Ah, a rarity, that. A woman who looked upon him as if he were disagreeable to behold. How intriguing. He could not recall the last time a lady had gazed at him with anything other than admiration, whether genuine or manufactured.
“That you are a title-greedy viper. It is to be expected of a lady in your unfortunate circumstances.” He clenched his hands at his sides to keep from giving in to the urge to brush a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. “But I have come prepared to give you what you truly wish. How much do you require to leave my brother alone and end this nonsensical betrothal?”
Her eyes, a curious shade of green and gray with flecks of cinnamon, and fringed with generous lashes, widened. “Are you bribing me, my lord?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I am.”
“Ah.” That lush mouth, which would have put any courtesan to shame, plumped into a pout. “I am afraid you are doomed to be disappointed. Suttons cannot be bought.”
What was this utter nonsense? This complete lunacy she spouted? Of course baseborn families like hers could be bought. Everyone could be bought. And with ease. For the proper amount of coin, a gentleman could have anything he wanted. Did she think him a wet-behind-the-ears lad? Likely, she was attempting to do her utmost to secure a fat purse for herself and her misbegotten siblings. Yes, that was what she was doing, the greedy chit.
He tamped down a surge of ire, for it would not do to show a hint of emotion in this distasteful business.
“Everyone has a price,” he countered smoothly, not at all dissuaded from his course. “Name yours.”
“I cannot speak for everyone, my lord, but I can assure you that I haven’t one.”
Stubborn baggage. He could almost admire her determination. The defiant tilt to her chin briefly mesmerized him, accompanied by a shocking urge to place his lips there and discern whether or not the skin was as silken as he suspected.
Rot!He needed to get out of this damned stew.
“One hundred pounds,” he offered, expecting he would need to bargain.
He wondered how many other third sons she had manipulated into marriage proposals before poor Aidan. Had she bedded them all? He could not resist studying her eyes, that rare indeterminate shade, curious over what secrets and stories hid behind them. And then he wondered why his brother had not simply made the lovely woman before him his mistress instead of deciding he must wed her. Heaven knew Aidan had kept any number of women before her; Garrick was not interested in his brother’s prurient pursuits and had quite lost count.
The fault was Miss Sutton’s, he suspected. Of course it was. Look at her. She was the personification of a goddess. Little wonder Aidan had fallen prey to her machinations. Lush curves which could not be hidden beneath her plain gown, a boldness which could not be denied, and hair that glinted in the candlelight.
Those magnificent lips moved. “No.”
“Two hundred,” he countered.
She moved past him then, striding forward in the calm, determined paces he would expect of a seasoned lady. But instead of skirting him, adhering to decorum and maintaining a distance between their persons, Miss Sutton passed by near enough that her upper arm brushed against his.
The sheer bravado of her. He might have been impressed were she any other woman on any other day.
His right arm was tingling with unwanted awareness, and he brushed it with his fingertips as he turned to face her. Garrick could only hope she would misconstrue the action as distaste for her lowly person connecting with his dearly expensive coat. As if she had perhaps left a stain instead of the haunting knowledge a female he had no right to find desirable had touched him there.
A fleeting touch, he reminded himself.
Scarcely anything.
She sat down at the desk and proceeded to ignore him.
To act as if he were not there.
It was a damned outrage.
He strode forward, determined to make the ill-bred minx pay for her rudeness. “For your insubordination, I am withdrawing five-and-twenty pounds from my previous offer. One hundred and seventy-five. I am afraid that is my final proposal. I have no doubt you were expecting more, but you shall not see it from me after such insolence.”
“No,” she said calmly and turned a page in the ledger. “Do you always spy upon the ledgers of the establishments you frequent, Lord Lordly?”
His nostrils flared as a strong bolt of irritation joined the unwanted attraction arcing through him. By God, the creature was intentionally mistaking his title. If her purpose was to nettle him, she had succeeded.
“Lord Lindsey, madam,” he corrected grimly. “I will require an apology for the insults you have paid me, or I shall deduct another five-and-twenty pounds from my offer.”
She remained seated, looking as imperious as a queen.
Except queen she was decidedly not. The woman was an East End lowborn fortune hunter, and he would not forget it, even if his brother was stupid enough not to know the difference.
She raised a brow. “Why should I apologize for any affront I have dealt when you have given me far more?”
“I have merely spoken truth, Miss Sutton. Do not dare to suggest to me that your attempt to manipulate my witless brother into matrimony is motivated by anything other than pure, cunning avarice.”
She took up her quill and calmly made an entry in her ledger. “Lord Aidan is most certainly not witless.”
Strangely, her championing of his idiotic sibling left Garrick feeling piqued. How foolish it was, envying Aidan this woman’s loyalty when he knew it had its roots in greed. The only reason Miss Sutton had sunk her claws into him was to advance herself financially and socially.
She would find herself unable to do either.