seven thousand is not unrealistic.”
Marcus stopped pretending he was going to eat the pastie. He set the dish back on the table and regarded his hostess with a baleful eye. Of all the people to end up with his ring, why did it have to be this woman? Anyone else would have been pleased, proud, even honored to be of assistance. He certainly wouldn’t have minded tossing a favor or even a gold piece or two for their efforts. But the little minx wanted more than a guinea or two; she wanted a blasted fortune.
She tilted her head to one side, a fat sable curl resting at the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder. “When you consider it, seven thousand pounds is not so very much for you. I’ve seen you drop that much on a mere tapestry.”
He made himself smile, though he felt like doing anything but. “My mother purchased that ring from a gypsy at a fair. She paid two shillings.”
“Then your mother was a much better bargainer than you, for I can assure you I will not let it go for so little.”
“I will not pay that much for that ring.”
She regarded him for a long moment, all amusement gone from her gaze. “You mean that.”
He smiled, and he was certain it was not a nice one. “Indeed I do mean it. I will not pay that much for that ring. However, I am willing to pay something, and whatever it is will be far more than you will get from anyone else.”
“I see.” She looked down at the ring and then sighed. “That is sad news indeed.” A frown curved her lips downward. After a long moment, she said in a slow voice, “Perhaps… instead of money… perhaps there is something else we can exchange.”
“Like what?”
“Well…” She bit her lip, her mind obviously flying over the options.
Marcus waited, wondering what she thought he might trade for the ring. Perhaps she wished for one of the tapestries he’d won whilst bidding against her. He considered this for a moment. He really didn’t wish to give up one jot of his hard won antiquities, but if it meant getting Mother’s ring back—
“The St. Johns are quite well respected in the ton, aren’t you?” Her eyes rested on his face in unwavering regard. “You are invited everywhere.”
He frowned. What was this? “True. We have never been neglected for any event that I know of.”
“You are quite high on all the best guest lists. I daresay you get more invitations than you can possibly accept.” She tapped a finger on her chin, as if putting the pieces of a great mystery together.
“I am invited everywhere,” he agreed impatiently. “Why?”
“Well, since you seem quite determined not to part with funds—”
“I am quite willing to part with funds; just not seven thousand pounds’ worth.”
“Hm. Since you will not spend the money, perhaps you’d be willing to spend some of your time.” She met his gaze, her eyes a mysterious hazel, rich with speculation.
“Miss Baker-Sneed, just what do you have in mind?”
“Simple. I was thinking about… marriage.”
For an instant, Marcus thought his ears were deceiving him. But Honoria merely waited, a half smile on her lips, a hard gleam in her eyes. “Marriage?” he asked slowly. “Are you suggesting that if I wish my ring back, I have to marry you?”
To Marcus’s utter chagrin, Honoria burst into laughter. “Ye gods, no! That is not at all what I meant. I’m not mad, you know.”
Marcus glowered. What the hell did she mean by that? “Explain yourself, woman.”
Her brows rose, delicate arches over those damnably intriguing hazel eyes. They were really more green, he realized with great reluctance. Green flecked with gold and brown.
“My lord, I didn’t mean for you and I to marry. We would kill each other within a fortnight.”
“Or sooner,” he said grimly.
“We are in complete accord on that matter, at least,” she said, not seeming the least put out by his agreement. “We would not suit at all. Not unless…” She regarded him from beneath her
Marcus stopped pretending he was going to eat the pastie. He set the dish back on the table and regarded his hostess with a baleful eye. Of all the people to end up with his ring, why did it have to be this woman? Anyone else would have been pleased, proud, even honored to be of assistance. He certainly wouldn’t have minded tossing a favor or even a gold piece or two for their efforts. But the little minx wanted more than a guinea or two; she wanted a blasted fortune.
She tilted her head to one side, a fat sable curl resting at the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder. “When you consider it, seven thousand pounds is not so very much for you. I’ve seen you drop that much on a mere tapestry.”
He made himself smile, though he felt like doing anything but. “My mother purchased that ring from a gypsy at a fair. She paid two shillings.”
“Then your mother was a much better bargainer than you, for I can assure you I will not let it go for so little.”
“I will not pay that much for that ring.”
She regarded him for a long moment, all amusement gone from her gaze. “You mean that.”
He smiled, and he was certain it was not a nice one. “Indeed I do mean it. I will not pay that much for that ring. However, I am willing to pay something, and whatever it is will be far more than you will get from anyone else.”
“I see.” She looked down at the ring and then sighed. “That is sad news indeed.” A frown curved her lips downward. After a long moment, she said in a slow voice, “Perhaps… instead of money… perhaps there is something else we can exchange.”
“Like what?”
“Well…” She bit her lip, her mind obviously flying over the options.
Marcus waited, wondering what she thought he might trade for the ring. Perhaps she wished for one of the tapestries he’d won whilst bidding against her. He considered this for a moment. He really didn’t wish to give up one jot of his hard won antiquities, but if it meant getting Mother’s ring back—
“The St. Johns are quite well respected in the ton, aren’t you?” Her eyes rested on his face in unwavering regard. “You are invited everywhere.”
He frowned. What was this? “True. We have never been neglected for any event that I know of.”
“You are quite high on all the best guest lists. I daresay you get more invitations than you can possibly accept.” She tapped a finger on her chin, as if putting the pieces of a great mystery together.
“I am invited everywhere,” he agreed impatiently. “Why?”
“Well, since you seem quite determined not to part with funds—”
“I am quite willing to part with funds; just not seven thousand pounds’ worth.”
“Hm. Since you will not spend the money, perhaps you’d be willing to spend some of your time.” She met his gaze, her eyes a mysterious hazel, rich with speculation.
“Miss Baker-Sneed, just what do you have in mind?”
“Simple. I was thinking about… marriage.”
For an instant, Marcus thought his ears were deceiving him. But Honoria merely waited, a half smile on her lips, a hard gleam in her eyes. “Marriage?” he asked slowly. “Are you suggesting that if I wish my ring back, I have to marry you?”
To Marcus’s utter chagrin, Honoria burst into laughter. “Ye gods, no! That is not at all what I meant. I’m not mad, you know.”
Marcus glowered. What the hell did she mean by that? “Explain yourself, woman.”
Her brows rose, delicate arches over those damnably intriguing hazel eyes. They were really more green, he realized with great reluctance. Green flecked with gold and brown.
“My lord, I didn’t mean for you and I to marry. We would kill each other within a fortnight.”
“Or sooner,” he said grimly.
“We are in complete accord on that matter, at least,” she said, not seeming the least put out by his agreement. “We would not suit at all. Not unless…” She regarded him from beneath her
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