Trials of Artemis (5 page)

For
instance, how many estates and holdings did he have? Were any of them in need
of refurbishing or having staff replaced? Did he have family that he was most likely
ignoring? Those were the sorts of things a wife looked to when an earl didn't
have time. She was almost inspired to get up and begin making a list. Perhaps
she would do that, create a list of criteria for his countess and begin looking
on his behalf. Just because she didn't want to marry him didn't mean someone
else wouldn't. It was only appropriate to think of his welfare since she was
the one who wanted the engagement ended. Giddy most likely wasn't thinking
about these things at all. She perceived he was a bit thick headed in that way.
Even in their short acquaintance she could see that. Smart, certainly, but
stubborn about things he had already decided. It
was
evident that if honor hadn't dictated that he offer for her that he wouldn't be
thinking about marriage at all right now. According to Debrett’s Peerage he was
coming on thirty years old and had ascended to his seat years ago. She also had
it on good authority that he was an active politician. How could he not see
that a wife was an essential ingredient to the life he was leading? This
morning she would start to make a list. Certainly she could find a viable
candidate before the season ended.

Gideon
pulled his horse to a stop at the Walters' front door and waited for his tiger
to grab hold of the leads before he sprang down to
the ground. The invitation to take Miss Walters riding in his curricle had come
out of his mouth before he'd had time to think about it, but it seemed
appropriate. That was his favorite word these days, appropriate. It was appropriate
to ask her to marry him after pawing her in the library. It was appropriate to
court her like a gentleman since they were most likely to be married,
regardless of his fiancée’s beliefs to the contrary.
Appropriate, appropriate, appropriate. He'd
never realized before exactly how loathsome the word really was.

He
rapped smartly at the door, idly wondering what parlor they would stow him in
as the estimable Miss Walters finished her preparations. Would they ply him
with cakes? Would Mrs. Walters and the younger Miss Walters entertain him by
asking the sly and leading questions all families used when assessing the man
their daughter was going to marry? His ruminations were pulled up short by
having the elder Miss Walters open the door. "I've got it, Villiers,"
she called out over her shoulder. She was still tucking stray hairs into her
bonnet and veritably bounced out on the portico, pulling the door closed behind
her.

"Good
morning, Giddy," she said. "Fine day for a drive, don't you
think?" She had turned her attention to the buttons on her gloves, leaving
Gideon staring down at the top of her straw bonnet covered head. Where was the
vitriol? Where were the bitter recriminations, the catty and sarcastic
comments? And why was she still calling him by that detestible nickname? Satisfied
with the fit of her gloves she finally looked up at him again, her green eyes
sparkling. "Well, are you coming or do I need to drive myself?"

Gideon
offered his arm and they walked down the steps together. "Were you caught
off guard by my being timely today?"

"Precisely.
You're lucky I wasn't still abed drinking chocolate and reading the papers, not
expecting you for hours yet."

"Still
here you are, turned out to a tune and literally waiting by the door. You had
some faith in my reformation."

"Even
dogs can learn, I should hope that earls can."

"You
have been singularly unimpressed with my title, but this is certainly a first
to be compared to a dog."

He
lifted her into the curricle and she was looking down at him with her hands
still resting on his shoulders as she replied. "And potentially finding
you lacking in the comparison had you been late today."

"You
vicious minx."

She
laughed, a throaty burst of joy that lit her expression and made her eyes
twinkle before she settled onto the high bench. She was a strange yet
refreshing creature. At turns serious, ferocious, and now light-hearted.

Settling
in to take the reins Gideon said, "I thought to take us through Mayfair
and around to Gunters for ices."

Miss
Walters wrinkled her nose. "How pedestrian a trip for a high flier. I
should think we would want to take the road through the park."

Gideon
laughed. "Are you hoping to find a young buck who will race us?"

"I've
won a race or two in my life, I'll have you know."

"Curricle
racing?"

"Yes,
though not in town."

"Who
on earth gave you permission to race curricles?"

She
gave him a droll glance. "That isn't the sort of thing one asks permission
for, especially if one is a girl."

"Where
did you even get a curricle or horse to race?"

"Sabre's
brothers Robert and Charles. Though Robert doesn't let me race anymore."

"I
should hope not!"

"Since
I beat him at a quarter mile," she added with a self-satisfied smile.

Gideon
stared at her for a moment. "I'd best hope we don't need to make a
marriage of this, shouldn't I?"

Miss
Walters laughed her full throaty laugh again. "Undoubtedly. Only an
eccentric spinster can hope to sail through the park in a high flier of her
own. What would an earl do with such a wife?"

Gideon
shook his head. "What indeed?"

Her
expression changed, becoming once more the prim and serious young woman he was
used to seeing. "I was wondering, " she said, "how many
properties you have?"

Gideon's
eyes narrowed and he felt his jaw clench. At last, his wealth was appealing to
her regardless of what else she might say. "Quite a few," he said
tersely.

"Can't
you be more specific? That's rather careless of you. How would you know if a
solicitor or steward was siphoning funds off of one of your properties for
their own purposes?"

“Be
careful where you tread, madam. You border on insulting me.”

“Indeed
I thought that I outright insulted you. But how else to pry the pearl from the
oyster? It rarely yields to sweet whispers.”

Glancing
at her again he saw that she had an eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smile on
her lips. Vexing wench.

“Are
you suggesting that I have been withholding of information?”

“You
certainly haven’t been forthcoming.”

“In
my defense I don’t remember any sweet whispers either.”

“
Touché
. But certainly you expect me to
be at least curious.”

