A Lady Never Surrenders (29 page)

His lackluster proposal certainly made it seem so. And in that case, she wasn’t sure she
wanted
to marry him. She certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of her life being lectured about her spoiled nature and flawed character, no matter how glorious the man was in bed.

“And you, Mr. Pinter?” Gran asked him. “What is
your
capacity for behaving scandalously?”

“He has none,” Celia choked out. “Mr. Pinter is always the most
proper
of gentlemen, trust me.”

Though he stiffened, he gave no other sign that he felt the barb.

“In that case,” Gran said, “I believe we can hush the entire incident up. You and Celia need not marry at all. Don’t you agree, Mr. Pinter?”

Some strange message seemed to pass between Gran and him, for when he turned his gaze to Celia, it held a hopelessness that chilled her blood. “If that is what her ladyship wants.”

What her ladyship wanted was some indication that all his sweet words and caresses from last night hadn’t been impulses of a moment. What her ladyship wanted was for him to declare his desire to marry her with enthusiasm, instead of letting Gran bully him into withdrawing, or whatever it was that was occurring between them.

But clearly her ladyship wasn’t going to get what she wanted. And that made her want to strike out. He wasn’t the only one who could be “proper,” blast him.

She forced a cool smile. “Her ladyship would like a hot bath and a nice long sleep and something in the way of food.” She swallowed the hurt welling in her throat. “As you so carefully reminded me this morning, Mr. Pinter—we fine ladies don’t endure severe deprivation well at all.”

For a moment anger flared in his eyes, telling her that her aim had been true. But then that blasted veil came down over his face once more, and no emotion showed in his features whatsoever.

His words last night rose unbidden:
What I want is you. Just you.

Foolishly, she’d believed him. She’d thought she was finally seeing the real Jackson Pinter, the one for whom passion and need swept away all other practical and societal considerations. But perhaps last night’s Jackson was the aberration, and the real Jackson was the proud, proper, practical one.

“In that case, I should go,” he clipped out. “While the trail is fresh, I must marshal officers to search the roads near High Wycombe and question any witnesses.”

And just like that, he became the Bow Street Runner once more, entirely focused on matters far more important than a lady’s silly hopes for a future with him.

He turned to Gran. “In the meantime, I don’t think you should let Celia leave these walls until we’ve found whoever is determined to hurt her. And a guard should be placed on her door—”

“A guard!” Gran exclaimed. “Surely you do not think anyone inside Halstead Hall shot at you. They were all here yesterday afternoon while you two were gone.”

“All?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “All the suitors? The Plumtrees? The servants?”

“Yes,” she snapped, “
all.
Minerva can attest to that.”

“In truth, Mr. Pinter,” Minerva said, “I can speak for all the guests. Indeed, we were hard-pressed to keep them entertained when they kept asking about how Celia was faring. As for the servants, surely you don’t imagine that one of them would hurt her.”

“Besides,” Mrs. Plumtree said, “why would anyone here ride out to shoot at her in the woods when he could slip into her room and shoot her at his leisure?”

“All the same—” Jackson began.

“I’ll be fine, Mr. Pinter,” Celia put in. If he wasn’t worried enough about her to stay and protect her himself, then she certainly wasn’t going to put up with her family and half the servants hovering about trying to do so. Especially when all she wanted was to bury herself in her room alone and cry. “Please do not trouble yourself about my safety.”

That got some reaction, but he masked it fairly quickly. “Very well. Since you all seem sure she will be safe here, I shall go search for Lady Celia’s assailant elsewhere. If his lordship inquired about me in London, then my aunt has been informed I’m missing, so I’d be most grateful if one of you would send a message letting her know I’m well. Tell Stoneville that I’ll return this evening, if I can, to report on what I’ve discovered.” His voice grew rough. “And to make sure that Lady Celia is fine, of course.”

Then he walked toward the door. Sudden tears burned Celia’s eyes. Was he really going to act as if nothing had happened between them? How could he?

But just as he passed near her, he halted and turned to cast her a long, speaking glance. “Before then, my lady, if you should need anything, anything at all…”

And for a moment, she thought she saw the Jackson of last night.

