Let It Be Love (23 page)

Jonathon glanced at Fiona. “Are they armed?”

Fiona laughed. “Only with their wits.” She waved a hand at the girls. “My lord, I should like to present my sisters. My oldest sister, Miss Genevieve Fairchild.”

The taller girl stepped forward and extended her hand. “My lord.”

Jonathon took her gloved hand, raised it to his mouth and lightly brushed his lips across it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Fairchild.”

“No doubt,” she murmured, and met his gaze firmly. At once he realized Genevieve Fairchild would be as obstinate as her older sister one day if she was not already.

“And my youngest sisters, Miss Sophia Fairchild and Miss Arabella Fairchild.”

One, he wasn’t sure which, offered her hand. He took it and again brushed a quick kiss across it. “Miss Fairchild.”

“Arabella.” Arabella Fairchild smiled in a slow and surprisingly seductive manner. It was apparent that flirtation was as natural to this young woman as her next breath. Fiona would have her hands full keeping this sister from scandal. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you at last, my lord.”

He released her, turned to the remaining sister and took her hand. “Therefore you must be Sophia.”

“Indeed I must, my lord.” Sophia studied him curiously. “We have heard a great deal about you.”

“Oh?” He slanted a quick glance at Fiona. “Good or bad?”

Sophia grinned. “Both.”

“I see.” He chuckled. “At least it’s not all bad.”

“It would be better if you had kept to your word,” Genevieve said with a pleasant smile as if she were commenting on nothing more significant than the weather. She removed her hat and began pulling off her gloves. “I’m referring of course to your agreement to marry Fiona.”

“Indeed it would be better.” Sophia nodded. “Then she would not be forced to marry—” She glanced at her twin.

“Mr. Sinclair,” Arabella said.

Jonathon glanced at Fiona. “Who?”

“Whatshisname,” Fiona said.

“The American. Yes, of course.” He addressed the younger girls. “Surely your sister explained to you that my agreement to marry was a—”

“Yes, yes, we know all that.” Genevieve waved off his comment. “You thought she was an actress or something of that nature. A player in a farce.”

“Even so, we think you should not have reneged on your promise.” Arabella crossed her arms over her chest. “You quite had our hopes up, you know. Now we are all devastated, distraught—”

“And shocked as well.” Sophia shook her head. “Yours were not the actions of an honorable man. We expected much more from a friend of Cousin Oliver’s and the son of a duke.”

“I say, that’s not fair.” Indignation sounded in his voice. He glanced at Fiona. She smiled but didn’t come to his defense. Obviously he would get no rescue from that quarter. Not that he needed it. He did, after all, have sisters of his own and was therefore not completely unaccustomed to the emotional outbursts of young women. He addressed the younger girls in a firm manner. “It was a misunderstanding and I freely admit, it was completely on my part. I am doing what I can to make amends.”

“You mean with this book of Fiona’s drawings?” Genevieve cast a skeptical glance at the portfolio on the table.

“The book that will no doubt be the downfall of us all?” Sophia asked. “The cause of a scandal of immense proportions?”

“We shall all be ruined. None of us will ever marry.” Arabella shook her head mournfully. “We might as well fling ourselves off a cliff right now.”

Fiona smothered a laugh.

“No one will fling anyone off anything,” he snapped, and glared at Fiona. “You told them? About the book?”

“Of course I told them.” She huffed. “It is their futures at risk as well as mine.”

He cast a stern look at each in turn. “I do hope each of you understands the importance of secrecy.”

“We understand full well exactly what is at stake.” Genevieve fixed him with a cool gaze. “Do you?”

“Indeed I do. Miss Fairchild.” He met Genevieve’s gaze directly. “I have every confidence this endeavor will be successful and generate the funds your sister needs to provide for all of you without having to resort to a marriage she doesn’t want to—” He glanced at Arabella.

“Mr. Sinclair,” she murmured.

“To Mr. Sinclair or anyone else.” He directed his gaze to Sophia. “Furthermore, there will be no scandal as long as each and every one of us keeps all knowledge of this venture to ourselves. And not just for the present but forever. I am arranging for all aspects of publication to remain anonymous and as long as each of us keeps this secret there will be no need for concern.”

He turned to Arabella. “No one will be ruined, therefore there will be no need to fling yourself off a cliff. You shall all find suitable matches and be deliriously happy for the rest of your days.” He narrowed his gaze. “And if God is just, you shall all have daughters.”

Three sets of dark eyes glared at him with distrust and probably dislike. And why not? In many ways he held their fate in his hand. And this too was his own fault.

“He’s not nearly as nice as she said he was,” Arabella muttered.

“That’s quite enough,” Fiona said firmly. “Now that you have made Lord Helmsley’s acquaintance, and no doubt his day as well, I’m sure you have any number of things you need to attend to elsewhere.”

“Yes, of course.” Genevieve nodded.

Sophia drew a deep breath and cast him a polite smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“A pleasure,” Arabella murmured.

The girls started toward the door, then Genevieve paused and looked back at him. “You have a great deal of confidence, my lord.” Genevieve considered him thoughtfully. “I hope it is not misplaced.”

“I assure you, Miss Fairchild,” he said coolly, “it is not.”

She cast him a last look and a moment later the sisters took their leave. A muffled laugh sounded behind him.

He turned and eyed Fiona with annoyance. “You could have come to my defense.”

Fiona shook her head. “I could have, but it would not have been nearly as much fun. Nor would it have been what you deserved. Now”—she started toward him—“where were we?”

“Where were we?” Caution edged his voice. He knew precisely where they’d been.

“I believe we were interrupted.”

