by Heather Boyd
“I believe she is conversing with Lady Rosthorn and her daughter by the terrace doors,” Pixie warned him.
Jack groaned. Lady Rosthorn’s daughter was unmarried. “Perhaps you should join her. I need to speak to Lord Daventry before he disappears.”
Pixie’s eyes widened.
“There’s nothing wrong. I’ll tell you about it later.”
~ * ~
Constance crossed the ballroom floor between dances, only to be intercepted by Lord Daventry. She glanced behind her, but Jack had disappeared from sight. “Ettington is looking for you.”
Lord Daventry held out his arm for her to take. Humoring him, she allowed him to promenade with her.
“Well, it appears that his better half has found me instead,” Daventry grumbled.
The whispers from the sidelines increased another notch louder. She wondered what all the fuss was about tonight. There was always something society squawked over. They had only gone a few steps more before Agatha joined them. Agatha linked her arm with Constance’s free one and together they led her further away from the whispers, behind a pillar, of all places.
“What is going on?”
“Nothing of importance. Stay here with Miss Birkenstock. I need to find Jack and bring him back in here,” Lord Daventry fumed.
Confusing man. “All right, if you must.”
When she turned to her companion, Agatha’s face wore a worried frown. “Are you feeling unwell, Miss Birkenstock? Perhaps you should sit?” Constance looked around, but saw no vacant chairs, only curious, whispering people.
“We should stay here until Lord Ettington returns.”
Hmm, that could take a while. Constance craned her neck but saw nothing of him. “Do you know what are they whispering about tonight?”
“Yes,” Agatha said in a small voice.
“And.”
“I don’t want to say,” Agatha whispered.
“I beg your pardon?” All this whispering was getting on her nerves, but Constance was more disappointed that Agatha’s confidence was backsliding.
“I don’t like to gossip,” Agatha apologized, and looked down at her hands.
“Could you tell me then why Lady Rosthorn just turned her back on me and took Virginia with her?” Constance demanded, finding no further fun in the evening.
“Oh, no.”
“All right, enough of this. Just tell what they’re saying or I’ll … I’ll take a key from your pianoforte the first chance I get,” Constance threatened. “An important one.”
Agatha looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”
“Just try me,” Constance crossed her arms in a mocking, aggressive stance.
Agatha didn’t even crack half a smile. “You won’t be cross with me? I don’t have so many friends as to lose any.”
“Just tell me.”
“They are talking about the Jamison ball.”
“The ball? Really? Did I make another social gaff and not notice?” Constance thought back over the evening, but could not remember how she could have offended anyone.
“Yes. I mean no.”
“All right, I give up.” This was worse than listening to a bad poetry recital. Constance glanced around them but could see nothing of Virginia or Jack.
“About Lord Ettington …”
Constance’s head snapped around. “Excuse me?”
“They know about last night. That’s what they are whispering about. They know about you and Ettington. They say you’re his—” Agatha didn’t finish.
But Constance understood.
She was a fool to have come tonight. Of course, any gossip about the marquess would spread faster than honey on a hot day. She had hoped to have one last night before saying goodbye to the few true friends she’d made. She had given up her respectability last night, but she did not regret one single minute that she had shared with Jack. “That was quick.”
“It’s true?” Agatha goggled, and Constance braced herself. She hoped Agatha hadn’t formed a tendre for Jack. If so she wouldn’t be pleased to be conversing with his mistress.
“I suppose it is. I should apologize. Lord Daventry never should have left you with me. And I should have had the foresight to stay away. Please, go find your grandfather. You shouldn’t be in my company.”
Constance went to pat Agatha’s hand then thought better of it. She was a soiled dove, a mistress. She didn’t want to taint such a nice girl with her affection.
“No,” Agatha cried. “I know how hard it is to refuse an ardent suitor. I’m not going to leave you alone.” She took Constance’s arm.
“Agatha, I’m not going to be alone long,” Constance promised, trying to extract herself from Agatha’s grip. “I’m going to leave. I really should not have come. Excuse me.”
“Wait.” Agatha clenched her arm tighter. “I’m coming with you.”
“Agatha, you shouldn’t. This will not help you at all, and your place is here. Mine isn’t.”
“I don’t belong here either, but the marquess and his sister have always been kind to me. It is the least I can do.” Agatha tucked Constance’s arm through hers and hurried toward her grandfather. When Agatha told him she was ready to leave, he didn’t quibble.
Once they hit the open air of the city, Constance could breathe again, but she shook at the hostility directed at her tonight.
Mr. Birkenstock commandeered Viscount Carrington’s hack as he arrived and poor Carrington looked so dazed that he stepped aside and watched them leave without a word.
Agatha and her grandfather were blessedly quiet for the journey to Ettington House. Although the older man’s jaw clenched occasionally, he never spoke a word.
Yet as she stepped from the carriage outside Ettington House, it occurred to Constance that Jack might be irritated she’d left without him. However, Jack should have known society would not ignore a mistress, especially one displayed under their own noses. She waved the Birkenstock’s away and turned for the steps.
~ * ~
Jack searched the ballroom again with his eyes and his control slipped. “Where did you say you left her?”
