Tempting the Marquess by Sara Lindsey

the riddle of him. He was infinitely more complicated than his poorly penned verses, but there was more than a brooch at stake. She was only just beginning to realize how much more and what price she might be forced to pay.

    Jason saw the suggestive looks his brother-in-law was throwing in Miss Weston’s direction. He didn’t like them. At the moment there were a lot of things in his life that weren’t to his liking . . . and nearly all of them involved Miss Weston.
    Funny, that.
    Still, he had a responsibility as head of the house, even if he only recalled that responsibility when it was to his advantage.
    “Charles,” he called out. “A word with you.”
    His brother-in-law trudged back down the stairs. “What?”
    “Let’s adjourn to my study, shall we?”
    Once the two men were closeted inside the masculine domain, Charles turned to Jason. “What have I done this time?” he demanded.
    “I am sure you’ve done a great many questionable things since last I saw you, but that’s not why I asked to speak to you.”
    “Ordered, more like,” Charles grumbled. “Go on, then. What’s this matter of great urgency?”
    “I wanted to speak to you about Miss Weston.”
    “And this couldn’t have waited? Oh, very well, what about her?”
    “She isn’t one of your Town flirts. She’s young and impressionable. She has probably never been exposed to attention from a man like yourself.”
    “A man like myself.” Charles busied himself with brushing an imaginary speck of dirt off his pristine coat. “You certainly don’t have a very high opinion of me.”
    “Damn it, Charles, you know what I mean. Your name’s always being paired with some new woman or other—”
    “Idle speculation. Every other bachelor in London with more than two shillings in his pocket suffers the same fate. One dance and a glass of orgeat and a man is practically engaged. You won’t mind if I help myself to your excellent brandy, will you?”
    Jason indicated that Charles was free to take what he wanted, at least as far as the cellar was concerned.
    Charles continued to chatter as he poured himself a drink. “I had no idea you followed the gossip rags all the way out here. Are you only keeping tabs on me, or do the latest ladies’ fashions interest you as well?”
    “Don’t be absurd.” Jason moved to tend the fire. “Of course I don’t read that trash, nor am I trying to keep tabs on you. That would imply a certain level of concern for your well-being. If you must know, my man of business in London takes great delight in regaling me with your exploits in his monthly letters.” He poked at the kindling with unnecessary force. The logs crackled and hissed, shooting sparks every which way, as if to protest their mistreatment.
    Charles seated himself in a leather wing chair near the marble fireplace. He took a sip of brandy and gave an appreciative sigh. “Such an overflowing of love warms my heart. I assure you the rumors are greatly exaggerated.”
    “Be that as it may, it would be very uncomfortable for everyone if you broke Miss Weston’s heart.”
    “Set your mind at ease. I have no intention of toying with her emotions.”
    Jason looked up from the dancing flames. “Then you’ll let her alone?”
    Charles looked at him speculatively over the rim of his glass. “You know, I don’t think I will.”
    “You can’t mean you plan to seriously pursue the girl!” Jason swung around to face Charles, the red- hot iron in his hand.
    “For God’s sake, put that down before someone—namely me—gets hurt. I can’t think why you’re so shocked. I have to settle down eventually. Why shouldn’t I see if Miss Weston and I suit?”
    “Because . . .” Jason put the fire poker back as he weighed his words. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
    Charles nodded sagely. “So the wind blows in that direction, does it?”
    “What the devil are you talking about?”
    “You’ve taken an interest in Miss Weston