A Lady Never Surrenders Part 5

That put Hetty instantly on her guard. Celia never asked for anyone's help. She had some fool notion she was an independent woman. "What do you wish from me?"

"I'd like you to add the duke and the viscount to the guest list for the upcoming house party. Having them visit here will make it easier for me to determine their intentions."

"And bring them up to snuff?" Hetty prodded.

Her granddaughter bristled. "I've no doubt they'll all make offers if given the chance," she said hotly. "They are half in love with me already."

"And what about you? Are you half in love with them?"

Celia's eyes glittered. "I didn't think love was part of this equation, Gran."

"It most certainly is. Do not mistake that. I want you to marry for love."

Seizing Hetty's hand, Celia turned earnest. "Then don't give me a deadline. Let me do it in my own way."

"As you have been until now, keeping every man at arm's length, scaring them away with your target shooting?" Gran shook her head. "You cannot fall in love if you do not let a man close. And you will not let a man close unless you have a reason. I know you. If I rescind that ultimatum, you will bury yourself on this estate and never come out."

A sad smile crossed Celia's face. "I told him you'd say that."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter." Celia drew a heavy breath. "So will you add them? Two more guests can hardly make much difference."

Hetty stared at her. "Maria wanted it to be a more private affair, only Oliver's closest friends and family, since she is so far along in her confinement and can't see to the guests the way she would like."

"I thought that was why you and Minerva and Virginia were doing most of the work," Celia retorted.

"Well, yes, but-"

"And the duke is a friend of the family. He may be more a friend of Gabe's than Oliver's, but I don't think Oliver or Maria would mind."

"They might mind having that foreigner Basto wandering the house."

"Do you want me to marry or not?"

Hetty clutched her cane. "I tell you what. I shall include them if you will reveal what you discussed with Mr. Pinter in the drawing room."

"I already told you-"

"Nonsense. He said something about having an obligation to you."

"Yes. An obligation to research my suitors."

"Nothing more?"

Guilty color rose in her granddaughter's cheeks. "Why would you think there was anything more between me and Mr. Pinter?"

Because you blush when his name is mentioned. Because he follows you with his eyes. Because I do not know what to make of him, and that worries me.

It was always better to play dumb until one had all the facts. "Is he to be invited to this house party?"

"Of course," Celia said with false-sounding lightness in her voice. "It's the best way for him to discover information about my suitors."

"Then I hope the man has appropriate clothing for the affair. I doubt that Bow Street Runners wear the sort of evening attire suitable for dining with dukes and marquesses."

A frown knit Celia's brow. "I hadn't thought of that."

Good. It was time she considered such things if she had any romantic interest in the man. "Well, no matter." She waved a hand dismissively. "Considering the large fee he charges, I am sure he can afford to buy what he needs."

"I-I didn't mean for him to suffer any financial burden over this." Celia's face showed a worrisome amount of concern for the strain on Mr. Pinter's pocketbook.

Hetty levied a searching glance on her. "Should I invite his aunt as well?"

Celia looked genuinely confused. "I don't see why. This is no social visit. He'll be here to work."

"Of course." Hetty let out a breath. Perhaps everything was just as it appeared. Though the girl seemed to be up to something suspicious, it didn't seem to involve any deep feelings for Mr. Pinter.

Now if only she could be as sure about Mr. Pinter's feelings for Celia ...

STILL BROODING OVER his unsettling bargain with Lady Celia, Jackson hurried into his uncle's house in Cheapside and headed for his study. He had less than an hour to be at his office to meet with his client, and he had to pick up the report he'd promised the man.

"Jackson!" Aunt Ada called to him from the parlor.

"Not now, Aunt," he barked. "I'm late."

Ada Pinter Norris came out into the hall, a wiry little bundle of sheer will. It sometimes amazed him that she and his mother had been sisters. Mother had been tall and dark like him, while the top of Aunt Ada's graying blond head barely reached his shoulder. "Have you eaten? Don't answer that-I know you haven't."

He entered his study and scanned his desk but didn't see the papers. "I have to be at the office by-"

"Is this what you're looking for?" she asked.

He turned to find her waving a sheaf of paper. "Yes, thanks."

But when he reached for it, she shoved it behind her back. "Not until you eat."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake, Aunt Ada-"

"None of that swearing, now. If you mean to be chosen as Chief Magistrate, you can't talk like a dockworker."

With a lift of his eyebrow, he held out his hand. "I won't be chosen as anything if I don't satisfy those who require my help."

"Humph. They can wait a few minutes." Her eyes glittered a warning. "I mean it. Don't make me throw these in the fire."

He flashed her his darkest scowl. "You wouldn't dare."

She set her shoulders. "Try me. And while those black looks of yours might intimidate criminals, they won't work on me. They didn't when you were ten, so they certainly won't now."