“Over in the corner with Miss Birkenstock. I don’t see them,” Daventry looked around, “or Mr. Birkenstock either. They must have tried to find you. We must look for them.”
“Don’t bother. She’s not out there,” Virginia informed him, scowling like a fury. “There’s more hot air circulating in this room than can be contained in one of those atrocious balloons. Jack, what have you done?”
“A slight miscalculation, sister. Don’t fret,” Jack muttered. “Where is that woman?”
Daventry groaned. “Ettington, you are the most watched man in England. Of course someone worked it out, but please tell me you didn’t actually forget to ask a particularly important question?”
“I may have,” Jack squirmed. As if he would make her his mistress. How absurd.
Daventry and Virginia exchanged an embarrassed glance.
This mess was completely fixable. He just had to propose and post the notice.
Viscount Carrington joined them with a laugh. “Is there any particular reason Miss Grange just left the ball with Agatha Birkenstock and her grandfather? The girl seemed ready to faint.”
“She left?” Jack winced as his sister thumped him.
“They appeared to be in a hurry,” Carrington offered.
Jack groaned aloud. “Now you can fret, Virginia. Daventry, see my sister home safely, but not for a few hours.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“GOING TA SPREAD your legs for the marquess again, are ya?” a slurred voice called out to Constance as she reached the front door of Ettington House.
Peering into the dark of Orchard Street, Constance could make out a slim form slumped against the house fence. She moved to better view the face and gasped. “Cullen?’
“Why so surprised?” Cullen dragged himself to his feet and staggered forward a step or two. “Told ya I’d come back. Ya should have l
istened.”
Constance stepped back from his lurching gait. “Cullen, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Where else would I be?” Cullen asked, raising a flask to his lips and taking a long pull. “I only had one job to do and that was get you ta marry me. Don’t think I want to now that I know where ya been.”
Cullen must have heard the rumors.
His graze raked her, but despite his words, he grinned lasciviously at her appearance. She drew her wrap tighter about her shoulders.
He had not even asked if the rumors were true. Just convicted her without proof, then come to taunt her for her weakness. And to think this man’s opinion had held sway over her thoughts for the last few years. If not for the money, she would have married him without knowing this side of him.
He did not make a very good friend. Jack had always asked her to explain her mistakes before he chided her for them.
Constance bit her lip, then moved toward the house and safety. “I think you should leave, sir.”
“Sir, now is it?” Cullen lurched forward. “Why you crafty piece of—”
Cullen never completed his sentence. Footsteps swiftly descended the stairs and a dark arm swung toward Cullen. Parkes’ fist connected with Cullen’s flapping mouth. He fell hard to the pavement. Two burly footmen caught Cullen’s arms and dragged him into the street.
“He’ll just use ya till he gets bored and toss ya away, ya silly strumpet,” Cullen called loudly. “My uncle and I had plans to get rich from Thistlemore. At least you would have been respectable.”
“Don’t listen to him, miss. Come inside.”
Parkes led her, unresisting, into the house, throwing a scowl behind him from the door. Once inside, he took her shawl, gripped her arm firmly and ushered her upstairs. Outside her bedchamber door, he stopped and bowed low, conveying a respect she had not anticipated. Or deserved. “Don’t think about that fool again. Some people cannot be happy for another’s good fortune.”
In a daze, Constance entered her room. She had anticipated losing the respect of others when she became Jack’s mistress. She just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
~ * ~
Jack took the stairs two at a time. Panic had long ago reduced his ability to think with any clarity. All he knew was that he had to get to Pixie. His butler’s hurried warning had only served to heighten his worry. She would be humiliated by the rumors and by Mr. Brampton’s loud and very public abuse.
He barreled into her bedchamber to beg her forgiveness, only to find it empty. He grabbed a bedpost and slumped against it. She was gone. Despair threatened him a moment before he snapped out of it, pivoted, and hurried to his own door.
Once he got rid of his evening clothes, he would search the city for her. Jack rushed through his sitting room, and then moved to his brightly lit bedchamber.
His valet was not normally so thoughtful—not in spring—but the room was warm and welcoming. Jack ripped out his cravat pin and struggled with his cravat, letting the diamond pin lay wherever it landed. He rubbed his hand around his neck and tried to think where she might have gone.
“Did your valet tie it too tight, or did you grow tonight, Jack?” A soft voice floated to him and Jack spun toward the sound. Pixie sat in a froth of white lace, watching him, a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her lips. He staggered a few steps, overwhelmed by the relief of seeing her. A shocking lack of blood in his brain accounted for his inability to speak.
After a moment, he managed to put together enough words to produce a reply that made sense. “Too much starch, I believe.”
“Well, that can be easily taken care of.”
Jack’s brain was working now. “Will you speak to the housekeeper tomorrow?”
She smiled at him and his panic fled. “If you ask nicely, perhaps I could be persuaded.”
“Well then, I had better do just that.” Jack eyed her sitting there. “Give me a moment, will you?”
~ * ~
Constance was puzzled that things were not progressing quite how she had imagined. Although she sat alone on his big bed, she had hoped Jack would take that very large hint and come to join her.
