you, Crenshaw?” Jess said as he stood up. “You own the mine and it is not played out. I have been keeping my eye on it. And on you. Watch your step, my lord.”
“Watch my step? You impertinent bastard!” Lord Crenshaw thundered, rising abruptly and sweeping cards and markers off the table as he leaned across to grab for Lord Jess’s cravat. “I swear I will beat you to a pulp if you interfere in my life again.”
“Take your hands off me.” Lord Jess stood perfectly still, his words and his eyes his only defense.
“This is horrible! Leave, we have to leave,” Cecilia insisted, so upset she forgot to whisper.
Beatrice nodded, but did not move.
“This is not some performance,” Cecilia began, furious with her sister, who she suspected was thrilled by the display.
“Gentlemen,” Lord Belmont began, and Cecilia turned back to listen, “and I remind you that you are both gentlemen, you are to end this now. Crenshaw, take your hands off Pennistan. And you—” He turned to Lord Jess. “You are the son of a duke. Do not discredit your family name.”
Taking a lesson from the earl, Cecilia turned to her sister and spoke in as forceful a whisper as she could summon up. “We are leaving now. We will not be an audience to this spectacle.”
Crenshaw let go of Lord Jessup, ran a hand through his hair, and did not answer at first. The others waited while he collected his temper and his scattered wits.
“For the love of God, Ceci, wait just a minute more. The ‘spectacle’ has calmed considerably,” Beatrice countered in a matter-of-fact refusal to budge.
Crenshaw ran his hand through his hair one more time and finally spoke. “I will arrange to have the funds transferred to your bank, my lord Jessup. I trust you will be willing to hold my voucher until that can be arranged.”
“As I recall you refused to hold mine when you won the land,” Lord Jess reminded him, informing everyone present of Crenshaw’s unsportsmanlike behavior. “But since this is turning out to be such a lovely house party, I would hate to compel you to leave early.” Lord Jess paused a moment and went on. “Of course I will hold your voucher, my lord baron.”
“Let’s leave, Beatrice. Please let’s leave,” Cecilia begged, well aware that she had reverted to her usual style, but at least she had grabbed Beatrice’s hand as she spoke. “I do not want to be involved in this.”
Crenshaw drank the dregs from the glass nearest him and stood, almost knocking over his chair in the process. “If you will excuse me. Mrs. Kendrick.” He bowed to her. “And gentlemen. I will go draft the letter to my man of business.”
He headed for the door, and at that moment the others looked up and caught sight of Cecilia and Beatrice hovering there.
Chapter Twenty-one
WHAT IN THE name of all that was holy was Beatrice doing here with her sister, Jess wondered. And what did it say about his supposedly nonexistent sense of responsibility that he cared how much she had seen and heard?
“Excellent,” Destry announced, jumping up from his seat. “You are like a breath of fresh air.” He laughed, hurrying over to them. “Do come join us.”
He grabbed Cecilia’s hand and pulled her farther into the room. The act was rude in its insistence, and not something any lady would welcome. Beatrice followed with more caution than she’d ever shown before.
Destry’s overfamiliarity convinced Jess that while he had been engrossed in play, his friend had decided to keep company with Belmont and Nora Kendrick at the drinks table.
“Come, come,” Des urged her. “We were taking a break, and fortifying ourselves for the next game.”
“I don’t think we will be staying. You see—” Cecilia started to pull her hand from his, but something made her stop. Probably Destry’s wounded puppy look, the one he put on when he was disappointed.
“We only stopped in for a moment to see if anyone was planning on riding in the morning,” Beatrice said. She stopped moving into the room, pausing only halfway to the table where Cecilia now stood. “Cecilia loves a morning outing, and I will not be able to join her tomorrow.”
Beatrice had seen it all, Jess thought with regret. He could tell by the way she would not meet his eyes, the stiffness of her words, and the way she held her body. Or, a new thought occurred to him, was she regretting their impetuous kiss? Oh, he hoped not.