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Chapter Thirty-Five
Jethro was still chatting with Arthur when he caught sight of Sable, wandering around as though shell-shocked. Poor darling, what had her mother said?
He was about to go to her when there was a hand on his biceps. Who the hell else from Hive was here? Because he couldn’t imagine anyone else in this Scrooge McDuck vault wanting to talk to him. Unless it was about plants, in which case, he was there.
Jethro would love to feel comfortable and confident in this glittery and too-clean place. He felt like if he slouched people would come out of the shadows and toss him out the servants’ entrance. They had to have one of those in this place, right?
When he turned, though, it was Duncan.
“Jethro, just the man I wanted to see.”
Really? Duncan had been slightly less frosty than Deirdre last time but not by much. And Jethro would much rather go check on Sable than hear more about Duncan’s golf clubs or car or whatever other thing that made it clear the man had money.
“Okay?”
“Don’t look so surprised. Figured we should get to know each other better since Sable seems quite taken with you. Here, come to the library. I just got a box of Gurkha Black Dragons and wanted to enjoy one.”
Jethro looked over his shoulder to see Sable talking to a couple of women. She still looked unsteady but it would probably be a good call in the long run to go have a chat with her father and…whatever the hell Gurkhas were. Cigars maybe? That’d fit.
Reluctantly, he let Duncan steer him down a hall and into a room that was dark wood-paneled with heavy leather furniture, a wall full of books that looked like they’d never been touched never mind read, and a fireplace. Nice digs.
If Sable was really upset, she’d text or call, and he hadn’t felt his phone buzz. He snuck it from his pocket just to make sure, but no, nothing.
“Sit, sit,” Duncan insisted, gesturing toward the couch in front of the fireplace.
Jethro sunk into the leather and felt more at ease than he had almost all evening. Only thing that could make this better would be to have Sable here, either curled up under his arm, sitting on his lap, or at his feet.
That not being an option, he tried to relax and enjoy—he felt like he was in a mob movie. Was Duncan about to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse?
Sable’s father walked over to something that looked like a fancy mini-fridge and opened the door before sliding a drawer out. Ah, an upscale humidor. Jethro should tell the man before he did anything irrevocable like cut the thing.
“I’ll pass on the cigar, but thank you.”
“You sure?” Duncan asked, popping up with a doubtful expression.
“Yeah, I’ve had a couple but never really got into it. I wouldn’t want you to waste one on someone who won’t appreciate it.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, getting the cigar ready to smoke and lighting it before bringing it over to the wingback kitty corner from where Jethro was sitting.
There was already an ashtray on the coffee table in front of them, like Duncan did this a lot. Expensive hobby, but clearly the guy could afford it.
Duncan took a puff on his cigar and exhaled, looking very pleased. Good for him. It just smelled like smoke to Jethro.
“So what are your intentions regarding my daughter?”
Ah, going old school, okay. And not beating around the bush. Jethro could either tell the truth or kick the can down the road by bluffing But the thing was, he wasn’t a liar. And if Duncan wanted to charge hard into this so could he. Plus, if he dodged the question now, Sable would probably end up bearing the brunt of her parents’ reaction later and he wasn’t going to do that to her.
Here goes nothing.
“I love Sable. She’s the sharpest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, and I’m going to marry her.”
There. He’d left out all the parts Sable wouldn’t want her parents to know about, but had been straightforward and hopefully his future father-in-law would appreciate that. Duncan drew on his cigar again and nodded before exhaling. And then the fucker chuckled.
“That’s not going to happen. You’re the kind of man women like Sable have flings or affairs with, not marry.”
Anger crept up the back of Jethro’s neck and he had to tighten his hand on the arm of the couch to keep from rubbing at the prickly heat. He wasn’t going to give Duncan any hint of discomfort.
It wasn’t even that Duncan had insulted him, although he had. It was more how dismissive he was of Sable’s feelings about the matter, about her making her own choices, ones that would make her happy. Jethro would never win a Nobel prize for sure, but he’d made a study of Sable and he wanted to keep learning her for the rest of his life.
