She stood.
And as she did, he raked his gaze from her booted feet up her breech-clad thighs to the linen shirt loosely draping her bodice.
“Oh, dear God,” he groaned. “Jack?”
“Yes,” she affirmed, squaring her shoulders.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded without moving. He seemed fixed to his languid spot. Even so, he fairly crackled with growing intensity at her invasion of his quarters. “You know I could’ve shot you for coming in through that window.”
“But you wouldn’t,” she replied, unflinching at his bold tone. She had known him for years, and he was not the sort to shoot first and assess later.
Oh, he was capable of violence, as many young men of thetonwere expected to be. But he wasn’t a brute. No, he was the personification of noblesse oblige, a man of honor.
After all, she’d seen him and her brother scuffle on more than one occasion. They scrapped quite fiercely. But there had never been tales of Stone changing into a vicious sort over the years.
Nor was he the sort to hurt a woman.
He might be all the things that a gentleman was that could vex a young lady beyond all possible measure, a bounder, a rake, and a rogue, but there was an unequivocal fact. Stone was notcruel. If he was, she’d never have been foolish enough to attempt such a meeting.
He drew in a long breath, which did the most fascinating things to the sinews in his neck and shoulders, covered only in a thin, linen shirt. The garment was untied at his throat.
His clavicles were…most fascinating.
“Jack,” he gritted. “You cannot be here.”
“Icanbe here,” she retorted, dragging her gaze away from his honed physique and up to his beautiful visage. “I have managed it quite well, thank you very much, and I will not leave until we have discussed an extremely important matter.”
“What could possibly be important enough to warrant invading my chambers in the middle of the night?”
The intimation that she was a fool was clear. Anunwelcomefool.
She drew herself up. “You have aided in the ruining of my life, Your Grace.”
His dark, somewhat ominous brows drew together. “I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me,” she said firmly, lifting her chin.
“Surely, such a thing is not actually possible,” he replied with pained patience. “How couldIruin your life?”
He wastoleratingher.
Now, she realized he was a great man and she but the younger sister of his friend—but toleration? It was not to be borne. Especially when she’d seen him covered head to toe in mud after being tossed into a questionable puddle by her brother.
She cleared her throat, making ready to state her case. “First of all, such a thing is entirely possible,” she countered evenly. “You’re a duke who wields a great deal of power and influence. Second of all, you have arranged for my sister, Louise, to marry Lord Deptford.”
“How could that possibly ruin your life?” he demanded, then took a drink of his brandy.
The action of the glass moving to his lips and the muscles of his throat working as he drank was hypnotic, which was most frustrating. His every movement seemed to be so…seductive and apparently without effort.
“Because now I must marry a fortune,” she ground out, determined not to be affected by him.
“Ah, I see,” he said simply before gazing at her with more consideration. “And this appalls you, Lady Jacqueline?”
Her formal name stunned her, a retraction from her nickname, Jack, which he apparently now found inappropriate.
“Indeed, it does,” she replied, finding her own patience wearing thin. Men were so bloody lucky not to have to be limited to such a narrow scope. “I do not wish to marry at all. But now I find that I must. I must eschew any thoughts of choosing an interesting person. Worse, I must abandon my plan to dedicate myself to the piano and spinsterhood. My small annuity will no longer suffice.”
“You don’t wish to marry?” he repeated, all but agog.