Chills

by Heather Boyd

  “They suit you better,” Bernard blurted out.

  Virginia froze and drew away from him. “Thank you.”

  Impressed that he had managed a compliment without thinking about it too hard, Bernard smiled. He wasn’t very good at them, and he’d not had time or inclination to practice before but they seemed to have an effect on Virginia.

  She fidgeted. “A drink. I do believe I am thirsty, Hallam.”

  Damn, she had dropped the use of his first name rather quickly. Perhaps he should practice being nice more often. “Is there any particular beverage you might wish for? Something cold, or something to warm your insides, perhaps?”

  That came out a lot dirtier than planned. He was trying to charm her, not have his head whacked by the nearest vase.

  Her brow furrowed. “Cold, I think.”

  So far so good. She had missed, or ignored, his double-entendre. Bernard held out his arm to escort her to the refreshment table. When he passed her a glass of wine, her hand shook a little. He looked away until she had downed it and then handed her another. Judging by her consumption of a third glass, she had not missed his double-entendre after all. And he still had his head.

  Feeling surprisingly buoyed by his success, he steered her back toward her brother and Miss Grange. At least with them, Virginia would be free from propositions.

  ~ * ~

  The bed shook, and Constance groaned as the bright light drenching her bedchamber pierced her lids. Carefully, she opened her eyes to find Virginia’s face hovering above hers.

  “Good morning, sleepy-head,” Virginia exclaimed.

  “It can’t be morning yet. Tell the sun to go back down,” Constance moaned. She had suffered the worst dreams last night and needed a few more minutes of peace. All sorts of twisted visions had plagued her. She needed time to shift the lingering unease. The marquess would never visit her in debtor’s prison, but her foolish mind had conjured up horrid examples of how the man would sneer and laugh at her misfortune from the other side of a locked door.

  “Nonsense. You cannot sleep the day away. We have a great number of callers expected. I am gratified by how well you were received by the ton last night. A great many of my acquaintances commented on your pretty ways. Come along, time to get up.”

  Virginia whipped the covers from Constance’s body.

  As the cool morning air cruelly struck her legs, Constance scrambled into a seated position, and pulled the nightgown over her toes to keep herself warm. “What time is it?”

  “It is a little after eleven. My brother thought I should let you sleep in, so I have already broken my fast with him and Lord Hallam.” Virginia reached out a hand to straighten Constance’s hair and let out a sigh. “You have such energetic hair.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it looks a fright this morning. I forgot to braid it.” Constance dragged her hands over the wild curls, frowning in confusion. “Actually, I cannot remember coming home. What time did we return?”

  “I think it was around four,” Virginia said. “You were very tired.”

  Constance shrugged off her confusion and slipped out of bed, beckoned by the thought of cool, clean water to drink. She shivered at the draft sweeping into the room from the open balcony doors. “Amazing. I don’t even remember climbing the stairs. I must have been sleepwalking.”

  “But you didn’t climb the stairs. Jack carried you.”

  “Oh.” Constance lost her grip on the jug and slurped water over the nightstand. She replaced it carefully and hurried to mop up the spill.

  “I did think Hallam might have offered but, as usual, he has no interest in anything but himself. I am afraid he won’t make a very nice husband,” Virginia confessed. “Had your heart changed toward him?”

  “Ah. No.” Jack peeked around the doorframe leading to the balcony. Constance hurried to slip on her wrapper. “I can assure you, Virginia, Lord Hallam is not on my list.” Constance skirted the bed and approached the door, but there was no sign of the marquess outside now. She let out a relieved breath.

  “I think that might be for the best. There are many more gentlemen to consider. Why don’t I organize some breakfast for you while you wake up properly? I’ll return to keep you company while you eat. Back soon.”

  Once Virginia waltzed out the door, Constance slumped on the bed. She couldn’t believe Virginia had convinced Jack to carry her into the house. That was too great an imposition.

