Lord of Scoundrels (Scoundrels 3)

Mr. Herriard’s lips set in a thin line, but he said nothing.

He took up the papers from the table and gave them to Dain, who moved across the room to a window. He set the papers upon the wide sill, took up the topmost one, and leisurely read it. When he was done, he put it down and took up the next.

Minutes ticked by. Jessica waited, growing edgier with each passing moment.

Finally, nearly a half hour later, Dain looked up from the documents it should have taken him a fraction of that time to comprehend.

“I wondered how you meant to play it,” he told Herriard. “If we spare ourselves the legalisms and Latinisms, what it boils down to is a defamation suit—if I don’t agree to settle the matter privately, according to your exorbitant terms.”

“The words you uttered in the hearing of six other parties could be construed in only one way, my lord,” said Herriard. “With those words, you destroyed my client’s social and financial credit. You have made it impossible for her to wed or earn a respectable independent livelihood. You have made her an outcast from the society to which she was bred and properly belongs. She will be obliged, therefore, to live in exile from her friends and loved ones. She must build a new life.”

“And I’m to pay for it, I see,” said Dain. “Settle all of her brother’s debts, amounting to six thou sand pounds.” He glanced over the pages. “I am to support her to the tune of two thousand per annum and…ah, yes. There was something about securing and maintaining a place of residence.”

He leafed through the pages, dropping several on the floor in the process.

It was then Jessica realized he wasn’t using his left hand at all, and that he held the arm oddly, as though something were wrong with it. There shouldn’t be, except for a minor bullet wound. She’d aimed carefully, and she was an excellent markswoman. Not to mention he was a very large target.

He looked her way then, and caught her staring. “Admiring your handiwork, are you? I daresay you’d like a better look. Regrettably, there’s nothing to see. There’s nothing wrong with it, according to the quacks. Except that it doesn’t work. Still, I count myself fortunate, Miss Trent, that you didn’t aim a ways lower. I’m merely disarmed, not unmanned. But I have no doubt Herriard here will see to the emasculation.”

Her conscience pricked. She ignored it. “You got—and will get exactly as you deserve, you deceitful, spiteful brute.”

“Miss Trent,” Herriard said gently.

“No, I will not guard my tongue,” she said. “His Lordship wanted me present because he wanted a row. He knows very well he’s in the wrong, but he’s too curst stubborn to admit it. He wants to make me out to be a scheming, greedy—”

“Vindictive,” said Dain. “Don’t leave out vindictive.”

“I, vindictive?” she exclaimed. “I was not the one who arranged to have the biggest gossips in Paris ‘happen along’ while I was half-undressed and being led—fool that I was—straight to ruination.”

His black brows rose a fraction. “You’re not implying, Miss Trent, that I arranged that farce.”

“I don’t have to imply anything! It was obvious. Vawtry was there. Your friend. And the others—those snide Parisian sophisticates. I know who arranged for them to watch me be disgraced. And I know why. You did it for spite. As though everything that’s happened—all the gossip, every dent in your precious reputation—were my fault!”

There was a short, taut silence. Then Dain threw the rest of the papers to the carpet, stalked to the decanter tray, and helped himself to a glass of sherry. He needed only one hand to do that, and only one swallow to empty it.

When he turned back to her, the irritating mockery of a smile was in place. “It would appear that we’ve been laboring under the same misapprehension,” he said. “I thought you had arranged for the—er—interruption.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “You also seem to labor under the misapprehension that you are a splendid catch—in addition to mistaking me for a lunatic. If I were desperate for a husband—which I have not been and never will be—I should not have to resort to such ancient, pathetic tricks.”

She drew herself up. “I may appear a negligible, dried-up spinster to you, my lord, but yours, I assure you, is the minority view. I am unwed by choice, not for lack of offers.”

“But now you won’t get any,” he said. His sardonic gaze drifted lazily over her, making her skin prickle. “Thanks to me. And that’s what all this is about.”

