Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(20)

She was definitely not pretty, but she was striking in a way that struck Jenny as oddly familiar.

And yet Feathers showed not one iota of the confidence her dress and ramrod-straight posture should have imparted. Even younger than Ned, she ducked her shoulders and smiled, a universal signal that she was eager to please.

Here was a puzzle. For all her fine demeanor, Lord Blakely’s earlier behavior suggested the lady was somehow unsuitable for marriage. But the lady had called him by the familiar “Blakely.” And he hadn’t corrected the importunity with typical frosty disdain.

Light dawned. No wonder she seemed so familiar. And no wonder the marquess had wanted Jenny to pick this woman.

“Lord Blakely,” Jenny said. “You never told me you had a sister.”

“See?” Ned flung his hands in the air. “How can you disbelieve her? I never said a word of it!”

Feathers eyed Jenny with open curiosity. “The rumor that swept the ballroom is that this lady is a distant cousin. I didn’t know we had any Barnards in our family.”

Lord Blakely grimaced. “Restrain yourself, Ned. Do recall we are at a very crowded ball. And, Laura, she is not your cousin.”

The lady sighed. “Carhart side? Still, a cousin of yours is a cousin of mine.” She looked at Jenny and smiled almost shyly. “Isn’t that just like my brother, to ignore me when I’m so obviously angling for an introduction? What is Ned jabbering on about?”

Ned put his hands on his hips. “Well, don’t ask the great Marquess of Blakely for explanations. Or introductions. He can’t even be bothered to deliver his own elephants. He doesn’t believe anything unless it’s right in front of his nose.”

The blue feathers in the lady’s coiffure bobbed earnestly. “Oh, don’t I know.” She glanced at Jenny again, and then imparted in confiding tones. “He doesn’t even trust my fiancé to handle my funds in the future. He doesn’t trust anything he can’t see and smell and taste.”

Lord Blakely didn’t act either to scold or to assuage his sister’s obvious worries as to how her teasing would be received.

“Actually,” Jenny interjected earnestly, “he’s even more discriminating than that.”

Lord Blakely’s shoulders stiffened. His lips pressed together and a furious warning lit his eyes. Jenny met his angry gaze and dropped one lid in a lazy half-wink.

“Believe me,” she said. “He really doesn’t believe everything he tastes.”

Lord Blakely’s mouth dropped open a fraction. His eyes dropped to her lips; he was undoubtedly remembering the hot openmouthed kiss they’d shared. He froze, almost as if he’d experienced a great stabbing pain. And then a miracle occurred.

He smiled.

The expression changed his whole face from serious and frozen to warm and tinged with the pink of embarrassment. The effect was immediate and electric. He looked almost ten years younger. Jenny’s toes curled in her uncomfortable heeled slippers and she caught her breath.

No wonder the man never grinned. He would have posed a serious danger to womankind if he did so more than once a decade.

He blinked, horrified, as he suddenly realized what he was doing. The corners of his lips turned down sharply. He blew out his breath and turned abruptly to his sister.

“If I failed to greet you earlier, Laura, it was precisely to avoid this moment. I have no intention of introducing you to this woman.”

Jenny felt as if she’d been smacked with an icicle. It was almost as if she’d been back at school. As if the girls were talking about that Jenny Keeble again, pretending Jenny was not standing right in front of them.

The feathers drooped as Laura bowed her head. “Surely, in the family—”

Lord Blakely interposed his body between Jenny and his sister. He dropped his voice, but pitched his words loud enough for Jenny to hear. She had no doubt he intended her to absorb every last hateful sentence. “She’s not a Carhart cousin, either. She’s not any sort of relation. She’s a fraudulent fortune-teller who has sunk her claws into Ned, and she’s not fit for you to know.”

Not fit. Every word he said was undoubtedly true. It still hurt, scraping a wound that was raw even after a dozen years. Jenny had run away from school to escape the snide remarks about her family and her likely fate. Even after all these years, it stung to hear them repeated.

“Oh, dear.” Laura peered around the marquess’s lean form. “Do you really tell fortunes? Can you tell mine? Do you pay house calls, or shall I visit you?”

Jenny could imagine Lord Blakely’s teeth grinding.

“She’s fabulous at it,” Ned answered. “Two years and she’s never been wrong. And now she’s predicted Blakely’s marriage.”

The marquess winced. “Hush,” he remonstrated. “There’s no need to shout—”

But his sister’s eyes lit up like two candles. “You want Blakely to marry? Capital! I knew I liked you.” She sidestepped her brother and linked her arm in Jenny’s.

Jenny looked at the arm in hers. She was too shocked to do anything other than goggle. She hadn’t expected a friendly face smiling into hers after the marquess’s cold dismissal. A lump formed in her throat.

Naturally, Lord Blakely interrupted.

“Mrs. Barnard,” he emphasized coldly, offering her his arm, “I do believe we have terms to discuss. Laura, I’ll see you—I’ll see you next month.”