One Scandalous Kiss

by Christy Carlyle

  Rebuild my shop. It seemed as strange and impossible a prospect as a match with Lucius. She wasn’t even sure she’d ever had a shop. It had always been father’s bookshop—his idea, his dream. She’d only been a steward, and a poor one at that.

  She focused on the other possibility.

  “What post would I be suited for?”

  Kitty sat back and pursed her lips, leaning her head to the side as if assessing her.

  “What about governess? My youngest sister would love a suffragette governess with whom she could discuss books.”

  Kitty’s words ratcheted Jess’s heartbeat, but the emotion fizzing in her belly was equal parts anticipation and uncertainty. London was home, familiar, a place where she could do good and be useful. Lady Stamford would argue for her usefulness now, in her role as lady’s companion. And while writing letters and arranging appointments with the dressmaker were useful to Lady Stamford, for Jess, the most rewarding aspect of living at Marleston had been her time spent teaching Tilly to read. And now James too.

  When she gave no answer, Kitty smoothed down the skirt of her yellow silk gown.

  “If you prefer to stay, I wish you well. Truly. And I’ll do what I can to—”

  “He’s meant to marry May.”

  The truth of it burned her throat, like the time she’d snuck a sip of her father’s revolting gin. Jess clutched her hands together, squeezing as tight as she could. She felt chilled, miserable. Perhaps Kitty hadn’t meant to refer to Lucius at all. Just because the man lingered in her thoughts didn’t mean everyone else suffered from the same preoccupation.

  “My ears have gone quite pink. Grannie used to say that meant someone was telling tales about me.”

  May Sedgwick stood just beyond the sitting room threshold, her teal eyes glowing, and a sly expression tipping her mouth at each edge.

  “Is this a private gathering or might I push in?” Even as she asked the question, May did just that, gliding into the room as her ruffled bustle and train swished behind her.

  Jess stood and went to the bellpull to ring for more tea, swiping at the single tear that had escaped down her cheek. If May had overheard her conversation with Kitty, they were going to need a great deal of tea.

  May took her time arranging her dress after settling into a plush chair. She’d donned an extraordinary gown of gauzy peach silk with a wave of beige lace over each puffed sleeve.

  When May caught Jess studying the elaborate creation, she said, “It’s a tea gown. My aunt told me to be sure to bring several tea gowns as you English so adore your tea.”

  Jess and Kitty exchanged a glance, but neither could refute the claim. And though Jess counted herself a novice when it came to social niceties, she knew enough to hold her tongue about her preference for coffee.

  As if to prove May’s point, a maid entered the room bearing a fresh tea service and placed it on the table between them. The girl began pouring, but May shooed her away and played the hostess, seeming to enjoy the formality of asking each of them their preferences.

  When they’d all settled back with their steaming cups of tea, May took a single sip before plunging into the fray.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not certain I wish to marry at all.”

  Jess swallowed her tea too quickly and coughed until the tickle in her throat eased.

  “You came a long way to meet a man you did not wish to marry.” As Kitty spoke the words, Jess repeated them in her mind.

  “A very long way, indeed. And I did consider a match with him. Honestly, I did. But more than anything, this trip afforded me an escape from a dilemma.”

  “What dilemma?” This time Jess and Kitty spoke nearly in unison, the two words bouncing off the sitting room walls.

  May took another deep draw of tea, setting her cup carefully on the table beside her before answering.

  “My father intends to marry again.” The moment she spoke the word father, all the joviality in May’s tone fled. But despite the emotion behind her declaration, May’s expression remained buoyant. Her mouth curved when Jess and Kitty exchanged confused glances before turning to her expectantly.

  “I suppose that doesn’t quite explain it.”

  She picked at one of the ribbons of her gown before continuing.

  “She was his mistress while my mother lived, a greedy, selfish creature who sees none of his true merit, only what he can buy for her.” She looked up to gaze at Kitty and then Jess. “Matchmaking for my sake provided a useful distraction. It was a means of securing a bit of his time and attention.”

