it’s yours and you’ve been searching for it for such a long time, I daresay you’d pay dearly to have it back.” She sent him a searching look through her lashes, her instincts coming to the fore, She could smell a good venture, feel it in her bones. And the fact that the money would come out of his coffers made the idea all the sweeter.
He stiffened, letting go of her wrist as if she’d just burned him. “I should not have to pay for my own ring.”
“Ownership is such an interesting concept. You say it’s yours, but I say it’s mine. Who do you think a court of law would support?”
His face darkened. “I would never take this to a court of law and you know it. My name would be in every paper in England.”
“And mine,” she pointed out. “Therefore, possession is what will determine ownership.”
Treymount watched her darkly. Finally, he said, “I will pay what the ring is worth, but no more.”
Her wrist ached, not from his touch, but for the lack of it, which was strange indeed. She rubbed her skin absently, wondering at the odd bereft feeling that weighed in her heart. The sparkle of the ring caught her eye and she heard herself say, “There is a rumor about the ring… a legend.” She frowned, searching her scattered memory yet again. What was it… something about the ring… and—“Ah yes! They say that whichever of the St. Johns holds the ring will find his one, true love.”
He gave an impatient flick of his hand, irritation crossing his features. “That is foolish fancy and nothing more. The importance of the ring is in its historic value to our family. It is a part of our heritage.”
“Which makes it even more valuable.” She smiled just the tiniest bit. “I have to wonder what great sums you’d pay to have this ring back in your possession. Certainly if it has value as an heirloom, then it is nigh priceless.”
His eyes narrowed suddenly, his nostrils flaring the slightest bit. “Do not tempt me into physically claiming what is rightfully mine.”
Soft and threatening, the determination in his voice was palpable. Honoria lifted her brows. “Have you forgotten that antiquities are my business? When I find a customer who wants something dearly, that is usually the price I charge-—dearly.”
“That ring is important to no one but a St. John. You face a very limited market, my dear.”
To Marcus’s chagrin, the wench had the audacity to smile, to grin even, the straight line of her front teeth gleaming white between her perfectly formed lips. “It is fortunate for us all, then, that my one, lone customer is so very, very wealthy.”
Marcus could not believe his ears. The little minx was going to make him pay—and a lot, by the sound of it. It was— inconceivable. It was outrageous. It was—bloody hell, who did she think she was?
As if in answer to his thoughts, his hostess calmly picked up the napkin she’d dropped and wiped up the spilled tea in the tray. “I wonder what I should charge for a ring of such personal importance?” She set down the napkin, retrieved the warmed pot and poured tea into a fresh cup. Smiling ever so slightly, she held out the cup and saucer. “Your tea, my lord.”
What he wanted was brandy. Or perhaps port. Better yet, a good stiff bourbon that would douse the fire crackling in his stomach. But he supposed he was as stuck with tepid tea as he was stuck doing business with the one woman who thought an argument was a form of polite conversation.
What a horrid day. He’d been forced to attend to Lady Percival first thing this morning and break off their alliance. To his distaste, she’d allowed her feelings to become quite maudlin, so he handed her the sapphire and diamond bracelet he’d purchased as a parting gesture, and left posthaste. He’d always considered her the epitome of feminine beauty— cool, undisturbed by emotions, and yet welcoming when the time was right. Now he was beginning to realize that it had all been a
He stiffened, letting go of her wrist as if she’d just burned him. “I should not have to pay for my own ring.”
“Ownership is such an interesting concept. You say it’s yours, but I say it’s mine. Who do you think a court of law would support?”
His face darkened. “I would never take this to a court of law and you know it. My name would be in every paper in England.”
“And mine,” she pointed out. “Therefore, possession is what will determine ownership.”
Treymount watched her darkly. Finally, he said, “I will pay what the ring is worth, but no more.”
Her wrist ached, not from his touch, but for the lack of it, which was strange indeed. She rubbed her skin absently, wondering at the odd bereft feeling that weighed in her heart. The sparkle of the ring caught her eye and she heard herself say, “There is a rumor about the ring… a legend.” She frowned, searching her scattered memory yet again. What was it… something about the ring… and—“Ah yes! They say that whichever of the St. Johns holds the ring will find his one, true love.”
He gave an impatient flick of his hand, irritation crossing his features. “That is foolish fancy and nothing more. The importance of the ring is in its historic value to our family. It is a part of our heritage.”
“Which makes it even more valuable.” She smiled just the tiniest bit. “I have to wonder what great sums you’d pay to have this ring back in your possession. Certainly if it has value as an heirloom, then it is nigh priceless.”
His eyes narrowed suddenly, his nostrils flaring the slightest bit. “Do not tempt me into physically claiming what is rightfully mine.”
Soft and threatening, the determination in his voice was palpable. Honoria lifted her brows. “Have you forgotten that antiquities are my business? When I find a customer who wants something dearly, that is usually the price I charge-—dearly.”
“That ring is important to no one but a St. John. You face a very limited market, my dear.”
To Marcus’s chagrin, the wench had the audacity to smile, to grin even, the straight line of her front teeth gleaming white between her perfectly formed lips. “It is fortunate for us all, then, that my one, lone customer is so very, very wealthy.”
Marcus could not believe his ears. The little minx was going to make him pay—and a lot, by the sound of it. It was— inconceivable. It was outrageous. It was—bloody hell, who did she think she was?
As if in answer to his thoughts, his hostess calmly picked up the napkin she’d dropped and wiped up the spilled tea in the tray. “I wonder what I should charge for a ring of such personal importance?” She set down the napkin, retrieved the warmed pot and poured tea into a fresh cup. Smiling ever so slightly, she held out the cup and saucer. “Your tea, my lord.”
What he wanted was brandy. Or perhaps port. Better yet, a good stiff bourbon that would douse the fire crackling in his stomach. But he supposed he was as stuck with tepid tea as he was stuck doing business with the one woman who thought an argument was a form of polite conversation.
What a horrid day. He’d been forced to attend to Lady Percival first thing this morning and break off their alliance. To his distaste, she’d allowed her feelings to become quite maudlin, so he handed her the sapphire and diamond bracelet he’d purchased as a parting gesture, and left posthaste. He’d always considered her the epitome of feminine beauty— cool, undisturbed by emotions, and yet welcoming when the time was right. Now he was beginning to realize that it had all been a
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