The Rejected Suitor by Teresa McCarthy

still be alive, though most
thought the contrary.
    As to
Agatha and Jane, Jared knew the chances of revenge against them were slim. Yet
as a precaution, he had installed more secret aides from Whitehall to act as
servants at Hemmingly to watch the ladies as well.
    All this
extra security seemed to amuse the duke, since Roderick was one of the persons
who knew of Jared's covert actions. In fact, the duke, himself, had been
involved in similar activities. Roderick assured Jared that the French agent,
Monsieur Devereaux, was dead. Roderick proclaimed he had shot the man while
rescuing Jared from prison.
    No
matter, Jared thought. He knew he was being obsessive about the situation, but
he still needed to make certain of the man's death and consequently awaited a
confirming letter from Whitehall.
    Avoiding
his aunt's penetrating gaze, Jared turned his head and whistled for Nigel. The
dog immediately pounced from behind the curtains, coming to sit at his feet. He
gave the dog some scraps from the table and glanced across the silver teapot
resting on the table in front of his aunt. Heaven save him from interfering females.
Agatha's determined gray eyes were fixed on his face as if he were a prize to
be raffled.
    "From
the look of you, I believe that you have someone in mind for me to marry?"
he said with a scowl. "Well, forget it."
    Devil
take it. He had no wish to discuss his past or the bonds of matrimony. He had
his own plans for a future wife in a marriage of convenience, and he was quite
determined that Agatha would not be involved.
    "Ha!
So you read minds now, do you?"
    Understanding
finally dawned on Jared. "By Jove, you cannot be thinking of marrying me
to Lady Emily?"
    Agatha
gave him another withering stare. "I can assure you that Lady Emily is not
looking to marry your money or your agreeable personality, my dear boy."
    Jared
lifted a sarcastic brow. "Agreeable now, am I?"
    Agatha
inclined her head over the teapot and lowered her voice. "I assure you,
this is not about Lady Emily. I had no reason to speak to you of this before,
but . . ."
    She
stopped talking to swallow a bite of buttered bread, then to Jared's surprise
she stood, shooing the servants away with that cursed parasol. The door
inevitably snapped closed, and Jared groaned.
    His
eating instantly halted as soon as the ugly parasol winged his way. Nigel, the
fiend, had hightailed it to the opposite side of the room. "Man's best
friend," Jared muttered to his dog. "Whoever coined that phrase certainly
had no aunts with black parasols."
    "I
heard that!"
    Jared's lips
thinned as Agatha plopped her parasol beside the table and sank back into her
chair. "Another one of these private talks, Aunt Agatha." He raised
his cup of tea to his lips. "Have you forgotten I am a man now and not a
little boy who has raided Cook's cupboard?"
    She shot
him a cool glare. "I will say nothing of that beefsteak that disappeared
days ago." Nigel barked. "But upon my word, you are an insolent pup.
It would behoove you to take care of your ward. Since her parents died, Jane
has been alone, save for you and me."
    An
embarrassing heat crawled up Jared's neck. He admitted he had left Agatha with
much of the responsibility for Jane. But he never doubted his ward would not be
safe. Agatha was like a lioness with her cub when it came to the girl's
welfare.
    Agatha
regarded him with a keen eye and continued, "So good to know you at least
have a conscience, my boy. I daresay, I forgave you for the past two years when
you hopped from England to France and back again in those war games with
Whitehall, but our dear, sweet Jane is—"
    Jared
shot from his seat, his chair crashing to the floor. "War games!" How
this sweet elderly lady had possibly uncovered information about his covert
actions during the war was beyond his comprehension.
    He
glared at her, but to his amazement, she continued her speech as if she had
just recited something to him as simple as the alphabet.
    "As
I was saying, Jared, Jane