Free Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero by Cari Hislop Page A

pleasure.

    “You look like
you were made for each other, like you just stepped out of some
romantic painting. Look, now their both blushing. I’ll wager you a
pound Uncle John has a special license in his pocket and he’s just
waiting for the right moment to give her his blackened heart. As
Miss Lark’s young enough to give you twenty babes, I suppose this
means you won’t be leaving George your estate.”

    John glared at
his winking nephew, “I do not have any such paper in my pocket and
I wouldn’t marry Miss Lark if she was the last English speaking
woman alive. I’ll thank you for keeping all future opinions on my
ward unspoken. I have a great desire to see old age with my sanity
intact.”

    “As you wish
old man, but I still think you make a handsome pair.”

    “I’m not
old!”

    “You’re old to
me.”

    John was
rolling his eyes as the feminine hand was brutally tugged from his
sleeve causing the unpleasant sensation of rejection. His chest was
suddenly a dull ache as he watched Joan walked away without looking
back with Cecil towards Agnes newly enthroned behind a trolley
crammed with food.

    “She’s
stunning…why d-don’t you want her? Are you m-mad?” Peter’s
questions were hissed into John’s ear.

    “My sanity was
unquestionably sound before she came into my life. She’s a
penniless nobody who’ll talk you mad in half an hour.”

    “Is she
kind?”

    “Why?”

    “I’m in need
of a wife; do you think she’d consider me too old?”

    “Wait till
you’re a victim of her innocent tongue. You won’t be thinking
anything other than escape.”

    “A victim of
her t-tongue, that sounds rather pleasant. I’m so hungry for female
lips I could almost kiss Agnes…” John’s expression of disgust
merely made his larger brother laugh and ruffle his hair before
dragging him to join the assembled family.

    Twenty minutes
later John was balancing a teacup and saucer on his leg and glaring
at his nephews flocking around Miss Lark. He ground his teeth as he
listened to his ward laugh at something he couldn’t hear. He felt
old and unloved. It wasn’t until Peter started asking him about the
duel that the younger males turned their full attention to the
injured survivor to hear the gory details. Even the twin hellions
perched on their Uncle Peter’s knees wanted to know how deep the
sword sank into his chest. When he replied it went all the way
through his back they demanded to see the scars. Their
disappointment at his refusal to undress was his only pleasurable
moment of the afternoon. John Smirke always enjoyed spending time
with his brothers, but Miss Lark’s sudden pronounced indifference
to his existence was ruining what should have been a pleasant
occasion.

    The day wore
on wearing him out. When the rest of the family ventured out to the
theatre he stayed behind sucking lemon drops silently fuming that
not one person had offered to remain home and keep him company,
especially the one bound by duty. He’d had to ask her directly if
she needed any money for her ticket to even win a glance in his
direction. The fact she had more of his money than he did only fed
his ire. The late supper was equally irritating. Home from the
theatre, the family discussed a performance he couldn’t even
pretend to have an opinion on because he’d never seen the play. His
temper wasn’t improved by having to sit two seats down the same
side of the table as Joan. He was close enough to hear her chatter
with his nephew George, but too far to join the conversation or
give her reproachful glances. By the end of supper, John was ready
to explode. He’d had a gutful of cheerful relations and neglectful
wards and couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and sulk in private.

    He was sitting
on the edge of his bed in his nightshirt rubbing arnica cream into
his itching wounds daydreaming of a certain pair of feminine hands
performing the task when a light knock on the door interrupted his
pleasurable thoughts.