“We’re really going to keep him? I thought you were just being nice until you can think up an excuse to send him on his way.”
Jessica had one foot on the coach step when she turned to her business partner. “I’m being amenable. I will continue to be amenable until Adam is residing under my roof. Besides, it might be a good idea to have a bit of enormous muscle to point to if anyone becomes a problem.”
“Pointing would be probably be enough,” Richard agreed as he stepped forward and shut the coach door behind her. “I know it would be enough for me. But until we see if he’s anything more than big, I’ll keep my wooden club beneath the table, if you don’t mind. It has served me well so far.”
Jessica smiled until the coach moved off, but then allowed her true feelings come to the surface.
Gideon Redgrave had sent her protection, had he? From everyone but him, considering Seth was in his employ. Perhaps the youth’s true purpose was to spy, which would make perfect sense to her…and if it made perfect sense to her, his lordship undoubtedly had already thought of it.
But, mostly, Seth was an insult, a reminder that she might have James’s pistol, she might consider herself quite a good shot, but she had not been able to bring herself to do more than threaten with it.
Well, of course she hadn’t shot him!
She would have been hanged in any event, as blowing a hole in an earl was frowned upon by the courts. She wouldn’t have been able to rescue Adam from the man, because she’d be locked up and then executed. Too many people had seen him climb the stairs with her; it wasn’t as if she and Richard could have hidden the body somewhere and then hauled it to some alleyway and left it there.
She’d thought of all those things in the few seconds she’d had to reach into her pocket and close her hand around the pistol before the earl had swooped down and taken the weapon from her. A pity she hadn’t thought of them before she’d so blatantly offered herself to him. It simply had seemed prudent to have it in her pocket, that’s all. The weapon had given her courage, she supposed. Too bad it hasn’t given me brains, she thought, pulling a face.
It was seeing that damned golden rose in his cravat. She’d seen it, and something had seemed to go snap in her brain.
She still didn’t know how she felt about his refusal. Relieved, definitely. Not that she wasn’t willing to make any sacrifice in order to gain custody of Adam; although the gesture had been rather melodramatic, hadn’t it? My body for my brother. She’d been offering the man a bite of candy when he already had bought up half the stores of sweets throughout London.
And yet, ashamed as she was now, in the clear light of day, she felt insulted, as well. He hadn’t even seemed interested. If anything, he’d seemed amused.
She’d been too blatant. Even now, she felt hot color racing into her cheeks as she thought of how she’d behaved. Misbehaved. Her body for her brother? How stupid! The man could have any woman he wanted just by cricking a finger in her direction.
And, according to Richard, he already did.
Two mistresses? And a pair of ton ladies to boot? That seemed excessive. The man was more his father’s son than he might wish people to think. And again—he wore the golden rose.
“I have to get Adam out of there, no matter what I must do to best the man!” she exclaimed aloud, punching her gloved fist into her palm, refusing to consider she might be sounding very much like some overwrought and probably hare-witted heroine in a melodrama.
Still, her determination lasted throughout the quarter-hour journey to Portman Square through the heavy midmorning traffic. But when the coach halted, and she was helped down to the flagway in front of the imposing facade of the Redgrave mansion, a tiny voice in the back of her head whispered less confidently, “How do you propose to do that, exactly?”
Shaking off the question, she reminded herself her brother was behind that large black door with the lion’s head knocker. She put out her chin as a mental battering ram and headed inside as if she was accustomed to being welcomed in the finest London houses.
“Mrs. Linden, to see his lordship,” she said imperiously as she stripped off her gloves and untied her bonnet, even as she belatedly realized Doreen should be standing just behind her to take possession of the things. Stupid! How could she have forgotten she was to be chaperoned at all times? This was what living her catch-as-catch-can life for the past five years had done to her; she kept forgetting she wasn’t supposed to be able to fend for herself. She should have brought Seth, that’s what she should have done. Protection, indeed! She’d never needed more than Richard and his heavy club at the gaming house. Here in Portman Square, an entire regiment of Seths probably wouldn’t come amiss!
She shoved both bonnet and gloves at the footman. “His lordship, young man. See to it.”
“If you was to wait here, ma’am,” the fairly astonished-looking footman said, indicating the open door to what had to be the ground-floor room reserved for tradesmen and those petitioners seeking interviews.
Her fingers still at her throat, as she’d been about to untie the closing of her pelisse, Jessica looked through a dull red haze of anger to the curving staircase that led to the first floor, and then to the small room. “Oh, I think not. I’ve reconsidered my visit. Kindly inform his lordship I have been and gone.”
So saying, she retrieved her bonnet and gloves from the clearly relieved footman, and quit the house. She stood on the top step of the portico as she retied her bonnet and pulled on her gloves, realizing that the coach was now slowly circling the square, so that the horses should not be forced to stand while she was inside.
Well, that presented a problem, didn’t it? Not to mention putting quite the crimp in her grand exit. She wasn’t about to go running after it, crying yoo-hoo, waving it down. Besides, she’d had just about enough of his lordship’s courtesy for one morning. She had two feet, and she knew how to use them.
She looked to her left, and then to her right. Two feet, yes. Now if only she knew what direction in which to point them… .
“Ma’am?”
Jessica turned about slowly, to see that the footman had opened the door behind her, probably to warn her to take herself off, as loitering on his lordship’s doorstep was not allowed.
“I’m going,” she said tightly. “You don’t have to apply the boot.”
“Oh, but, ma’am, you’re to come inside. Please.”
She whirled about in her anger, skewering the footman with a look meant to set him back a step, which it did. “I am, am I? You’d be wrong there. I don’t have to go anywhere. That might be something you could tell his lordship. I’m not his to command.”
“No, ma’am. That is to say, ma’am, it was me what thought to put you in the…that is to say, his lordship is awaiting your pleasure in the drawing room. Ma’am?”
All the anger in Jessica drained away. The footman had made a valid assumption. She wasn’t dressed in the first stare, Lord knew. She’d arrived unaccompanied. What else was the man to think but that she’d been summoned, perhaps to interview for some domestic position? Ha! If the earl were to do the interviewing, a position would definitely be involved!
“Very well.” She reentered the mansion, feeling slightly abashed, which was enough to bring back her anger. She’d no idea she was so prickly; she’d always believed herself to be a pleasant person at the heart of the thing. “What is your name?” she asked the footman kindly as, yet again, she handed over her belongings.
“Waters, ma’am,” the youth said, bowing as he laid her pelisse over his arm. “I’ll be taking you upstairs now and turning you over to, that is to say, where Mr. Thorndyke will announce you to his lordship.