by Heather Boyd
As Constance prepared to intervene, without even a by-your-leave, Jack secured her arm and led her forcibly from the house, almost pushing her into the carriage.
~ * ~
Jack waited until Pixie settled then took the opposite, rear-facing seat. “I would suggest you do not become involved in affairs between Hallam and my sister.” Pixie opened her mouth to argue, but Jack held up his hand. “Two can play at matchmaker.”
As Virginia climbed inside, Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her to sit beside him. He refused to let Virginia cling to her friend all night. When Hallam entered, he filled the remaining space beside Pixie with his bulk, but his legs stretched to touch Virginia’s skirts.
The awkward journey lasted no time at all. No one spoke. Pixie twisted her hands nervously and Virginia attempted not to touch Hallam, who appeared oblivious to her distress but was, in fact, surreptitiously watching Jack’s twin.
For his part, Jack was trying to avoid thinking. His knees bumped Pixie’s with every sway of the carriage, and a healthy dose of lust was not making his task easy. He hadn’t imagined the blue gown would have such an overwhelmingly arousing effect on him. But that gown, and the view he had unwittingly afforded himself, was going to torture him all night.
By the time they reached Huntley House, Jack had his inappropriate lust in hand. Years of navigating society had forced him to learn to control his emotions, to hide his real thoughts from others. Hiding them from Pixie, however, was uppermost in his mind.
It didn’t matter that his hand tingled when he helped her out of the carriage. She was not for him, and apparently he was not for her either. Tonight he needed to pretend he was still her guardian.
Jack could have chosen not to help her out of the carriage, but he would be damned if he would allow a groom to touch her. Pixie looked stunning in her new gown and he yearned to touch more of the creamy smooth skin exposed by the lower neckline.
No matter how much he tried to talk himself into a reasonable state of mind, he wanted this tiny, bewitching woman in his bed.
As they flowed up the steps in Virginia’s wake, Jack risked squeezing Pixie’s elbow in the hope of soothing her. By the way her hands fluttered about without purpose, she was anxious. She had no cause to be nervous. She would win society over with no trouble. All she needed to do was smile and be herself. It might be vain to think it, but his presence beside her would do the rest. Jack’s friends were never snubbed.
Arriving on his arm to her first London ball would make society take notice. She would be considered, at first, as a potential future marchioness. Society was keen to see him conquered, but he had a plan for that. He wouldn’t dance with her and after tonight, he would keep his hands to himself.
He chose not to think overlong on the other matter—her plan to hunt for a husband. Self-torture had never been a favorite activity.
As Jack nodded to acquaintances, he trembled like a tuning fork. It was damned distracting. Pixie drifted beside him, her hand a light pressure on his arm. His senses spun. He barely produced an acceptable greeting to their hosts. He hoped his reputation as a cold-hearted aristocrat disguised his distraction.
Pixie’s hand trembled.
Hoping to settle her, Jack leaned closer. “I’m glad to see you’re wearing my gift.”
~ * ~
Constance swayed as Jack’s words permeated her panicked mind. She couldn’t believe he would mention her acceptance of a gift where anyone could hear. And she hadn’t accepted it—it was a temporary loan. He would get it back as soon as she didn’t need it. He laid a gloved hand over hers and held her steady. The noise inside the ballroom was overwhelming, but his words had cut through her anxiety as swiftly as a hot knife through butter.
Jack was mean to tease. As soon as Constance got him alone, she was going to kick his shin so hard that he’d have to hop on one foot for a week of Sundays. Smug little smiles might make him appear younger, but they painfully reminded her that once upon a time he’d been her friend.
Constance glanced about the Huntley Ballroom, cooling her temper as she viewed Lady Huntley’s taste in décor. The high-vaulted chamber was only marginally less imposing than the entrance to Ettington House. Lady Huntley, who’d made her come-out with Constance’s mama, had smiled at her warmly, eyed her up and down, and probably recorded all the necessary details for the next month of letters.
The countess had purred when she had taken in Jack’s black clad figure beside Constance. Constance suspected it was a coup for a London hostess to have the marquess attend her function so early in the season. Lady Huntley smiled at him, made all the right noises, but Constance doubted Jack even heard half of them. Something told her he was not truly paying attention tonight.
Jack scanned the crowd around them but seemed to rarely acknowledge others. Constance did not really know him anymore, but she was grateful for his reassuring presence. The arm beneath hers flexed occasionally, causing tingles to shoot up her arm with every movement he made, but he didn’t glance her way again.
When they had made a circuit of the ballroom, a fine-boned blonde swayed back from her group of acquaintances, trying, it seemed, to attract her escort’s attention. The girl’s bouncing manner appeared urgent. Could this be his intended bride? Constance tried to lead Jack in that direction. Jack resisted her gentle tugs, leading her on an opposite course through the throng.
A few steps later, there was a parting of the guests. Across the room, a golden-haired Adonis smiled and then moved to join them.
Jack dropped her arm. “Daventry, didn’t expect to see you here so early. May I present Miss Constance Grange? Miss Grange, you have the rare privilege of an introduction to the Earl of Daventry. If you had fussed before your mirror any longer you might have missed meeting him altogether.”
