Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(58)

When put that way, Jenny had no choice at all. She owed Mrs. Sevin for her lies, just as she owed Ned.

Jenny stood up, and Mr. Sevin’s mouth squished in satisfaction, like the smile of some bloated swine.

She looked past the man to his wife. “I’m sorry,” Jenny said. “Truly. For everything.”

As Jenny strode to the door, Mrs. Sevin’s pig of a husband waved in farewell. “A pleasure, Miss Keeble,” Mr. Sevin called after her.

Outside, it had begun to storm. It had wanted only that.

GARETH ENTERED HIS STUDY, stripping off his gloves as he did so. It was just after noon, and it had already been a long day. Not so long as the night that had culminated in Jenny’s name and her body, but given the stack of papers accumulated at White’s elbow, it promised to be longer yet, without any promise of enjoyment until much later. White glanced up, illuminated by the light of the fire. He nodded, once. It was a friendly nod.

Tentatively, Gareth returned the gesture. For once, he didn’t feel awkward. Instead, he felt…well, he felt wonderful, to tell the truth.

He settled in a chair across from his man of business.

“Before we get started,” White said, “there’s a note from the Duke of Ware that simply cannot be ignored. I took the liberty of inquiring into the matter, and—”

White halted, his mouth open midsentence.

Gareth set his gloves on the desk. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, you must have resolved the matter already.”

“Must I have? Why do you say that?”

“My lord,” White blurted out, “you’re smiling.” He winced and turned pink, as if he’d realized what he’d implied.

Gareth touched his own cheek. How unaccountably odd. He hadn’t even noticed. He was smiling. And he didn’t even feel like stopping. He shook his head.

“Well,” Gareth said. “What’s Ware got to say for himself?”

“He wants to arrange a meeting—you and he and the young Mr. Carhart. There is a list of points to address.” White rummaged about on his desk and brandished a sheet of paper. Even from across the room, Gareth could see the angry, jagged penmanship, the underscored lines. “First, he’s unwilling to marry his daughter to a man as—ahem, these are his own words—‘as feckless and idiotic’ as your cousin. Then it seems the Lady Kathleen is distraught, as Mr. Edward Carhart has not been to see her yet. A further point…”

Gareth stood and wandered to the window and looked out. It was raining, and London should have appeared muddy brown and drab gray as it always did in inclement weather. It did not. A spill of oil painted a silvery rainbow across a growing puddle on the street. Orange flowers, festooned with raindrops, bloomed in a box across the way. Despite the mud and clouds, there was more color in London than Gareth had expected.

“Finally, my lord, he thinks the three of you should dance naked together amongst the daisies as proof of your good intentions.”

Gareth realized with a start that White had been speaking for some time. He turned around.

The man was tapping Ware’s note against his lips, considering him. “You aren’t listening.”

“I’m afraid not.”

White set the note down and glanced briefly at the stack of correspondence. “Are you going to listen to anything I say this afternoon?”

Gareth sighed. It was his responsibility to listen to all the complaints in White’s tremendous stack, however minor they were, and resolve them. And the matter of Ned and the duke’s daughter was no minor complaint.

It was his responsibility to take care of Ned. At the moment, however, it was not his inclination.

It had never been his inclination. If he’d cared one whit about Ned, he’d never have dealt with him in such a high-handed manner. No; Gareth hadn’t wanted to help Ned.

He’d wanted to win.

Jenny had been right. Just because Ned needed to hear a thing, did not mean he needed to have his nose shoved in it.

Jenny. And what had she meant, saying goodbye this morning? Not farewell and never see thee again, surely. He wasn’t done with her. And he’d bungled his way through his leave-taking. God knows what she thought of him now.

This was getting rather ridiculous. After sexual relations with her, he was supposed to have been able to put her out of his mind. Instead, thoughts of her tangled him up more than ever.

Gareth sighed. “Make the appointment with Ware. You have my schedule. And save the note. I’ll go over the details before the meeting.”

White made a notation.

“As for the rest of the business…”

White cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold?”

A nod.

“I take it she accepted your apology.”

Gareth felt that smile creep over his face again. “She? Which she?”

“The hypothetical she, sir.”

Gareth steepled his fingers. One night with the very unhypothetical Jenny was obviously insufficient to extinguish her from his mind. It had been enough to tantalize him, no more. After all, she still remained an enigma. Aside from her name, she’d told him almost nothing else. He didn’t know where she was from, how she’d chosen the profession of fortune-teller.

Maybe if he learned more, he would care less. It didn’t sound rational, and Gareth rather suspected he didn’t want to let go of her. He just wanted to know more about her.