  “Ahem.” Jack’s voice broke into her thoughts. When she looked up, his broad shoulders were blocking the light. “Are you going to sit about in your night clothes all day? There is a matter we need to discuss, and we have only a short time before my sister returns.”

  “I cannot dress while you are standing there. Go away.”

  He mumbled something she didn’t quite catch. Then he cleared his throat. “Very well, come and see me in my study in one hour.”

  The door creaked behind Constance as the little upstairs maid hurried in. Caught and embarrassed by it, she turned back to the balcony doorway, but Jack had vanished. Lord, he could move quickly when he wanted to. She shrugged off her irritation and sat down to breakfast. Ham, cheese, and eggs—her favorite. Virginia flew into the room a few seconds later and regaled Constance with her latest argument with Lord Hallam.

  “Can you imagine him thinking that I would prefer to speak with Lord Archer? He truly is without sense.”

  “I think Lord Hallam is very right to be concerned about you. You are a widow, after all. Mama hinted once that gentlemen were harder to repulse once there was no man around to protect her. You are lucky to have a brother, and you have Lord Hallam too, it seems.”

  “Yes, but he is so overbearing. At breakfast this morning, he commented on the size of the portions on my plate. I cannot imagine that it is any concern of his what I eat.”

  “Maybe he wants it to be,” Constance blurted out before she had time to reconsider. Watching the pair of them circle each other was vexing. She glanced at Virginia, and smiled hesitantly. “I apologize. It is none of my business, but I think Lord Hallam has more than a passing interest in your welfare. Perhaps he should be at the top of your list.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Virginia exclaimed. “I’ll not marry again.”

  “Why not? You could finally do something about Lord Hallam’s wardrobe. The shocking lack of quality seems to bother you.”

  Although Constance was mostly teasing, there was a great deal of truth in her statement.

  Virginia set her hands to her hips then left in a rush.

  “Virginia.”

  The door slammed. Sighing, slightly ashamed of pushing a notion that clearly went against what Virginia planned for her future, Constance finished her breakfast alone.

  ~ * ~

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Jack lifted his head from the daily newssheet and slid his feet from the desk with a thump. He had to give Madame du Clair credit. Pixie no longer looked like a schoolgirl. The new style exposed the maturity she already possessed, not to mention teased him. He had a great deal of trouble raising his eyes from the firm swells exposed by the lower cut bodice.

  “Kind of you to join me so promptly. Please, take a seat.” Jack would keep the desk between them for this chat. Contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t made of ice, and appreciated the benefits of fashionable dress as much as the next healthy male.

  “You said you wanted to discuss the list.”

  “Yes. Given what I know, I have crossed off the names of those insolvent, those about to wed, or those recently married. Virginia’s list contained a few unavailable gentlemen. I further trimmed the list of men known for their poor reputations. Men I know to be cruel to their servants and others.”

  Jack glanced at her and wondered if she would complain. Her brow scrunched tight. He almost laughed at how comical she appeared. She seemed poised to argue. He drew out the new list and slid it across the dark partner’s desk.

  “As you can see, the list is smaller.” Jac
k’s eyes lingered as Pixie shuffled forward in her chair to take it. Her posture exposed a great deal more than she realized, and Jack suffered another stirring of arousal that proved impossible to suppress.

  Thank God he had chosen to remain behind the desk.

  Displaying any base behavior was a certain means of suffering damage, and he already knew Pixie could slap hard enough to leave a mark. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze away from her skin. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to pursue her for his own, irregardless of his body’s reaction.

  “Were there any other preferences I should have taken into account?” Like age or arrogance.

  “Gamblers,” she whispered holding the note as if it was a live, wriggling snake.

  He was pleased with her proviso and stretched out his hand for the list again. After a moment, she passed it back. He scratched lines across another ten names. “Generally, those gentlemen are successful, but as you said the other day, luck has a way of deserting gamblers.”

  When the note passed back again, he waited for her questions to start or for her to remember her abhorrence of older men. But Pixie did not say a word.

