Part 29 (2/2)
The marquess chuckled. ”I'll say.”
Jackson cast him a startled glance.
”Yes, I heard all about your offer. Do forgive my amus.e.m.e.nt. If you'll recall, I made rather a hash of my own marriage proposal.” He sobered. ”I also understand that my grandmother had something to do with your reticence to offer marriage.”
”I was not reticent,” Jackson said fiercely. ”I was never reticent about that. I've wanted to marry your sister almost from the moment I met her. And no matter what your grandmother thinks, it has nothing to do with her fortune or her position or-”
”I know.” When Jackson blinked, the marquess smiled. ”You forget-I've watched you work for nearly a year. I've listened to your opinions and heard of your fine reputation. I know a man of good character when I see one.”
”Even if he's a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?” Jackson bit out.
”The Duke of Clarence has ten b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and everyone turns a blind eye, so I don't see why we can't have at least one in the family. Or two, if you count Jarret's stepson.” Stoneville smiled. ”We Sharpes are h.e.l.lions after all. We wouldn't want to become boring. What would the gossips have to talk about?”
His aunt's words leapt into his mind: That's the trouble with you, my boy ... You brace yourself for the cry of ”b.a.s.t.a.r.d” even when that cry isn't given.
”Your grandmother isn't so nonchalant about it,” Jackson pointed out.
”True. And she may very well hold to her threat to cut Celia off.”
”You know about that?”
”She let it slip to Minerva.”
”Ah. So Lady Celia knows now, too,” he said, not sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
”Actually, I don't think she does.” He stared hard at Jackson. ”Does it matter to you if Celia loses her fortune?”
”No, though I hate the thought of sentencing her to a life of sacrifice.”
”Yet you still mean to offer marriage.”
”I do, and this time I'll make sure she knows what your grandmother intends to do. But I hope it won't matter to her.” He admitted what he'd realized after less than a day separated from her. ”Because apparently I'm more selfish than I thought. I simply can't bear to be without her.”
Stoneville's expression softened. ”Now that's what you should say when next you see her.”
”And when might that be?” Jackson asked.
”I don't know. I told you-she made me promise to keep you away. And the family has already retired for the evening.” At Jackson's muttered oath, the marquess's voice softened. ”Give her time. You have to talk to Elsie in the morning anyway, so come here after that and perhaps she will see you then.”
Jackson was not going to wait until tomorrow, not when every moment away from her made her harden her heart against him.
He rose. ”As you wish. But I left several personal items here while I was a guest at the house party, so if you don't mind, I'll fetch those before I leave.” That would give him an excuse to find her room and make her listen.
”Very well.” As Jackson headed for the door, Stoneville called out, ”Your room is in the west wing, isn't it?”
Jackson halted to eye him warily. ”Yes. Why?”
”You may not know that there's a shortcut through the south wing.” The marquess stared steadily at him. The family resided in the south wing. ”Indeed, I would love your opinion on a piece of art. I'm thinking of selling it, and you might know of a buyer. It's a fine military painting by Goya hanging right next to Celia's door, if you'd care to take a look on your way past.”
He couldn't believe it-Stoneville was telling him how to find Celia's room.
”Just remember,” Stoneville added, ”if you should happen to run into anyone, explain that I wanted your opinion about some art.”
”I appreciate your faith in my judgment, my lord,” he said. ”I will certainly take a look at that painting.”
Stoneville's gaze hardened as he stood. ”I trust that you'll behave like a gentleman while you're pa.s.sing that way.”
He bit back a hot retort-his lords.h.i.+p was one to talk. But the fact that the man was helping him with Celia was a small miracle, and he wasn't about to ignore that. ”Yes. A perfect gentleman.”
”Good. I'll hold you to that.”
With a nod, Jackson hurried out into the hall. Even with Stoneville's sly urging in this endeavor, he hesitated to sneak about the house after the ladies had retired. But the sounds of drunken men from down one hallway told him that some of the gentlemen were still awake, so he hastened his steps. The last thing he wanted was to run into Celia's suitors right now. He wasn't sure he could trust himself around them.
Jackson had been in the south wing once before, when Stoneville had received him in dishabille, so he knew its layout. Fortunately, it took him only a few minutes to find Celia's room.
He knocked on Celia's door, but there was no answer. Should he pound on it to wake her?
Ah, but if she asked who was there and he told her, she might refuse to let him in. He glanced down at the ancient lock, and his eyes narrowed. Perhaps it would be better to have the element of surprise on his side.
Thank G.o.d he always traveled with his lock picks.
Chapter Twenty-three.
Celia was awakened from a dead sleep by some sound. A knock? She wasn't sure. But whoever it was would knock again. Not that it would do them any good, because she wasn't letting anyone see her in her present state, eyes puffy from crying and her hair tangled from tossing and turning. It was a miracle she'd had any sleep after she'd spent hours fretting over Jackson.
She scowled. She wasn't going to think about him again.
Suddenly, a different sound came to her ears-a steady clicking at the door. By the light of the fire, she saw the handle shake.
Fear coursed through her. Good Lord, someone was trying to sneak into her room! And not someone with a key or they would have opened the door by now. Was it the same person who'd tried to kill her?
Then they were about to have a surprise. Soundlessly, she sat up and lifted the pistol she'd kept loaded on her bedside table ever since yesterday. Heart pounding, she waited until the door creaked open, then c.o.c.ked the pistol and said, ”I'd stop right there if I were you. I've got a gun trained on you, and I won't hesitate to use it.”
There was a harsh intake of breath, followed by a low male voice saying, ”It's me, Celia. Don't shoot.”
”Jackson?” she said incredulously. ”What the-”
”I had to see you.” He opened the door and stepped inside.
Her heart still pounding, she carefully unc.o.c.ked the gun and lowered it. ”Go away.”
”Not until we talk,” he said steadily.
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