Lord Winslow named a sum that was at the top end of Justin’s expectations and sat there, looking hopeful.
‘I will pay that and add another two thousand—but I will not marry your sister.’
‘Thought you might say that,’ Charlie said equably. ‘But it’s the money and Marina, or nothing. If you won’t buy on my terms, I’ll sell to someone else and I will get the lawyers to put a clause in the deeds so it can never be sold to you or your heirs.’
Justin felt the anger surge up hot and powerful and was surprised to find himself still sitting down, hands calmly clasped. His self-control must be better than he thought.
‘So, like your father, you have a talent for blackmail,’ he observed evenly.
‘Damn it—’ the younger man looked hurt, but not insulted ‘—I’m doing it for my sister.’ He frowned. ‘What do you mean about my father?’
‘That there was no reason why my father, had he wished to gamble with yours, could not have met any money stake, however high. He wagered Knightshaye because he was blackmailed into it.’
‘Why?’ Charlie demanded bluntly. ‘He was a hard devil, my father, I’m not denying that, but blackmail? What did he know about your father that could force him to that risk?’
‘He had nothing on Father, but it was a matter that concerned two other people, one dead now, one still alive. It is not something I can speak of. You will just have to take my word for it.’
The younger man grimaced. ‘Very well. But you can call it what you like, you won’t insult me—take Marina or the deal is off.’
‘And if your sister does not wish to marry me?’ Even as he spoke, Justin knew he was giving way simply by letting himself consider the proposition. There was something about Charlie Winslow’s demeanour that warned him the younger man was absolutely determined on this plan. He might be weak, but that very weakness made him stubborn when he was driven into a corner. If Justin wanted Knightshaye, he was going to have to dance to Winslow’s tune.
‘If you give me your word of honour you will do your best to attach her interest and she still won’t take you, then we’ll call it quits. Damn it, I can’t blame you if she turns down a chance like that. But I want your pledge you’ll give it your best effort for two months—and that you won’t ever breathe a word of this arrangement to her.’
Justin got to his feet and walked to the window. The Winslow family were making their way back to the house: young Giles was more or less in control of a muddy, panting Hector; Miss Elizabeth was talking vehemently and using her hands to describe what appeared to be an elaborate hat. And Miss Winslow—Marina—was listening attentively. As they reached the steps she glanced up at the window, saw him—and smiled.
It was a flash of friendly goodwill in a face distinguished more by pleasant symmetry and colouring than beauty. And it conjured up a vivid opposite in his mind. Golden hair, blue eyes, a perfect little nose and red lips always trembling on the edge of a calculated pout.
He turned back, holding out his hand. ‘Very well. I agree to your price and your condition. You have my word on it.’
‘Take Hector down to the scullery and do not dare to bring him back up until he is completely clean and dry,’ Marina ordered firmly, as Giles with his hound bundled through the front door behind his sisters.
‘Charlie should engage another tutor for Giles,’ Lizzie said crossly, twisting to examine the hem of her walking dress, which had been trodden on by large paws.
‘It seems such an extravagance when I can teach him; besides, recall how distracted he made poor Mr Livingstone. When he is older, of course, and needs to begin classics—’
She broke off as the study door opened and Lord Mortenhoe emerged, her brother on his heels.
‘Miss Winslow, Miss Elizabeth. How was your walk?’
‘Very pleasant, thank you, my lord.’ What was Charlie about? He appeared to have positively propelled his guest into the hallway and now was making no effort to either call Bunting or show him out himself. Lord Mortenhoe was regarding her and she felt her colour rising; no doubt she was unbecomingly windswept from the excursion. ‘If you will excuse me...’
‘I’ve invited Mortenhoe to dinner tomorrow night,’ Charlie said abruptly.
‘Oh! I mean...how delightful.’ Charlie must be out of his mind! Aunt and Uncle Thredgold and Cousin Hugh were no sort of company to entertain an earl. Leaving aside Uncle Thredgold’s tendency to talk of nothing but his experiments in cattle breeding, Aunt’s deafness and Hugh’s almost perpetual fit of the sullens, the table would be unbalanced with too many men, and the menu, unless some drastic alterations were made, would be decidedly uninspiring, having been chosen with the Thredgolds’ bland preferences in mind.
‘I am sure it will be.’ The earl was accepting his gloves and hat from Bunting. ‘Until tomorrow evening, Miss Winslow.’
Charlie escaped back into his study before the front door had closed on Lord Mortenhoe, leaving his sisters regarding each other speculatively in the hall.
‘It is too bad of Charlie,’ Marina declared, pulling off her gloves. ‘Now who can we possibly ask at this late notice? For, fond as we are of the Thredgolds, I really do not think Lord Mortenhoe will be much entertained by them.’
‘They are dead bores,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘Thank goodness they have taken rooms and are not staying with us as they did last year.’
‘They are family,’ Marina said repressively, leading the way into the drawing room before Lizzie made any more unfortunate remarks in front of the servants. ‘It behoves us to be hospitable, and besides, it gives Mama much pleasure to be with Aunt.’ She cast off her bonnet and sat on the sofa, not troubling to remove her pelisse. ‘Now, who would not be offended by a late invitation? We need another lady and another couple at the very least to leaven the mix.’
‘I could come,’ Lizzie offered hopefully, then subsided at a look from her sister. ‘How about Mr and Mrs Philpott? They never stand on ceremony.’
Certainly their next-door neighbours were a sensible suggestion and, as they had just that morning returned from a visit to an ailing parent, such short notice could be explained away. ‘And I will ask Priscilla Hinton,’ Marina said with a flash of inspiration. ‘Her husband is out of town and we are good enough friends for me to explain the situation.’
‘Mrs Hinton is very pretty.’
‘Well, yes. What of it?’
‘You do not want Lord Mortenhoe to flirt with her, and he is sure to.’
‘I am sure the earl will do no such thing, and, even if he should, Priscilla is more than capable of dealing with it,’ Marina retorted, flustered. ‘Now, I must go and speak with Cook about the menu. I do wish Charlie would think things through sometimes.’
‘He is very good looking.’ Lizzie, the picture of innocence, was twirling the strings of her
