The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,24

rude and foolish; her country house was only a few miles away from Lenshurst Park. Why wouldn’t she be shopping in Truro?

“You look as though you were far away, Jago—perhaps back in your quaint village, doing a bit of doctoring?”

He ignored her taunting. “It is true that my mind was elsewhere.”

“But you are here, now.” Her eyes glinted behind a frothy fall of mint green netting that artistically spilled off her tiny hat. She smiled, exposing a fetching dimple at the corner of her lush mouth. “What are you doing in our provincial little town?” Her gaze flickered over his worn blue coat and best buckskins before pausing on his scuffed, dull top boots. “Clothes shopping?”

Jago smiled. “Is it so obvious?”

It was her turn to ignore a question. “We must have dinner together.”

“I’m afraid I am only here tonight.”

“Tonight is perfect. “

“I am staying at the Crown, Ria. It is not really an appropriate—”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t want dinner at your grubby little inn, Jago, but at my town house.”

“I was not aware you kept a house here.” But then, why would he know anything about her or her houses?

“Henry did not care for the country and often preferred to stay here rather than at Stanford Hall,” Ria explained, laying a delicate, kid-sheathed hand on his arm. “Do let’s be friends again.” Her green eyes had turned soft and imploring.

Astoundingly, as he stared at her beautiful face another face rose up in his mind’s eye: that of his young stable master, looking so pleased at delivering such a wicked cut to his employer just a few moments earlier.

“I’m sorry, Ria. I’ve made plans—a business meeting. I’m afraid I can’t change things at this point.”

Her pleasant expression scarcely flickered. “Of course. I understand. But you do know we must talk—alone—at some point?” She cocked her head, her expression arch and playful, but her eyes as hard as polished jade. “I won’t wait for your decision forever, Jago. You might be my most pleasant option, but you are hardly the only one.”

Jago met her glittering, expectant gaze and felt more than a little revulsion. Was this really what his future held? Marrying the same woman he’d fled from all those years before?

A woman who made him hate himself for what he’d done.

The thought of being with her for the rest of his life left him feeling hopeless and bleak.

But blaming Ria was hardly fair; after all, it had been Jago who’d agreed to a duel with his best friend, not her—even if she had been the catalyst.

He knew she was right about needing to talk; she held the whip hand when it came to any union between them and he would be a fool to dismiss her offer without due consideration.

But Jago still clung, probably foolishly, to the hope that the earldom could be salvaged without such a sacrifice.

He forced himself to smile at her. “I agree, Ria. We must talk. Soon. But not today.”

***

Bester and Lodge auction house was on Bodmin Street, a quarter of an hour walk from the inn.

The area just outside the auction house was noisy, crowded, and even managed to have a few live flies buzzing about this late in the year.

This wasn’t Benna’s first auction, so at least she wasn’t entirely adrift as to how matters proceeded. Tom had once snuck her into an auction when she’d gone to stay in her father’s Edinburgh house.

Bester and Lodge was, by contrast, considerably less impressive. Not only were there no liveried attendants to distribute auction pamphlets and wait on buyers, but there was an overall dearth of lackeys, liveried or not, and the auction list wasn’t printed, but hand-written in chalk on various slates.

Benna followed the thin crowd toward where one such list was posted. She’d brought her account book with her and jotted down a few notes about today’s offerings before making her way to the smaller arena, where the hacking horses would be displayed.

Lord Trebolton had told her the girls’ preferences when it came to mounts but had emphasized that the final decisions were Benna’s alone.

The afternoon flew by in a blur as she sat through lot after lot.

By the third hour she’d already purchased a liver chestnut—with four socks—for Mariah and an attractive blue roan for Catherine.

As far as carriage horses went, she’d ended up buying some respectable blood bays but had bid rather higher than she’d liked. Still, they were worth it and were head and shoulders above the other offerings. And their