Page 52 of Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“You didn’t invite him?”

Hallie threw the spoon he’d tripped on.

He caught it not six inches from his forehead. “You nearly nailed me with that spoon,” he said, and was gone from the kitchen.

“Don’t kill him, Jason,” she called after him. “You wouldn’t like Australia.”

Angela grabbed her arm before she could take one step.

“Who is Lord Renfrew? Why is Jason angry?”

“He was the bounder I was going to marry when I was eighteen.”

“But dear, I don’t understand why the man is here—”

Hallie was gone. She paused at the open doorway to the drawing room, and watched in bewilderment as Jason, who no longer looked like he wanted to hurl Lord Renfrew through one of the sparkling front windows into the newly planted primroses, was jovial and welcoming, shaking Elgin’s lovely strong-looking hand, the hand that had once skimmed over her breasts, something for which he’d apologized profusely. She hadn’t understood at the time, but now she did. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the open door, and tapped her foot. What was Jason up to?

“How very nice to finally meet you—did Hallie say your name was Eggbert?”

“Elgin.”

“A distinguished name.”

“Yes, yes, it most certainly is.” Lord Renfrew wondered at Mr. Sherbrooke’s bonhomie. But then again, why not? Jason Sherbrooke was a second son, twin or not, and probably didn’t have much money, given how paltry this property was compared to his father’s vast estate. The man doubtless saw Lord Renfrew as the embodiment of what he wasn’t. Yes, that was it, and he wanted to lick his boots. Lord Renfrew would allow it.

; On the other hand, Mr. Sherbrooke was sharing the property with Hallie, and she was rich—his solicitor had confirmed that. Hmm, he didn’t like the sound of that. Sharing. Lord Renfrew cleared his throat. “It is an unusual situation you and Miss Carrick are in, Mr. Sherbrooke.”

Jason gave him a white-toothed smile, a sort of man-to-man smile, if Lord Renfrew wasn’t mistaken, and no man was ever mistaken about that. “Not really,” Jason said. “Miss Carrick is, ah, a very accommodating girl, you know.”

Hallie’s jaw fell two inches while Lord Renfrew’s jaw tightened.

Jason, cheery as an octogenarian with a new bride of eighteen, said, “Won’t you sit down, my lord? Our servants aren’t at all well-trained yet—really, such a small problem in the kitchen—but I imagine some more tea will be along shortly.”

Small problem? They were all black as newly polished boots and Cook had swooned on him, knocked him over. That was small? Petrie not well-trained? He had been trained by Hollis himself. What was going on here?

Lord Renfrew seated himself, made certain his coattails were smoothed neatly beneath him. “What do you mean, ‘accommodating’?”

“Why Miss Carrick is always anxious to please, to do whatever one wishes her to do.”

What did he mean, anxious to please? She could be bad-tempered in the morning. Maybe she was anxious to please when she wanted something badly, Hallie thought as she looked up to see Petrie carrying the lovely silver tray Jason’s mother had given them, his face still black as night. Oh dear. She ran to look in the mirror over the small table and nearly shrieked. She’d known what had to be in the mirror, but the fact of her black face—she raised her skirts to run to her bedchamber when she stopped cold. She smiled at Petrie. “We,” she said, patting his arm, “will make an entrance. Ah, do I look as toothsome as you do, Petrie?”

“Surely you must consult the dictionary, Miss Hallie. We both look like critters escaped from the mud flats. There was no time for me to set myself to rights since one can’t leave a gentleman waiting for his tea. Oh dear, oh dear, your face, Miss Hallie, my face—This is disastrous. Whatever will the gentleman think?”

“I, for one, can’t wait to find out.” She walked into the drawing room, her stride long as a boy’s, all possible because her full skirt was slit like very wide-cut trousers, giving Jason a smile scary enough to curl his toes. “I had Petrie bring the tea. Ah, does that please you, Jason?”

CHAPTER 23

Jason nearly fell over. A siren’s voice coming out of a filthy face. Lord Renfrew rose quickly to his feet, nearly en pointe. He said in a loud voice, “I am very pleased, my dear, very pleased indeed. I always believed you were delightfully accommodating.”

“Did you really, my lord? How very gallant of you to say so. May I ask why?”

Lord Renfrew gurgled deep in his throat.

She preened, black face and all.

So she’d heard that, had she? Jason walked to her, stopped not a half-foot from her nose and reached out his hand. He began twisting a long tangled hank of hair that fell nearly to her breast. He leaned closer, his warm breath on her cheek, lust in his eyes. “You smell like smoke.”