Maggie MacKeever by Lady Sweetbriar Page B

unless—” She looked hopeful. Sir Avery shook his head. “It is no wonder I am in the dismals,” Nikki muttered. “I do not scruple to tell you, Avery, that sometimes a mild display of passion would not come amiss.”
    “And I am cruel to deny you? My dear, I have already been subjected by my colleagues to some very pointed remarks upon dalliance enacted within these hallowed walls.” Sir Avery ceased his inspection of the kava bowls which hung with various implements of war above the fireplace. “Moreover, it sounds to me like you are suffering little lack of ardor. Who was it invaded your bedchamber?”
    “La! You sound positively dog-in-the-mangerish.” Vague though may have been Sir Avery’s hint of jealousy, by it Lady Sweetbriar’s spirits were revived. “You need not fret; it was only Rolf. You look astounded. And so you should! I wondered if he was a trifle bosky myself. It is just like Rolf to have bungled the thing so completely, moreover—but you are no more astounded than Rolf was when I told him if he advanced an atom further I would have his life. He very nearly swooned from the shock.”
    Lady Sweetbriar had gained Sir Avery’s full attention. “I trust you did not, ah, have the whelp’s life.”
    “Of course I did not!” Nikki giggled. “Though I very well might have, had I not realized who he was in time. You will be wondering what he was doing there, as did I. Rolf tried to put me off with a Banbury story about wishing to speak with me, but I suspect he was trying to bamboozle me instead, and I do wish he would not! It is very disheartening when one’s own stepson tries to make one out a flat.” Speculatively she eyed her fiancé. “I just thought of something! When we are married, will Rolf be your stepson also?”
    “Not if I don’t wish it.” Sir Avery inspected the mantelpiece, and discovered dust. “And from what you have told me, I do not.”
    “Oh.” Lady Sweetbriar was disappointed by her fiancé’s uncooperative attitude; especially as concerned the Sweetbriar jewels, she had hoped Avery would take Rolf in hand. “It is Lady Regina Foliot who is behind this outrage, I’ll warrant; Rolf has never done such a crack-brained thing before. I cannot think the Foliot chit is a good influence on him. I am fond of Rolf, and do not want to see him dwell under the hen’s foot. No, and I do not want to stand on bad terms with him either, even if he is a clunch! Rolf must be persuaded that he and Lady Regina will not suit.” Nikki looked coy. “Which brings to mind something I have wished to discuss with you, Avery: your daughter. You have been remiss in not arranging a match.”
    “And you will happily repair that omission, Nikki? Were Sweetbriar and Clytie to make a match of it, you would no longer need worry about your jewels.” Sir Avery’s knowledgeable glance flicked over those specimens which currently adorned Lady Sweetbriar’s delicious person. “Clytie must marry where she wishes, but Sweetbriar sounds like a commoner. Petticoat fever, has he? You, Clytie, Lady Regina Foliot—whomever she may be.”
    Nikki’s expression was vague, her thoughts preoccupied with how to prevent Sir Avery demanding outright that she return the Sweetbriar jewels. That would be a pretty dilemma, she realized; were such an order issued, she could neither obey it nor refuse. “Petticoat fever? No, that’s Marmaduke! Or do I mistake your meaning? I assure you that I have your daughter’s best interests at heart.”
    “My daughter is capable of looking after her own best interests,” Sir Avery responded cryptically. “You need not try and persuade me of your benevolent nature, my dear; I’m not marrying you for that.”
    By this, the first even vaguely indelicate remark made to her by her fiancé, Lady Sweetbriar was considerably taken aback. Not long did she remain at a loss. A roguish smile appeared on her pretty face, and a twinkle in her eye. Wryly, Sir Avery observed her.