Then he flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, but you have your family and a duke who’s eager to marry you. Why should you need anything from me?”

Celia’s heart broke as she watched him go. How could he throw the duke in her face when he
knew
she would never marry the man? Oh, that really took the cake! Jackson had inherited more of his noble sire’s blood than he would admit.

My father was apparently quite the dashing young fellow, but he was a spoiled lord. …

Her throat grew raw. His father, her family, her—they were all of a piece to him. He wouldn’t even give her a chance!

She wished she could curse the day that she’d ever met him, but she couldn’t. She loved him. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

Her tears spilled down her cheeks, and Minerva saw them. “Oh, dearest,” she said as she came to Celia’s side. “Do you want me to fetch him back?”

“Don’t you dare,” Gran snapped. “Surely you do not want your sister to be forced into a marriage because of what is essentially an accident, do you?”

Celia shot her grandmother a wounded glance. “No, I would much prefer being forced into marriage because of some silly ultimatum.”

Gran frowned. “I told you before, I only want—”

“For me to marry for love. For me to marry my choice.” She jabbed her finger at the door. “Well, my choice just walked out because he thinks I can’t manage in his world. Meanwhile,
you
seem to think I can’t manage in mine, either. So where does that leave me?”

“What?” Gran said. “I never said you couldn’t manage—”

“Didn’t you? The only thing expected of a lady is to marry well. And since you obviously thought I couldn’t succeed at that without some prodding—that none of us could—you concocted your stupid ultimatum.”

As Gran stood there aghast, Celia added, “Well, I have a surprise for you. I’m not playing your game anymore. I’m not marrying
anyone
. And if you want to disinherit the lot of us, go ahead. I’d rather live in a ditch alone than marry a man I don’t love just to meet your demands.”

She rushed out the door. She’d had enough of Gran’s machinations and Jackson’s lack of faith in her. She’d had enough of her siblings’ acquiescence with their grandmother’s mad demand. It was time someone stood up to Gran.

And she was the only one left who could.

H
ETTY SCOWLED.
S
HE
had done what she must, and she refused to feel guilty about it, no matter what Celia said.

“Congratulations, Gran,” Minerva said coldly. “You just destroyed her chance for happiness. Well done.”

“Do not be a fool. Mr. Pinter is not her chance for happiness. Did you hear his lackluster proposal?”

“Then you’d better hope that she doesn’t end up
enceinte
. Because I don’t believe a word either of them said about how they spent last night together.”

Hetty paled. “You don’t think Mr. Pinter would—”

“I think Mr. Pinter is as much in love with her as she is with him, and two people in love don’t always restrain themselves. Even if they’re both too foolish to admit it to you.”

“No, you are wrong about that,” Hetty said firmly. “If he had been in love with her, he would have insisted on a marriage. But he made only a halfhearted attempt because he thought that if he married her, I would—”

Too late, she caught herself.

“Would what?” Eyes narrowing, Minerva stalked toward her. “What did you threaten him with, Gran?”

Hetty drew herself up stiffly. “I did what I should have done with Pru. I acted to be sure that Mr. Pinter was not after her fortune. And I do not regret—”

“
What
did you tell him?” Minerva demanded.

Hetty could have ordered the girl not to be impudent and to stay out of it. But she did not want Minerva running off to Celia, making wild speculations. Better that Minerva knew the truth. Then she would understand.

“I told him I would cut Celia off if she married beneath her.”

“Oh, Gran…” Minerva said in a disgusted voice.

“I was right to do it, too. Did you not see how he withdrew the moment I said that she need not marry him? Obviously, he thought there was no point in pursuing the marriage if he could not have her fortune!”

Minerva scowled at her. “I daresay he couldn’t bear to see the woman he loved grow to hate him for being the
cause
of her losing her fortune!”

Isaac had said something similar, but Hetty had seen no sign that Mr. Pinter loved so deeply. “You are attributing very noble motives to our Mr. Pinter. How can you even be sure that he loves her? He was very cool today.”