“We do need to get back to it.” He stepped to the table in a brisk manner and opened the portfolio. “I believe we had just agreed upon a title.”

She laughed. “Indeed we had, but that’s not what I was referring to.”

“I know what you were referring to, Miss Fairchild.” He squared his shoulders and adopted a no-nonsense attitude. “However, I feel it is in your best interest that this sort of thing not happen.”

“This sort of thing?” She raised a brow. “In
my best interest?”

“Inour best interest, then.” He blew a long breath. “Miss Fairchild—Fiona—allowing our…our baser instincts free rein can only lead to ruin.”

“Ruin?” she said thoughtfully, as if the word were new to her.

“Yes.”

“My ruin?”

He scoffed. “Certainly not mine.”

“I see.” Her brows drew together and she considered him for a moment. “Then, as you are already ruined—”

“I would not use the termruined . After all, I am a man, and therefore subject to different standards. Men cannot be ruined.”

“Yes, of course. What was I thinking? As I was saying, if it is my ruin at stake, then whether or not this

‘sort of thing,’ as you put it, does indeed happen should be my decision and mine alone.” She cast him a measuring look. “Would you agree?”

“Definitely.” He nodded with relief. And what choice was there, really? The woman wanted marriage and he didn’t. It would be difficult to keep his distance as long as they continued to work together, but that would have to change. He would see to it.

“Excellent.” She smiled. “Then I have decided to continue where we left off.”

He stared. “Where we left off?”

She advanced toward him. “I believe I was in your arms and you were kissing me or I was kissing you. No.” Her brows drew together. “If I recall correctly, it was a mutual thing. And quite nicely done on both sides, I think.”

“Miss Fairchild!” Shock rang in his voice.

“You don’t think it was nicely done on both sides, then?”

“Yes. No!” He huffed. “Admittedly it was nicely done. In truth,
nicely isn’t at all the word I would use. Nonetheless—”

“What word would you use?” She moved closer.

He stepped back. “It scarcely matters, it shall not be repeated.”

“It? You mean kissing?”

“Yes.”

“Then you didn’t like it?”

“Whether I liked it or not is not the point.”

“But that’s precisely the point. I liked it. I liked it a great deal. In fact, I have never liked it quite so much and I have never been the least bit interested in, well,more .” She grinned wickedly. “But I am now.”

He stared. “More?
What do you mean by
more ?”

“You know exactly what I mean by
more .”

“You’re the one who said there should be no kissing. You’re the one who brought up the possibility of ruin and the breaking of hearts and that sort of thing.” In spite of himself the oddest note of panic sounded in his voice. “I am now simply agreeing with you.”

“I find I have changed my mind.”

“But—”

“You changed your mind about marrying me and I have now changed my mind about”—she cast him a wicked look—“more
and the dire nature of the consequences of more.”

“But you were right, Miss Fairchild, and I was very, very wrong.”

“In a moral sense, perhaps. Even so, I am willing to run the risk of immorality.”

His eyes widened. “You don’t mean that. You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, but I do and I am. You are the one that I”—she thought for a moment—“want
and I have never wanted a man before. It’s not at all as I expected, al though I daresay I didn’t know what to expect,” she said as much to herself as to him, and shook her head. Then her gaze met his. “If I cannot have you as my husband, well…” She studied him with a curious smile. “I am willing to have you in whatever way I can.”

“Do you know what you’re saying? What this would mean for the rest of your life?”

“Yes, I believe I do.” She clasped her hands together in a prim manner that quite belied the impropriety of her words.

“Fiona, you have not thought this through.”

“Admittedly much of it just occurred to me, but it struck like…like…inspiration. Yes, that’s it. As a writer I should think you would understand inspiration.”

“I understand inspiration, but this is…this is…”

“Brilliant?”

“Immoral!” Outrage sounded in his voice.

“Probably. Still, I’m not sure I care.”

“How can you not care?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“It’s really very simple, Jonathon.” She gazed at him as if he were not especially bright enough to understand basic language. “If this scheme of yours succeeds, I will have the money to provide for my sisters as well as myself. I can live an independent life and do precisely as I wish. Why, I can have companions if it so pleases me.”

He sucked in a shocked breath. “Miss Fairchild!”

“On the other hand, if this doesn’t succeed, regardless of my fallen state, I have no doubt I can find someone to marry me, perhaps even What
’
s
his
name. Probably not whom I would prefer, but someone acceptable nonetheless.” She eyed him wryly. “There is a great deal of money at stake, you know, and I am rather attractive. Money and beauty are bound to overcome details like virtue, or rather the lack thereof. Furthermore, if I am destined to a marriage of necessity, I should like to know something other than marital duty first.” She beamed at him, and for once her smile didn’t make him lose his senses. “Lust, as it were.”

Her words struck fear into his very soul. He stared in disbelief and abruptly realized this was serious. She was serious. Up to this point, regardless of the actions he had taken to assist her, he wasn’t entirely certain he had been taking her dilemma with the seriousness it had required. In truth, hadn’t it been something of a lark, just as any number of other things in his life had been a lark?

Now this bright, beautiful woman, a woman who was everything he’d ever thought he’d wanted, was offering herself to him, indeed had chosen him with no stipulations or conditions attached. It was the stuff men’s dreams were made of. A heaven right here on earth. Or hell.

“Well?” She studied him curiously. “You cannot tell me this is not precisely what you have wanted.”

Of course he wanted her. Only a man long dead and buried wouldn’t want her. He’d wanted her from the first moment they’d met and very nearly every moment since then. He should have been ecstatic at her offer. Why instead he felt something more akin to panic would bear examination at a later date. For now, he would have to protect Fiona from himself and, God help him, from her own intentions.