Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“You know, Miss Carrick, that I have already agreed to sell Lyon’s Gate to Jason Sherbrooke.”

“Yes, sir, but you haven’t yet signed over the deed to him. It isn’t yet legal.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Mr. Chartley brushed his fingers through his thick black hair. “This is quite remarkable,” he said again. “Young lady, how long do you think I would retain my reputation if I failed to carry through on an agreement I made? No, you needn’t say anything, that is something that concerns you not one whit.” Mr. Chartley sighed. “If I don’t sell you Lyon’s Gate, your uncle will prevent my precious daughter from entering society. On the other hand, if I don’t sell Lyon’s Gate to Jason Sherbrooke, his father will prevent my precious daughter from entering society. I believe that I am between the proverbial rock and the hard spot.”

“That is correct, sir. I am the rock. I suggest you accept my offer since the hard spot isn’t in sight. That way you will make a profit.” She gave him a fat smile. “Ah, my uncle—the earl of Ravensworth—looks upon me as a daughter. He was a military man, you know. I wouldn’t want to cross him, were I you. As for my father—”

“I know all about your father,” said Mr. Chartley. “As I do the earl of Northcliffe. Indeed, I see very clearly now. If you will take a seat, Miss Carrick—”

The drawing room door burst open and Jason strode in, the butler behind him, flapping his hands.

Mr. Chartley said, “I believe the hard spot just entered, Miss Carrick.”

Hallie leapt to her feet. “I was so very quiet, I didn’t tell anyone—what are you doing here?”

Jason gave a brief bow to Mr. Chartley. “Forgive me, sir, for barging in like this, but I followed Miss Carrick here.” He stood there, hands on his hips, looking like he wanted to throw her out the wide drawing room windows.

“You can leave, Jason. No one asked you here. Mr. Chartley and I are conducting business.”

“He has already agreed to sell Lyon’s Gate to me. Give it up, Miss Carrick, give it up.”

“No, never. Two can play the same game, Mr. Sherbrooke. You have only your father to pound nails in Mr. Chartley’s social coffin, whereas I have my father and my uncle to use as, er, leverage—”

“Mr. Sherbrooke, Miss Carrick, I see that I must make a decision. If the two of you would excuse me.” He was out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Jason and Hallie stared each other down from the length of the drawing room.

“How did you know?”

“I asked Remie to keep an eye on you. If one trusts a woman, one should leap immediately into the Thames and drown oneself.”

“I saw Lyon’s Gate first!”

“That doesn’t merit a response, Miss Carrick. Go away now. You’ve lost. You admitted it last night. Go home.”

“My threats are just as potent as yours, Mr. Sherbrooke. Why don’t you—”

“I could hear the two of you in the hall.” Mr. Chartley stood a moment in the drawing room doorway, then walked in, smiling at both of them impartially, and held out an envelope to each of them. “Now, this is the very best I can do to ensure my daughter’s social success. I trust that neither of you will feel compelled to seek my destruction.”

“What have you done, sir?” Jason asked, taking the envelope. “You’ve already accepted my offer.”

“I did, Mr. Sherbrooke. But now I have a new understanding of the situation. I suppose you and Miss Carrick could bid on Lyon’s Gate until I was close to making a fortune, but I am not a stupid man.” He smiled impartially at both of them. “Call me Solomon.”

“What is this, sir?” Jason asked.

“Sir, surely we can come to an arrangement that will prevent the earl from ruining you. What is in this envelope?” asked Hallie.

“Ah, would you just look at the time. I must meet my precious daughter on Bond Street. She has a fitting today at Madame Jordan’s. Your father so kindly recommended her to me, Mr. Sherbrooke. May I have tea sent in?”

“No,” Hallie said, clutching the envelope to her chest. “I must be going.”

But Mr. Chartley was faster. Jason and Hallie faced each other again, both holding a sealed envelope.

“Mr. Chartley says he’s Solomon?” Jason said.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.” Hallie picked up her skirts and left Jason standing alone in Mr. Chartley’s drawing room, the envelope still unopened in his hand.

Thirty minutes later, Douglas folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope. “Well, I think I wish to share a bottle of wine with Mr. Chartley. This is quite well done of him.”