A Lady Never Surrenders (4 page)

She secretly wished she could find a man she could love, who would ignore the scandals attached to her family’s name and indulge her hobby of target shooting. One who could shoot as well as she, since she could never respect a man who couldn’t hit what he aimed at.

I’ll bet Mr. Pinter knows his way around a rifle.

She scowled. He probably
thought
he was a grand shot, anyway. For a man whose lineage was reputedly unsavory, Mr. Pinter was so high in the instep that she privately called him Proud Pinter or Proper Pinter. He’d told Gabe last week that most lords were good for only two things—redistributing funds from their estates into the gaming hells and brothels in London, and ignoring their duty to God and country.

She knew he was working for Oliver only because he wanted the money and prestige. Secretly, he held them all in contempt. Which was probably why he was being so snide about her marrying.

“Be that as it may,” she said, “I’m interested in marriage now.” She strode over to the fireplace to warm her hands. “That’s why I want you to investigate my potential suitors.”

“Why me?”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Have you forgotten that Oliver hired you initially for that very purpose?”

His stiffening posture told her that he had. With a frown, he drew out the notebook and pencil he always seemed to keep in his pocket. “Very well. Exactly what do you want me to find out?”

Breathing easier, she left the fire. “The same things you found out for my siblings—the truth about my potential suitors’ finances, their eligibility for marriage, and … well…”

He paused in scratching his notes to arch an eyebrow at her. “Yes?”

She fiddled nervously with the gold bracelet she wore. This part, he might balk at. “And their secrets. Things I can use in my … er … campaign. Their likes, their weaknesses, whatever isn’t obvious to the world.”

His expression chilled her even with the fire at her back. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Suppose you learn that one of them prefers women in red. That could be useful to me. I would wear red as much as possible.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “And what will you do if they all prefer different colors?”

“It’s just an example,” she said irritably. “In truth, I’m hoping you can provide me with more substantive information. You might discover that one of my suitors supports a by-blow. I could use that to—”

“Your brother pays me to make sure your suitors are acceptable and eligible,” he ground out, “not to help you blackmail men into marriage.”

Too late, she remembered that
he
was a by-blow. “I didn’t mean it like that! If I knew a suitor had an illegitimate child that he cared enough about to support, then I’d know he liked children. So I could ramble on about how much
I
like children. That’s all.”

That seemed to mollify him only slightly. “In other words, you’ll pretend to be someone else in order to snag a husband.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said defensively, “it’s no different than what half the women in society do to catch a man. I don’t want to waste my time in pointless flirtation when a little inside knowledge will improve my aim on the targets.”

He flashed her a condescending smile.

“What is it?” she snapped.

“Only
you
would approach courtship as a marksman approaches a shooting match.” He licked the tip of his pencil. “So who
are
these hapless targets?”

“The Earl of Devonmont, the Duke of Lyons, and Fernandez Valdez, the Visconde de Basto.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you insane?”

“I know they’re rather beyond my reach, but they seem to like my company—”

“I daresay they do!” He strode up to her, strangely angry. “The earl is a rakehell with a notorious reputation for trying to get beneath the skirts of every woman he meets. The duke’s father was mad, and it’s said to run in his family, which is why most women steer clear of him. And Basto is a Portuguese idiot who’s too old for you and clearly trawling for some sweet young thing to nurse him in his declining years.”

“How can you say such things? The only one you know personally is Lord Devonmont, and you barely know even him.”

“I don’t have to. Their reputations tell me they’re utterly unacceptable.”

Unacceptable
?
Three of the most eligible bachelors in London? Mr. Pinter was mad, not her. “Lord Devonmont is Gabe’s wife’s cousin. The duke is Gabe’s best friend, whom I’ve known since childhood, and the viscount … well…”

“Is an oily sort, from what I hear,” he snapped.

“No, he isn’t. He’s very pleasant to talk to.” Really, this was the most ridiculous conversation. “Who the devil do
you
think I should marry, anyway?”

