Part 27 (1/2)
If the tale he'd always believed about his father was even true. Jackson winced, remembering what Celia had said. ...
No, she was wrong. He didn't resemble his uncle. No one else had ever said so. His father was some d.a.m.ned n.o.bleman who'd ruined his mother. And Jackson wasn't going to follow in his footsteps by refusing to marry her.
But what if that's what Celia wants-freedom to marry whom she pleases?
His throat tightened. Now that she'd been saved the ignominy of being ruined, it might be exactly what she would want.
Even if she thought it wasn't, it might be best. The duke might marry her regardless-he only wanted a wife who wouldn't mind his family's madness. And though she said she didn't care about the money, how could she possibly understand the ramifications of losing her fortune? She had nothing to compare it to. Did he have the right to expect her to give it all up for him?
They entered his lords.h.i.+p's well-appointed study, with its Rembrandts and crystal brandy decanters and its mahogany and bra.s.s furnis.h.i.+ngs, and hopelessness swept over him. This was where she belonged, not in some cramped home in Cheapside, no matter how cheery and warm he found it.
”Now, Mr. Pinter,” Mrs. Plumtree said, ”please start at the beginning and tell us everything. Because if you did not set out to elope with my granddaughter, how the h.e.l.l did the two of you end up in a position to be shot at?”
Chapter Twenty-one.
The entire time Jackson was explaining the events of the past two days, Celia marveled at his calm. She was a wreck of confused feelings while he spoke in his usual investigator's voice, as if they hadn't spent the night in a wildly pa.s.sionate embrace, as if there were nothing between them.
How did he do it? Would she ever know the real him?
Coldly and unemotionally, he described Celia's dream and how she'd asked him to look into it, which had resulted in their traveling to High Wycombe together. But when he got to the part about Mama having an affair, both Minerva and Gran gasped.
”No,” Minerva protested. ”It can't be. I don't believe it.”
”At first I didn't either,” Celia admitted. ”But I fear it might be true. It fits the circ.u.mstances in too many ways.”
”Mrs. Plumtree,” Jackson said, ”have you any idea who might have been involved with your daughter?”
”I swear, this is the first I've heard anything of the sort.” Gran looked visibly shaken. She paced to the fire, her cane coming down on the rug in choppy strokes, then returned to where Jackson stood. ”But after Josiah died, I was struggling to keep the brewery going. I rarely spent time here. I wasn't aware that Lewis and Pru knew the Rawdons as well as all that. As for any other lover Pru might have had...” She trailed off with a sigh.
”You have no one to suspect,” Jackson asked.
”No. I'm sorry.”
”Perhaps Celia is mistaken,” Minerva put in. ”Perhaps it really was just a dream.”
”Perhaps,” Jackson said. ”But given what your old nurse said, I doubt it.”
”As soon as Oliver returns, we shall have to discuss this more,” Gran said. ”He may know more than he realizes. I will send for him-last I was told, he and Masters were at the town house hoping for word of your whereabouts.” Her voice hardened. ”But first, I want to hear about why you spent the night hiding out from killers in the forest.”
Celia let out a shuddering breath. This would be sticky indeed.
With a terse nod, Jackson told a highly truncated version of what had happened. Celia expected nothing less-he was a gentleman, after all-yet it rankled that he could do it so easily. She was sure that if she'd told the tale, she'd be blus.h.i.+ng to the tips of her ears.
His gaze locked with Gran's. ”You understand, don't you, that we had no choice. We couldn't risk Lady Celia's safety by moving through the woods blindly at night, especially with no moon.”
”Of course,” Gran said. ”You acted to protect her, and we are most grateful for that. Indeed, I am sure Oliver will compensate you most handsomely-”
”I don't want compensation for saving Celia's life,” Jackson snapped, the only betrayal of his true feelings until now. Then he seemed to catch himself, and his tone turned more formal. ”I behaved as any gentleman would.”
