Logic told him that hinging his entire business on one woman was a ridiculous choice. No matter how smart she was, he needed to control his own fate. But he could not make a sensation out of himself. He was already as accepted as he was likely to get. He needed a special woman with hidden charm that he was uniquely positioned to bring into popularity.
He’d finished his toilette and now sat in his shirtsleeves and nothing else as he polished his own boots. It was a tedious task and he missed having a valet, but he could not afford the expense. So there he sat in his tiny room in a gentleman’s boarding house and rubbed his footwear while his mind wandered. More thoughts, more plans, and the recurring sight of Lady Gwen as she stood shocked by his intellect.
He shouldn’t be thrilled that he had bested her. God knew, she was likely ten times more knowledgeable than he, certainly in botany. But he did know the word “hubris” along with its antecedents, which was a good thing. Lady Gwen respected intelligence. It was probably the only thing she did respect. And so he had matched her education—in that respect—and had garnered another chance to bring her into his plans.
And he did relish the idea of bringing her enthusiastically into his plans. He was busy imagining just what he might do with her when a heavy knock disrupted his thoughts.
“Come in.”
If his mind had been anywhere but on Lady Gwen, he’d have realized the knock was not a valet here to rescue him. But he wasn’t paying attention which is why he was startled when the door burst open and a broad-shouldered man with angry emerald eyes stepped in. There was a crackle to the air that pulled Jackson fully into the moment, not to mention the way his intruder scanned the room, then dismissed it with a single contemptuous look.
“Lord Sayres?”
Jackson didn’t answer beyond a quirk in his eyebrow and that made the man’s eyes flash.
“You are Lord Sayres?” His gaze took in the polishing implements and showed some confusion. After all, how many members of thetonworked their own boots?
“Is that a question?” Jackson asked.
The man frowned and shook his head. “No, I know it’s you,” he said. “I just hadn’t realized how far you’d fallen.” His gaze encompassed the cramped room that no servant had cleaned in far too long. And given that Jackson had spent the last week preparing for the masquerade, his rooms were in a disheveled state.
“And you are…?” he asked though he’d already figured out who the man was. It was a measure of his exhaustion that he hadn’t figured it out at the beginning.
“Lord Byrn,” he said, his voice tight. “Lady Gwen’s brother and guardian.”
Normally Jackson would make some effort to be charming. He had turned the opinion of many fathers and brothers, especially when he emphasized that he had no intention of marrying the wealthy women under their care. But he was overtired and caught—literally—with his pants off. It set him on the offensive. “I hardly think so.”
“What?” The word sounded like the crack of a tree breaking.
“You’re not her guardian. She’s long since entered her majority.”
Lord Byrn’s brows drew down. He didn’t start ranting, which was a point in his favor, and in truth, the hard stare was intimidating. But Jackson had never been one to falter just because of an ugly look. He’d have been done in years ago if that were the case.
“Listen, Sayres, I haven’t the time to mince words. I know you’re a fortune hunter. You’re pleasant enough and I don’t begrudge you your status—”
“Kind of you not to begrudge my title,” he drawled. They were of an equal rank, though Byrn had inherited a healthy estate and Sayres had not. But on the societal rung, they were of a pair.
“You know what I mean,” the man snapped. “I’m not here to threaten your standing in society or any such nonsense.”
“Then why are you here?”
The man took a breath, paused, then shrugged. “To threaten all that if you pursue my sister.”
At least he seemed to recognize the ridiculousness of what he’d just said. “Thank you for not mincing words. I appreciate people who understand the value of my time. Pray shut the door on your way out.”
He didn’t expect Lord Byrn to take the dismissal, but he also didn’t expect the man to draw up a chair and wearily drop into it. “Gwen’s an odd duck, to be sure, but she’s also brilliant and not one for social niceties. Whatever man marries her will need to be indulgent of her odd studies and immune to the thousands of ways she might embarrass him. For example, she has several microscopes in her possession which she uses until an indent develops around her eye and she is forced to rest.”
Jackson didn’t know which to be offended by most—that her own brother could describe Lady Gwen in such an unflattering way or that he could do it while clearly bent on trying to protect her. He stared at the man in silent horror which was clearly misinterpreted.
“I promise you I do not exaggerate. Her scientific investigations can be distasteful. She spent a full year in the study of mites, and she would share her thoughts on the subject at the dinner table.” Lord Byrn rubbed a hand over his face. “I love my sister to distraction, but there is no arguing that she is strange.” His gaze turned to Jackson’s neatly folded piles of clothes. Though he had little quantity in clothing, each piece was excellently tailored and of good quality. “Any man who marries her would see his invitations decrease, his place in polite society damaged, and his circle of influence severely curtailed.” Then Byrn took a deep breath. “And then there is the other thing.”
Jackson waited, but the man didn’t speak. It was a cheap oratory trick to hold the listener’s attention, and so Jackson picked up the polishing cloth and returned to his boots. Unfortunately for all his apparent disinterest, his imagination was fully caught and held. What was theotherthing that so plagued Lady Gwen? Did she have a secret deformity or bizarre vice? Had fairies cursed her to turn into a frog every night at midnight? The possibilities were endless.
And damn the man for seeing his weakness for a good story. “I know I have your attention,” Lord Byrn said.
“But not my patience,” Jackson returned. “You have come into my home to level threats. Pray finish insulting your own sister or leave.”
“My sister is an incredible woman!” Lord Bryn cried, clearly incensed though he was the one who had been discounting her. “She is delightfully intelligent and has a wicked sense of humor. She deserves a man who can see that.”