Page 23 of Heiress Gone Wild

“Couldn’t you have mended your quarrel? Apologized?”

“For what? Being right? Hell, no.” He grinned, but in his hazel eyes, she could see a glittering defiance, something she suspected his father had seen often. “You said yourself I’m not good at apologies.”

“Or compromises,” she replied, giving him a pointed look.

He gave her a wry one in return. “That’s rich, coming from you. But,” he added before she could reply, “in all seriousness, I don’t think any attempts to compromise with my father would have made any difference. He was a weak, vain, and selfish man, and after my mother died, he began to crack. Later, when my grandfather died, when he found he’d inherited everything, it went to his head, and because he didn’t have my mother’s steadying influence, he fell completely apart. Only my sisters could reason with him, and even they couldn’t save him from his own incompetence. After I left, he eventually bankrupted the company. I sent money when I could, but there wasn’t much else I could do.”

“Your sisters couldn’t smooth things over?”

“They tried, but my father wasn’t having any. In fact, for the first couple years I was gone, my sisters didn’t even know where I was. Unbeknownst to them or me, our father was suppressing our letters. He was a spiteful cove.”

“What happened to the company? Did it go under?”

“Irene, my eldest sister, managed to save it. She salvaged one of the newspapers by inventing an advice column calledDear Lady Truelove. The thing became wildly popular, enabling Deverill Publishing to stave off the creditors, and she ran that paper for several years. She left my father’s name on the masthead and pretended to consult him to soothe his pride, but she’s the one who kept it afloat and made it a success.”

She smiled. “It sounds like you’re not the only one in your family with ink in your veins.”

“Oh, no, both my sisters have proved themselves to be just as much chips off Grandfather’s block as I was.” He glanced past her. “Here’s your baroness coming back, and since she’s looking like a cat who’s fallen into the cream, I think it’s safe to say that the count and his mother do indeed want to meet you. As if there was any doubt.”

She made a face at him. “Their willingness to meet me doesn’t validate your opinion of the count’s intentions.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve no doubt the man’s a bounder. He’s got an oily, predatory look about him. As your guardian, I intend to make it clear that if he’s angling for anything beyond an introduction, he’s doomed to disappointment.”

Marjorie made a sound of protest at such high-handedness. “I have no say in this?”

He gave a laugh that answered her question even before he spoke. “No.”

“But how do you know anything about the man’s character?” she asked. “Have you met him before?”

“Never in my life, but he makes my boot itch.”

Marjorie frowned, bewildered. “What’s your boot got to do with it?”

“Whenever I glance his way, I experience an instinctive, almost irresistible urge to kick him straight out the door and over the side.”

“Since it would likely ruin everyone’s evening, I’d ask that you refrain,” she murmured, pasting a smile on her face and turning toward the baroness as she halted in front of them.

“My dear,” the older woman said, slipping between her and Jonathan to take her arm, “thecontessadoes wish to meet you, so I come to bring you to her. With your permission, Mr. Deverill?”

“How kind of you to consider my wishes, madam.”

Baroness Vasiliev didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm. “The count is from Spain,” she told Marjorie as she began leading her across the room. “But his English is excellent and his manners impeccable. You will find him most agreeable, I am sure.”

Behind her, Marjorie thought she heard Jonathan give a snort of derision, but with the voices eddying all around them, she couldn’t be certain. Either way, unlike her guardian, she was prepared to be open-minded. “Being a count,” she said to the baroness, “he has estates, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes. Vast estates.”

“Where?” she asked when the baroness did not elaborate.

“Oh, somewhere in the middle, I think. Cádiz, would it be?”

Marjorie knew Cádiz was nowhere near the middle of Spain, but she didn’t point that out, for the baroness was clearly guessing, and besides, they were coming within earshot of the count and his mother.

“Contessa,” the baroness greeted as she and Marjorie halted in front of the other woman. “May I present my friend, Miss McGann? Marjorie, the Dowager Contessa de la Rosa.”

Thanks to the rigorous training of Forsyte Academy, Marjorie was able to offer a perfect curtsy, though because of the tightness of her gown, it wasn’t very deep. “My lady.”

“Miss McGann.” The countess gestured to the man beside her. “This is my son, the Count de la Rosa. Étienne, Miss Marjorie McGann.”

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