  “Is something the matter with the remaining names?” Jack asked, his irritation growing.

  “Yes.”

  “Would it be something you care to mention aloud so that I can assist you?”

  “Do you really hate me so much as to want to drag out this torture?” Pixie whispered.

  Of all the stupid things to believe—Jack would never do anything to cause her pain. “Miss Grange, you appear to be laboring under a gross misunderstanding of my character. I don’t hate anyone. Occasionally, such as with Mr. Medley, I might find myself toying with the pleasure hearing of his demise, but I will not be doing the killing. Where have you acquired these passionate fantasies from?”

  Constance raised her eyes but did not speak. He couldn’t force her to confess that her mother was a poisonous harpy spreading lies. Pixie remained loyal to her family, and he could only commend her for that.

  “What can you tell me about these gentlemen?” Pixie asked, running the paper between her fingers, warping the straight edge into ruffles.

  “I will start with Lord Daventry. You met him last evening,” Jack murmured, uncomfortable with this role. He did not want to tell tales on his friend, but it was necessary in this case.

  “He appeared in a hurry to be elsewhere,” Pixie remarked.

  Jack opted to tell her the truth. She might not like it, but he was not going to sugar coat the characters of any of these men. “Daventry had arranged to meet his mistress at the ball last night. Within perhaps half of an hour of meeting you, he would have her secluded someplace private, and would have been enjoying himself.”

  “Oh.”

  “He is a lusty man. Completely unrepentant of his lifestyle,” Jack said. When Pixie’s shoulders slumped, he added, “I don’t imagine he would be an easy husband to manage. He would have trouble containing his pursuit of pleasure. I have my doubts if he could remain faithful without love.”

  Constance shook her head. “You misunderstand me, my lord. Love and faithfulness wasn’t part of my design in finding a husband. I need money to stay out of debtor’s prison and a man with a strong character to endure my mother. How my husband chooses to spend his time will not be for me to comment on.”

  Jack’s jaw dropped. Would she marry only for completely mercenary reasons? “What is in it for you then?”

  “Perhaps children. It is the only thing of value I bring to a marriage—my potential as a brood mare.” Pixie’s head dropped, and she sobbed into her fist.

  Stunned by her thinking, Jack circled the desk and pulled a chair next to hers. Pixie would bring much more to a marriage. How could she believe otherwise? Although he debated the wisdom of becoming more involved with her, he touched her arm and let his fingers slide until they encountered bare skin.

  So soft.

  A part of him—a growing part—wanted to pull her close. Only his head reminded him of her dislike, that she thought him arrogant, old, and unfit for consideration.

  Jack let his fingers caress her arm and, with his other hand, he reached for a handkerchief. That little thing she dabbed at her eyes was next to useless. He swapped her handkerchief for his and threw hers onto the desk, then took the paper and tossed it there too.

  “Have you known Lord Daventry a long time?” she asked.

  “His townhouse is across the street,” Jack murmured. What he didn’t add was that Daventry was older by several months. There was no need to bring age into her decision. She wanted a wealthy husband above anything else.

  “Then cross his name off. You would be the one to know his character better than I could judge.” Pixie sniffed again and blew her nose.

  Ignoring her immediate demand, he let his hand slide upward, felt the tendons beneath his fingers and squeezed. “You give yourself far too little credit, Pixie. Any man would be lucky to have you for a wife. You would lighten any husband’s day.”

  Life with Pixie would not be serene, but it would be interesting, and alarmingly informal. He squeezed once more, then snatched up the blasted list and, with great pleasure, removed Daventry’s name.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CONSTANCE HASTILY her fingers back from Mr. Scaling’s tight grip, and then turned to greet his pinch-faced wife. Virginia seemed perplexed with her visitors, but greeted them with the barest hesitation.

  Mrs. Scaling regarded Constance coolly, looking her over from head to toe with a critical eye. Constance kept her head level and turned to greet the woman’s daughter, determined to ignore the insulting behavior—only to find the younger woman was giving her the same scrutiny.