Constance blushed and tried to ignore Jack’s accurate assumption of how she had spent her time before joining him. She let Lord Daventry take her hand. “Lord Daventry, it is a pleasure to meet you.” She recognized the name as one of her potential suitors.
“Hmm, you are Ettington’s ward from Sunderland, aren’t you?”
“Lady Orkney is a very great friend of mine,” Constance asserted, uncomfortable with the lie Jack wished to spread about her. He had paid for every item of apparel on her body, but there were limits on how large a brand she would bear.
The earl winked. “Oh, I like the fire in this one, Ettington. Good choice. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Grange.”
He wasn’t a bad looking fellow, and he appeared to have an easy manner about him. Could she be so lucky as to find her spouse on her first night? Jack caught her eye and the scowl he sent made her tremble. She was fumbling for something to say when the earl cleared his throat.
“If you will excuse me, I see Lady Montgomery is waiting somewhat impatiently. She has promised me a view of something extraordinary this evening.”
Jack appeared to shake himself. “Enjoy yourself, Daventry.”
Lord Daventry winked at Constance again. “I most assuredly will.”
The way the earl laced his words with a deep, masculine rumble set her aback. She watched him leave, puzzled by the hint of eager mischief in his tone. Uncertain what to make of him, Constance stored his name in her memory. She would ask Virginia about him later.
The fair-haired lady stood close again, and Constance smiled a greeting. She didn’t know her, but the woman seemed very keen to approach. Thinking to be obliging, Constance turned her steps in that direction. The marquess set a hand to her back, catching hold of her gown. He turned her forcibly toward Virginia’s retreating form.
“You don’t own anything but the dress, my lord,” she hissed the minute she could be positive she would not be overheard. “Stop shifting me about with it.”
“Then don’t be difficult. You don’t need to make the young lady’s acquaintance.”
The cold tone got her hackles up. She would have argued against his decree except a friendly look
ing gent was bearing down upon them in a great rush.
“Ettington, a damned relief to find you here. Where the hell have you been?”
“Here and there,” the marquess evaded, smiling kindly at the younger man.
He was very nice to look at, even if Constance had to look up a long way. Inches taller than Jack, but by no means the better-looking of the pair, the young man’s glance instantly offered friendship.
Jack prodded her toe with his ridiculous cane and she blushed, caught in her bold appraisal. He was probably carrying the thing because she had all but said he was ancient. He wasn’t old, just terribly stuffy. She’d hide the blasted cane in the attic the first chance she got.
“Viscount Carrington, may I present Miss Grange? She is an old friend of the family, if you recollect.”
“I don’t believe I remember the name. Welcome to London, Miss Grange.”
“Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Have you been here long?”
“Ten minutes is too long without your company.” Lord Carrington flashed a charming smile until Jack leaned across to whisper in the gentleman’s ear.
Carrington’s smile grew, and then the viscount burst out laughing before turning back to her. “I rescind my earlier bland greeting. It is a very great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look forward to hearing of your adventures firsthand. Ah, I see my party has returned. Do excuse me.”
Still chuckling, he sauntered off.
Constance couldn’t help but frown after him. She didn’t have adventures. Nothing exciting ever happened in Sunderland. She glanced up at Jack. His smug, self-assured expression was back in place. Fear assailed her. “What did you say to Lord Carrington?”
The marquess tugged her along. “Oh, I just mentioned your name.”
“My first name?” Constance stopped.
“No, your nickname,” Jack smirked. “Then Carrington remembered what he already knew about you.”
“And what was that?”
“Frogs.”
Constance’s stomach dropped. “What about them?”
“Surely you remember the day you got angry with me for not taking you out riding. You snuck into my bedchamber while I dined, then crammed slimy frogs into my best riding boots.”
“You told people about that?” Constance gaped at him.
“Of course. It was the highlight of my visit.” Jack chuckled, placed her arm back on his sleeve, and forced her to keep moving.
That prank had been the hardest to accomplish, but she had aimed at making him angry, not amused. It was one of the first instances she could recall that she hadn’t understood his reaction.
“I was only seven. Do you think you could avoid telling people such things about me? I do have a purpose for being here tonight.” Constance raised a hand to her face, appalled to have such a long ago event brought up.
“I've told only my friends about the shocking things you used to do, and besides—” Jack’s good humor vanished— “Carrington is to marry. But if he wasn’t, he cannot afford you.”
Constance pushed down her panic. She didn’t know how to respond. It appeared as if he was looking to protect his friends from her plan to marry for money. He must hate helping her.
They were halfway to joining Virginia when a sultry, feminine voice hailed her escort. An angry curse crossed his lips, but he turned without taking Constance with him.
“At last, a chance for pleasurable conversation. I was considering the merits of organizing a picnic on the Thames next week. Care to join my party, Ettington?”
Constance peeked around Jack’s broad shoulder, but instead of the blonde she had expected, a dark-haired, older woman leaned toward him, eyebrow raised seductively. At least Constance thought she meant it to be seductive. From Jack’s reaction, it was hard to tell.