  “Your father approves of the match with Lord Grimsby?” Kitty’s question had May nodding vigorously, loosening a few black curls.

  “Oh yes. Papa knew Lady Stamford in her youth. He adored the notion of me marrying into her family, and gaining a title to boot. He was so pleased that he even offered to escort me to London.”

  Lady Stamford hadn’t mentioned the arrival of May’s father, though Jess wasn’t privy to every piece of the countess’s correspondence. If he’d offered to escort his daughter, where was he?

  “Unfortunately, he was detained by business matters in New York.” May sniffed before pinching her mouth into a frown. “He promised to travel as soon as he’s able.”

  Jess didn’t expect the sense of kinship that welled up as she watched May angrily flick the bows on her gown and struggle to hide her glum expression.

  After her mother’s death, she’d craved her father’s attention with a kind of greedy desperation. Whatever the difference in their upbringing and situation, she felt for May.

  “He must dote on you. My father wouldn’t escort me across an ocean if I was to marry a king.” Kitty spoke teasingly, and glanced at May as if to reassure her, but Jess detected bitterness in her tone.

  “Oh, I’m sure he would. I met your father at a dinner I attended in London. He seemed quite charming.”

  “Yes, he’s very good at charm.” Kitty stood as she spoke, sweeping a hand down to settle her gown. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I should go and dress for dinner.”

  Jess reached down for her father’s watch, easing it from the pocket of her skirt just enough to read its face. Kitty was right. There was a little over an hour before dinner, and she’d yet to return to Lady Stamford.

  “We should prepare too,” May said as she lifted her teacup for a final sip. “But I must request your help, Jess. You did promise you’d help me.”

  There had been no promises, but Jess nodded and waited. Nothing could be as odd as Kitty’s request that she kiss a stranger.

  “If you’re able, would you go into the dining room and rearrange our place cards?”

  “Place cards?” The cards to indicate where each guest should sit were sometimes used at Marleston for a particularly elaborate dinner with several guests, but there’d been none on the dining table during Jess’s first night at Hartwell.

  “Yes, I suspect they’ll seat me next to Lord Grimsby, but I’d have much more fun near Wellesley, or anyone else.”

  Jess swallowed hard. “Do you truly dislike him?” The room seemed to grow quieter. Her rushing breath and the patter of her heartbeat grew louder.

  May took a long moment to consider the question, reaching up to loop a finger around one dark curl, puckering her mouth.

  Like a swinging pendulum, Jess’s emotions tipped from hope to guilt and back again.

  “I suppose I don’t know him well enough to dislike him. Not really. But I haven’t taken to him as I thought I might.” She smiled with a childlike glee. “Perhaps I’ll wait for a duke. I’d much rather be a duchess. Wouldn’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  WHILE LADY STAMFORD read a telegram from May’s father, Jess worked on invitations for a ball her employer planned to host in the coming season. She tried to focus on the fine stationery beneath her hand and forming words and numbers in neat, carefully formed script, but her thoughts wandered. Her mind sifted memories of Lucius—the scorching heat of his gaze
the night she’d kissed him in the gallery, the tenderness of his touch after she’d made a fool of herself at dinner, the furrowed flesh between his eyebrows when he looked at her as if she was the most vexing woman he’d ever encountered.

  In a few days she’d return to Marleston with Lady Stamford. Would she ever see Lucius again?

  “Perhaps we can put the invitations aside for a bit. We’ve plenty of time. Are you up to reading to me, Jessamin? I should like a spot of poetry before dinner.”

  Jess pressed the cool skin on the back of her hand against her flushed face and hoped Lady Stamford didn’t notice.

  “Of course, my lady.” Jess never declined an opportunity to read poetry, and it would occupy her mind far more effectively than addressing invitations.

  “This one?” She pointed to a blue leather-bound book of poetry Lady Stamford sometimes preferred, but the countess shook her head.

  “No, would you fetch the collection of Romantics? The one I purchased from your shop.”

