Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,53

I am?”

The men glanced at one another before the baron said, “Yes, my lord.”

“Then come over here please and tell this store clerk precisely with whom he is dealing.”

Another glance passed between them before they followed him.

“Tell him,” he said, pointing to Rundell. “Tell him who I am.”

“Certainly,” said the other of the two. “He is Lord Marshfield.”

“Ha!” Jasper exclaimed, feeling vindicated.

Mr. Rundell sighed, looking unimpressed. “That is all very well, but we still have a policy at our store, one we’ve had since first accepting goods as pawn in the mid-eighteenth century.”

“Pawn?” exclaimed the baron, and Jasper’s stomach clenched. He’d made a tactical error.

“Yes,” Mr. Rundell said. “If his lordship wishes to buy back his pin, which he is more than welcome to do, he must produce ready money or a London bank note.”

“I see,” Jasper said, realizing it made perfect sense and avidly wishing he hadn’t let his pride get the better of him. “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”

“I can lend you some money,” the baron offered. “After all, it’s not like I can’t find you at the club to collect it should you try to hide on me.” He finished with a laugh.

Jasper felt his face grow warm. “That won’t be necessary. Just hold the damned pin,” he barked at Mr. Rundell, wrenching it from his pocket and slapping it back upon the velvet. “Do. Not. Sell. It. I’ll go to the bank and return with the funds directly. How much for it?”

The sum made clear to him he was being swindled, but he would pay anything to get his goods out of the store.

And he would compare the price later with Julia to find out how much profit Rundell, Bridge, and bloody Rundell had made! At which time, he might wring her pretty neck.

“I’ll hold it for the rest of the day, sir,” the man called out after him as he strode across the store. The implication was clear — if you don’t come back because you don’t have the cash, then I’ll sell it.

For the first time in recent memory, Jasper knew what it felt like to be on the high ropes of anger. Glimflashy, his mother used to say when she was particularly nettled by some injustice or annoyance.

At least he’d found his property and had the means to retrieve it. Why she’d done it, he couldn’t fathom. But at all costs, he hoped to convince her never to do it again.

THE WORTHINGTON BUTLER brought in the mail as he did every morning and afternoon. Julia had become in the habit of looking through it after she’d moved in with Sarah to be her companion during the long mourning period. Even though her sister had not actually been grieving for a man she barely knew, handling the onslaught of mail from the earl’s peers — and from those looking for a smidgen of the inheritance — had given Julia something to do. She’d answered most of the condolence notes and then let her sister sign them.

Recently, she’d hoped every day to receive some missive from Lord Marshfield, despite having thwarted his advances. His very welcome advances.

“Forbidden fruit,” she muttered to herself, pouring her chocolate and examining the bowl of pears on the table before her, a luxury her sister had indulged in as soon as they’d appeared in Covent Garden’s fruit stalls that month.

Drat the man for being a rake! Any other man who showed such interest, and who seemed to like her as he did — enough to save her from the varlet viscount and to keep her from being accused of stealing and even to take her riding on such a sweet mare — any other man might possibly offer for her. But not him, not a libertine!

A libertine who sorely missed his father’s cravat pin.

Today, her heart skipped a beat when instead of the coveted black seal of the Earl of Marshfield, she saw a piece of grossly expensive lavender stationery addressed to Sarah with a C stamped into the blue wax. Either Lord or Lady Chandron, Julia surmised. Of course, it could be from someone else entirely, but she simply knew in her heart she was right.

Folding the letter, she tucked it into the small seam pocket of her day gown just as Sarah entered. She spent the next half hour eating eggs and toast while chatting with her sister as they opened the rest of the mail, sorted through the invitations, and read aloud a short letter