  After the charitable thoughts she had felt the night before for the fair-haired girl, Constance couldn’t understand her behavior. She had done her best to maneuver Jack in her direction, but moving the marquess was like moving a mountain.

  Virginia gestured toward chairs, and Constance was unsurprised to find herself seated as far from Virginia as possible. She would laugh, but thought better of it. She could not do as she wished in London. She settled herself to display patience while Mrs. Scaling dominated the conversation.

  “I am so sorry we have not been able to see more of you this season, Lady Orkney. Have you been plagued by many inconveniences recently? Perhaps they will be of short duration?” Mrs. Scaling asked, with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

  Constance wondered if she was the inconvenience Mrs. Scaling spoke of, but turned as a maid brought the tea tray, ignoring the implied insult. It was just her imagination.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Scaling. I have been keeping very busy, and have seen no less of my friends than I’d hoped for.”

  There, a direct hit for Virginia. Mrs. Scaling held her tongue, but her daughter stepped in to claim her share of the conversation. “Is your brother expected this morning, Virginia? I had so hoped to ask his advice on a small matter. I understand he is something of an expert in the field.”

  To Constance’s knowledge, Jack had no particular expertise in any one field. He was a good landowner, a good brother. Lord Hallam was the scholar of antiquities.

  “I am not my brother’s keeper, Miss Scaling. He has many varied appointments I am not privy to,” Virginia replied. “Would you pour the tea, Constance?”

  Luckily, she did it flawlessly, even with every eye was upon her. Miss Scaling received her cup last, and the look she sent Constance dripped venom.

  “And you, Miss Grange? Do you know the marquess’ plans today?” the blonde asked boldly, ignoring the strangled twitter from her mama.

  “I am afraid I don’t understand you, Miss Scaling. Lord Ettington does not confide in me at all. Why would I know more than his dear sister?”

  Constance could not believe the girl’s gall. She was directly challenging her presence in the house. She did not like Miss Scaling’s insinuations one bit, although she had feared assumptions like these could happen.

  Th
e chit smiled. “I did not think he would.” Miss Scaling reached up to pat her perfect blonde hair. When she reached for her teacup, her smile suggested she had heard the best news.

  Constance looked between Virginia and Miss Scaling, and then saw it. Virginia was blonde. So was Miss Scaling. Constance’s hair was almost black when the preference amongst the ton was blonde locks. Could Miss Scaling be Jack’s intended? Would Jack choose a girl whose likeness resembled his sister’s so closely?

  Constance almost gagged, but she made herself sip her tea until the unladylike urge passed.

  Mr. Scaling stared at his daughter, and then shook his head in warning. Constance could not believe Jack would align himself to this family. There was no way it could be true.

  Constance could not stand these people, but she had to refocus on appearing polite. She glanced at the large portrait of Jack’s father. The late marquess was dressed in the old style of wig and powder, making it impossible to see any resemblance between Jack and his father. Constance liked the painting—it drew her eyes. The late Lord Ettington had a kind face, and the portrait had been painted very well. Today, his eyes seemed different, almost alive. A shiver of excitement swept her skin.

  “Miss Grange, it was you, in truth, we came to call on. I believe once you read this note you will understand my interest in seeing expedient attention to the matter.” Mr. Scaling spoke with business-like efficiency, and Constance’s heart considered stopping.

  The voices around her grew muffled and eventually the Scaling’s went away. But the loud thump of the drawing room door closing made her jump.

  Virginia surged forward. “What on earth is that?”

  The thick wad of parchment in Constance’s hands dragged her spirits lower. “More trouble, I fear.”

  Virginia wrapped her arm about her and addressed the room. “You can come out now, cowards, it is safe.”

  Constance jumped again as the late marquess’ portrait issued a small clicking noise and creaked open to reveal Jack and a grinning Lord Hallam hiding behind it. Of all the sneaky ways to avoid meeting the Scaling’s, yet hear every word. At least Jack had the sense to appear embarrassed.