disagreeable.
“Deserve what they get, leaving my fish to freeze.” He raised his chin, addressing Jack alone. “So the prince wants some of my golden koi, does he? Well, he’ll have to pay for them. This isn’t the bloody middle ages, you know, when forest, fish and fowl all belonged to the crown.”
“I am certain the prince would wish you to get all that is coming to you,” Mariah said sweetly. “I must have a look at these ‘beauties’ you prize so.” She pulled Mercy along with her to the pond.
Clapford didn’t notice the sparks in her eyes or the force of her stride as she walked away. Jack, however, made note of both…as well as the tension in her spine and the set of her jaw. He groaned privately as he endured Clapford’s ramblings about fish pedigrees and the outrage of a royal making demands on a member of parliament.
This was not going to end in matrimony. He could just tell.
Not that he could blame her. Clapford was an oaf. Pompous and irascible…had about as much humanity as a slab of granite. And what kind of lout refused even to look at a beautiful woman, much less respond to her?
Gazing past the self-absorbed near-peer, he watched Mariah examine the fish in the barrels and smile warmly as she talked to the boys. The little wretches responded eagerly to her, gazing up at her as if she were made of pure sunshine. He felt a curious tug in his chest. When she sent Mercy bustling back to the coach and the maid returned with a dented pink pasteboard box, he couldn’t help a wry smile.
Clapford finally realized Jack was staring past him to the pond and hitched about to see what was taking place.
“What in infernal blazes—”
The baron-to-be went charging back down to the water to send the boys back to work. He was intercepted by Mariah, who offered him a piece of chocolate and then matched him move for move, blocking his way.
Jack could see veins popping out in Clapford’s neck as Mariah refused to step aside. He winced as she turned back to the boys and insisted that each take another piece of chocolate before going back to their bone-chilling work.
Typical of her. Taking charge. Sticking her nose where it wasn’t wanted. Wry pleasure washed through him. She was indeed a handful.
“A man’s servants are a man’s own business,” Clapford declared.
“And a man’s treatment of his servants is a measure of a man’s character,” she responded, stepping forward with her chin up, forcing him back into the water. “By which standard, sir, you are sorely lacking.”
In the space of a heartbeat, Clapford brandished a fist to punctuate his response, and she—thinking she would be struck—countered with a defensive shove. Caught off guard and off balance, the future baron fell back into the cold water with a huge splash.
By the time Jack reached them, there was nothing to be done but pull Mariah away from the water and watch Clapford flail and struggle to rise—to the sound of the servant boys’ laughter. Water poured down the baron’s face and dripped from his coat as he staggered, cursing, onto the bank.
Jack tried to apologize, offering him a handkerchief and calling it a dreadful accident, but the baron-to-be was beyond such appeasement. He focused on Mariah with fury in his eyes and declared he’d not take such insolence from a female, no matter how well-connected she was.
Clapford made for her with clenched fists, but Jack stepped into his path and the future-baron confronted his broad-shouldered frame instead. Cursing, Clapford tried to push past him, but Jack grabbed and held him by his dripping coat.
“Think, man—be sensible about this,” Jack growled.
The baron’s fist came up…Jack’s left arm shot up to block that blow and his right countered with a punch to the center of Clapford’s face…and Clapford went flying back into the pond.
For a shocked moment the only sound was water lapping. Then Clapford thrashed to the surface and sat gasping in pain and
“Deserve what they get, leaving my fish to freeze.” He raised his chin, addressing Jack alone. “So the prince wants some of my golden koi, does he? Well, he’ll have to pay for them. This isn’t the bloody middle ages, you know, when forest, fish and fowl all belonged to the crown.”
“I am certain the prince would wish you to get all that is coming to you,” Mariah said sweetly. “I must have a look at these ‘beauties’ you prize so.” She pulled Mercy along with her to the pond.
Clapford didn’t notice the sparks in her eyes or the force of her stride as she walked away. Jack, however, made note of both…as well as the tension in her spine and the set of her jaw. He groaned privately as he endured Clapford’s ramblings about fish pedigrees and the outrage of a royal making demands on a member of parliament.
This was not going to end in matrimony. He could just tell.
Not that he could blame her. Clapford was an oaf. Pompous and irascible…had about as much humanity as a slab of granite. And what kind of lout refused even to look at a beautiful woman, much less respond to her?
Gazing past the self-absorbed near-peer, he watched Mariah examine the fish in the barrels and smile warmly as she talked to the boys. The little wretches responded eagerly to her, gazing up at her as if she were made of pure sunshine. He felt a curious tug in his chest. When she sent Mercy bustling back to the coach and the maid returned with a dented pink pasteboard box, he couldn’t help a wry smile.
Clapford finally realized Jack was staring past him to the pond and hitched about to see what was taking place.
“What in infernal blazes—”
The baron-to-be went charging back down to the water to send the boys back to work. He was intercepted by Mariah, who offered him a piece of chocolate and then matched him move for move, blocking his way.
Jack could see veins popping out in Clapford’s neck as Mariah refused to step aside. He winced as she turned back to the boys and insisted that each take another piece of chocolate before going back to their bone-chilling work.
Typical of her. Taking charge. Sticking her nose where it wasn’t wanted. Wry pleasure washed through him. She was indeed a handful.
“A man’s servants are a man’s own business,” Clapford declared.
“And a man’s treatment of his servants is a measure of a man’s character,” she responded, stepping forward with her chin up, forcing him back into the water. “By which standard, sir, you are sorely lacking.”
In the space of a heartbeat, Clapford brandished a fist to punctuate his response, and she—thinking she would be struck—countered with a defensive shove. Caught off guard and off balance, the future baron fell back into the cold water with a huge splash.
By the time Jack reached them, there was nothing to be done but pull Mariah away from the water and watch Clapford flail and struggle to rise—to the sound of the servant boys’ laughter. Water poured down the baron’s face and dripped from his coat as he staggered, cursing, onto the bank.
Jack tried to apologize, offering him a handkerchief and calling it a dreadful accident, but the baron-to-be was beyond such appeasement. He focused on Mariah with fury in his eyes and declared he’d not take such insolence from a female, no matter how well-connected she was.
Clapford made for her with clenched fists, but Jack stepped into his path and the future-baron confronted his broad-shouldered frame instead. Cursing, Clapford tried to push past him, but Jack grabbed and held him by his dripping coat.
“Think, man—be sensible about this,” Jack growled.
The baron’s fist came up…Jack’s left arm shot up to block that blow and his right countered with a punch to the center of Clapford’s face…and Clapford went flying back into the pond.
For a shocked moment the only sound was water lapping. Then Clapford thrashed to the surface and sat gasping in pain and
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