A Most Dangerous Profession(89)

“Pardon?” Mary asked.

“Nothing.”

“Michael . . . is she wearing boots?” Mary’s voice held a strangled tone. “You can’t allow her to dress like that when she’s in town!”

“What does it matter how she dresses? No one is funding her.” He was a little envious of Jane’s freedom, truth be told.

Mary gave a puff of indignation. “Because she will be laughed at. Surely you don’t want that!”

His jaw tightened. “I dare anyone to laugh at her.”

Jane wasn’t like other women, who had to don silly finery to prove their worth. She already had worth, making his life go as smoothly as possible.

Jane laughingly left her new conquest, who sent a longing glance after her. Fool. Jane would never be interested in such a useless man. Jane never showed the least interest in any man, which Michael found quite satisfying. He paid her far too much to be forced to deal with female whims.

She finally reached them and he said “Jane, this is my sister Mary, the Countess of Erroll. Mary, this is Jane, Miss Smythe-Haughton.”

Jane instantly dipped a curtsy that even the biggest stickler couldn’t fault. As she rose, she held out her hand and smiled warmly. “Lady Erroll, I finally meet you! Michael has spoken of you frequently.”

Mary looked pleased. “He’s mentioned you quite a number of times, too.”

“Probably to complain about something, but I never take it to heart.” Jane chuckled. “You know how Mr. Hurst can be.”

Michael watched as Mary melted before that friendly chuckle and the genuine note in Jane’s voice. Mary was in the hands of a master. That was one of Jane’s gifts: no matter where they were, in the wilds of Africa or a sulfi’s palace or even the treacherous ballrooms of London, she knew just what to say and how to say it.

It was partly that ability to understand and blend into whatever society she was in, that made their expeditions so profitable. Where another explorer might be greeted with distrust, after a few deft words and gestures from Jane, Michael and his party were almost always welcomed. They remained that way, too, with Jane there to soothe over the inevitable awkward moments.

He watched as she worked her magic now. In just a few moments they were talking animatedly about marriages and children and other frivolous topics that Michael knew Jane cared nothing for.

She must have read his thoughts, for though she continued to chat with his sister, Jane sent him a laughing look beneath her lashes. He answered it with faintly raised brows and a mocking smile. He liked how she controlled a room without seeming to. It made his life so much easier.

After several more moments of female chatter, Michael yawned.

Jane halted in mid-sentence. “Mr. Hurst, do you wish to leave?”

“He can’t leave,” Mary exclaimed. “He hasn’t spoken to a single potential sponsor yet.”

“I’m not going to, either,” he said. “This damned neckcloth is too tight and I wish to go home.”

Jane tsked. “Mr. Hurst, you must speak to at least one potential sponsor. If you don’t, you will have wasted the time you have spent wearing such an atrocious neckcloth and will just have to don it again.”

He’d been yanking at the damned thing again, but now stopped. “Atrocious?”

“Oh, yes. Especially now that you’ve been tugging on it.”

“Oh, look!” Mary gestured to the crowd. “There’s Devonshire! He expressly asked to meet you. The duke is one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom.”

“He might support more than one expedition,” Jane said, looking thoughtful.

“So?”

“So if you speak nicely to him, he might be the only sponsor you’ll need for the next year or two, and you can get out of that neckcloth for a long, long time.”

“Fine,” he growled. “Let’s get this over with. Which asinine fop is he? Please tell me he’s not the man in puce who and—Bloody hell, are those diamonds on his shoe buckles?”

“He may be a fop, but he’s very interested in sponsoring the great Michael Hurst,” Mary said. “He told me that he’s an avid follower of the newspaper serial.”

Michael sighed. “Which means he thinks I wrestle crocodiles by the dozen.”

Jane burst into laughter.

Michael eyed her sourly, even more unhappy when Mary grinned. “Blast you both! I wish these fools would just mail me a checque and leave me the hell alone.”