Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride. Mary Brendan
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around. When they were in public together he could appear aloof but that, too, was a simple ruse to camouflage his tumultuous feelings … a tumult she provoked! She was sure he would soon succumb to those secret yearnings and discreetly proposition her. After all, he could not possibly prefer that common baggage. Mrs Tucker! The harlot had never been wed! Diana simply sought to protect her worthless reputation by claiming the status of a widow and everybody knew it.
Iris smoothed her jewelled fingers over the shimmering silk of her skirt, pleased that she had chosen to wear it. She knew the colour matched her eyes and the snug fit to the bodice enhanced her bosom.
‘What do you want, Hunter?’
George had been in his study and had just received his servant’s breathless message that Sir Jason Hunter requested an audience. George’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he noticed how close together were his entranced wife and his unwanted caller.
‘I want to speak to you,’ Jason returned in a voice that was low and clipped. He stepped past Iris without giving her another glance.
‘Can it not wait till tomorrow? We are about to dine.’
‘Your wife has invited me to stay and join you. Shall I do that, or shall we attend to business so I might leave you in peace?’
Iris’s lips tightened in annoyance for she knew full well George would rid them of Jason’s company as soon as he could.
‘Would you mind terribly leaving us, my dear?’ George drawled the request, but a significant stare had Iris blushing. ‘Ask Mrs Jones to delay dinner for a little while. This will not take long.’
After a twitched smile and a tiny bob Iris flounced away. Before disappearing below, she watched George show Jason to his study.
‘What the devil is this about, Hunter? We were just about to sit down. Have you no notion of proper behaviour?’
‘I was just about to ask you the same thing.’
‘Me?’ George choked an astonished laugh as he went to his desk and used the decanter. ‘Well, just to impress on you that I am a gentleman with certain standards … would you care for a drink?’ Without awaiting a reply he thrust a glass of brandy at Jason.
‘A gentleman with certain standards,’ Jason mimicked sarcastically. ‘Why is it, then, you allow your sisters to exist in conditions more often found in Whitechapel than Mayfair?’
George gulped too quickly at his brandy and wheezed a cough. ‘Explain how you know … What do you mean?’ he hoarsely corrected himself.
‘This afternoon I went to Westlea House.’
George looked warily at him. ‘You ought to have made an appointment for that. You had no right to go there uninvited.’
‘You have sent me a contract to sign. I have every right to survey what I am buying.’
‘Perhaps; but you have no right to study my family. How my sisters live is my business and none of your concern.’ George sipped more sedately at his drink.
‘Is that right?’ Jason drawled. ‘I’ve recently been told that not only is their plight my concern, but my fault. What is it you really want to sell me, George? Your house or your sister?’
Chapter Five
‘That is an exceedingly strange thing to say. Am I to take it as a joke?’ George frowned in studied thoughtfulness.
‘If it were a joke, it would be in poor taste.’
‘I’ll take it as a joke, then,’ George drawled with heavy irony. ‘If I were to take it seriously, I should act as a good brother and defend Helen’s honour.’
‘How did you know to which sister I was referring?’ Jason’s teeth flashed in a silent laugh as George’s complexion became ruddy. ‘You’ve no need to answer.’ His tone was husky with mock sympathy. ‘Obviously I realise how you know, you sent Mrs Marlowe to see me.’
George snatched up his drink and took a swig before delivering a curt response. ‘That is another exceedingly strange thing to say, Hunter, and not at all funny. It appears you have no notion of what is good taste.’
‘It appears you have no notion of how to act as a good brother.’
George’s mouth thinned. ‘So you have this afternoon been talking to my sister Helen,’ he snapped. ‘What of it?’
‘You sent her to see me. Why?’
‘I did no such thing,’ George angrily refuted. ‘If you knew Helen better, you’d realise that she does as she pleases. A fine day it would be, and no mistake, if she followed my dictates.’ He barked a laugh. ‘If she did what I told her, she would by now be remarried.’
‘And thus no financial burden on you.’
‘Indeed,’ George retorted without shame or remorse.
‘I gather you were entrusted with the care of your sisters after Colonel Kingston died. Yet they seem to be fending, not very successfully, for themselves.’
‘I’ll not discuss any of my family’s private business with you!’ George thundered and slammed down his glass on a table that became beaded with brandy. ‘How my sisters go on is none of your concern.’
‘But you’d like to make it so. You’re wasting your time, Kingston. If you have a clear conscience over it, I don’t see why I should give a damn.’ Even as the callous words were uttered Jason flexed the hand that remembered her touch. A phantom caress from ebony hair was again on his skin and a faint redolence of lavender water teased his senses. He cursed beneath his breath as fingers curled about the brandy George had given him. The amber spirit reminded him of the same soulful-eyed woman. Abruptly he put down the drink and walked to the door, aiming a contemptuous stare at George as he passed him. He halted with a hand gripping the handle.
‘I’ve offered you a generous price for a property in need of extensive repair, and with tenants who are unwilling to leave.’
‘There is no need for you to fret over my sisters’ accommodation. I have already explained that I have made other arrangements for them.’
‘And the dilapidations? The house has obviously been neglected for many years.’
George’s mouth disappeared into a thin line. So that was what it was really all about! Money! Hunter had come to haggle over the price now he knew the condition of the property. George had expected to expediently conclude the sale confident that Jason would rely on a memory of Westlea House in its elegant heyday. ‘Are you about to renege on the deal? If you have named a price beyond your means, please say so….’
‘I think you know I have not,’ Jason enunciated very quietly.
George fiddled nervously with the lawn knot at his throat, for Jason’s icy grey gaze was unrelenting. He already regretted having resorted to using scorn. George knew, as did most people, that little was beyond this man’s means. The knowledge was galling, yet he was wily enough to know when to retreat. ‘Westlea House might now appear a little drab, but it is basically sound and will be grand again. When I have payment you will have vacant possession.’
‘You think that your sisters will accept being moved to Rowan Walk?’
George made an exasperated gesture. ‘I’ve had enough of this! You are being damned inquisitive and impertinent over matters that are not for discussion. You are not the only party interested in such a prime piece of property.’ Smugly he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Bridgeman has made an offer on it.’
‘But not at the figure I gave you. Nobody will match the sum, and you know it.’
George’s smirk collapsed—his bluff had been immediately trumped. Colin Bridgeman’s offer was far lower and George had been hoping nobody but he was aware of it.
George