For the Love of the Baron Read online

  From what Jonathan had heard, there had been not only no love lost between the new and prior Lord St. Clair, but barely any contact over the years.

  They followed the man out the door, down the corridor and into another room, both glaring at each other.

  The room was as dim and dull as the library where the sale was being conducted. Dust covers blanketed every piece of furniture in the room. The three of them all coughed at the amount of dust in the room.

  Mr. Sedgewick ushered them to the French doors, which he pushed opened to allow fresh air inside. “I think perhaps it might do our lungs well to have our discussion out here.”

  Jonathan and Lady Marigold nodded and settled themselves on a couple of rickety chairs surrounding an equally rickety table. Mr. Sedgewick placed the journal on the table. Jonathan licked his lips. Lady Marigold sighed.

  “From what I just witnessed, and your statements, I presume you both wish to purchase this journal.”

  ***

  Marigold leaned forward on her chair. It creaked enough she was afraid to continue to move, lest she end up on her bottom on the ground. Wouldn’t His Stiffness, Lord Stanley love to witness that ignominious sight. Sitting very still, she offered the man a bright smile. “Yes, Mr. Sedgewick. I have a very strong reason to want to purchase that journal.” She glared at Lord Stanley. “And I had it first.”

  “Her ladyship did not have it first. I arrived before her, as you must remember, Mr. Sedgewick, and had fully intended to purchase the book. In fact, it was in my hand when Lady Marigold grabbed it from me.”

  She jerked back. The chair creaked again, tilting to the side. She grabbed the edge of the table in front of them and held her breath, but the chair remained upright. “I did not grab it, Lord Stanley!”

  Mr. Sedgewick raised his hands. “One moment, please.” He looked back and forth between them. “Do you know each other?”

  Marigold smoothed her gown, not looking up from her lap. “Yes. You might say so.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Lady Marigold and I belong to the same literary society.” Lord Stanley’s mumbled words could hardly be heard.

  Mr. Sedgewick grinned, as if he’d just solved a very delicate problem. “Well, then. This should be an easy matter to solve. I shall hold the journal with me, and I suggest you both go somewhere for tea and discuss the matter between you. I am sure you will come up with a solution that won’t involve fisticuffs.” He laughed at his own words, but neither Marigold nor Jonathan smiled.

  She wanted that journal. There would be so much information in there about anatomy, that as a woman she had no access to. This would be her golden opportunity to further her studies without having to fight to gain access to such knowledge.

  After an uncomfortable silence, Lord Stanley spoke up. “Yes, I believe that might be a good idea.” His jaw was so tight it was a wonder it didn’t break. “That is if Lady Marigold agrees, which I doubt.”

  Honestly, the man was extremely difficult to deal with. However, if she gave in to her desire to pop him over the head with her reticule, it would only prove his point. And possibly make Mr. Sedgewick think twice about allowing her to purchase the book.

  She would take the adult stance and agree, just to prove him wrong. “Very well. I shall be thrilled to have tea with Lord Stanley and discuss the purchase of my journal.” Marigold stood, and the two men jumped up. Mr. Sedgewick’s chair tilted to one side, then slowly fell over, the wood on the arm splintering into a dozen pieces.

  Mr. Sedgewick viewed the chair with raised brows. “I guess we shall not expect to receive significant remuneration from these household goods.”

  Marigold followed Mr. Sedgewick through the French doors, passed the dusty room, into the corridor, and to the front entrance. They passed the library where many more potential buyers had arrived while she and Stanley had battled over the journal.

  The man of business came to a stop next to the butler at the door and turned to them. “I shall hold the journal for two hours, then I am afraid I must place it back on the table for sale.” He bowed and pivoted on his heels, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the long corridor.

  “I shall call for my carriage.” Lord Stanley moved toward the butler.

  “No.”

  He turned back, his brows raised. “Have you changed your mind, Lady Marigold? Shall I tell Mr. Sedgewick the journal is mine?”

