Page 10 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
Breathwhooshedfrom her.She was a fool.And how could Shaldon possibly know about Oliver Morton’s offer of marriage?
A large series of waves thundered below them while she fought for her breath, fought for enough saliva to make her tongue work, finally lifting her gaze to his.“Was that offer your idea then, Lord Shaldon?”
Is it more of your matchmaking?Does Morton have a spy in his wardrobe who you’re after?
She held his gaze, watching him.Oh, he was good.Perfectly impassive.
“He spoke to me,” he said, finally.
“Which doesn’t answer the question posed.”
A long implacable silence followed.She waited him out again.
“What you must think of me, Jane.”He swiped a hand through his hair.“No.He merely asked my thoughts on the match.”
“I see.”
She did.She was living in Shaldon’s household.She had become one of his retainers.One of his responsibilities.One of his many properties.
She would not return to Shaldon House.It was just as well.Once she’d stolen the painting, she’d have the devil of a time concealing her theft if she was right under the man’s nose.
She pulled her arm free yet again.“I shall consider your advice, my lord.Good day.”
He would leave tomorrow morning, and she would ponder the best time for her own departure, how she would go about committing her crime, and who she might get to take her in after all of her quarterly funds were spent.
She headed back to the cottage, setting a fast pace, his steps no longer quiet but echoing hers the entire way.
Shaldon watchedher tense back and her taut step and caught up with her in the stable yard, escorting her to the kitchen door.She wished him another good day before crossing the threshold, ever so calm, ever so polite.
And inside, seething, and wishing him to the devil.Lady Jane Montfort was the quintessential genteel lady.One with money problems, else why would the solicitor be writing in urgency?And for God’s sake, over what?She didn’t gamble.She didn’t run up her bills at the shops.
He oughtn’t to have mentioned Morton, but he couldn’t help wanting to see her reaction.The man had sought him out, speculating that Shaldon had an interest in Jane, making sure his proposal would offer no offense to an earl.
The implication, of course, was that he was keeping Jane in his home as his mistress.He ought to have tossed the man out on his ear for the insult to her.Besides which, Morton was seventy if he was a day, the toothless old bugger.He’d try to hold Jane on a short lease, and he’d undoubtedly scrimp on her pin money.
The match was distasteful.Jane would be shortchanged, no matter how Morton bragged about his member still working.
He shook off that thought and spotted the dragoon captain heading for the stables.
“How is our prisoner?”he asked.
“He’ll have a few days in him before the festering bullet takes him.Possibly longer.”
“Has he talked?”
“No, but the others have.That devil we transported last year wasn’t your smuggling king, John Black.The real John Black is lying up inside here.This will gut the free traders around here for a while.”
“A short while.Others will rise up.”
“Aye, as long as there’s taxes, there’s smuggling.There’s the pity, but it means my men and I will have work.”
The captain was a sanguine, intelligent fellow.He gave a sharp salute and left to check on his prisoner.
When the stable door opened, another one of his stalwart old comrades, Lord Farnsworth, slipped out and joined him.The kitchen door swung quietly as they entered, but the sharp little maid looked up from the pot she was stirring.
“Is your kettle hot?”Shaldon asked.
She scuttled around scooping tea while he and Farnsworth took seats at the scarred table.