"Then I'll have to resort to force." He fought a smile as he stalked toward her. "I outweigh you by a good five stone. I could s.n.a.t.c.h those papers before you got anywhere near a fire."

"I could bash you over the head with a skillet, too."

The idea of his sweet-natured aunt bas.h.i.+ng him over the head with anything made him laugh. He held up his hands. "Fine, I'll eat. But I must make it quick."

Clucking her tongue at him, she headed for the kitchen. He followed, shaking his head. It had been so long since he'd lived in the same house with her that he sometimes forgot how stubborn she could be.

"I don't know what to do with you," she groused as he sat down at the kitchen table. She filled a plate with stew and set it before him. "Always in a rush. Never taking time to eat properly. That will end now that you're living here. I won't see you work yourself into an early grave like Wil-"

She broke off with a little moan that cut him to the heart.

"I'm sorry, Aunt," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Don't mind me," she whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. "It's just ... I miss him so. It comes up at the oddest times."

"I know," he said softly. "I miss him, too."

Uncle William, the magistrate, had taught him everything. G.o.d only knew what would have happened if Jackson and his mother had continued to live their hand-to-mouth existence in Liverpool. The day his uncle had responded to Mother's letter by coming to s.n.a.t.c.h them from the jaws of poverty had been the day Jackson had finally started to breathe again.

"Eat." His aunt pressed a fork into his hand. "I don't want to make you late."

He snorted but started right in on the stew. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

With open curiosity on her face, she sat down beside him. "So how did the meeting with the Sharpes go?"

"Well enough," he said between bites. "I've been invited to their house party."

Her face lit up. "That's wonderful. I knew that your a.s.sociation with them would do you good. Is it very exclusive? Will there be many important people there?"

"A duke and an earl, for one." He swallowed some ale. "Do I have any clothes suitable enough for the evenings there?"

"Lord, no."

"I was afraid of that." He sighed. "There's no time to get anything made up at the tailor's, either. The house party is next week."

"Next week!" She pursed her lips. "Your uncle's clothes ought to be fine enough. He dined with lords of Parliament occasionally. You're the same height as he is-was-and I could probably take in the waist..."

"I hate to ask you to do all that work."

"Nonsense. You can't pa.s.s up a chance to make important connections simply for lack of a decent coat."

"It's not what you think. I'm working."

Her face fell. "Working?"

"I'm investigating Lady Celia's potential suitors."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

He glanced at her, surprised to find her looking stricken. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't know she had suitors."

"Of course she has suitors." Not any he could approve of, but he wasn't about to mention that to his aunt. "I'm sure you read about her grandmother's ultimatum in those reports you transcribed. She has to marry, and soon, too."

"I know. But I was rather hoping ... I mean, with you there so often and her being an unconventional sort..." When he cast her a quizzical look, she went on more forcefully, "There's no reason you couldn't offer for her."

He nearly choked on his bread. "Are you out of your mind?"

"She needs a husband. You need a wife. Why not her?"

"Because marquess's daughters don't marry b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, for one thing."

The coa.r.s.e word made her flinch. "You're still from a perfectly respectable family, no matter the circ.u.mstances of your birth." She eyed him with a sudden gleam in her eye. "And I notice you didn't say you weren't interested."

h.e.l.l. He sopped up some gravy with his bread. "I'm not interested."

"I'm not saying you have to be in love with her. That would perhaps be asking too much at this point, but if you courted her, in time-"

"I would fall in love? With Lady Celia? That isn't possible."

"Why not?"

Because what he felt for Celia Sharpe was l.u.s.t, pure and simple. He didn't even know if he wanted to fall in love. It was all fine and well for the Sharpes, who could love where they pleased, but for people like him and his mother, love was an impossible luxury ... or a tragedy in the making.

That's why he couldn't let his desire for Lady Celia overcome his reason. His hunger for her might be more powerful than he cared to admit, but he'd controlled it until now, and he would get the best of it in time. He had to. She was determined to marry someone else.

His aunt was watching him with a hooded gaze. "I hear she's somewhat pretty."

h.e.l.l and blazes, she wouldn't let this go. "You hear? From whom?"

"Your clerk. He saw her when the family came in to the office one time. He's told me about all the Sharpes, how they depend on you and admire you."

He snorted. "I see my clerk has been doing it up brown."

"So she's not pretty?"

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever-" At her raised eyebrow, he scowled. "Too beautiful for the likes of me. And of far too high a consequence."

"Her grandmother is a brewer. Her family has been covered in scandal for years. And they're grateful to you for all you've done so far. They might be grateful enough to countenance your suit."

"You don't know the Sharpes."

"Oh, so they're too high and mighty? Treat you like a servant?"

"No," he bit out. "But..."

"By my calculations, there's two months left before she has to marry. If she's had no offers, she might be getting desperate enough to-"

"Settle for a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"