  “Absolutely not. I just don’t agree we should travel in your carriage. I have my carriage with me as well, and I find it quite comfortable.”

  Lord Stanley moved close enough to her that Marigold could see the deepness of his brown eyes. She could also smell the scent of something citrus, and spicy. The heat radiating from his body made her uncomfortable. The surrounding air seemed to disappear, and she was having a hard time filling her lungs. Rattled, she eased back.

  “Are you suggesting my carriage is uncomfortable?” Lord Stanley growled.

  Marigold raised her chin. “I have no idea, since I have never ridden in it. However, I prefer my carriage.”

  Lord Stanley snatched his hat from the butler and jammed it on his head, bringing the brim almost to his eyebrows, likening to a child wearing his father’s hat. “Very well, Lady Marigold, we shall ride in your carriage. Anything to bring this distasteful meeting to an end.”

  Marigold pulled on her gloves. “If you will have my carriage brought around, sir, I would appreciate it.” The butler, still holding his wooden stance, but with a slight twinkle in his eyes, nodded. “Very well, my lady. It will be just a minute.”

  He left them to summon the carriage while Marigold stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the black and white tile. Oh, the man was impossible. Why would he assume they would travel in his carriage? Men always behaved in that manner. They expected to give orders, have them obeyed, and no one—especially a woman—should question them.

  That was precisely why she needed Dr. Paglia’s journal. She was not permitted to join any organizations that had anything at all to do with the human body. As a well-bred, gentle woman, she was supposed to swoon and reach for her vinaigrette when any part of the human body was mentioned.

  Nonsense. Her curiosity and intelligence had gotten her into trouble more than once, and she would not pass up this opportunity to expand her mind. Lord Stanley could just suck lemons. This journal would be hers.

  They continued to ignore each other until the butler returned. “Your carriage is ready, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” Before Lord Stanley could attempt to take her arm, she moved ahead of him to make her way down the stairs. It had begun to rain since she’d entered the house, and the steps were slippery. Taking a chance, she stepped away from the door, her foot slid out from under her and, arms flailing, she fell backward.

  Right into Lord Stanley’s arms.

  Chapter Three

  No one was more surprised than Jonathan when the sweet-smelling, lushly curved Lady Marigold ended up in his arms. When her foot flew out from under her, he automatically put his arms out and she landed there, with his one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand cupping her generous breast.

  “Unhand me!” She struggled to have him release her, but her feet continued to slide out from under her on the steps, so he held tighter to keep her from landing on her arse.

  She slapped his arms with her reticule—bloody hell, what did she carry in that thing, anyway?—and wiggle, which was the absolute wrong thing for her to do given where his hands were. “Lady Marigold, stop. Settle yourself, or you will end up on your bottom.”

  “I would prefer to be anywhere except where I am. Unhand me, I say!”

  Stupid, stubborn woman. He moved his hand up from her breast and cupped her shoulder. “All right, now straighten yourself out.”

  They had reached the bottom of the steps by then and she pulled away from him, shifting her gown, and glaring at him. “That was totally unnecessary, my lord.”

  Perhaps total
ly unnecessary, but his lower parts had responded to having her so close to him, which annoyed him to no end. The last thing he wanted was to be attracted to the harridan.

  She adjusted her hat and smoothed her gown, and lifting her chin, took a footman’s hand and stepped up into the carriage. If it weren’t for the rain falling now in a steady drizzle, he would climb up and ride with the driver. Anything to avoid Lady Marigold.

  Once they settled in, he tapped on the ceiling of the coach, and the driver snapped the ribbons and the horses trotted away from the St. Clair estate and toward the small village adjacent to it. “Do you have a preferable place to have tea, my lady?” He might as well ask her first because if he just picked a pub or inn she would most likely announce she had the perfect spot that she always frequented, leaving him again looking like a fool.

