The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(55)

Sebastian simply looked at Mr. Fairfield. “I didn’t realize that my work on snapdragons had an implication for politics and economy.”

“I have not quite grasped it,” he said. “You are my superior in knowledge here. But doesn’t it follow that if there is some inherited basis for evolution we might as a species triumph? Ought you not put your mind to that?”

Sebastian’s answering smile was sharp as a knife. “What, with a managed breeding program amongst humans?”

Fairfield blinked.

“That’s what I would have to do. Breeding humans is far more difficult than propagating snapdragons. As a general rule, humans prefer to breed themselves without outside direction. I myself have that preference. I’d hate to impose it on others.”

Fairfield frowned. “You could pay…”

“You’re the tutor in law. Is it now legal to pay people for intercourse?”

“Ah. A good point. I see. That does make things difficult.” Fairfield frowned. “This needs more thought, more thought indeed. Perhaps we might meet to discuss it?”

“No,” Sebastian said with a brilliant smile. “We won’t. That sounds hideous and disgusting.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Sebastian said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my cousin and I must turn off the path here.”

There was no path leading absolutely anywhere. Sebastian pointed vaguely across the fields.

“Good day,” Sebastian said, waving. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I must abscond instead.”

“Wait,” Oliver started. But his cousin took hold of his wrist and plunged into the grass. The field was still dew-soaked. In a matter of seconds, Oliver’s stockings were damp. Sebastian smiled the whole time, a brilliant, awful smile. But he pressed on at a punishing pace, not letting go of Oliver’s wrist until they’d gone half a mile.

“There you have it,” Sebastian said. “One of my supporters. Now tell me, Oliver, why shouldn’t I be happy?”

Chapter Twelve

It was an unseasonably bright, warm day, a few days after Jane had so brazenly informed Mr. Marshall that she was battling with Bradenton over him. In those intervening days, she’d wondered what she had been thinking. How she’d dared to say anything so audacious.

But when she saw Mr. Marshall again, she didn’t wonder.

It was high noon. She’d been walking on Jesus Green with the Johnson sisters, pretending to watch a cricket game that was being lost very, very badly, enjoying the warmth of real friendship. She saw him first, walking slowly along the other side of the green, gesturing as he talked. He was talking to a boy in a black gown.

She had never seen Marshall walk before. Oh, she’d watched him amble about a room. But out on a lawn, he had a long stride and an easy grace to him. The wind caught a hint of his hair under his hat, ruffling his fringe.

And Jane knew why she’d said what she had to him. Because she wasn’t ceding this man, this man who’d told her to keep talking, who’d told her she was brave, to anyone.

It was a shockingly fierce, possessive thought. It came anyway.

Mine.

He’d touched her, and she’d liked it.

Mine.

“Jane?”

She whirled around, startled, to see Genevieve and Geraldine smiling at her.

“Tell me,” Geraldine said, “what were you thinking of just there?”

Jane shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Even Geraldine isn’t that bad,” Genevieve sang out, “and that’s her fiancé over there. Does nothing have auburn hair and spectacles?”

Jane flushed. She hadn’t even realized it was Hapford with Mr. Marshall.

Geraldine leaned in. “Is nothing walking next to Hapford?”

“No,” Genevieve put in. “I think that nothing is approaching. Come on, Jane. Wave at him.”

Jane held up one gloved hand. Even separated by fifty yards of close-clipped lawn, with half a cricket-match between them, she felt a hot flush.

He raised his hand as well. And then he walked toward her.

I am ablaze, she thought, but she was truly on fire, burning hotter with every step he took in her direction.

“Mr. Marshall,” she said, as soon as he was near enough. “My lord.”

“Miss Fairfield. Miss Johnson. Miss Genevieve.” His words were proper enough, but his gaze lingered on Jane alone.

Beside her, Hapford made a similar greeting. Geraldine came forward to take his arm, and Genevieve went with her. That left Jane with Mr. Marshall. They weren’t alone, but they had a little privacy.

“Do you like my walking gown?”

His gaze swept up to her bosom, then down to her toes, as palpable as a caress.

“Tell the truth,” she said, gesturing ahead of her. “They can’t hear.” Indeed, the Johnsons had obligingly taken Hapford five or six paces ahead.

“It’s an improvement on screeching horror,” he told her. “It ranks almost as high as sick fascination.” He gave a mock shiver. “But really. Are those vermilion bananas printed on the fabric?”

“Yes. I love it. Look.” Jane held out her pendant, a green enameled monkey with fierce topaz eyes. “See? Isn’t that wonderful?”