“Yes.” He fumbled for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. “Yes. I have … they have … drunk…”
“And now they are violently in love. Beautiful, is it not? I have no doubt he will ask for her hand in marriage, soon. You will consent, of course.”
“Of course,” Bentham muttered, twisting the handkerchief between his hands. In a way, wasn’t this what his old friend Bourne had asked him to do? Help his niece find a husband? And so he had, Bentham thought defiantly. So he had. Surely Bourne would understand his predicament—indeed, he had been a deucedly good friend back in their days at university, hadn’t he? Of course, Bentham had never told him about the gambling and the debts he had run up even back then. A gentleman didn’t talk about such base things as money. Besides, Bourne had always been such a stickler to the highest moral ground; he probably wouldn’t have understood.
Sweat dampened his temples as Bentham realized that in all likelihood Bourne wouldn’t see the reason for Bentham’s present actions, either. How could he? He lived in the country, far away from the pressures of Town. No, it was better if Bourne didn’t know, didn’t know anything .
“Very good. I see we understand each other.” The stranger regarded Bentham indulgently, as one would a favorite lapdog. “With the festive season approaching, Stapleton will want to go and visit his family soon. Rather disgustingly dependable, the Stapletons are in that respect. Yet thanks to our little intervention, he won’t be able to stand even the thought of being apart from the object of his lovesickness for too long. So, naturally…” He paused, as if wanting to draw out the moment and prolong the tension.
Bentham gripped his handkerchief so tightly that his knuckles shone white against the skin. God, how he hated this bastard with his smooth voice! But no, no, he was trapped by his debts, by his obligation to his family. It could not be helped.
“Naturally, he will want to take her with him. You should make sure your daughter accompanies them.”
Isabella? The thought was a painful stab to his heart that made the breath catch in his throat. “My daughter?” he echoed.
Those blond brows rose mockingly. “Indeed, your daughter. Surely that won’t be a problem?” Light blue eyes bored into his.
Bentham dabbed at the sweat on his upper lip. “No.”
“Very good. For just think how unfortunate it would be should our alliance no longer work.”
Bentham swallowed, hard. “That won’t happen,” he assured the man tightly.
“That’s what I assumed.” Another hateful lift of lips. “Her presence at Rawdon Park is crucial, for she will be given little … presents for the family.” The fingertips of his hands pressed together, the stranger leaned back, sultry satisfaction saturating his voice. “And then we shall make our Sicilian Dragon breathe fire.”
Bentham looked at him blandly. “Dragon?” he asked.
The man looked him up and down. “Not a player of chess then.” His thin lip curled. “Well, I would have been surprised if you were.”
~*~
Amy put on her bonnet and eyed herself critically in the mirror. She turned her head a little to the left, then a little to the right. “Not bad,” she murmured. She had spent last afternoon trimming the bonnet so she would have lovely new headwear for the outing today. It now perfectly suited her dark blue pelisse—a color that always made her eyes seem to sparkle with extra intensity.
Not that her eyes would have needed any more sparkle.
Amy smiled at her image in the mirror as she tied her bonnet under her chin. Did not the eyes of those in love sparkle like the stars in the night sky?
In love.
She pressed her hands against her chest. Yes, yes —she was in love, passionately and completely. In a few short weeks Mr. Stapleton had become more precious to her than the air she breathed, had become her endless joy, her reason for being. She could spend hours
“And now they are violently in love. Beautiful, is it not? I have no doubt he will ask for her hand in marriage, soon. You will consent, of course.”
“Of course,” Bentham muttered, twisting the handkerchief between his hands. In a way, wasn’t this what his old friend Bourne had asked him to do? Help his niece find a husband? And so he had, Bentham thought defiantly. So he had. Surely Bourne would understand his predicament—indeed, he had been a deucedly good friend back in their days at university, hadn’t he? Of course, Bentham had never told him about the gambling and the debts he had run up even back then. A gentleman didn’t talk about such base things as money. Besides, Bourne had always been such a stickler to the highest moral ground; he probably wouldn’t have understood.
Sweat dampened his temples as Bentham realized that in all likelihood Bourne wouldn’t see the reason for Bentham’s present actions, either. How could he? He lived in the country, far away from the pressures of Town. No, it was better if Bourne didn’t know, didn’t know anything .
“Very good. I see we understand each other.” The stranger regarded Bentham indulgently, as one would a favorite lapdog. “With the festive season approaching, Stapleton will want to go and visit his family soon. Rather disgustingly dependable, the Stapletons are in that respect. Yet thanks to our little intervention, he won’t be able to stand even the thought of being apart from the object of his lovesickness for too long. So, naturally…” He paused, as if wanting to draw out the moment and prolong the tension.
Bentham gripped his handkerchief so tightly that his knuckles shone white against the skin. God, how he hated this bastard with his smooth voice! But no, no, he was trapped by his debts, by his obligation to his family. It could not be helped.
“Naturally, he will want to take her with him. You should make sure your daughter accompanies them.”
Isabella? The thought was a painful stab to his heart that made the breath catch in his throat. “My daughter?” he echoed.
Those blond brows rose mockingly. “Indeed, your daughter. Surely that won’t be a problem?” Light blue eyes bored into his.
Bentham dabbed at the sweat on his upper lip. “No.”
“Very good. For just think how unfortunate it would be should our alliance no longer work.”
Bentham swallowed, hard. “That won’t happen,” he assured the man tightly.
“That’s what I assumed.” Another hateful lift of lips. “Her presence at Rawdon Park is crucial, for she will be given little … presents for the family.” The fingertips of his hands pressed together, the stranger leaned back, sultry satisfaction saturating his voice. “And then we shall make our Sicilian Dragon breathe fire.”
Bentham looked at him blandly. “Dragon?” he asked.
The man looked him up and down. “Not a player of chess then.” His thin lip curled. “Well, I would have been surprised if you were.”
~*~
Amy put on her bonnet and eyed herself critically in the mirror. She turned her head a little to the left, then a little to the right. “Not bad,” she murmured. She had spent last afternoon trimming the bonnet so she would have lovely new headwear for the outing today. It now perfectly suited her dark blue pelisse—a color that always made her eyes seem to sparkle with extra intensity.
Not that her eyes would have needed any more sparkle.
Amy smiled at her image in the mirror as she tied her bonnet under her chin. Did not the eyes of those in love sparkle like the stars in the night sky?
In love.
She pressed her hands against her chest. Yes, yes —she was in love, passionately and completely. In a few short weeks Mr. Stapleton had become more precious to her than the air she breathed, had become her endless joy, her reason for being. She could spend hours
Similar Books