  “No. I have never been to this village. Are you familiar with Sturbridge?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I’m sure there is an acceptable place for a cup of tea.”

  “And discussion.”

  “Yes. And discussion.” He rested his booted foot on his knee and stared out the window of the carriage, watching the water drip down the glass. Lady Marigold put him into knots. He might as well admit it, since he’d known her for the two years they’d belonged to the literary society, and he always left her presence rattled.

  She was perhaps one of the prettiest young ladies of his acquaintance. When she smiled her perfect smile—never at him—the entire room lit up. He had tried dancing with her one time, but unable to think of anything to say to the very popular social butterfly, he merely kept silent, and they had parted ways without him speaking so much as one word.

  He’d always wondered why someone with as much vivaciousness, looks and, from what he’d heard, an impressive dowry, was not married. She had to have had numerous offers throughout the years. If he was correct, this had to be her fifth Season, which would make her about two and twenty.

  Not a great age, but certainly close to being considered a spinster soon. Well, for whatever reason she was not married, with no husband to control her, so he had to deal with her. She had always been a conundrum. Her flighty, silly, always-laughing ways marked her as a foolish miss in his mind. One to be easily dismissed. Yet, she contributed to the discussions at the literary society meetings in a thoughtful and intelligent way.

  Who was the real Lady Marigold?

  Why did he care?

  Now they found themselves at odds over the journal. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine why she would want such a thing. To a woman such as her, it would be dry, incomprehensible, and even scandalous. A young, unmarried, gently reared woman had no interest in body parts, which he was sure the journal was filled with.

  Dr. Paglia had made tremendous advancements in the study of the human body. Jonathan had been fascinated with the study of anatomy since he attended university. As a baron, it would not suit for him to practice medicine, but he certainly enjoyed keeping up on the latest discoveries. He read with a great deal of enthusiasm the monthly Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine.

  The carriage came to a rolling stop at the east end of the village. The coach shifted as the driver dropped to the ground and opened the door. “Which shop will you be visiting, my lord?”

  “Neither the lady nor I are familiar with the town, so perhaps you can question a shop or two and we will go with that.”

  “Very good.” The man tugged on the brim of his hat, closed the door and walked off.

  “I will be happy to compensate you in any way you deem acceptable if you renege on your request to purchase Dr. Paglia’s journal.” It might be worth the chance to attempt to assuage Lady Marigold’s stubbornness with the book. Perhaps she really didn’t want it but was merely being difficult by continuing to insist on owning it.

  “I am afraid there is no compensation great enough for me to pass up the opportunity to own Dr. Paglia’s journal, my lord.”

  Jonathan shifted in his seat, trying to keep his temper down, since yelling wasn’t going to get him anywhere with the onerous woman. “Why in heaven’s name would a woman like you want Dr. Paglia’s journal?”

  ***

  “A woman like me! What exactly do you mean by that, Lord Stanley?” Her entire body tensed, and she quickly understood the long-held statement ‘seeing red.’ However, the red she saw was when she imagined pompous Lord Stanley lying in a pool of blood on the floor. With her holding the saber with which she’d run him through.

  Lord, the man had the power to turn her into a bedlamite and led her to imagining things so very unlike her. She was a cheerful person by nature, liked most people, had dozens of friends, both male and female. For some reason she could not be in this man’s company without wanting to wreak violence upon his person.

  He actually stammered. “I apologize. I did not mean any disrespect. I merely am curious as to why a young, beautiful, charming young lady of the ton wishes to own a book written by a doctor about things that most young ladies would shy away from.”

  Before she could answer, the driver opened the door. “My lady it appears there is a small tea house two shops down, across the street.”

  “Thank you, John.” She shifted to leave the carriage. “Just wait here for us. This won’t take long.” She accepted the driver’s hand and climbed down, shaking out her skirts. Lord Stanley followed, and they walked across the street. Perhaps she was being stubborn after the disaster on the steps leaving St. Clair’s house, but she would not accept Lord Stanley’s arm.