When he emerged from his dressing room a moment or two later, Constance’s heart raced. He was perfect. He had changed. Gone was the scrap of ribbon in his hair. His coat and waistcoat were gone too. His shirt flowed free of the breeches on his hips, and best of all, no shoes or stockings—only bare feet.
Constance swooned at the sight, landing lightly on her back. Jack crawled up the bed after her. Delicious heat enveloped her as he hovered above, eyes twinkling with affection.
“My darling, Pixie, I almost swooned myself to see you here.” He swooped in to kiss her on the lips. His hair tickled and she giggled. “I’m sorry about tonight. Someone must have spotted us. As if I would dishonor you by making you my mistress. Come, sit up.”
He pulled her up with him and sank to his knees.
“What?”
“My darling Pixie, I could not bear it if you returned to Sunderland. Would you do me the very great honor of marrying me tomorrow, or is it today? I need you so very much.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, Jack. Less starch in your laundry is not a reason to offer to marry me.”
“Forget the starch. I've been going mad. Please put me out of my misery. I want you so very terribly, little Pixie. I love you. Marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life openly adoring you.”
Tears fell; clouding her vision of the man she loved enough to suffer the scandal of becoming his mistress. “Jack, I would love to marry you, but you know I can’t.”
His brow creased. “Why ever not?”
“I realize you’ve kept the connection secret, but you are betrothed,” Constance sobbed. “All I can be is your lover.”
“Ah, Pixie, I’m such an idiot. I did not know you knew. Look at me.” Jack cradled her face. “I’m not betrothed, love. Not in any conventional sense.”
Jack grasped her hands tight in his. “Our fathers were foolish men, and terribly addicted to gambling. Do you remember how they were together? All in or nothing. But in a moment of weakness, my father crossed the line of honor and agreed to something that I cannot ever condone. As payment for your father’s debts, he acquired Thistlemore—and you.”
Constance gasped. “What do you mean me? He bought me?”
“They traded you.” Jack’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “I learned of it when my father died and I burned the document immediately. Then I came to Thistlemore to acquire the copy in your mother’s possession. She would not give it up easily.”
Revulsion churned in her belly. “That’s why she was angry with you?”
“At first she feared that I would toss you both out once I had the document. The lease appeased her somewhat. We argued—until I eventually got my way. But I remained your guardian until you came of age.”
“That’s why she calls you a cold-hearted beast?”
“Well, it wasn’t me who sold you,” Jack argued.
“Papa said you were betrothed,” she shook her head, unwilling to consider this was real. “He never said it was to me.”
“There was no stipulation that I had to marry you. You were to be my mistress or my property.”
The regret in Jack’s eyes drew more tears. She squeezed her eyes shut over the humiliation her father had dealt her from the grave. “You didn’t tell me. Why?”
“The whole agreement was an atrocity. I just wanted to forget that they could agree to such a thing,” Jack confessed, slumping beside her and lacing his fingers through hers.
By his expression he had lost respect for his father, and hers too. Not that there was much of Greedy Grange’s life to admire, but Constance had liked Jack’s papa. He had always been kind to her and now she knew why. “I’m sure he meant well.”
~ * ~
Jack scowled. He did not believe that. He still harbored great anger at his sire for buying a woman. “My girl, you are far too forgiving.
”
Jack raised her hand to his face and held it there. “Tomorrow you will wish them both to the devil. I have thought that repeatedly for the last four years. So, was that a yes or a no to marrying me?”
“Yes, I will marry you. I love you so much it hurts.”
Gathering the folds of her nightgown Pixie turned toward him. She dropped the fabric and ran her hands up his chest to his neck, pulled his head to hers and kissed him soundly. She swallowed his groan as she flung herself over him.
Jack enjoyed her aggression. He kneaded her derrière, and then stroked the back of her thighs, all the while devouring her with deep kisses. Nothing else mattered.
He broke the kiss, but kept her tight against him. “I have something for you.”
Her eyes glistened in the candlelight and he didn’t want to tear his eyes away. “It can wait,” she said, pulling his shirt aside with impatient fingers.
From his smallest finger, he produced a ring—an exact match to the one he wore. “No. Wait. I want to do this right. Give me your hand.”
“Oh, Jack, I love it.” She allowed him to push it on her ring finger and she held it up to catch the light. “It fits perfectly too. How did you get the size right?”
“A man in love can do anything for his woman,” he boasted with a wide smile and kissed her cheek. “It is the original partner to the one I wear—my mother’s ring.”
Tears glistened in her eyes again and she hastily scrubbed them away. Jack sighed and rubbed his nose to hers, relieved and excited to have finally claimed the woman he loved.
Jack kissed her again, slow and hungry, and pushed her to the bed’s softness. Hovering over her, Jack did his best to keep his impulses under control, but he couldn’t help but try to kiss every part of her.
Lying beneath him, Constance’s hands were busy. She attacked his remaining buttons and stripped his shirt from him. Soft hands glided over his chest as he followed the trail of freckles to the neckline of her nightgown. Using his teeth, he snagged the ribbon that held it closed and lifted his head slowly, watching the bow loosen to expose more skin.