That seemed to take him aback. He glanced away. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But not … That is, you shouldn’t…” He tugged at his cravat. “They’re wrong for you, that’s all.”

She’d flustered Mr. Pinter. How astonishing! He was
never
flustered. It made him look vulnerable and much less … stiff. She rather liked that.

But she’d like it even better if she understood what had provoked it. “Why do you care whom I choose, as long as you’re paid? I’m willing to pay extra to ensure that you find out everything I want to know.”

Once more he turned into Proud Pinter. “It isn’t a matter of payment, madam. I choose my own assignments, and this one isn’t to my taste. Good day.” Turning on his heel, he headed for the door.

Oh, dear, she hadn’t meant to run him off entirely. “So you’re reneging on your agreement with Oliver?” she called out.

He halted.

She pressed her point hastily. “At the very least, you owe me an investigation of my suitors’ backgrounds. If you don’t give me
that
, I’ll tell my brother you’ve refused to do what he hired you for.”

When he clenched his hands into fists, a twinge of guilt assailed her. He’d been so nice about her dream earlier that she felt bad forcing his hand. But blast it—it
was
his job. Mr. Pinter had done it for Minerva and Gabe; he sure as the devil could do it for
her.

He faced her once more, his expression now carefully bland. “I daresay when I tell him whom you’re considering, he’ll side with me. He was
not
happy when your sister chose Mr. Masters.”

“But that worked out well, which I’ll remind him of if he protests. He won’t, though—he knows how important it is that I marry.”

Mr. Pinter searched her face so intently that it made her uncomfortable. “And what of love?” he asked in a hoarse rasp. “Do you love any of these men?”

He had the audacity to speak of that when he
knew
her situation? “Gran isn’t giving me a chance to fall in love.”

“So tell her you want more time. As long as she knows that you’re open to the idea, I’m sure she’ll—”

“Give me a reprieve? You know better than that. She’ll say that I’ve had nearly a year already, and I frittered it away.”

She’d be right, too. But Celia had hoped that her siblings’ devious plans would work and put an end to Gran’s diabolical ultimatum. Instead, her brothers and sister had all given in and married.

Or rather, they’d fallen in love. It wasn’t fair. It had been easy for her beautiful sister to find a husband—she’d simply gone after the man she’d always wanted. Gabe had married his best friend’s sister, Jarret had found a wife who loved brewing as much as he, and Oliver had practically fallen into the perfect woman.

But Celia had no old beaus waiting in the wings, no best friends with eligible brothers, and no fellow sharpshooters who fancied her. She had three men who
might
consider marrying her. She had to make do with that.

“It’s too late for love, Mr. Pinter,” she said wearily. “Gran is breathing down my neck, and this is hardly the season for matrimony. There are a few country balls and little else before the end of the year. The likelihood of my stumbling upon any other eligible gentlemen at this late date is quite small.”

“There must be someone else, someone more—”

“No one whom I know, whom I’m comfortable with. At least I like these gentlemen. I can see myself married to one of them.”
Possibly. If worse came to worst.
“And since they’re all titled and wealthy, Gran would find them irreproachable.” Which was the point, though she couldn’t tell
him
that.

His expression turned cynical. “So that’s what you’re looking for in a husband,” he said coldly. “A rich man of rank
.
”

“No!” How like him to assume she was mercenary. “That’s what
Gran
is looking for. I merely want a man I can tolerate. But if my suitors are wealthy, at least they won’t marry me simply to gain my fortune.”
As Papa had done with Mama.
“I prefer not to marry a fortune hunter.”

“I see.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Still, wealthy lords and fortune hunters aren’t your only choices. Surely there are other respectable gentlemen.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Suddenly it dawned on her. “Wait, is it because my suitors are noblemen? I know that you consider titled gentlemen to be beneath contempt, but—”

“That’s not true,” he grumbled. “I count Lord Kirkwood and his brother among my friends, and even, if I venture to be presumptuous, your brothers. It’s not
all
men of rank I find beneath contempt—just the ones who prey on women. Like Devonmont. And probably the other two, as well.”