  Lady Stamford had never actually paid for the book, but Jess’s salary was such an astounding sum, she could hardly argue about the cost of a single volume of poetry.

  “It’s in my bedroom, on the table by my bedside. Thank you, my dear.”

  Making her way into the hall, Jess walked in a daze, her thoughts still full of Lucius. May’s dislike of him shouldn’t please her as it did. It wasn’t as if he would choose her if he didn’t marry May. And surely a deeper acquaintance would serve to show May how kind and open he could be, much more engaging than Mr. Wellesley, though perhaps with less gloss. Jess would take the quiet strength of Lucius over the obvious charms of Mr. Wellesley every day of the week.

  An image of Lucius, his cool gaze and black hair with a mind of its own, flashed in her mind. Those stray strands slipping over his eyebrow or curling across his ear of their own volition must be quite an irritant to a man so used to commanding all about him. She grinned at the thought and imagined a child, a young boy with clear azure eyes and undisciplined sooty locks, running across the lawns of Hartwell.

  Jess clenched her hands. Long ago, she’d promised Father she could do without marriage and motherhood. Lionel Wright had named his shop Wright and Sons Booksellers, but there’d never been any sons. None who survived anyway. When her mother died giving birth to her third child, and the boy joined her just days later, Jess knew it meant the bookshop would be hers one day. Though just fourteen years old, she’d accepted her role—to help Father run his shop and keep it open after he’d gone. It was what he expected of her, and she could never bear to disappoint him.

  Lost in her thoughts, in memories that eclipsed even Lucius’s handsome face, Jess found herself colliding with a warm, hard, spice-scented wall. She looked up into the eyes of the man who’d smiled at her as no one ever had. He held her in his arms, much as he had the night they met, and a shiver danced across her skin when he slid his hand down her back.

  He pulled away, releasing her, but seemed at a loss for what to say.

  “Jessamin . . . Miss Wright . . .”

  “Pardon me, my lord.” Jess forced her legs into motion to carry on with the task of collecting Lady Stamford’s poetry book.

  But when she finally did move, walking around him to continue toward Lady Stamford’s bedroom, he reached out to stop her, gently encircling her wrist with his hand.

  “Where are you going? You haven’t decided to leave after all, have you?”

  “Leave Hartwell?” The words lodged in Jess’s throat and she swallowed against the lump.

  “Excuse me, my lord. I must fetch a book for your aunt.” The physical act of pulling away from him was easy. He held her wrist lightly and released her as soon as she tugged. But the notion of walking away from him for the last time if she accepted Kitty’s offer to return to London—that thought sparked a spike of pain in her chest so sharp it made her breathless.

  “TELL ME YOU haven’t let her go.”

  Lucius burst into the sitting room where his aunt reclined on a settee, feet up, her pugs settled on her lap.

  She huffed a sigh at his outburst but didn’t move from her comfortable arrangement. Pollux, or Castor eyed him disdainfully, letting Lucius know his shouts were not at all conducive to napping.

  “Gracious. Calm yourself, my boy. Sit. Just there so I can see you. Would you care for some tea? I was just going to ring for some.”

  When Lucius had settled himself into the chair opposite his aunt, a furnishing far too low and petite to accommodate his long legs and arms, he rested his elbows as well as he could and steepled his fingers in front of his face. He steeled his nerves, taking a long, deep breath, and tamped down the frazzled emotions his collision with Jessamin had wrought. He could still feel her soft curves against the skin of his palms.

  “Now tell me what has upset you so.”

  “Nothing at all.” Had he really just burst into the room braying like a madman? “I wonder if you’ve had the pleasure of conversing with Lady Katherine Adderly since her arrival.”

  “Briefly, yes.” Augusta didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the lady’s behavior.

  “She came to me and confessed being the one behind the incident in Mayfair. Her apology did seem sincere, though I suppose I should write to her mother about the whole silly charade. Shall I ask her to return to London?”

  He quite liked the idea, but he feared she’d simply take Jessamin with her. “No, I see no need to go that far.”

