Page 7 of The Bachelor
Joshua wondered the same thing but had the good sense not to ask.
Thornstock ignored her question anyway. “If you don’t mind waiting, sir.”
Joshua wasn’t fool enough to tell the man the truth—that the prospect of being around Lady Gwyn any longer would unsettle a saint. “I can wait.”
“I promise it won’t take long.” Thornstock headed over to open the door.
With a terse nod, Joshua walked out, tensing as the door shut behind him. Nothing like being summarily dismissed. He wasn’t certain which was worse—being treated like a servant by a man his own age or being asked to wait around for her bloody ladyship.
Not that it mattered. Beggars, especially lame ones, couldn’t be choosers. All the more reason he had to find a better situation for himself soon. Because his life at the Armitage estate became more intolerable by the day.
Gwyn glared at her brother. “You didn’t have to be rude to him.”
“Was I rude?” Thorn paused. “Ah, you’re simply trying to change the subject. But I know better than to fall for that.”
“You caught me,” she lied. Because she’d never be able to explain to her twin the anger that had welled up in her when Thorn had shut the door practically in Joshua’s face.
Thorn pointed to the only other chair in the small room. “Take a seat,” he ordered as he sat down behind the writing table. “I want to hear the truth about what went on between you and Malet.”
“I already told you the truth.”
His eyes turned a stormy gray. “Not the whole truth, I suspect.”
A pox on Thorn for knowing her so well. The blessing—and the curse—of being twins was their inability to hide much from each other.
Wondering what to say to put him off, she ambled over to the chair. Thorn absolutely couldnotlearn the “whole truth” of this. But a version of it might suffice, especially one that made her sound like a fool. Brothers always seemed to consider their sisters fools, and Thorn clearly had thought her one since the day he’d paid off Lionel in Berlin.
“I received a note from Mr. Malet this morning,” Gwyn said. “He told me he wanted to talk about renewing our former . . . acquaintance.”
Thorn shot to his feet. “And you agreed to meet him, just like that? What possessed you to do such a damned foolish thing when youknewhe’d tried to kidnap an heiress before?”
“I borrowed your pistol. I figured brandishing it would keep me safe enough.”
Thorn stalked up to her chair. “Obviously, it did not.”
“Which is precisely why you should teach me how to use the thing,” she said, meeting his irate gaze with her steady one.
“Over my dead body,” he growled.
“Or mine.”
A flush rose in his face. “I am never teaching you to load or fire a gun, so put that thought right out of your head!”
“Then do not be surprised if I get into trouble in London.”
Looking positively apoplectic, he paced the room before halting in front of her. “Trouble with Malet, you mean.”
“Of course not.” Or at least not the kind Thorn was thinking of. “I assure you, I lost any fondness for Mr. Malet years ago.”
Thorn looked skeptical, which was rather ironic because she meant every word. “Then why did you go alone to meet him?”
“To tell him what I just told you—that I want nothing more to do with him and he must leave me alone. I knew if I didn’t give him an emphatic refusal in person, he would assume you were forcing me to refuse him and then he’d continue to plague me. But I made myself very clear. He just didn’t like what I was saying.”
Thorn crossed his arms over his chest. “Then what did you mean just now when you spoke of getting into trouble in London?”
“I meant that with men being the reckless, unpredictable creatures they are—and with my being an heiress—I might experience some difficulties during my debut. And having a weapon for protection might solve that.”
“Having me around all the time would be more likely to solve it,” he growled.
