The Bride's Seduction. Louise Allen
it is my family home and I have been intending to retrieve it for twenty years, you may be confident that I still wish to buy it back from you.’
‘Twenty years? But you must only have been, what, six, seven...?’
‘Eight. I was eight when my father lost Knightshaye to your father in a card game and eight when he...died three months later.’ And he had been ten when his mother died, apparently of no other cause than a broken heart.
‘Why do you question whether I still want it?’
‘Well, I, er... Have you been there recently?’
‘No. I have never been back.’ As the carriage had pulled away, his mother weeping, his father with a face set like stone, he had vowed never to set foot on Knightshaye land until it was his again. But he saw no reason to confide that to the son of the man who had taken it from the Ransomes. ‘Why do you ask? Is something wrong there?’
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Charlie said with a somewhat suspicious carelessness. ‘Never been there myself. The tenanted farmland’s all in good enough heart—the rents are fine, so my steward tells me. The house is shut up. My father left instructions for its maintenance, so I just told our steward to get on with everything in the same way as before.’
So, the late Lord Winslow had taken Knightshaye entirely for revenge, not because he wanted it for itself. If spite had not been the reason, then surely the family would have used it: it was a far finer mansion that their own small estate. It was as Justin had always suspected, and he knew the reason why, even if apparently old Winslow’s heir did not.
‘Why not name your price?’ Justin suggested, unclenching his left hand, which had fisted until the nails cut into the palm.
Charlie Winslow got to his feet and began to pace again, finally coming to rest by the window where he stood watching his brother and sisters. ‘There’s a price—and a condition,’ he said finally.
Justin raised his eyebrows. He had been willing to buy back Knightshaye without negotiation and without insisting on examining the books. Winslow had him over a barrel as far as striking a bargain was concerned; it was not possible to conceal his interest, not after seven years of persistent requests to buy the place. ‘What condition?’
‘That you marry my sister.’
‘What?’ Justin found himself on his feet, staring at the baron.
‘That you marry Marina,’ Charlie said stubbornly. ‘Or I won’t sell. There won’t be enough for a dowry for her as well as for Lizzie and she doesn’t deserve to dwindle into a spinster aunt or my mother’s unpaid companion. I’m dashed fond of my sister,’ he added, ‘and I am damned sure my reputation and the lack of the readies is what scuppered her chances on the Marriage Mart.’
‘So you hit on this idea to provide for her,’ Justin observed coldly. ‘And what does Miss Winslow have to say to it, might I ask?’
‘She knows nothing about it. And that’s another thing, you must not tell her, not a word, or she will never agree.’
‘You flatter me.’
Charlie flapped a hand, dismissing his own tactlessness. ‘Don’t mean you’re not as eligible as they come—title, fortune and all that—and now that other matter with Miss Henslow has blown over, there’s no reason why—’ He broke off in the face of the hard glint in Justin’s eyes. ‘Well, no need to go into that, all a hum, I dare say, but you aren’t involved with anyone now, are you? You’re not engaged—if you ever were, that is...’ He found himself in the mire again, took a deep breath and restarted. ‘Thing is, Marina’s dashed proud and she wouldn’t like it if she thought I was fixing something up, do you see?’
‘I think I do,’ Justin said grimly, trampling firmly on thoughts of his former love’s golden beauty and avaricious little heart. The two men sat down again, eyeing each other warily. It was as though they were sitting over the opening hand of a game of cards, sizing up the odds, deciding their wagers. ‘And what is the price—beside your sister’s hand, that is?’
Lord Winslow named a sum that was at the top end of Justin’s expectations and sat there, looking hopeful.
‘I will pay that and add another two thousand—but I will not marry your sister.’
‘Thought you might say that,’ Charlie said equably. ‘But it’s the money and Marina, or nothing. If you won’t buy on my terms, I’ll sell to someone else and I will get the lawyers to put a clause in the deeds so it can never be sold to you or your heirs.’
Justin felt the anger surge up hot and powerful and was surprised to find himself still sitting down, hands calmly clasped. His self-control must be better than he thought.
‘So, like your father, you have a talent for blackmail,’ he observed evenly.
‘Damn it—’ the younger man looked hurt, but not insulted ‘—I’m doing it for my sister.’ He frowned. ‘What do you mean about my father?’
‘That there was no reason why my father, had he wished to gamble with yours, could not have met any money stake, however high. He wagered Knightshaye because he was blackmailed into it.’
‘Why?’ Charlie demanded bluntly. ‘He was a hard devil, my father, I’m not denying that, but blackmail? What did he know about your father that could force him to that risk?’
‘He had nothing on Father, but it was a matter that concerned two other people, one dead now, one still alive. It is not something I can speak of. You will just have to take my word for it.’
The younger man grimaced. ‘Very well. But you can call it what you like, you won’t insult me—take Marina or the deal is off.’
‘And if your sister does not wish to marry me?’ Even as he spoke, Justin knew he was giving way simply by letting himself consider the proposition. There was something about Charlie Winslow’s demeanour that warned him the younger man was absolutely determined on this plan. He might be weak, but that very weakness made him stubborn when he was driven into a corner. If Justin wanted Knightshaye, he was going to have to dance to Winslow’s tune.
‘If you give me your word of honour you will do your best to attach her interest and she still won’t take you, then we’ll call it quits. Damn it, I can’t blame you if she turns down a chance like that. But I want your pledge you’ll give it your best effort for two months—and that you won’t ever breathe a word of this arrangement to her.’
Justin got to his feet and walked to the window. The Winslow family were making their way back to the house: young Giles was more or less in control of a muddy, panting Hector; Miss Elizabeth was talking vehemently and using her hands to describe what appeared to be an elaborate hat. And Miss Winslow—Marina—was listening attentively. As they reached the steps she glanced up at the window, saw him—and smiled.
It was a flash of friendly goodwill in a face distinguished more by pleasant symmetry and colouring than beauty. And it conjured up a vivid opposite in his mind. Golden hair, blue eyes, a perfect little nose and red lips always trembling on the edge of a calculated pout.
He turned back, holding out his hand. ‘Very well. I agree to your price and your condition. You have my word on it.’
‘Take Hector down to the scullery and do not dare to bring him back up until he is completely clean and dry,’ Marina ordered firmly, as Giles with his hound bundled through the front door behind his sisters.
‘Charlie should engage another tutor for Giles,’ Lizzie said crossly, twisting to examine the hem of her walking dress, which had been trodden on by large paws.
‘It seems such an extravagance when I can teach him; besides, recall how distracted he made poor Mr Livingstone. When