  “As I said, I do not think it will do you or any of us any real damage, but it was childish. Sarah must have taught her better than that.” Lucius had no notion of what marchionesses taught their daughters, but he could hardly bear a grudge against Kitty. If not for her vindictive lark, Jessamin would never have come to that gallery and kissed him.

  “I’m sure she did.”

  “There’s more.” Augusta took a deep breath. “She said she was shocked to find Jessamin here, and in my employ. As a means of making amends with her, she’s offered Jessamin the funds to return to London. She hopes to help her find a position there.”

  His aunt sniffed, clutched at the neck of her gown, and sat up straighter on the settee. “But I cannot do without her.”

  Neither can I.

  His aunt studied him, and he turned his head to examine the wallpaper. It was yellow, and his aunt always claimed the blue suite of rooms. A surge of pleasure came with the realization he sat in Miss Wright’s sitting room. The room looked quite different in the light of day. He moved his gaze to the door along the west wall of the room, the door that led to Miss Wright’s bedroom. At least while she was at Hartwell. He mentally charted the space between the bed where she laid her head and his own rooms.

  “I won’t let Miss Wright go.” Augusta’s tone was as fierce and emphatic as the one she’d used when he was a boy, assuring him that his father did love him.

  “Nor will I.” Lucius didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud, but his aunt’s wide eyes confirmed that he had.

  “Does she wish to go?” she asked, twisting her handkerchief as if she might rend the flimsy fabric apart. “I would not deny her what she truly wished.”

  What of me? Would you deny me what I truly wish?

  Lucius stilled his tongue to keep from speaking the sentiment. He was loath to allow his aunt to read the emotion in his eyes, careful not to unwittingly form some expression that would reveal the need and desire that had become his constant companions since meeting Jessamin Wright.

  “Why is she so essential?” He asked himself the same question through many a sleepless night. Now he kept his tone light, his expression mocking as he spoke the words to his aunt.

  “She is quite the most organized young woman I’ve ever met.”

  Lucius wasn’t sure about that claim as he surveyed the room Jessamin had inhabited for the last few days. Several books were stacked in a haphazard pile on her bedside table, and papers were scattered across the top of her desk, one piece crumpled but not
yet discarded.

  “She knows my schedule better than I do and has caught me up with the piles of correspondence and all of my usual visits. She manages my appointments, sees to menus, and arranges everything with the staff when I host guests at Marleston.”

  What a countess she’d make. He liked the image of Jessamin organizing the daily running of Hartwell as effectively as she had apparently transformed his aunt’s life. But that led to other thoughts, and his pulse raced at the notion of facing each day with her by his side, of taking her to bed every night. Being the one to take the pins from her magnificent hair, to peel every layer of cloth and lace from—

  “She’s well read.” His aunt’s emphatic tone, as if she still needed to convince him of Jessamin’s worth, shocked away his musings.

  Lucius coughed and avoided his aunt’s gaze. “She did own a bookshop. I suspect she was never at a loss for something to read.”

  She could read to me. Lucius had devoured books as a youth. It chased away the loneliness, allowing him a measure of comfort no matter where he was. Now, between assuming his father’s role as lord of Hartwell and dealing with the demands of running the estate, he rarely turned the pages of a book for pleasure, unless it was the pages of the estate’s ledger books.

  “And she reads well. In fact, she is just about to read me a bit of poetry. You should stay and listen.”

  The pleasure of hearing her lovely voice reading poetry seemed too much, a treat he didn’t deserve. What could he offer her when everyone expected his imminent betrothal to another woman?

  Aunt Augusta watched for his reaction. He projected a mask of disinterest—a shield against all invaders. He’d practiced it well. Still, her perusal nettled him.

  “I could only find a book of poems by Shelley, my lady.”

  That voice they’d just mentioned sounded in the silence that had fallen over the room. Jessamin stopped so abruptly when she saw him, he feared she might topple over. She was wearing her spectacles. He hadn’t seen them since the night she’d walked up to him so boldly in the art gallery.