

For some reason, that made him stiffen. “Reasonably good, I suppose.”

“What exactly does the Chief Magistrate do?”

He eyed her askance. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious, that’s all. And we do have another hour and a half of riding ahead of us. Indulge me.”

“Very well.” He tugged his beaver hat more firmly down on his forehead. “Do you know anything about the magistracy?”

“They’re judges, right?”

“At Bow Street, it encompasses a great deal more. There’s some work running the office, some work supervising the junior officers, and some work serving as a judge.”

“If you’re acting as a judge, why don’t you have to be a barrister?”

“That’s how the system is run. Magistrates are appointed. The present Chief Magistrate started out as a saddler’s apprentice. Magistrates are given some training in the law, but the position is more supervisory than anything. In London, being Chief Magistrate puts you in charge of all seven magistrate’s offices.”

Oh my. “That sounds terribly important.”

“Terribly,” he echoed in a dry tone.

As the wind kicked up, she drew her cloak more tightly about her. “How does your aunt feel about your becoming Chief Magistrate?”

He gave a rueful smile. “She’s chomping at the bit to see me in such a lofty post. She preened like a peacock when they made me assistant magistrate.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were already a magistrate.”

“Assistant,” he emphasized. “I serve as that in addition to my duties as a Runner. I was given the appointment two years ago.”

“After you solved the first Lady Kirkwood’s murder?”