“According to Celia, he is very cool most of the time … except when he’s kissing her with wild passion.”

Oh, yes. She’d forgotten about all those kisses Minerva had mentioned yesterday. Nonetheless … “Perhaps he desires her, but—”

“While you were manipulating matters to your satisfaction, I was watching him. After you said they need not marry, he looked at Celia with such despair … Oh, Gran, you don’t know what you’ve done. She loves him. And I truly believe he loves her. But each is convinced that the other doesn’t care enough, and you’re not helping. So now…”

“Now he needs to fight for her.” Hetty considered their conversation in light of all that Minerva was telling her. “You heard what Celia said—‘my choice just walked out that door because he thinks I can’t manage in his world.’”

“He only thinks it because you told him she will lose everything if she marries him!”

“And that worries him?” Hetty crossed her arms over her chest. “Even when two people are from the same worlds, marriage is hard, my dear—you know that as well as anyone. But when they are from different worlds…”

Her voice grew stronger with her conviction. “If he has no faith in her ability to fit into his world
now
, only think what things will be like once they are married. He has to believe in her. And if he cannot…”

“Perhaps,” Minerva conceded. “But Gran, it isn’t your place to decide whether he can or not, whether she can rise to the challenge or not. They have to decide that themselves. You stepped in where you shouldn’t, and I think you’ll regret it down the road. Because if Celia continues to balk at your ultimatum—”

“She will not,” Hetty said uneasily, remembering Isaac giving her the same warning. “She will come to her senses.”

“And marry the man of
your
choice? Are you sure that’s best? Because if she doesn’t marry Mr. Pinter, that only leaves the duke, and she doesn’t love him.”

Hetty dragged in a heavy breath, remembering what Mr. Pinter had claimed, though Celia had never told her anything of the sort. “You do not know that for certain.”

“I do. What’s more, I think you know it, too. You seem to believe that in holding firm to your ultimatum, you’re correcting the mistake you made in matching your daughter to a man like Papa. That if you can get us all happily married off, it will make up for what happened to them.”

Minerva gazed at her with pity in her face. “But all you’re doing is making the same mistake again. Because although Celia won’t be marrying a fortune hunter if she marries the duke, she’ll still be marrying a man who wants her for reasons that have nothing to do with how wonderful she is. So for your sake—and hers—I hope she sticks to her guns.”

When Minerva headed for the door, Hetty called out, “Are you going to reveal to her what I told Mr. Pinter?”

Minerva paused. “I haven’t decided. On the one hand, you might be right—he does need to fight for her. On the other hand, Celia is hurting…” She shot Hetty a weary glance. “Unlike you, Gran, I don’t pretend to know what is best for everyone. I shall have to see what she needs from me.”

After she left, Hetty stood frozen. What
did
Celia need? What did any of them need? She had thought they needed spouses, and it certainly seemed as if they were much happier now that they had married.

But what if she had been wrong about Celia? What if what Celia needed was something beyond Hetty’s power to give?

That disturbing question haunted her for the rest of the morning.

D
espite several hours of searching, Jackson and his men found nothing to indicate who was trying to kill Celia. Not a bloody thing.

So, hours after leaving Halstead Hall, he rode toward Cheapside, seething with frustration. They’d combed the woods on either side of the road for a couple of miles. They’d found hoof marks in some soft mud, but that only told them that at least one assailant had lain in wait for them, which he’d already guessed. Whoever had attacked had been careful to leave few traces.

No one in the surrounding countryside had seen anything either. The assailants had well chosen their time to strike. His horse had turned up in a nearby field, but no sign remained of the villains. That meant Celia was still in danger, the target of God knows whom, for reasons he could only dimly be sure of.

And he’d given up the right to protect her himself.

He groaned. He could have told her grandmother to go to hell, that he was marrying Celia no matter what. But he hadn’t. And though in his head he knew he’d been right to be cautious, it felt in his heart as if he’d been wrong.

He snorted. Hearts lied all the time. His heart had lied to him by telling him that rank and fortune didn’t matter. He was better off not listening to it.