The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [7]
“Ha, patience! Every day that goes by brings me closer to the brink. As for those other females, hell, they would also want to spend all the groats I don’t have, and expect that in my undying gratitude I would shower them with endless baubles. No, I have no time for distractions, Brass. No, I must find myself an heiress and one that is reasonably toothsome.”
His voice was deep and soft and filled with humor and a goodly dose of sarcasm. Lord Brassley laughed, hailed a friend, and took himself off. Without further hesitation, Sinjun walked to him, stood there right in front of him until his beautiful dark blue eyes finally came to rest on her face and a black brow rose in question. She thrust out her hand and said quite clearly, “I’m an heiress.”
CHAPTER
2
COLIN KINROSS, SEVENTH earl of Ashburnham, stared at the young woman standing in front of him, her hand outstretched toward him, staring at him with utter sincerity and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a goodly dollop of excitement. He felt knocked off his pins, as Philip would say, and stalled for time to get his brain back in working order. “Forgive me. What did you say?”
Without hesitation, Sinjun said again, her voice strong and clear, “I’m an heiress. You said you needed to marry an heiress.”
He said slowly, his voice light and insincere, still stalling for mental reinforcements, “And you are reasonably toothsome.”
“I’m pleased you think so.”
He stared at her outstretched hand, still there, and automatically shook it. He should have raised her hand to his lips, but there that hand was, stuck out there like a man’s, and so he shook it. A strong hand, he thought, slender fingers, very white, competent. He released her hand.
“Congratulations,” he said, “on being an heiress. And on being toothsome. Ah, do forgive me, ma’am. I’m Ashburnham, you know.”
She simply smiled at him, her heart in her eyes. His voice was wonderful, deep and smiling, much more beguiling than either of her brothers’. They didn’t come close to this marvelous man. “Yes, I know. I’m Sinjun Sherbrooke.”
“An odd name you have, a man’s nickname.”
“I suppose. My brother Ryder christened me that when he tried to burn me at the stake when I was nine years old. My real name is Joan, and he wanted me to be Saint Joan but it became Sinjun for Saint John, and so . . . there it is.”
“I like Joan. I prefer it. It is feminine.” Colin ran his fingers through his hair, realizing that what he’d said was ridiculous and not at all to the point, whatever that was. “This has taken me aback, truly. I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know who I am. I really don’t understand why you’ve done this.”
Those light blue eyes shone up at him as guileless as a summer day as she said clearly, “I saw you at the Portmaine ball and then at the Ranleagh musicale. I’m an heiress. You need to marry an heiress. If you are not a troll—your character, of course—why then, perhaps you could see your way clear to marrying me.”
Colin Kinross, Ashburnham or simply Ash to his friends, could only stare at the girl who couldn’t seem to look away from his face. “This is quite the oddest thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, a baffling understatement. “Except for that time at Oxford when the don’s wife wanted me to make love to her with her husband teaching Latin in the other room to one of my friends. She even wanted the door cracked open so she could see her husband whilst she was making love to me.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what? Oh, make love to her?” He coughed, recalling himself. “I don’t remember,” he said, suddenly frowning, his voice austere. “Besides, it is an incident better forgotten.”
Sinjun sighed. “My brothers would have confided in me, but you don’t know me, so I can’t expect you to be more forthcoming yet. I know I’m not beautiful, but I am passable. I’m in my second Season without