“I have no interest in sailing on the Thames,” Jack stated bluntly, frost lining his every word. “Lady Darraby, may I present Miss Grange?”
The lady ignored Constance. “Come now, my dear marquess, surely you agree that a bit of adventure now and again improves the season. Even the most innocent of carriage rides can be quite stimulating.”
The woman sidled closer, but then she winced and her glance fell to the floor. Although Constance couldn’t see, she was fairly certain Jack had just used his cane to keep the woman at a distance. She hid a smile as Lady Darraby took a half-step back. Apparently, the cane had some merit—he should keep it.
“Of course, but I see nothing worth putting myself out for,” Jack replied coldly. “Good evening.”
Constance wanted to applaud him for being so direct. Lady Darraby’s face flushed at the rebuff, and then her gaze turned to finally take in Constance’s presence. Lady Darraby’s glare impaled her.
Jack led Constance around the older woman, but her senses prickled as if she had an archery target pinned to her back.
“Ignore her.”
Jack negotiated a tricky maneuver to avoid a lurching lord. By the scent of him, the man was deep in his cups.
“You’re very good at this,” Constance replied.
“I have had a lot of time to practice,” he murmured, tucking Constance snugly into his side to avoid another physically expressive guest.
“You don’t have to be in London. You could always stay at Hazelmere. It’s lovely there in spring.”
“It’s too quiet to stay there all year round. Winter is bad enough.” Jack’s arm beneath hers grew rigid. “Are you trying to suggest that I should go away?”
“No. I didn’t mean that.” Constance grasped for the words to avoid another argument.
“So you want me to stay?” he pressed.
Constance didn’t answer. Jack’s question confused her. He couldn’t be comfortable with her in his home and certainly couldn’t want to spend time with her while she searched for a husband. Yet, if she asked him to leave, she risked offending him.
They reached Virginia’s side and joined the conversation. After Constance was introduced to Lord Archer, she fell silent, watching Jack as he conversed with the short, rotund man many years his senior.
Archer leered in Constance’s direction several times and Jack, while appearing restless to anyone else, moved until she could barely see the other man. She studied Jack’s broad shoulder for the second time tonight. He was very nice to shield her.
Archer was revolting and old enough to be her father. She didn’t want men of his ilk peering down her gown. After a few minutes of less-than-enthusiastic conversation, the man took the hint, gave her one last stare, and departed.
Jack turned to look at something over her head. “Watch out for Archer. He has sticky hands as well.”
Being short had distinct disadvantages when speaking to Jack. He was so much taller and she had to lift her chin high to meet his gaze. His clenched jaw worried her, as did the tightness about his eyes as he tried to hide his reaction from society.
She almost set her hand upon his arm, but then he did something she was not prepared for—his glance fell straight into the open neckline of her gown.
Constance blushed from head to toe as a wry smile tugged the corner of his lips. She raised her hand to her chest, fiddling with the diamond necklace for scant comfort.
“I do believe I might be envious of a hunk of rock.”
She couldn’t misunderstand Jack. But he saved her from a response by rejoining the conversation going on around them. Constance tried to gather her scattered wits, unsure how she felt about Jack ogling her breasts. The knowledge didn’t make her feel quite as bad as she had expected.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NOTHING IRRITATED BERNARD Hallam more than attending a London ball. He hated them. Why was he enduring this torture again? The heat, the competing perfumes masking the stench of unwashed bodies, the sniveling debutantes striving to appear unique when they all looked the same—all of it got on his nerves, and he longed to leave.
He did know why he was here, of course. Virginia was no
longer wearing black or even half-mourning. His shock on seeing her tonight had been profound. He’d not expected her to wear mourning forever, but to see her dressed in pink again stirred his blood.
Virginia received far too many appreciative glances for his comfort. Yet what could he do about them? She was a beautiful widow, and widows were the number one pleasure in a rake’s appointment book.
Lord Archer greeted them and smiled too often at Virginia. The man’s wife was somewhere around, probably availing herself of a gentleman desperate for a tumble.
Bernard understood the desperation, but there was only one woman he wanted.
Unfortunately for him, Virginia wanted nothing to do with him.
The way Lord Archer kept glancing at Virginia’s chest made Bernard long to hit him just once. But striking a fellow gentleman at a ton entertainment would surely displease Virginia. He clenched his teeth and settled for scowling at Lord Archer.
“Lady Orkney, might I trouble you for a moment of private conversation?”
Score one point less for the idiot. Virginia, a stickler for the proprieties, wouldn’t meet privately with a married man.
“Lord Hallam is privy to most of our family’s affairs, milord. There is no need for private speech. How may I help you?”
Bernard stood straighter as she mentioned him. That could only be in his favor. He tried not to gloat.
Lord Archer glanced at him awkwardly for a moment, then muttered, “Perhaps some other time,” and then he withdrew.
Once Archer had gone, Bernard leaned closer to Virginia’s ear. “You do realize what that bald badger was going to suggest, I hope?”
“I am not stupid, Bernard, even if you like to think so. I have been dodging those sorts of suggestions since the funeral.” She cocked her head to the side. “At the funeral, too, I think. Wearing colors again has not been the universal flag of surrender most gentlemen assume.”