He set down the empty glass and turned to Herriard. “I’ve damaged the goods, and now I must pay what you deem the value of the merchandise, or else you will heap me with documents, plague me with barristers and clerks, and drag me through endless months of litigation.”

“If the law regarded women in a proper light, the process would not be endless,” said Mr. Herriard, unruffled. “The punishment would be severe and swift.”

“But we live in benighted times,” said Dain. “And I am, as Miss Trent will assure you, the most benighted of men. I have, among other quaint beliefs, the antiquated notion that if I pay for something, it ought to belong to me. Since I seem to have no choice but to pay for Miss Trent—”

“I am not a pocket watch,” she said tightly. She told herself she ought not feel in the least surprised that the cocksure clodpole proposed to settle matters by making her his mistress. “I am a human being, and you will never own me, no matter what you pay. You may have destroyed my honor in the eyes of the world, but you will not destroy it in fact.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Destroy your honor? My dear Miss Trent, I am proposing to redeem it. We shall be wed. Now, why don’t you sit down and be quiet like a good girl and let the men sort out the details.”

Jessica experienced a moment of numb incomprehension before the words struck, sharp and stunning as a blow to the head. The room darkened and everything within it wobbled drunkenly. She had to struggle to focus. “Wed?” Her voice sounded very far away, weak, plaintive.

“Herriard demands that I bail out your brother, and house and support you for the rest of your life,” he said. “Very well. I agree—but on the same terms any other man would insist upon: exclusive ownership and breeding rights.”

His hooded gaze dropped to her bodice, and heat simmered there and spread, just as though it had been his hands, not his eyes, upon her.

She summoned her composure. “I see what you are about,” she said. “It’s not a genuine offer at all, but a strategy to tie our hands. You know we can’t sue you if you offer to do the allegedly honorable thing. You also know I won’t marry you. And so you think you have us at point non plus.”

“I do,” he said, smiling. “If you refuse me and attempt litigation, you’ll only humiliate yourself. Everyone will believe you’re a money-hungry slut.?

?

“And if I accept your make-believe offer of marriage, you’ll play along until the last minute—and leave me waiting at the altar,” she said. “And humiliate me anyhow.”

He laughed. “And open the door to a long, expensive breach-of-promise suit? Make Herriard’s job easier for him? Think again, Jess. And keep it simple, why don’t you? Marriage or nothing.”

She snatched up the first thing at hand—a small but heavy brass figure of a horse.

Mr. Herriard stepped toward her. “Miss Trent,” he said quietly. “I beg you will resist the temptation.”

“Might as well,” said Dain. “It won’t do a bit of good. I can duck a missile, if not a bullet.”

She set down the statue and turned to Herriard. “You see, don’t you?” she asked. “He’s not offering in order to make amends, because he doesn’t think he owes me any. All he wants is to get the better of me—and getting the better of you in the bargain will make his triumph all the sweeter to him.”

“It hardly matters what you think of me,” said Dain. “There are only two choices. And if you’re waiting for me to make it more palatable by falling to my knees and begging for your hand, Jess, you may wait until Judgment Day,” he added with a laugh.

She heard it then, faint but recognizable. She’d heard it before, in boyish boasts and taunts: the small, discordant note of uncertainty beneath the laughter. She swiftly reviewed the words he’d uttered, and wondered if that was all his pride would allow him to say. Masculine pride was an exceedingly precious and fragile item. That was why males built fortresses about it, practically from infancy.

I’m not afraid, boys said, laughing, when they were sick with terror. They laughed off floggings and pretended to feel nothing. They also dropped rodents and reptiles into the laps of little girls they were infatuated with, and laughed in that same uncertain way when the little girls ran away screaming.

His proposal was, perhaps, the equivalent of a gift of a reptile or rodent. If she indignantly rejected it, he would laugh, and tell himself that was precisely what he wanted.