Lady in Red (7 page)

“Which makes it even more valuable.” She smiled just the tiniest bit. “I have to wonder what great sums you’d pay to have this ring back in your possession. Certainly if it has value as an heirloom, then it is nigh priceless.”

His eyes narrowed suddenly, his nostrils flaring the slightest bit. “Do not tempt me into physically claiming what is rightfully mine.”

Soft and threatening, the determination in his voice was palpable. Honoria lifted her brows. “Have you forgotten that antiquities are my business? When I find a customer who wants something dearly, that is usually the price I charge-—dearly.”

“That ring is important to no one but a St. John. You face a very limited market, my dear.”

To Marcus’s chagrin, the wench had the audacity to smile, to grin even, the straight line of her front teeth gleaming white between her perfectly formed lips. “It is fortunate for us all, then, that my one, lone customer is so very, very wealthy.”

Marcus could not believe his ears. The little minx was going to make him pay—and a lot, by the sound of it. It was— inconceivable. It was outrageous. It was—bloody hell, who did she think she was?

As if in answer to his thoughts, his hostess calmly picked up the napkin she’d dropped and wiped up the spilled tea in the tray. “I wonder what I should charge for a ring of such personal importance?” She set down the napkin, retrieved the warmed pot and poured tea into a fresh cup. Smiling ever so slightly, she held out the cup and saucer. “Your tea, my lord.”

What he wanted was brandy. Or perhaps port. Better yet, a good stiff bourbon that would douse the fire crackling in his stomach. But he supposed he was as stuck with tepid tea as he was stuck doing business with the one woman who thought an argument was a form of polite conversation.

What a horrid day. He’d been forced to attend to Lady Percival first thing this morning and break off their alliance. To his distaste, she’d allowed her feelings to become quite maudlin, so he handed her the sapphire and diamond bracelet he’d purchased as a parting gesture, and left posthaste. He’d always considered her the epitome of feminine beauty— cool, undisturbed by emotions, and yet welcoming when the time was right. Now he was beginning to realize that it had all been a hum—Violet had been playacting the whole time in an effort to get him to commit to something far more than a playful liaison.

Women, Marcus decided, were devious creatures. Though none so devious as the one who now sat across the table from him. Miss Baker-Sneed was not only a forward woman willing to brangle over a few guineas, but she had a rare talent for ascertaining value, and the wit to exploit that ability. He already regretted revealing the importance of the ring; that had been an error. But his case was not yet desperate and he was certainly unwilling to accept defeat.

Jaw set, he took the tea and affected an air of boredom. “I will give you a hundred pounds. That is more than fair.”

She poured herself a cup and took a little sip, then pursed her lips as if considering his offer. “No.” She picked up the tray with the fresh pasties and held them out. “Would you like a pastie?”

No, he did not want a blasted pastie. He wanted his damn ring. He swallowed a scowl, which would have no effect except give his enemy the felicity of seeing how much she’d manage to irk him. He forced himself to remember with painful clarity each and every time the heartless jade had outwitted him at various auction houses. Oh, she hadn’t doused him every time—he wasn’t a flat, after all-—but often enough that the mere sight of her bedraggled carriage and broken-down nag at an auction site was enough to set his teeth on edge.

The damnable truth was that Miss Honoria Baker-Sneed was not a woman to be cowed by mere scowling, arguing, or any other emotional outbursts. Her outward appearance of civility and feminine softness hid a granite heart and a wily determination to drive a hard bargain. And that was the one thing he’d allowed himself to forget. But no more.

Marcus set down his cup, the china bottom clinking into the delicate saucer. “Two hundred pounds, then. But that is my final offer.”

She clicked her tongue at him, as if distressed. “Such low numbers. We must rethink this.” She tilted her head to one side, the sunlight from the window lighting her rich sable hair with warm golden red lights that made the white streak at her temple appear to almost glow.

Marcus’s lips thinned. She was a beautiful woman, which was a fact he’d always known though never with such awareness as now. Of course, before this meeting, the occasional pleasure of beating her on the auction floor had been enough to distill any sort of temporary interest he might have had. She was his opponent, to be vanquished and thoroughly routed, not a sensually exciting woman to be trifled with until he’d tired of her. Although… his eyes were drawn to the gleam of the streak at her temple. It added an exotic tint to her features and made him wonder at her true nature. That she was a passionate woman could not be questioned—no one who’d ever seen her bidding on an object d’art could say otherwise. Which made him wonder what she would be like in bed?

