The Trouble with Honour. Julia London

divined that?

      “And therefore, you wish to keep Sommerfield from marrying Miss Hargrove so that you might continue to live as you please. And that, Miss Cabot, weighs more than a bit on the side of reprehensible.” He squeezed her knee once more as if to punctuate it, then leaned back, both arms now spread along the back of the squabs, looking as if he thought himself vastly superior to her. He cocked a brow, silently daring her to disagree with him.

      Honor could hardly disagree with him, but she would not be chastised by him, either. Who the devil did this man think he was? She suddenly leaned forward and put her hand on his knee—but her fingers scarcely reached the breadth of it. She tried to squeeze, but his knee was as hard as stone. “And what if that is my intent? What possible difference should that make to you?”

      He laughed with delight. “By God, you are bold! You admit it is true!”

      “I understand how these things work, Mr. Easton. I am not some debutante freshly picked from the garden.”

      “No, you certainly are not that,” he said jovially.

      “Before you think to scold me, I shall remind you that you are also guilty of pursuing your singular happiness without regard for the consequences to others.” She squeezed as hard as she might, but it seemed to have no effect on him.

      “Pardon?” he said, laughing outright now. “What do you mean?”

      She sat back, folded her arms tightly across her. “Please,” she said with roll of her eyes. “Everyone in town knows about your affair with Lady Dearing. And that is on top of the rumors surrounding you and Lady Uxbridge and Mrs. Glover as well, who you apparently seduced at the same time you were courting her daughter—”

      “All right, all right,” he said cheerfully, holding up his hand to stop her. “You have made your point.”

      “I should think I have,” she said primly, and brushed the lap of her gown. Another thought flitted through her head—was this how he had seduced Miss Glover? “As to Miss Hargrove, the truth is that I am in a bit of a bind.”

      “Are you?” he said skeptically, and waved his hand grandly at her, indicating she should continue.

      “It is a simple fact in our society that women who don’t enjoy the protection of a brother, a father or even an uncle are rather helpless. It’s not as if we can make our own living, is it? The only way we might get by is to marry well.”

      “As Miss Hargrove clearly intends to do,” he pointed out. “As you should do, if you want my opinion.”

      “Thank you, but I do not want your opinion.”

      He grinned, and that fluttering started in her all over again.

      “Miss Hargrove would have any number of offers if she liked,” Honor said, and it was true. As much as it pained her to admit it, Monica was a beautiful woman, her looks admired by men and women alike. “It needn’t be Augustine. But as it is Augustine, the stakes are quite high for me.”

      “I would think you’d have any number of offers, as well,” he said. “Is that not a better solution?”

      “Yes, of course, a woman’s only hope—marry well. Thank you for your confidence, but we aren’t discussing me.”

      “Perhaps you should have asked for an offer as your favor, Miss Cabot. I find the request for conjugal bliss far more enticing.”

      “I beg your pardon,” Honor said, taking great exception. “I would never ask a gentleman to offer for my hand!”

      “I see. You will not ask a man to marry you, but you will ask him to seduce the woman who would be your sister-in-law.” His brows rose dubiously.

      “Two entirely different points, Mr. Easton!” she argued. “My sister Grace and I, we shall make our way in society with or without Augustine’s support, but my younger sisters are not yet out, and they cannot hope to fare as well without proper introduction. And my mother—” She caught herself, took a deep breath.

      “Your mother?” he prodded.

      Now she’d gone and done it. She anxiously smoothed the lap of her gown again. “My mother is unwell,” she said, and looked up. “No one knows.”

      He eyed her shrewdly a moment. “I am sorry to hear it,” he said softly.

      His tenderness surprised her. And strangely enough, it made the fluttering in her spread across her skin. “I rather doubt my mother will find another situation that will provide the same sort of opportunities for my younger sisters that Grace and I have enjoyed. I fear they will be pushed from society altogether.”

      “Why not take your fears to Sommerfield?” he asked. “He seems a rather fair fellow to me. Surely he would provide a stipend—”

      “He is too easily persuaded by Miss Hargrove’s opinion. And Miss Hargrove is... That is to say, she will...” Honor sighed again with frustration, finding her reasoning so bloody difficult to explain. “Well, I shan’t lie about it,” she said wearily. What was the point in that? “Miss Hargrove doesn’t care for me in the least.”

      “Aha. And you are certain of this?”

      “Oh, quite,” Honor said with a flick of her hand. “She finds me unlikable.”

      “Oh?” He smiled again. “Passing strange, as I find you quite likable.”

      That remark sent a little thrill down her spine. Honor didn’t want to smile, but she could feel one playing at the corners of her lips. “Even so?”

      “Even so.” He smiled warmly at her.

      There was nothing wolfish about it, and yet...and yet Honor was breathless once more.

      “So then, tell me, Miss Cabot, if I were to agree to your outlandishly reprehensible and ill-advised request to save your poor sisters and ailing mother—”

      She gasped with surprised delight. “You will?”

      “I said if,” he cautioned her. “But if I were to agree, what will I have in return?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Come now, lass, I’ve seen you with cards in your hand. You are far too astute to believe I’d not want something in return for this favor.”

      Apparently she was not as astute as he thought, for that had not crossed her mind.

      He abruptly shifted forward again and deliberately allowed his gaze to wander the full length of her body, then up again. He touched her jaw with his knuckle, tracing a slow, deliberate line, sending Honor’s heart into another wave of wild beating. “What are you willing to trade?” he asked, his voice low and silky.

      She leaned away from him. “How dare you—”

      Easton took her by the arm and pulled her back. “How dare I?” he asked, admiring her mouth. He reminded her of a cat with a mouse, determining just how much to play before making the kill. “How dare I ask for recompense for a wretched deed?” He abruptly cupped her breast as if it were the most natural thing to do. Honor caught her breath; he smiled a little and began to massage it. “How dare I ask for a favor in return?” he asked silkily as tiny fires of desire erupted and sluiced down Honor’s spine.

      “You ask too much,” she said, and pressed away from him. “How can you call yourself a gentleman?”

      “I’ve not called myself anything, love.” He brushed his knuckles across her breast, sending another shaft of fire down her spine, then cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

      Honor’s heart was beating so quickly she wondered how it did not leap from her chest. She understood how he would seduce and claim a woman. She understood why so many women had taken him as a lover. She was drawn to him, to his intense gaze, admiring and ravenous at once. To his touch, unyielding and yet soft. “Allow me to suggest a suitable trade,”