Page 59 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“I did not think I would live through it,” Brentford added.

“Yes, well, let’s not go turning maudlin at a party, Brentford. Jane is here to distract herself.”

“Then you are forbidding me to approach her?”

Grayson glanced away from Jane. God knew he didn’t own her by default. To forbid a man from courting her was not his right, especially not when he hoped to restore her availability in the marriage mart. Yet neither could he blithely hand her off to the first undesirable who came along either. He owed her at least that degree of protection.

“Yes,” he said, at a loss. “I suppose I am.” And let Brentford make of that what he would.

There was a pause. Both men watched as Jane went out on the dance floor with one of her brother’s close friends. She was actually laughing, apparently enjoying herself, until in the middle of a turn she glanced over at the two dissimilar males studying her with brooding intensity. Her face clouded over, and she faltered a step.

“That is what I mean,” Grayson said, shifting his shoulder from the pillar. “She is not going to wallow in heartbreak over my cousin if I can help it.”

“I don’t know how she can appear so carefree when he abandoned her only a week or so ago,” Brentford said thoughtfully. “I applaud her acting ability. It is uncanny.”

Grayson, only half listening to this melancholy nonsense, gave Brentford a piercing look. “What are you saying?”

The baron hesitated. “Far be it from me to believe gossip. It’s just that some of her friends suspect she never really loved Nigel to begin with. A few have even speculated that she wasn’t that unhappy to—”

The contempt on Grayson’s face cut him dead.

“Gossip, my lord,” Brentford said quickly. “Only low gossip.”

“Then do not repeat it. Ever.”

Brentford lifted his brow. “My grandmama always said gossip is a seed that bears ill fruit.”

“Then do listen to her,” Grayson said in a cold voice. “Do not plant ill-begotten seeds.”

Brentford nodded. “I shall leave you to your duty as her guard.”

“Do that,” Grayson said curtly, hoping that whatever other malicious rumors about Jane were circulating through the ton would die stillborn.

Chapter 15

The following morning a small box arrived for Jane from Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, the jewelers on Ludgate Hill, containing a diamond mouse brooch with onyx eyes. There was no card attached. No message to hint at that passionate encounter in the maze, just this very costly reminder of a moment she could never forget had she so desired. While Caroline and Miranda admired the unusual gift, wondering aloud at its significance, Jane sneaked downstairs to the kitchen to see Cook.

“A rhubarb, you say, my lady?” Cook wiped her damp hands on her apron. “Well, I haven’t seen one in ages, but there is an apothecary my aunt visits who sells imported Chinese potions. Dried rhubarb roots and such.”

“Rhubarb roots.” A pleased grin spread across Jane’s face as she pictured repaying Sedgecroft in kind. “Oh, splendid. Have a nice big one wrapped in a pretty box and sent to the marquess at Park Lane. With my best wishes. And tie a pink ribbon around the rhubarb.”

“To the marquess. A rhubarb root. With a pink ribbon.”

“In a fancy box, mind you,” Jane added, before turning away.

Cook stared at the scullery maid frozen at the sink, her face perplexed. “Rhubarb root,” she whispered. “Lord help us. What would a young lady be wanting with a root unless it was one of those hocus-pocus love potions the gypsies sell? Resorting to magic to get herself a man,” she answered herself. “Poor thing.”

The scullery maid threw down her spoon. “I’d like to buy some arsenic to slip into Sir Nigel’s tea, I would.”

“Wouldn’t we both?” Cook said. “But arsenic is too kind, dear, for what that miserable sod has done. I’d like to get my hands around his neck and wring it like a pullet.”

The maid glanced down at the towel Cook was squeezing in her powerful hands. “Calm yourself, Mrs. Hartley. The young lady has the marquess to take care of those matters for her.”

Cook frowned. “And sending him a rhubarb, as if I’m too thick to know what that signifies. No subtlety there, my girl. Not that even an old woman like me cannot see the attraction.”

Grayson approached the Earl of Belshire’s Grosvenor Square mansion on his horse later that same afternoon.

He had thought about Jane all night long, at turns perplexed, amused, and terrified by his attraction to her. He’d thought about her as he revisited Nigel’s club and favorite haunts, none of which rendered any helpful clues to his disappearance. He was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t be better off joining Heath on his search, but then he had promised to stay here and defend Jane from social cruelty. Defending her from himself was yet another matter entirely.