Free Utterly Devoted by Regina Scott Page B

Miss Watkin.”
    He clambered down, leg protesting, then turned to bid her farewell. “Perhaps we will see each other about town.”
    “Perhaps,” she allowed, once more distant.
    “I hope we can be civil?” he tried.
    She nodded, but her look was far away. “Yes, civil. I think I can manage civil, Mr. Darby.”
    He bowed, and the coachman set about his duties of raising the step and closing the door. Jareth raised a hand in salute as they drove off. Then he limped around the hotel for the seamier part of London.
    His knee, he found once he reached the dark little room, was merely raw. A good cleansing and a compress made from one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs finished it up nicely. His trousers, however, were ruined. A shame, as that meant he had only three left—the dove gray, the blue velvet, and his chamois pair. He could only hope he could get the dirt out of his coat. It was one of four left to him.
    He congratulated himself on being once more immaculate as he made his way back to Mayfair. He was pleased to find his brother at Darby House and enjoying a late luncheon.
    “Ah, Jareth,” Justinian greeted. “Have Baines fill you a plate. I can wait.”
    The footman hurried forward to comply. He piled up the bone china with shaved beef, lamb brisket, and poached salmon along with sundry breads and cheeses. The fellow had evidently noticed how Jareth had been eating, for the plate groaned under the weight. Did he truly appear so starved? The grim reminder of his circumstances nearly turned his stomach, but he allowed the footman to place the food before him and spread his damask napkin with every intention of doing the repast justice.
    “What have you been up to all morning?” his brother asked.
    “Entertaining Miss Watkin,” Jareth supplied between mouthfuls. “And if you hear rumors to the contrary, please deny that I have typhus.”
    Justinian choked.
    Hoping to forestall questions, Jareth went on to tell his brother of the morning’s escapades. Justinian shook his head as he finished.
    “It must have been quite amusing,” his brother said. “But I fail to see how you convince the ton you are changed if you appear to be chasing after Miss Watkin.”
    “I needn’t convince the ton,” Jareth replied. “I merely need to convince Miss Watkin. You wished me to gain her forgiveness, did you not? This was her price, at least in part.”
    “I shudder to think what else she would have you do.”
    “Only a few more such tests, the content of which are a strictly guarded secret. I begin to believe not even Miss Watkin knows what they are yet.”
    Justinian frowned. “She seems intent on making you pay. I take it you have remembered when you wronged her. What exactly passed between the two of you?”
    Jareth paused. “Do you know, Justinian, I ask myself the same thing?” He started to explain the situation to his brother, then remembered the footman standing silently at the sideboard. He doubted Justinian would hire jabbermouths, but Eloise seemed so intent on keeping their liaison secret that he could not trust speaking of it before anyone. She would never forgive him if she thought he’d spread gossip.
    “I thought I was the only one injured,” he told his brother, purposely keeping the matter vague. “Yet she seems incensed by the memory.”
    Justinian obviously had no concerns as to the silence of his staff on family matters. “Incensed? Why? I cannot imagine you would pressure a woman to accept your advances. God knows, you have precious little need with the numbers who throw themselves at you.”
    Jareth frowned. Had he pressured Eloise into their ill-timed passion in the hayloft? He could remember the scene all too easily. Their courage in meeting had been growing; she had managed to slip away during the day this time, but insisted that she could only stay a moment. As had been happening frequently of late, he had found his time with her maddeningly short and had followed her back to the