Page 79 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
She pulled off the jacket. “You are pressuring me.”
“I am not.” He pocketed the box for a later attempt. “A sensible woman would take a gift of jewelry.”
“When I may access my funds, I will buy my own jewelry.”
“Of course you may. But your jewels won’t come with a promise of love.”
“There will be a promise of freedom,” she snapped. “And we are finished talking.”
In the mews, a horse whinnied, and another answered.
“You are a stubborn, stubborn girl.” He shrugged into his jacket. “Inconstant. Fickle.”
She stepped back and yanked her shawl tighter, then turned on her heel and marched toward the house.
“And a terrible actress,” he called after her.
The door slammed, and he turned back to gaze into the night. A man trundled down the walk with a lantern, and he recognized one of the under butlers.
“Tell Lloyd, best set a good watch tonight,” Charley called. With Gracie in a sulk, and Llewellyn aware of her presence here, there might be trouble.
The man saluted and headed for the kitchen entrance.
He pulled his flask from another pocket and tipped it back, the liquor burning a path down his gullet.
Swiving women for the Crown had brought him to this—the one woman he wanted didn’t want him. And he was done being used.
But if it was Gracie wanting to use him—well, he’d be atoning for every time he’d led a woman down the garden path. He’d made a promise to her and he damn well would keep it. She was stuck with him, and he would protect her from Kingsley, and Carvelle, and Llewellyn, and—damn it—from herself, no matter the cost.
Tomorrow, he would visit Bond Street and purchase his other gift. Perhaps it would be better received by the queen of the nursery.
In the weehours of the morning, Graciela heard a child’s cry. She rushed from her bed, throwing on slippers and a robe, and ran up the stairs to the nursery. By this time, the crying had stopped.
She found Francisca standing over the small bed, fully dressed. Reina slept, thumb in mouth, curled in upon herself.
Francisca pulled Graciela into the nursery playroom, mouth pressed into a thin line. “She had a bad dream.”
A maid hovered in the corner. Juan’s pallet was gone.
“Where is Juan?”
“He has gone to the stables to keep watch and to listen.”
Her nerves prickled. “Listen for what?”
“I told you. There are strange people snooping about.”
An ache started up in her head and she rubbed at it. “We must leave.”
“And go where?” Francisca laid a thin hand on her arm. “You have seen Llewellyn?”
They had not had a moment alone to discuss her visit with the Captain. “Yes.”
“And?”
She shook her head and sought the right words. She could not lie to Francisca, who knew her so well, but she also did not want her to fear.
“He is in league with Lord Kingsley, then?”
