Page 85 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
He said something, lips moving against my palm, and I snatched my hand away. “What?”
“I said, how am I supposed to promise anything when you’ve got your sweaty palm over my mouth?”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not what you said. It was something much shorter than that!”
“I said, unhand me.” He fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and dragged it across his mouth. “God, you’re awful, Darling. It was all I could do not to bite you.”
“Fine,” I said. “I won’t do it again. Just promise me, St George. Promise you won’t talk to anyone about this.”
“I did,” Crispin said. “That’s what I said. I promise. Besides, I’m not the one you need worry about, you know. I’ve known for months, and I haven’t said a word to anyone. You found out ten minutes ago, and you’ve already told me.”
He moved to stuff the handkerchief back into the pocket of his trousers.
“Give me that.” I snatched it out of his hand to wipe my palm with it.Cooties, ugh.“Although you’re right about the rest of it. I’m a horrible person. I broke my uncle’s confidence, and it didn’t even take a quarter of an hour.”
He sighed, and accepted the handkerchief back. “You’re not a horrible person, Darling. I tricked you, all right? You wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.”
“You did not. You already knew. You said it first.”
He shrugged, and I added, “But we can’t talk of it again. Any of it. Maisie Moran’s child or the… the other thing. He doesn’t want Christopher and Francis to know.”
Crispin nodded. “Believe me, Darling, I feel the same. It would only make them feel awful. Better we keep it between the two of us. Or three.”
“Four,” I said. “Apparently Aunt Roz knows.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course she does. Four, then.”
“But he doesn’t want me to talk to her about it, either.”
“No,” Crispin said, “I can quite imagine why. Very well, then. If you feel the need to jabber, I suppose you’ll just have to come to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure Laetitia will appreciate that.”
“She’ll cope,” Crispin said. “It’s not as if she has to worry about you giving her competition for my attention, is it?”
“Of course not. She’s welcome to you. You know that.”
He nodded. “Precisely.”
“I just don’t think you should marry her. For your own sake, you know. And a little bit for ours, too, I guess—she’s bloody awful, St George—but mostly for yours. I don’t care what you do, but I also don’t see any reason why you should set yourself up for unhappiness with the wrong woman when you know that the right one is out there, and all you have to do is suck up your pride and tell her how you feel.”
“She doesn’t want me,” Crispin said. “And even if she’d take me, which she wouldn’t, I have nothing to offer her. But I thank you for your concern, Darling. I’ll take it under advisement.”
It sounded like a dismissal, so I nodded. “I’m going to walk down to the lane and see if Christopher is coming. You may join me if you wish.”
“I think I’d better go back inside,” Crispin answered. “If I delay much longer, Laetitia is likely to come look for me.”
“At least she’s not carrying her ostrich feather fan today. You don’t have to worry about being slapped with it. And that’s another thing?—”
“Just a love tap, Darling. Nothing to worry about.”
It hadn’t been, actually. I’d been watching, and it had been rather more than a love tap. But if he was the one she’d hit, and he didn’t complain, who was I to do so? So I merely told him, “I’ll see you inside, then, St George. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He quirked a brow. “Propose?”
I shuddered. “God, no. Not at ten in the morning with a murder and an illegitimate child hanging over you.” And not to Laetitia Marsden.
“See you later, then, Darling. Enjoy your walk.”
