her spurned suitors. As far as Jemma was concerned the whole idiotic matter was unworthy of such attention, and she was becoming irritated that Maura would not let it wither naturally away.
Jemma had been potting seedlings in the small conservatory set at the back of her neat town house. Now she wiped the soil from her fingers on to a cloth and with a sigh set off towards the parlour to see her cousin. Usually Jemma was pleased to have a visitor, but she suspected Maura would again want to hear the details of her meeting with Marcus Speer, and she had nothing new to tell her. Neither did Jemma want to be constantly reminded of that episode. Since it had occurred, every thought of Marcus made an ache of unbearable poignancy ripple through her. It was impossible not to remember their tense conversation without the memory of his lazy lustful look rushing heat and colour to stain her cheeks. It did so now and she put a cool palm instinctively to her skin to soothe it. Her mind darted to recall how, when a little less hostile to one another, they’d walked side by side as civil companions, if not friends, and she’d felt her uneasiness starting to evaporate. She’d been sure he’d believed her when she’d said she was unaware of Theo’s disgraceful behaviour. But, only a few minutes later, and without any warning or proper farewell, Marcus had abruptly walked away and not once looked back. The memory of having been so rudely abandoned still made her inwardly squirm in indignation.
* * *
Within five minutes of having joined Maura in the parlour Jemma’s ivory complexion had darkened in annoyance. Just as she was about to screw up the paper she’d scanned in disbelief her cousin deftly whipped the letter away from her quivering fingers.
‘No, you mustn’t do that!’ Maura gasped and thrust it back in her pocket. ‘I must put it back where I found it before Theo returns.’ She gave Jemma an apprehensive look. ‘I looked for him in his study to ask for my allowance, but he’d gone out. I lingered, thinking he might return. Then I saw this and on impulse took it to show you.’ She shot a look at Jemma that begged a comment on her selfless bravery.
Jemma was still too distracted by what she’d read to remember to thank Maura for warning her that Stephen Crabbe was preparing to renew his offer to her.
‘I hope Theo’s gone to his club, then he’ll come back drunk and go straight to his chamber. I must put this back. If he realises it’s missing, there will be dreadful trouble.’
* * *
Maura led quite an uneventful life. She knew her gay society friends—apart from Deborah Cleveland, who was genuinely kind—tolerated her presence in their heady circle because their sweet looks and vivacity were heightened by her lack of such charming qualities. She had therefore found this family drama oddly exhilarating for, like her brother, she was enjoying a temporary elevation in status because of it. None the less, she was already regretting having impulsively taken the letter. The reason she’d gone to Theo’s study was not to speak to her brother—although she had planned to soon corner him about handing over her overdue allowance. She’d headed there hoping to see a very different gentleman.
Earlier that day, from the top of the stairs, Maura had overheard a visitor arrive and state his name to Manwell. Immediately she had been scandalised. Her brother had few friends and Maura knew that this reputedly wicked philanderer was not one of Theo’s usual cronies. As one transfixed by a dangerous reptile, Maura had settled silently on to a high step to spy on devilish Graham Quick through the banisters. Of course she’d heard of him, but never actually seen him as he socialised, for the most part, in places and with people innocent young ladies knew nothing about.
She’d observed a man of below medium height with an excessively spare frame, flamboyantly clothed, who was blessed with blond good looks. Being a young woman of plain appearance with no experience of stirring interest, let alone passion, in a gentleman, she’d found watching him, unobserved, whilst wondering, acutely thrilling. As she’d gazed down on the top of his flaxen head, she’d recalled hearing a whisper that even the members of the Hellfire Club couldn’t match Graham Quick for depravity.
After a moment the object of Maura’s frenzied imagination had tipped back his blond head to inhale snuff and spotted her. With a sly smile he peremptorily beckoned her to come to him.
From the moment he’d seen her Maura had been petrified. That thin, demanding finger had finally jerked her to her senses and she’d jumped up and fled in a jumble of skirts with her cheeks aflame and his rough chuckle following her along the corridor.
The sanctuary of her room had done nothing to calm her; in fact, once a safe distance had been put between them, Maura had begun to relish her adventure and to find Mr Quick irresistibly interesting. He’d looked wonderfully handsome with his fair face and angelic curls and nothing like a wicked libertine. She’d known that Theo’s visitor, once received, would be shown to his study and had, after a while, boosted her courage sufficiently to decide to go there on the pretext of needing to speak to her brother on a matter. But she’d tarried too long and by the time she’d tiptoed with hammering heart to timidly tap on the door, they’d gone out.
‘I suppose I ought to go home now,’ Maura murmured morosely. She still felt disappointed at having missed the chance to satisfy her curiosity about Graham Quick by seeing, perhaps conversing with him, at close quarters. She also now felt quite miffed that, having sped here to warn Jemma that the plot to marry her off was progressing very fast, she’d not even been offered a cup of tea for her trouble.
‘Oh…I’m sorry, Maura. Will you take tea?’ Jemma belatedly recognised her cousin’s mood and offered her hospitality.
‘Yes, please,’ Maura said immediately and sat down.
Having given the order to Polly for a tray of tea and cinnamon biscuits to be brought to the parlour, Jemma returned to giving the awful matter at hand her full attention. ‘I ought to write to Mr Crabbe and let him know that his prettily stated intentions towards me are unfortunately unwanted.’
‘No!’ Maura shot to her feet. ‘Please don’t do that. It will give the game away that you have seen this letter. Then I will be in trouble, for Theo will guess I have meddled in it.’
With an unsteady hand Jemma pushed back the stray wisps fallen against her pale forehead. Her fingers remained tangled in those chestnut tresses as she slowly walked to the window and stared sightlessly out on another glorious spring day. She certainly did not want Maura to pay for being a good and loyal friend to her, but neither did she want Stephen Crabbe to remain under any illusion that she might agree to marry him. She had hoped that the two gentlemen who had received a letter from Theo—and whose responses she had not known—would have had the sense to treat the matter with the contempt it deserved. Then the whole stupid affair might have faded away with no need for her to do anything at all. But now it seemed she had no option but to quickly state her case before Mr Crabbe paid her an unwelcome call.
Five years ago she’d stirred gossip because she had trifled with Marcus Speer’s affections and led him on like a common tease. Then she’d deserved the opprobrium for her silly flirtatious behaviour. On this occasion she’d done nothing to encourage a suitor’s attention. Once she’d broadcast the truth of the matter, her guardian’s motive would be rightly judged to be claiming the Bailey inheritance. As much as Jemma didn’t relish seeing Maura upset by her brother’s greed being exposed, she could see no other way to proceed.
Jemma’s troubled thoughts were interrupted as Polly arrived with the tea tray. Having settled on the sofa opposite her cousin, and handed Maura her tea, Jemma was surprised to hear a tap at the door and see Polly again hovering on the threshold.
‘A gentleman caller, Miss Bailey,’ Polly announced in her soft Devon burr.
The
