Page 15 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
Chapter 6
Owen sat in the study. It was early morning—he'd woken at eight, which was unusual for him following a ball, but he felt restless and so he’d got out of bed. He had breakfasted briefly on a few slices of toast and jam, and, with tea in hand, had gone straight to the study. He had a lot to think about.
“Damn all of them,” he swore, as thoughts of the ball swarmed through his mind.
The guests, the staff, and his aunt in particular—everyone responsible for that evening made him cross. If she hadn’t insisted that he went, he wouldn’t have attended and then he’d have not made a fool of himself with the beautiful Miss Worthington.
And it’s not just her,he thought glumly.It’s her whole family that must hate me.
His mind returned to the peculiar interaction he’d had with her father. He had approached Owen perhaps an hour after he had danced with her, when he was leaning on the wall listening to Leonard talking about the political situation in France. Owen had stiffened, seeing the tall man with well-muscled shoulders beckon to him.
“My lord?” Lord Walden addressed him politely, his voice rough. “A word, if you would care to...?”
“Of course,” Owen replied, feeling his spine stiffen. He couldn’t guess what the baron wanted to discuss, but he could only imagine it was some sort of a slight Owen had made to his daughter. He cast his mind over the dance to see if there was any rudeness or offense in something he’d done, but he couldn’t think of it. He felt his throat tighten nervously as he gazed at Lord Walden. He was a well-built man, his shoulders broad andhis hands big, and, though Owen was a fine swordsman and feared few men, something about those cold, disinterested blue eyes scared him.
Leonard held Owen’s gaze for a moment. Owen inclined his head briefly, trying to convey that he was all right, and then Leonard nodded fractionally before going back to the topic at hand, which was factories. Owen regretted having to slip off—he enjoyed listening to Leonard. He always had a good point to make. His heart thudded awkwardly as he followed Lord Walden out of the ballroom.
“My lord?” he asked, as Lord Walden led them into an antechamber. His hand closed into a fist; his palms wet with nerves. Lord Walden might be a good two decades his senior, but he was well-built, and Owen had no doubt he was lethal in a duel.
They reached the antechamber and went in, and the baron shut the door behind them. Owen looked around, heart thudding. He wet his lips and tried to think of something to say.
The baron faced him, his posture relaxed, his expression unbothered. If it wasn’t for those flat, empty eyes, Owen would have thought he was pleasant enough. He cleared his throat, but the baron began first.
“Lord Ivystone,” Lord Walden began formally. “I must say, I have something to ask you.”
“What is it?” Owen demanded, feeling annoyed as well as nervous. If he was going to get run through with a sword, he’d rather it happened fast than have someone playing word-games with his poor distracted mind.
“I wonder,” Lord Walden said, theatrically thoughtfully, “what it is that makes an earl not have his own coach? I hear you travel everywhere by hackney carriage.”
Owen bridled. He wondered if he should contradict him.
“Yes,” he said, deciding to be open. “Yes, I do.” His irritationwas growing now. What was the baron getting at? Yes, he had no coach of his own. Did he have to humiliate him by mentioning the fact?
The baron raised a brow. “And surely a man like yourself is too busy to wait about for a hackney carriage to happen by?”
Owen bridled at the tone. “I am busy, yes,” he snapped. “But this is London. One need only step into the road to be half-killed by a flood of hackney coaches.” He didn’t try to hold back his anger from his tone, or his sarcasm.
“Mayhap,” the baron said, his expression briefly lightening. “But I do wonder. And I wonder that you reside so close to London, and yet rarely partake of society.”
“I’m a bit reclusive,” Owen told him crossly. The fellow was trying to get Owen to admit his financial troubles, he was sure of it. And he wasn’t going to.
“I see.” The baron chuckled. “And yet you seem very affable, very ready to talk.”
Owen scowled at him.
“I can guess that you have difficulties financially,” the baron told him directly. “No point trying to say different.”
“My finances are my business,” Owen replied angrily. Then he felt his shoulders slump. The baron was rude beyond description to be discussing things like this, but Owen did understand that it was likely out of concern for Miss Worthington. She had danced with him—perhaps the baron was trying to suggest Owen was a poor suitor? He couldn’t blame him. “I don’t have much money, no,” he admitted. He might as well be open. He was ashamed of his financial situation, but he’d always been an open person.
The baron grinned. “Well, that’s excellent,” he said warmly.
“What?” Owen blinked fearfully. “How? How is that excellent?”
He took a step back. Surely, the fellow was mad? What otherdescription could explain his beaming smile at the news that Owen had no money to speak of?
“You see, one thing my family has is money. Lots of it,” the baron said smoothly. “But we lack a title. Yes, yes...I am Baron Walden. I’m not meaning insult to my ancestors by ignoring that appellation. But it’s a barony, and not an important one. If you’ve ever been to Walden, you’d know.” He chuckled. “A brief shutting of your eyes, and you’d not see it at all as you passed through it.”
“I don’t believe that.” Owen’s voice was mild.
