Page 5 of A Momentary Marriage

“What business is it of yours?” Merton snarled.

“Well, you see, I have come to speak with her father.” He swept off his hat and sketched a bow to Laura. “Good afternoon, Miss Hinsdale. I hope I have not arrived at an inopportune time.”

“James de Vere?” Laura stared. Graeme’s cousin was the last person she expected to see in her yard. He looked older and thinner than the last time she’d seen him, when he’d come to inform her that she must give up the man she loved. But he was just as coldly handsome, his tone as supercilious. It was humiliating that he of all people should find her grappling with Sid Merton in front of her house. Even more humiliating, given her current situation, she must hope for his help.

Beside her, Merton let out a short, harsh laugh. “I wish you luck with that.”

Sir James’s brows lifted faintly at the words, but he ignored Merton, saying, “If you would be so kind, Miss Hinsdale, I would appreciate a bit of your time. If, of course, you are not otherwise occupied.”

“I am perfectly free.” Laura took another step away, jerking her arm as hard as she could. Merton’s grip did not loosen.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Merton growled.

James turned a disdainful gaze on him. “You, my good man, are becoming tiresome.”

“Tiresome!” Merton gaped at him.

“Time you left, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think.” Merton tossed back James’s words in a smug, singsong mockery.

“Mm. Clearly.”

The large man flushed with anger. Naturally, Sir James would come to one’s rescue in an irritating manner. Even the way he stood was insulting, too certain he would have his way to bother bracing for a fight. His arrogance would probably cow many men, but Sid Merton was a bully used to relying on his size and his fists to get what he wanted. It would take more than a haughty attitude to intimidate him.

“Sir James . . .” Laura began in a conciliatory fashion, hoping she could convey to him the need to tread lightly.

Both men ignored her.

“You’re the one who’s leaving.” Merton scowled menacingly, his free hand knotting into a fist.

“I think not. For the last time, release Miss Hinsdale and go.”

Merton let out a scornful laugh, making a show of looking the other man up and down. “You think you’re going to make me?”

“No.” James smiled thinly. He snapped his fingers, and the largest dog Laura had ever seen jumped out of the open carriage door. “He is.”

chapter 3

There was a dead silence as both Laura and Merton gaped at the dog. The top of his square head was level with James’s waist—and James was a tall man. The animal’s muscular body was a mottled combination of black and yellowish tan, but the muzzle and face were entirely black, as if he wore a mask, and it rendered his eyes barely visible, giving him an even more sinister appearance.

James flicked his hand toward Laura. “Guard her.”

The dog stalked over—he was even more terrifying at close range—and took up a stance beside Laura, fixing Merton with his unswerving gaze. Color drained from the big man’s face and he dropped Laura’s arm. Shooting her a final vicious look, Merton whirled and strode away, not glancing in Sir James’s direction.

Laura’s stunned gaze followed him for a moment, then went to James. Gratitude mingled awkwardly with her years-old dislike. “I, um, thank you.”

Sir James gave a careless shrug and strolled toward her. As he drew close, she could see that purplish shadows were smudged beneath his eyes and his face was etched with lines of weariness. “I could hardly allow the churl to accost you. And he was annoying me.”

Obviously Sir James accepted gratitude as gracelessly as he did everything else. Laura looked down at the dog. Her gaze hadn’t very far to go. The animal regarded her gravely, the thick wrinkles above his eyes giving him a worried look.

“And thank you,” she told the dog. He accepted the compliment better than his master, giving a single wag of his tail as he continued to study her. Laura was someone who generally liked dogs, but this one made her a trifle wary. “May I pet him?”

“You’re wise to ask.” James might look older and more worn, but his voice was the same, delivering whatever he said in a cool, faintly ironic tone, dipping now and then into ice but never warming. She remembered it well; their last conversation had lingered in her thoughts for a long time. “But, yes, you may touch him. He’s not likely to bite your hand off.”

“Not likely? That’s reassuring.” She stroked her hand across the wrinkled head. He allowed her caress without losing any of his dignity—no tail-beating, rear-end-wiggling, hand-licking response from him. His calm steady gaze was a trifle unnerving. “Trust you to have a pet that terrifies people.”

She thought the noise James made was a chuckle. “Trust you not to back away from him.”