  It never paid to get too comfortable with the enemy.

  For such a modest town, the tea house was delightful. The dark paneled walls held sconces that lit up the area, giving it a very warm and welcoming feel. Several small tables were scattered around the room, with fresh linens and sparkling silverware on each.

  She and Lord Stanley took a seat at table closest to the window that allowed the rare, but bright sunlight to swath their table with warmth and light.

  “May I assist you, my lady, my lord?” A woman dressed in a starched black gown, covered by a pristine white apron approached them, a bright smile on her face. “May I recommend our scones? Cook makes the best in all of England.”

  Marigold couldn’t help but smile at the woman. “I will definitely try some of the scones. They sound wonderful.”

  The woman dipped, then turned to Lord Stanley. “The same for you, my lord? Or would you prefer sandwiches?”

  He waved the woman off. “Tea and scones is fine for me, as well. Thank you.”

  Marigold commented on their surroundings, making small talk until the tea and scones arrived. The woman arranged them all precisely on the table, poured two cups of the dark liquid into two dainty china cups and left them. Marigold added one lump of sugar and a dash of milk to her tea while Lord Stanley fixed his to his liking.

  She took one sip, then set the cup down and faced him, forgetting for the moment the wonderful aroma coming from the scones. “I have as much right to own the journal of Dr. Paglia as you do.”

  Lord Arrogance raised his brows. “And why is that, my lady? No one has the ‘right’ to own a book that is for sale. One may merely offer to purchase it, pay the asked for price, and then it is given into their hands. Nothing ‘rightful’ about it.” He popped a piece of scone into his mouth and smirked.

  Oh, to wipe that look off his face with the clotted cream sitting in the bowl right next to her plate. However, wishing to conduct herself as a lady, she said, “Why is it you are so interested in the journal? Perhaps my reason is stronger than yours.”

  Lord Stanley leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a great deal of interest in anatomy. I have studied it for years, and Dr. Paglia is the most renown man of this century in that field. The daily recordings of his thoughts and ideas would be fascinating to an aficionado of the genre.”

  Marigold leaned forward, Lord Stanley’s words exciting her all over again. “I agree. It w
ould be astounding to know what he thought of the things he later created, or things that never did make it past his drawing table. I have my own thoughts on what he imagined would be available in the world of medicine of the future.”

  His lordship’s jaw dropped. “You know of Dr. Paglia?”

  She leaned back and stared at him. “Of course, I do. Why do you think I want his journal?”

  “I have no idea. I guess I assumed you wanted it for some silly female reason.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and the bowl of clotted cream was looking better as a decoration for Lord Arrogant’s face. “Some silly female reason? Like what? Do you think I imagined his journal was full of writings on ribbon colors and ladies fashion?” She slammed her napkin down on the table and stood. “I can see where this entire conversation will lead us nowhere. You have absolutely no respect for me, or probably for any woman.”

  He jumped to his feet and held out his hands in a pleading fashion. “Please take your seat. I withdraw any comment I made that casts an unflattering light upon you.” He waved at her seat. “Please?”

  She reluctantly returned to the chair and placed her napkin on her lap again. “If we are to have a true compromise, we must refrain from suppositions and assumptions. Let me make this clear. I want the journal, for my own reasons, and you want it for your own reasons. That is the only thing that needs be discussed.”

  She leaned her elbow on the table, right in the bowl of clotted cream, and winced. “So, who gets the book, Lord Stanley?”

  Chapter Four

  Jonathan tried very hard not to laugh as he handed Lady Marigold his napkin to wipe her elbow. With her nose in the air, as if dipping her elbow into a bowl of clotted cream had been precisely what she had intended to do, she accepted the cloth and cleaned herself up. He had enjoyed watching the various emotions play over her face the entire time they’d been at the inn.