"You
want an accounting then? Very well. There are fourteen properties in all. Two
townhouses in London, I currently reside in one and lease the other. I also
have townhouses in Bath and York. The primary manor attached to the earldom is
Kellington Hall in Kent. The remaining properties are in Cornwall,
Staffordshire, Cumberland, Wales, Scotland and Italy."

"You
have a property in Italy?"

Gideon
looked over to see that the cheeky chit was scribbling it all down in a tiny journal
that she must have pulled from her reticule. "Yes, I have an estate in
Italy. Would you like an inventory of the furnishings?"

"Do
you know that?"

"No,
I'm not going to give you a bloody inventory of the furnishings. Why are you
writing all this down?"

"I'm
working on a project."

"What
project could you possibly have that requires an accounting of my
properties?"

She
gave him a mischievous smile. "Since I must break our engagement I thought
to find you a proper wife."

Gideon
nearly drove the curricle off the road. "You mean to find me a what?"
he asked, his voice rising in surprise and, if he was honest, horror.

"A
proper wife. It's actually harder than it looks."

"I
don't want a wife!"

Miss
Walters clucked her tongue and looked down at her journal. "It's becoming
ever clearer that you desperately need one. How much family do you have?"

"What?"

"Family.
Sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins. A mother you might be hiding
somewhere."

"My
mother has passed on, thank you very much. And I don't have any siblings."

"I
should have guessed that."

"You
intrusive little beast."

"Yes,
you're clearly an only child."

Gideon
hauled back on the reins, pulling the conveyance to a sudden and somewhat
unpleasant stop. "Let me assure you that you can stop working on this
project you've thought to assign to yourself," he hissed, trying to keep
their conversation private from the young tiger riding behind the curricle. “If
I’m not to marry you, an outcome I assure you that I wish to avoid more with
each passing minute, then I am certainly not going to marry some horrid
creature from the Marriage Mart no matter how many of them you dream up as
possibilities!”

"Well,"
she said with a resigned sigh. "It's obviously very necessary. You have
cousins then?"

Her
impassive response to his ire only served to make him more agitated. "Of
course I have cousins!"

"Any
that you're close to?"

"I
have a more than passing acquaintance with one or two. You are the most
pigheaded person of my acquaintance."

Her
only response to his insult was to raise a brow at him. "You're going to
be quite a trial for some poor woman. It will take her two years just to divine
whom to invite to Christmas."

"There's
no point in inviting anyone for Christmas and I don't want you to find me a
wife!"

She
patted his arm in a way that was more patronizing than consoling. "You're
turning red, Giddy. That can't be good for you."

"Stop
calling me Giddy!"

"Did
you know that you're easier to rile than a bear? I have my own reasons for
calling you Giddy and they have nothing to do with irritating you."

"Fine,
then, what are they?"

She
smiled, enjoying his irritation. "Perhaps some day I shall tell you."

"If
we both live to see that day."

“Perhaps
we should move on before we gather too much more notice on this path?”

Gideon
took a moment to look around and realized that there were others about during
this somewhat fashionable hour. No one had stopped to stare outright that he
could see, but surely the earl and his fiancée having what could be politely
referred to as a tiff on a public avenue was going to be whispered ear to ear
this evening. Taking up the reins again he set the horse off at a smart pace.

Her
voice rose over the sound of the wheels to ask, "And then that would be
which cousins you are on speaking terms with?"

For
the next quarter hour Miss Walters pestered him with more questions than any
journalist he had ever come across during his time in politics. She wanted to
know about his family, his duties in Parliament, the status of his various
homes. To his relief she tucked away her journal when they finally arrived at
the park and he was now willing to race anyone if it would make her to hold her
tongue. She was an intrusive, irritating busybody and he hoped that she would
tire of this supposed project. The only thing worse than marrying Miss Walters
herself would be to cope with the endless procession of candidates she was
likely to parade in front of him. He would reject them all outright. He didn't
want to marry. He wouldn't marry unless he had to. He would grant Miss Walters
she was innocent in this whole debacle. While he had been planning a rendezvous
with the luscious Lady Spencer, she had been planning to read Thucydides... in
the original Greek.
She didn't want to marry any
more than he did. Perhaps that would be the way to stop her infernal project.
Perhaps he should suggest that he find the perfect husband for her! Although
who that perfect husband would be he couldn't begin to fathom. Someone with a
good deal of patience, he would wager. Enough to weather her stubborn streak
and her busybody tendencies. And someone kind. He couldn't say why, but as he
studied her profile he thought she would bloom under the influence of a kind
man. In fact someone like Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin. The idea had merit, really.
She could make a splendid duchess, if a bit lowborn for the role. Quince had
his faults but he was infinitely kind and patient. Perhaps he wouldn't tell her
that he knew the perfect man for her but would just get them together and let
nature take its course. Now that he had a mission of his own it was much easier
to ignore how irritating her little project was going to be until she let the
idea go.

Although
he didn't race at quite the speeds she had hoped for, the outing had been a
refreshing change to her usual London entertainments. Jack braced her hands on
Harrington's shoulders again as he hoisted her out of the curricle. His hands
at her waist were warm and firm, even through his gloves and her layers of
muslin. She thought that his fingers lingered a bit longer on her ribcage than
was absolutely necessary and, come to think of it, she still had her hands
resting lightly on his arms. The moment seemed to stretch between them, his
dark blue eyes gazing down unblinking into her own. Finally he seemed to come
back to himself, clearing his throat and stepping back. He bowed over her hand.
"Miss Walters."