Page 13 of The Right to Remain Single

Mr. Warren pushed himself halfway out of his chair, red and wheezing. “Lecher! By God, if I were a younger man, I’d plant you a facer.”

“Sit down, Mr. Warren,” James drawled. “I’d be happy to do it for you.”

Furbelow’s eyes widened. “No need to get on your high horse, Blakely. I’ve never laid a finger on my cousin. Isn’t that so, Tommie?”

“Yes, of course,” Thomasina said quickly.

He has laid a hand on her, James knew immediately, and she’s lying to protect her father.

“I can have you thrown out and keep the monk.” Mr. Warren sank into his chair again. “Remember that.”

“You treat me unkindly, although I’m the obvious choice for Tommie,” Furbelow said. “I’m not afraid of the ghost. It can stay for all I care.”

“Because if you got hold of my fortune, you would return to London straightaway,” Thomasina said.

Furbelow laughed. “You’re right about that. No sane man would stay in this backwater.”

“It’s a very pretty backwater,” James said.

Thomasina gave him a grateful look. “I love it here. I enjoy visiting London, but I’ll never want to live elsewhere than Hearth House.”

“You’ll have to when you marry Tilson,” her father said.

“I’m not going to marry Mr. Tilson,” she said, “so the question doesn’t arise.”

Walt Warren banged a gnarled hand on the table. “You’ll do as you are told, girl.” He broke into a fit of coughing, rapidly turning purple. Thomasina pulled the bell rope, and James helped him back into his chair. A valet even more ancient than Mr. Warren toddled in with a bottle of cordial, and soon the old man was bundled away to his bedchamber.

Thomasina took a deep breath. And another. Sam Furbelow eyed her bosom with a lascivious grin.

Bloody murder is too kindly a fate for him, thought James, startling himself with the vehemence of his response.

“This is an ungodly house,” declared the monk suddenly.

Furbelow laughed again. “An ungodly family, too.”

“It is the fault of the evil spirit,” said Brother Antoine.

“Nonsense,” James said. While Mrs. Day showed the others to their respective bedchambers, he said to Thomasina, “Just to make it perfectly clear, I’m not going anywhere.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s most kind of you, but you needn’t stay.”

“Of course I must. I don’t want you within a hundred miles of that blackguard.”

She blanched, and he didn’t blame her. He was acting as if he owned her—the last thing she wanted. And yet he was absolutely obliged to protect her. Surely she understood that.

Apparently not, for she shook her head. “Sam won’t harm me, for he can’t risk angering my father.”

“He just did anger him,” James shot back.

“So did I.” Were those tears shimmering in her eyes? She squeezed them shut. “I should have kept my mouth shut, but I simply cannot agree to marry Mr. Tilson.”

“You didn’t anger him on purpose,” James said gently. “Furbelow did.”

“Yes, and I don’t understand it.” She shook her head and took a turn about the room. When she faced him again, the tears were gone. “Usually he makes an effort to be polite. He always asks to marry me, but he doesn’t actually ogle me in front of Papa.”

Saves that for elsewhere, does he? By a supreme effort, James managed to refrain from saying the words aloud.

“You needn’t be concerned,” she said. “Martha and I can put up with a little ogling. Max protects us.”