“To my knowledge, none of them has ever taken advantage of a respectable female. Even my brothers had their … dalliances as bachelors.”

“So did your father.”

He
would
point that out. “That’s different. Papa broke his marriage vows. That doesn’t mean my suitors would do so.” She swallowed. “Unless you think it impossible for a woman like me to keep men like them satisfied and happy?”

He started. “No! I wasn’t trying to say … That is—”

“It’s all right, Mr. Pinter,” she said, fighting to keep the hurt out of her voice. “I know what you think of me.”

His gaze locked with hers, confusing her with its sudden fierceness. “You have no idea what I think of you.”

She twisted her bracelet nervously, and the motion drew his eyes down to her hands. But as his gaze came back up, it slowed, lingering on her bosom.

Could Mr. Pinter … Was it possible that he …

Certainly not! Proper Pinter would never be interested in a reckless female of her stamp. Why, he didn’t even
like
her.

She’d dressed carefully today, hoping to sway him into doing her bidding by showing that she could look and act like a lady, hoping to gain a measure of his respect.

But the intimate way his gaze continued up past her bosom to her throat, and then paused again at her mouth, was more how her brothers looked at their wives. It wasn’t so much disrespectful as it was … interested.

No, she must be imagining that. He was merely trying to make her uncomfortable; she was misinterpreting the seeming heat in his glance. She refused to let herself be taken in by imagining what wasn’t there. Not after the nasty things Ned had said to her when she was fourteen.

I only kissed you to win a bet, you know.

She’d learned her lesson then. Men had an annoying habit of pretending interest in a woman just to gain something they wanted. Just look at Mama, dreaming of fairy tales when Papa had been dreaming only of finance.

Well
, she
would marry a man who didn’t need or want her fortune. Mr. Pinter didn’t fall into that category.

And given how blank his expression became as his gaze met hers, she’d been right to be skeptical. He would never be interested in her in
that
way.

He confirmed it by saying, with his usual formality, “I doubt any man would consider your ladyship unacceptable as a wife.”

Oh, when he turned all hoity-toity, she could just
murder
him. “Then we agree that the gentlemen in question would find me satisfactory,” she said, matching his cold tone. “So I don’t see why you assume they’d be unfaithful.”

“Some men are unfaithful no matter how beautiful their wives are,” Mr. Pinter growled.

He thought her beautiful?

There she went again, reading too much into his words. He was only making a point. “But you have no reason to believe that these gentlemen would be. Unless there’s some dark secret you already know about them that I do not?”

Glancing away, he muttered a curse under his breath. “No.”

“Then here’s your chance to find out the truth about their characters. Because I prefer facts to opinions. And I was under the impression that you do, too.”

Take that, Mr. Pinter! Hoist by your own petard.
The man always insisted on sticking to the facts.

And he was well aware that she’d caught him out, for he scowled, then crossed his arms over his chest. His rather impressive chest, from what she could tell beneath his black coat and plain buff waistcoat.

“I can’t believe I’m the only person who would object to these gentlemen,” he said. “What about your grandmother? Have you consulted
he
r
?”

She lifted her eyes heavenward. He was being surprisingly resistant to her plans. “I don’t need to. Every time one of them asks to dance with me, she beams. She’s forever urging me to smile at them or attempt some flirtation. And if they so much as press my hand or take me for a stroll, she quizzes me with great glee on what was said and done.”

“She’s been letting you go out on
private
strolls
with these scoundrels?” Mr. Pinter said in sheer outrage.

“They aren’t scoundrels.”

“I swear to God, you’re a lamb among the wolves,” he muttered.

That image of her, so unlike how she saw herself, made her laugh. “I’ve spent half my life in the company of my brothers. Every time Gabe went to shoot, I went with him. At every house party that involved his friends, I was urged to show off my abilities with a rifle. I think I know how to handle a man, Mr. Pinter.”