The Convenient Felstone Marriage. Jenni Fletcher

his seat without making even the slightest attempt to sit up, as if she were so far beneath his contempt that there was no need for propriety, the look in his eyes even more insulting than his manner. She felt her mouth turn dry. Besides Sir Charles, no man had looked at her so intently for a long time. In her new, drab garb she’d started to think herself almost invisible to the opposite sex, but now this stranger’s pale gaze seemed to bore straight through her.

      Quickly, she glanced out of the window, but there was no sign of Percy. Typical of him to be indiscreet and then leave her to clear up the mess! Clearly this man had overheard some, if not all, of their conversation after all. Now it looked as though he were about to rebuke her for it. Well, she was in no mind for a lecture, especially not today.

      ‘Sir.’ She lifted her chin up defensively. ‘I beg you to forget anything you might have overheard. It was a private conversation.’

      ‘Then perhaps you ought not to have held it in a public carriage.’

      ‘A gentleman ought not to eavesdrop.’

      ‘I could hardly help it. I should think the whole locomotive could hear your brother’s voice.’

      She felt her cheeks flush scarlet with mortification. Even if that were true, which she was afraid it might be, he ought not to mention it. What kind of a gentleman was he?

      ‘My brother shouldn’t have been so indiscreet. But as you doubtless heard, I already reprimanded him.’

      ‘Was that a reprimand?’ Grey eyes regarded her mockingly. ‘It sounded as if you were more afraid of having your little scheme overheard.’

      Scheme? She opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. Now that she thought of it, she’d only told Percy to be quiet. She hadn’t contradicted him at all. No wonder this man assumed the worst, though he still had no right to chastise her. They hadn’t been introduced and she was a lady sitting on her own. They shouldn’t even be talking, let alone arguing.

      She folded her hands primly in her lap. ‘I do not have a scheme, sir.’

      ‘Except to marry a man you dislike for his money and then wish for his imminent demise. What would you call that but a scheme?’

      ‘I’d say you know nothing about it. And since you care so little for good manners, I might add that appearances can be deceptive. You, for example, look like a gentleman, yet you very clearly are not.’

      ‘Perhaps not, though I’ve been called far worse, I assure you.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it. But my affairs are none of your business.’

      ‘On the contrary.’ A shadow darkened his face. ‘I think it every man’s business to know that women like you exist.’

      ‘Women like me?’ An icy chill raced down her spine. What did that mean? How could he know what kind of woman she was? How could he possibly tell?

      ‘Schemers. Deceivers. Women who say one thing to a man’s face and another behind his back.’ He let his gaze drop contemptuously, as if he were studying her from head to toe and finding her wanting. ‘You don’t even have the decency to speak well of your quarry. At least I know what I am. You still think yourself a lady, I suppose?’

      He turned his face away, staring out of the window as she gazed into thin air, speechless with shock. How was it possible? After everything she’d done to alter her appearance, to alter herself, how could he still look at her and call her a schemer?

      She caught her breath, struggling against the old familiar feelings of shame and self-loathing. She’d been called a schemer once before, had tried to plead her innocence then, too, not that it had made any difference. Was everything they’d said about her in Bournemouth true, then? Was there something so bad, so inherently corrupt in her nature that even a stranger could see it?

      No! Her mind resisted the idea. And even if there was, it wasn’t intentional. She wasn’t the one scheming against Sir Charles. She didn’t want anything to do with him at all. He was the one scheming against her! And how dare this stranger speak to her so abominably, as if she were the most shame-faced fortune-hunter he’d ever laid eyes on. Whoever he was, he had no right to judge!

      ‘Yes,’ she began angrily, ‘I do call myself a lady. At least as much as you’re a gentleman. And if you’d been paying closer attention or given me the slightest benefit of the doubt, you’d know that I have no desire and certainly no intention of marrying Sir Charles!’

      ‘Sir Charles?’ The stranger turned his head sharply at the end of her speech, having continued to stare out of the window for most of it. ‘You mean Charles Lester?’

      Ianthe bit her tongue, realising her mistake a few seconds too late. Was it possible that they hadn’t mentioned his identity earlier? No, now that she thought of it, Percy always referred to him as Charles, while she avoided his name altogether. Not that there was any point in denying it now.

      She nodded cautiously as the stranger ran a hand through his hair, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath.

      ‘Do you know him, sir?’

      ‘We’re acquainted.’

      ‘Oh.’

      She waited, hardly knowing whether to feel guilty or relieved. For once, it seemed as though Percy’s behaviour would have consequences. If this man were acquainted with Sir Charles, then doubtless he’d tell him everything they’d just said. On the other hand, embarrassing as it was, it would solve her dilemma. After such a public condemnation, the Baronet would probably never want to see her again.

      Perhaps it hadn’t been such a terrible mistake after all...

      ‘In that case...’ the stranger leaned forward suddenly, resting his forearms on his knees as he bent closer towards her ‘...I believe I ought to retract my last comments. I overheard half a conversation and reacted badly. I believe I came in somewhere around the time you were denouncing your brother as pompous and then I could hardly intrude without embarrassing you.’ He frowned, as if admitting something against his will. ‘But it was wrong of me, I ought to have announced myself. I wasn’t trying to listen, but your brother’s last words...’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘I apologise unreservedly.’

      Ianthe blinked in bewilderment, stunned by such a marked transformation. The stranger’s voice was still terse, but the ferocious scowl and derisive curl of his lip were gone, as if the focus of his anger had simply shifted elsewhere. What had happened? A moment ago he’d seemed to despise the very sight of her and now he was apologising? The only difference was that he’d learnt the identity of her suitor.

      The realisation was distinctly unsettling.

      ‘You have a poor opinion of Sir Charles then?’ She hardly dared ask.

      ‘None that I’d care to repeat.’

      ‘Under the circumstances, I believe I have a right to know.’

      He shook his head, looking out of the window with a brooding expression. ‘As I said, we’re only acquaintances. Most of what I know is second-hand and I don’t care for gossip.’

      ‘You just called me a schemer, sir,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t see why you should start being reticent now.’

      He looked back towards her then, his gaze newly appraising, and she found herself smoothing her hands over the folds of her dress self-consciously. What was he looking at? What was he thinking? Not that she cared what he thought of her, but the piercing gleam in those ironclad eyes disturbed her somehow. Still, if he thought he could avoid giving her an answer, he could think again...

      She lifted her chin, determined not to yield. ‘If you want me to forgive you, then you might at least have the decency to tell me the truth.’

      A single black eyebrow quirked upwards. ‘What does it matter if you intend to refuse him?’

      ‘It matters because my brother spends a great deal of time in his