”You certainly did,” Minerva put in. ”Gran didn't mean to insult you, I'm sure.”
”In any case,” Jackson said stiffly, ”no matter what the circ.u.mstances, the only appropriate thing for me to do, having spent the night alone with her ladys.h.i.+p unchaperoned, is to offer marriage.”
Appropriate? Marriage to her was the only appropriate thing to do?
Proper Pinter had arrived with a vengeance, and Celia was ready to strangle him. How could he propose a marriage to Gran as if it were merely some solution to a pesky problem? He wouldn't even look at her, for pity's sake!
”That is very good of you,” Gran said. ”Very gentlemanly, indeed. But I see no need for either of you to make such a precipitous decision right now.” Her tone hardened. ”Unless, of course, something more ... scandalous occurred during your sojourn in the cottage?”
A short, tense silence fell on the room before Jackson said, ”Certainly not.” His voice softened a fraction. ”Her ladys.h.i.+p is incapable of behaving scandalously.”
How sweet of him to defend her honor to her family, but why wouldn't he look at her? And why had he offered such a cold proposal of marriage?
Last night, she'd thought she knew him. He'd seemed so gloriously infatuated with her, if not in love. But then this morning he'd turned into a different creature entirely, more proud and arrogant than any lord she'd ever known, and seemingly determined to convince her that a marriage between them would never work. Did he honestly think she could never fit into his world?
His lackl.u.s.ter proposal certainly made it seem so. And in that case, she wasn't sure she wanted to marry him. She certainly didn't want to spend the rest of her life being lectured about her spoiled nature and flawed character, no matter how glorious the man was in bed.
”And you, Mr. Pinter?” Gran asked him. ”What is your capacity for behaving scandalously?”
”He has none,” Celia choked out. ”Mr. Pinter is always the most proper of gentlemen, trust me.”
Though he stiffened, he gave no other sign that he felt the barb.
”In that case,” Gran said, ”I believe we can hush the entire incident up. You and Celia need not marry at all. Don't you agree, Mr. Pinter?”
Some strange message seemed to pa.s.s between Gran and him, for when he turned his gaze to Celia, it held a hopelessness that chilled her blood. ”If that is what her ladys.h.i.+p wants.”
What her ladys.h.i.+p wanted was some indication that all his sweet words and caresses from last night hadn't been impulses of a moment. What her ladys.h.i.+p wanted was for him to declare his desire to marry her with enthusiasm, instead of letting Gran bully him into withdrawing, or whatever it was that was occurring between them.
But clearly her ladys.h.i.+p wasn't going to get what she wanted. And that made her want to strike out. He wasn't the only one who could be ”proper,” blast him.
She forced a cool smile. ”Her ladys.h.i.+p would like a hot bath and a nice long sleep and something in the way of food.” She swallowed the hurt welling in her throat. ”As you so carefully reminded me this morning, Mr. Pinter-we fine ladies don't endure severe deprivation well at all.”
For a moment anger flared in his eyes, telling her that her aim had been true. But then that blasted veil came down over his face once more, and no emotion showed in his features whatsoever.
His words last night rose unbidden: What I want is you. Just you.
Foolishly, she'd believed him. She'd thought she was finally seeing the real Jackson Pinter, the one for whom pa.s.sion and need swept away all other practical and societal considerations. But perhaps last night's Jackson was the aberration, and the real Jackson was the proud, proper, practical one.
”In that case, I should go,” he clipped out. ”While the trail is fresh, I must marshal officers to search the roads near High Wycombe and question any witnesses.”
And just like that, he became the Bow Street Runner once more, entirely focused on matters far more important than a lady's silly hopes for a future with him.
He turned to Gran. ”In the meantime, I don't think you should let Celia leave these walls until we've found whoever is determined to hurt her. And a guard should be placed on her door-”
”A guard!” Gran exclaimed. ”Surely you do not think anyone inside Halstead Hall shot at you. They were all here yesterday afternoon while you two were gone.”