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not to want to marry you. Likewise I am lovely, desirable, incredibly well bred and amazingly well dowered. You must be all about in the head not to want me. Let us all finish our breakfast and then we can decide what to do about it.’

      ‘I know exactly what I am going to do.’ Lord Standon lowered his hands and regarded both of them with dis-favour. ‘I am going to ring for Jordan, who will put you in your carriage and send you home, Maude. Miss Gifford is going to finish her breakfast and then, when Mrs Childe returns with her new clothes, I will send her in the barouche to interview as many employment agencies as she sees fit to visit. You, meanwhile, will stand ready to provide whatever references Miss Gifford requires to cover the period of unemployment she is currently experiencing. In fact, come to think of it, she can stay with you until she finds a new position.’

      ‘Lord Standon, I could not possibly impose upon La—’

      ‘Of course you can. What fun. Do call me Maude, we are going to be great friends, I can see.’ Maude smiled at her, then turned a gimlet stare back on Lord Standon. ‘Gareth, what about me? I am truly desperate and if you don’t—’

      The door opened, Jordan positively slid through the gap and closed it behind him, his back to the panels. ‘My lord,’ he murmured, his voice hushed, ‘Lord Pangbourne is here, demanding an interview.’

      ‘Papa?’ Maude stood up with a faint shriek.

      ‘Yes, my lady.’

      ‘Shh!’ Lord Standon set down his coffee cup. ‘Tell him I am not at home Jordan.’

      ‘I attempted so to do, my lord. The earl says he will wait in the hall. He has resisted all my efforts to establish him comfortably in your study—he appears suspicious that you will attempt to evade him.’

      ‘Damn right,’ his lordship said grimly.

      ‘Jordan!’ The masculine voice from the hall had all three of them at the table regarding the door warily. The handle rattled. ‘Is Standon in there?’

      ‘Just coming, my lord,’ the butler called back, then lurched forward as the door partly opened behind him.

      ‘Maude,’ Lord Standon hissed, ‘get under the table and take your bonnet with you.’ As she slid out of view he was on his feet, pulling Jessica to hers.

      ‘What—?’

      ‘I’ll make this up to you. Promise.’ His fingers were in her hair, dragging out pins, sending her curls tumbling around her shoulders, then he yanked open the satin sash, pushed the robe back off her shoulders and fell back in his chair, Jessica tumbling into his lap. ‘Kiss me.’

      The door burst open. Her mouth captured by Gareth Morant’s, her body held hard against his, all Jessica could do was to fight to keep her senses. The pressure on her mouth eased a little. ‘Help me, I can’t do this all by myself,’ he whispered. The echo of his words to her in the brothel. Jessica stopped struggling. This was how she could repay him.

      She snaked her arms around his neck, opened her mouth under his and arched her back. The robe slithered free and the warm air caressed the swell of her breasts revealed by the silken gown. Deep in his throat he made a soft sound, a growl. Something inside Jessica turned to liquid fire. Was this only playacting?

      An infuriated voice thundered, ‘Damn it, Jordan, get out of my way.’ There was silence, broken only by the thunder of her heartbeat. Then, ‘Morant, you libertine! What the devil do you think you are doing?’

      Chapter Four

      Lord Standon shifted Jessica in his arms so that her face was hidden in his shoulder. She clung, quivering with mingled excitement and embarrassment.

      ‘I am attempting to eat my breakfast in my own dining room,’ he replied coldly. ‘You will forgive me if I do not get up. I believe Jordan did attempt to intimate that I was not receiving.’

      ‘You’ve been avoiding me, Sir! And neglecting poor Maude—and now I see why.’

      ‘Maude is hardly moping without my presence, Templeton.’Jessica gave a little wriggle as she felt the satin of her nightgown sliding over his knees. Lord Standon closed his hand more firmly over her hip and pressed her to him.

      ‘You are betrothed to Maude, damn it,’ the older man snapped. Jessica could imagine him, red faced with bristling eyebrows.

      ‘Forgive me, but we are not betrothed, whatever you and my honoured father cooked up between you. And neither of us wish to be. With respect, sir, you cannot force me to make a declaration to Maude.’

      ‘I can stop her marrying anyone else. What do you say to that, eh?’ Jessica, her senses filled with the smell and feel of the man who held her, struggled to focus on what was happening on the far side of the table. Lord Pangbourne appeared to be pacing.

      ‘I would say that I find it hard to believe that you would be such an unfeeling father.’

      ‘Bah! I’ll talk to you again, Morant, when you haven’t got most of your mind on your doxy. I give you good day!’

      The door slammed. Lord Standon exhaled, his breath feathering hot all down her neck. ‘You can come out now, Maude.’ Jessica wriggled, sitting upright, but he still held her on his lap, apparently forgetting that they were merely playacting. The sensation of a man’s legs pressed so close to her derrière was breathtaking. Jessica felt the shift of thigh muscles and sat very still.

      Maude popped out from under the table, pushing back her tumbled curls. ‘You see? He is quite impossible.’ She brushed down her skirt and stood regarding them. ‘Gareth, are you still supposed to be cuddling Jessica?’

      ‘What? Lord, I beg your pardon, Jessica, you felt so right there I quite—’ He broke off, shaking his head as though surprised at his own words and opened his arms. Jessica slid off his lap and returned to her own place, her cheeks glowing.

      ‘My lord…’ She pulled her robe into some sort of order and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. This was a madhouse and she needed to extricate herself from it and go and interview employment agencies before she became any more embroiled.

      ‘Gareth. I think we have gone beyond the use of titles, do you not?’

      Gareth. It suited him, a solid, warm name. But she could hardly imagine herself using it, except in her head.

      ‘You see, don’t you, Gareth?’ Maude continued. ‘Papa finds you in the torrid embraces of a scarlet woman, and still persists in saying we should marry. What on earth do you have to do to make him realise we are not suited?’

      ‘Perhaps Lord Standon could marry someone else?’ Jessica suggested. She suppressed the turmoil the last few minutes had thrown her into and tried to apply some logic to the situation. Someone had to. ‘It seems the commonsense solution.’

      ‘So it is, if there was anyone I wished to marry.’ Gareth grimaced, pouring more coffee. ‘I’d sooner marry Maude than some female I don’t like.’

      ‘Then why?’ Jessica persisted, determined to make sense of it all. Her food was lukewarm. She pushed the plate to one side and started on the bread and butter and honey. ‘Why is Lord Pangbourne so insistent and why, when you obviously both like each other very much, don’t you do what he wants?’

      Maude and Gareth exchanged looks, then he shrugged and gestured for her to start. ‘Once upon a time,’ she began, her voice taking on the singsong tone of the storyteller with a much-told tale, ‘Gareth’s uncle fell in love with my aunt. Our families’ lands march together and it was true love and a marvellous romance. He was the son of the duke, she was a great beauty. Everyone was thrilled, but on the eve of the wedding they were killed in a carriage accident. Both families were plunged into deepest mourning and our fathers vowed that when we grew up—I had just been born—we would marry and recreate the legendary love match.’

      Jessica’s thoughts—that this was a piece of sentimental nonsense—must have shown, despite her careful

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