Hmmm. That
was
an interesting idea. He wondered if she’d be as wild as that streak of hair that decried her rather pristine appearance. Would she throw herself into the act, just as she threw herself into acquiring antiquities? He had an instant vision of her, naked and writhing beneath him, head tossed back, her long sable hair streaming over his pillows—

By Zeus, what was he thinking? This was his enemy, the woman who held Mother’s precious ring. Stirring impatiently, he snapped, “I don’t have time for this sort of thing. Miss Baker-Sneed, just what
do
you think is a fair price?”

“Hm.” She took another sip of tea, and his eyes were drawn to her lips where they touched the edge of the cup. The tea damped her lips, a dewiness resting on the pink slopes of her mouth.

A pang of pure lust ripped through him, settling in his nether regions with annoying predictability. Good God, it was senseless. He was reacting to her as if he was a boy of fifteen and not a man grown.

She replaced the cup on the saucer, her movements sure and graceful. “I believe I’d take…” She held out her hand and regarded the ring with a speculative gaze. “It
is
an heirloom and there
is
only one… Dear me, what a dilemma. Had I more time, I might be able to think of—”

“Just name your price and be done with it!”

She looked at him again through the shadow of those ridiculously long lashes. The little jade. She tapped a finger on her chin. “Hm. If I must give a price… shall we say seven?”

“Seven hundred pounds? You must be joking,” he said stiffly.

“Oh no.” Her voice sifted softly though the air, her thick lashes sweeping down as she blinked. “Not seven hundred. Seven
thousand
pounds.”

“Bloody hell!” The words burst from his lips and rang through the room. He glared down at her, his hands fisted at his sides. He was standing, though he didn’t remember getting up. “That is outrageous and you know it.”

“No,” she said almost regretfully. “I don’t know that it is outrageous at all. Seven thousand pounds, my lord, or the ring stays mine.”

“You are mad if you think I’ll pay that much for a blasted ring.”

“Then we have nothing more to say to one another.” She smiled almost happily, then stood and held out her hand.

“Thank you for visiting. I do hope you’ll come again when you’ve more time.”

The vixen! Marcus continued to glare down at her, ignoring her outstretched hand. Did she expect him to pay a bloody fortune for his own possession? Frustration welled through him, settling between his shoulder blades.

This was all some sort of fantastical mistake, a misunderstanding of some sort. Yes. That must be what it was. Gathering himself, he resumed his seat. “I am not leaving without that ring.”

“And I am not giving it to you for anything less than seven thousand pounds.” She returned to her seat as well, adjusting her skirt into graceful folds. “Since you aren’t leaving just yet, would you like to try a pastie? They are quite good.” She picked up the plate and held it out once again.

He didn’t want a damn pastie. Still… he gathered his temper and forced himself to relax. It would not do to become emotional. Not now. He selected a pastie from the plate, though he didn’t know if he could swallow it without choking.

It was an untenable position. Here he was, reduced to strategizing over something as paltry as a ring. He’d acquired estates—vast ones, in fact—with far less effort. Damn Devon for being so careless with Mother’s ring to begin with.

“It’s a very pretty pastie, isn’t it?”

He realized he’d been staring at his plate an unconscionable time. “Indeed it is.” He glanced up at Honoria to find her watching him with a gleam of humor in her hazel eyes. “Almost too pretty to eat.”

“Yes, well, as pretty as it is, it tastes even better.” She took a small bite as if to demonstrate, a bit of crust flaking off on her bottom lip. She touched a napkin to her mouth. “Cook is excellent with desserts of all sorts.”

“Taste is a matter of opinion.”

“So is value, which is often bargained on and more often paid for. That is why your ring has such a large price attached to it—I can tell that you value it highly.”

“I should never have admitted what it was,” he said bitterly.

“That was indeed an error.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be so unscrupulous,” he retorted. “I will not underestimate you again. I will recognize money-grubbing when I see it.”

Any other woman would have been outraged. But Honoria Baker-Sneed merely waved a hand, amusement lurking in her hazel eyes. “Tsk tsk, my dear marquis. The exchange of the ring is a business deal. There is no place for emotion in a business deal.” She held out her hand to the beam of sun that cut through the room, light glinting off the etched runes and dancing across her face. “It is quite a pretty piece. I am certain that 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.”