Page 45 of Sinful Persuasion of a Lady in the Making
“You know, I like you more and more.”
She tutted again, trying to maintain her serious composure, but she could feel her lips forcing themselves into a smile, quite without her say so.
“I’m glad,” she said, eyeing him. She held his gaze for a long moment, letting the sight of him warm her heart before pushing him to tell her more. “How old was your sister when this happened?”
“Eight-and-ten,” he said, turning away from her. “About to enter society but she entered mourning instead.”
“A difficult time, indeed,” Jenny agreed. “I am sure her grief made her say some terrible things, My Lord. But that doesn’t mean she is right.”
“She went into mourning for four years, making her already old for her debut at two-and-twenty. But she didn’t come out for another number of years, so embarrassed she was by my destructive behavior. So in a way, yes, she was right.”
“And now she blames you for being unwed, as well as for your parents’ deaths. Oh, My Lord, that’s—”
He waved his hand as though it was nothing, a mere nuisance rather than the pain she could see in his eyes. Despite his confidence and aplomb, the closer she looked, the more she saw the broken man beneath. No wonder he had lashed out or fallen in with the wrong crowd or avoided society altogether.
“She’s not entirely incorrect,” he said with such a touch of sadness. “I have not behaved as well as I should have.”
“And with good reason,” Jenny said. “To deal with all that at such a tender age—”
“Ah, but I’m made of tougher stuff, Miss Jones, do not worry for me.”
She tutted a third time, louder this time.
“Honestly, My Lord. Can you not be serious even just for a moment? I have no doubt that you are both robust and able to handle anything thrown your way, but that does not mean you have to always be strong and perhaps, even in denial about the things that have happened to you.”
Lord Hartwood laughed, his eyes wide with delight.
“Miss Jones,” he said. “I have never met anyone quite like you before. It really is refreshing.”
“In what way?” she asked, chuckling herself.
“That you feel so free and comfortable to scold me so. I like it. It’s so unlike most ladies.”
“Are you saying I am not ladylike?” she asked, teasing him.
“Not at all,” he said. “Just… different. It’s pleasing.”
“Well, I shall take that as a compliment,” she said. “Although I do not doubt for one moment that your sister reprimands you on occasion.”
“Ah yes,” he said, looking back down at his hands. “That she does, but again, that’s different. A different kind of different, if you know what I mean.”
“A wordsmith as well as a charmer,” she said.
“Oh, Miss Jones, you mock harshly.”
“But you like it,” she said, grinning at him.
“I can’t deny that I do.”
