Free Chills by Heather Boyd Page B

your work well enough before you tell him, he may not back out of the arrangement.”
    When Jack put it that way, it sounded so calculated, so cold. Could she really do what he assumed? “Perhaps he will love me and not care a whit about the money.”
    “Better make sure the one you snare has the funds to pay for you first, before the fool falls in love,” the marquess bit out, and then he cursed under his breath. “Give me the list.”
    “Why?”
    “I will have the final say on who you wed. We will put about that you remain my ward. The gentlemen must court you with my approval.” Jack’s scowl proved he had little liking for the task. “We cannot have you wasting your energies unnecessarily. Making love to someone without the blunt to settle the debts would be unwise.”
    Constance’s face flamed at his words. “No, thank you. I don’t require your assistance.”
    “Stop talking nonsense. I’ll get it myself.” He strode around her, entered her bedchamber, and crossed to the door. He pushed it closed, locked it, and then turned back in her direction. Seeing Jack in her bedchamber rooted her to the spot. What was he doing?
    He showed her the next moment when he crossed to her desk, rummaged through the papers in the top draw, and removed the list Virginia had written. His hand lingered over her letters from Cullen, but he pushed them aside along with her belongings. He made a furious swipe at a quill, jerked the lid off her inkpot, and bent over the paper.
    Jack’s serious face twisted into a series of scowls and downright ugly expressions that frightened her.  
    Constance edged closer to the doors. “What are you doing?”
    “Be quiet,” he warned, glancing toward the locked door. “I am culling the unfortunates without sufficient funds for your purposes.” He spoke low. She moved to stand at his shoulder to hear him better, watching as he scratched off three names without a moment’s hesitation.
    “Don’t do that.” She reached forward to grab his hand. “I told you I don’t need your help. I would appreciate it if you listened to me, for once.”
    She braced herself against the back of his chair to pull his hand away from the paper, but he slipped from her grip and laced his fingers through hers, trapping her in an awkward position over his shoulder. She couldn’t move. Draped as she was, she could only stare at the large hand dwarfing hers.
    Reluctantly, she turned her face toward his, supremely conscious that her chest pressed tightly to his broad shoulders. There was not a trace of padding inside the coat as far as she could tell. The heat of him branded her breast through the thin gown, and she blushed at the scandalous image they would present if anyone found them like this.
    The marquess’ face flushed with color and his blue eyes widened. That couldn’t be a good thing. She squirmed to get away. Another outburst like yesterday could mean her doom.
    Jack didn’t release her, but turned his head fractionally, nostrils flaring as he drew breath. “I will listen when you talk sense, Pixie.” His voice whispered across her cheek.
    Constance blinked. The marquess hadn’t called her by her nickname in years.
    He tortured her for a moment longer before practically throwing her from him. She staggered to find her balance, wrapped her arms across her aching chest, and stared at the floor.
    “There has to be peace between us, for Virginia’s sake,” Jack forced out. “It appears her heart is set on finding you a husband. That has given her purpose again. I will not go against her wishes. But she is aware when we argue behind her back.”
    The sight of the marquess so discomposed stilled the cutting retort she wanted to utter. It wasn’t all his fault that they argued. They both wanted Virginia to be happy again. But it was hard to keep up the charade of polite acquaintances when, the minute Virginia turned her back, they were at each others’ throats.
    “Are you willing to help me find