To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) by Michelle Styles Page B

gave a lazy smile. ‘There will be no problem in meeting my debts.’
    ‘And will you give up your mistresses?’ Robert asked. His entire body tensed. The man could no more give up his mistresses than stop breathing. But it would be a start, a statement of his intention towards Sophie.
    ‘There is no reason to get personal.’ The tips of Cawburn’s ears turned pink. ‘I never discuss the intimate details of any lady. Can I help it if some women are possessed of an overly generous nature?’
    ‘Precisely why I intend to protect Sophie from men like you,’ Robert ground out. ‘I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, but your answers have decided me—until you sort out your debts, I refuse to give you permission to court my ward.’
    ‘Is that all you came to say? Keep away from Sophie or else? Sophie is a grown woman, she should be allowed to make her choice. It happens all the time.’ Cawburn curled his lip. ‘If that is your last word on the subject, then so be it. I won’t ask you again for permission, Montemorcy.’
    Robert grabbed the lapels of Cawburn’s jacket. ‘And use another go-between. Keep your cousin out of this.’He tried and failed to see something of Henri in Cawburn—her lively intelligence or her kindness or even her smile. Nothing. If it was war Cawburn wanted, Robert would give it to him. After all, he did know where more of Cawburn’s debts could be obtained.
    ‘Montemorcy, you know my cousin will never develop a
tendre
for a vulgar man like you.’ Cawburn made a mocking bow. ‘She prefers men with—how shall I say it?—more aristocratic temperament and refinement.’
    The jibe hit Robert in the stomach and he struggled to keep his face blank. ‘We were speaking of you and my ward.’
    ‘A friendly warning. Getting ideas above your station can be bad for you. Fatal.’
    Robert ignored the well-aimed barb and marched away from Cawburn. A further reminder, if he needed it, that kissing Henri again would be a mistake. It was important to keep the boundaries in his life intact. Putting his faith in facts rather than giving in to emotion and allowing it to cloud his judgement as his father had done had kept his heart for many years. He’d learnt his lessons. Wanting and acting on his desires were two separate things, particularly where a woman like Henri was concerned.
    In his haste to be away from Cawburn and his poisonous innuendos, he nearly bowled over Miss Armstrong, who stood there with a jar of calf’s-foot jelly and her mouth open, watching the entire proceedings. He ground his teeth and hoped that Miss Armstrong had heard very little, otherwise the Corbridge gossip machine would be working overtime. ‘Miss Armstrong.’
    She turned a sort of purple-pink and the flowers on her poke bonnet jiggled. ‘I’m trying to find LadyThorndike. I heard she was unwell. But no one will tell me anything. I’ve brought her favourite remedy—calf’s-foot jelly.’
    ‘Lady Thorndike is convalescing at my house,’ Robert said. The stench of the noxious substance filled the street.
    ‘At your house!’ Miss Armstrong put her hand over her mouth and flushed scarlet. ‘I hate to say it, but isn’t that most improper?’
    ‘My ward is there, as is her stepmother. They are visiting from London.’
    ‘If I can be of any assistance, I will be. Lady Thorndike has named me as her assistant on the Corbridge Society for Hospitality. I would adore the chance to show Mrs Ravel and her daughter true Corbridge hospitality. It would really make me feel like I was doing something to assist poor dear Lady Thorndike.’
    He paused. Miss Armstrong could be excitable, but she was a strong upholder of society values. Henri would have a reason why she had asked Miss Armstrong to be her deputy. It seemed to him that Henri did so many things herself that she forget others could do them if given an opportunity. This would be a way of demonstrating to Henri that village life continued without