Elias sighed and leaned his head against the wall once more. “I did. She won’t have me.”
“Really?” Jonas sounded considering rather than shocked. “I’d have said she likes you. At Cam‘s Christmas party, she looked at you the way Consuela looks at a currant bun.”
“That was before Lord Baildon convinced her I was a heartless fortune hunter.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, ah. He’s set on shackling her to Desborough.” He shifted slightly until he could see Jonas’s ruined face. “I thought you’d set up this house party so that they could settle the engagement.”
Jonas’s mouth turned down in wry amusement. “I set up this house party so that I could talk Baildon into selling me half of Hampstead. Any marital contracts are purely a side issue.”
“So why are you encouraging me to pursue Lady Marianne?”
The black eyes glittered. “Because my wife is convinced you two belong together and I’m putty in that woman’s hands.”
Elias didn’t think Jonas was putty in anyone’s hands, but he’d long ago recognized the powerful bond between Lord and Lady Hillbrook. Watching them so happy together—and the similarly adoring Richard and Genevieve—had pricked like a thorn under his saddle for the last few days. He didn’t begrudge other people’s contentment. It was just dashed hard to stomach when his own courtship failed to prosper.
Last night, Marianne had given him more than a rejected suitor had any right to expect. But the chance that nothing would follow, and more bitter still, that her sweet ardor would shrivel away if she married Desborough, made him want to punch something. Preferably Desborough’s inoffensive face.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said grimly. “She’s determined to obey her father and equally determined to see me as a scoundrel.” Although perhaps after last night, that wasn’t as true as it had been in London.
“Cheer up, man. The engagement hasn’t been announced. You might yet convince her of your sincerity.”
“How the hell can I do that? The blasted money separates us like the Great Wall of China. If I say I don’t want her dowry, it sounds like a self-serving lie.” He paused. “I loved my brother, but I wish to heaven he hadn’t left the family finances in such a mess.”
“I didn’t know Peter,” Jonas said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t accepted in society when he was squandering his patrimony. But you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I’ve been watching your investments in the new industries. Once you’ve stopped feeling sorry for yourself, no doubt you’ll find your way to both solvency and Lady Marianne.”
The praise surprised Elias. He didn’t make the mistake of dismissing the compliment. Jonas was renowned for his shrewdness—and his plain speaking.
Jonas rose and offered a hand. “We need to get back to the house or Sidonie will think we’ve been washed away. And I could use a hot bath and some food.”
Elias accepted the assistance. “Thank you.” He was grateful for more than just the hand up.
“Chin up, chum. All’s not lost.”
Strangely the conversation braced Elias’s courage. Jonas was right. He didn’t underestimate the forces ranged against him—principally Lord Baildon and lack of fortune. But he had a few advantages, not least that Marianne had kissed him goodbye last night with an avidity that had singed his toes.
His hopes received a boost when he and Jonas returned to a crowded hall. Their arrival brought the entire mismatched party out to hear about the flood. As Jonas’s resonant bass detailed the situation, Elias found himself standing beside Marianne.
A happy accident, he thought, until her hand brushed his. Surprised and pleased, he glanced down. Her eyes, like everyone else’s, were focused on their host who was describing the rescue of a farmer’s family from the rising water.
“Can we do that again?” she murmured, bending her head so nobody would see that she spoke.
Shocked Elias hesitated before answering. She could only mean one thing. But would she be brazen enough to suggest a rendezvous?
Once more her fingers stroked his and for one blazing second, she raised her chin and their eyes met. Heat thundered through him and he swallowed against a surge of arousal.
“Please,” she mouthed.
“I’ll arrange something.” He twisted his hand until he pressed hers under the cover of her yellow skirts.
She crossed to talk to Genevieve. He hoped nobody else noticed the pink in her cheeks. His hand burned from the fleeting contact. He remembered how last night her scent had clung to his fingers. He’d felt drunk on the fragrance.
His heart, bolstered with fragile hope since talking to Jonas, swelled with renewed confidence. Perhaps the future he’d believed out of reach wasn’t quite as impossible as he’d imagined during the night’s bleak depths.
Chapter Eleven
* * *