Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(71)

She wanted him, arrogant, awkward creature that he was. But that wasn’t all.

His eyes seared hers and Jenny thought of all the things she yearned for. Respect won for her own achievements. Independence. His love, free of entanglements. None of the answers seemed right as she tried them on the tip of her tongue.

The word Jenny was looking for, she realized, was marriage. Oh, she didn’t mean the ecclesiastical joining of man and wife in Anglican ceremony; that would have been too much to hope for. But she wanted a union. The kind that ebbed and flowed with the ups and downs of life. One where gifts were intended as kindness, not as financial shackles, forcing one party to her knees in stultifying dependence.

“Gareth.” Jenny choked on his name. “I’m not sure what I want. But I don’t want the kind of partnership where you buy my participation with cold stones.”

“Is there another sort?” he asked quietly.

“The sort where…” she started slowly, and then stopped.

She wanted his respect. She wanted him to never look down on her again. She wanted him to cast those cold stones away, and she wanted this gulf between them—his title, her penury—to vanish like so much smoke into windy air. But the thought of depending on him shook her. She couldn’t depend on him, because he would leave.

And that was how Jenny discovered the answer to her question. How could she remain Gareth’s lover without becoming his mistress?

She couldn’t.

The only question was whether this affair would end in three months or three days.

ONE MORE DAY was half over before it was interrupted.

“Madame Esmerelda?”

Jenny looked up. Spring sunshine streamed in through the door she’d left open to air out her quarters. The light tangled with dust motes, spangling the air before her. It lit the sandy-brown hair of the woman before her into a glorious mass, almost white with energy. Jenny jumped, and her pulse raced in recognition.

“Feathers!” Jenny exclaimed. “I mean…it’s Miss Edmonton, isn’t it? Whatever are you doing here?”

Gareth’s sister was attired in a smart walking dress, all black-and-white stripes, wide starched cuffs and collar framing her face and wrists. She clutched a beaded reticule in white-gloved fists.

“I have a question for you.”

Jenny winced, and imagined Gareth’s reaction if he found his sister conversing with the woman he was bedding.

“Miss Edmonton,” Jenny said, “I should tell you I am not a fortune-teller, no matter what Ned says. It was all invention.”

Miss Edmonton raised her hand to her mouth in polite dismay.

“My name,” Jenny said, “is Jenny Keeble.” And your brother once promised if I interfered with you, he would destroy me.

Miss Edmonton’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t—that is to say, I have nobody else to talk with. And I desperately need advice.”

“Nobody else?” Jenny ran through everything she knew of Gareth’s family in her mind. It was surprisingly little. Mother—dead. Grandparents—dead. Miss Edmonton’s father was not dead, but according to Gareth, he was not particularly intelligent. Then again, that was according to Gareth. A similarly scathing indictment would likely have been forthcoming no matter who he’d discussed.

“Surely your brother, your father…Either seems a more appropriate choice than I would be.”

Gareth’s sister shook her head. “Madame—I mean, Mrs. Keeble, it’s a woman’s problem.” She wrung her hands around the tiny reticule in her hands. “I can’t talk to my brother about it. You see, I have no mother. I am to be married in a few months, at the end of the Season. And I just had this talk with—well, with my aunt Edmonton.”

“That talk?”

“Yes, Mrs. Keeble. That talk.”

Jenny shut her eyes. “I really must tell you. It’s Miss Keeble.”

Miss Edmonton grimaced. “Really? Drat. I was hoping the part about your being a widow was true. So you don’t know what happens on the night of—”

“Actually,” Jenny interrupted, “I do. And that is precisely why you should find somebody else to talk with. It’s not proper for you to talk with me.”

A bright blush splotched Miss Edmonton’s cheeks. She lifted a dainty hand to cover her mouth. Jenny waited for the woman to turn away in a swish of starched skirts.

But what the lady said instead was: “Excellent. I need improper. Will you answer my questions?”

Jenny thought about what Gareth would say if he found his sister in her rooms, asking improper questions. He’d be furious. And she could hardly blame him. A gently bred young lady should never spend time alone with a woman like her. Voices from her past surrounded her, mocking. That Jenny Keeble, they whispered. You never can trust her.

Jenny was weary of reacting to those memories. Whatever she achieved for herself in this life, those harsh words would never help. She touched the pouch at her waistband, briefly. Her three pounds had blossomed into sixteen and change with the sale of the dress. She had not yet chosen whether it was three days or three months she had left. If Gareth found out, his reaction would make her decision simple indeed.

“That depends,” Jenny said. “Will you take tea with me?”

Ten minutes later, they sat ensconced around Jenny’s kitchen table. Miss Edmonton watched solemnly as Jenny poured the tea into cups. Then the lady picked up her tea and took a delicate sip. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s too horrifying to even speak of.”