Loving Lord Ash

by Sally MacKenzie

  He staggered over to the washbasin. The water was cold, but that was just as well. He splashed it on his face and began to feel marginally better.

  Should he say something to Mama so she’d stop hinting about the state of Jess’s womb?

  His stomach heaved, but he swallowed determinedly and regained control.

  No, he couldn’t speak about it to Mama, at least not yet. It was all too complicated, and he owed it to Jess to keep things in confidence. Mama had always been far too skilled at getting him and his brothers to spill all their secrets, even when they’d firmly decided to remain mum.

  But what if Mama’s questions goaded Jess into losing her temper? Jess was in an uncomfortable situation. Like a cornered animal, she might snap.

  He let out a long breath. He would just have to stay close when she was around Mama.

  One would hope the Duchess of Love would be sensitive to the nuances of such matters. Perhaps last night had been an aberration. Mama had probably been so happy to see him with Jess that she’d jumped to a very wrong conclusion. At least, that’s what he’d hope.

  God, sometimes he hated being the heir. His brothers could give Mama and Father grandchildren, but only he could present them with the next little duke.

  He dried his face on a towel. How long would it be until he could be certain Jess wasn’t carrying the footman’s child? He knew next to nothing about the matter. He remembered Cicely’s pregnancy, but he hadn’t paid attention to when her condition had become obvious.

  Ellie knew she was in the family way, and she wasn’t yet showing. There must be signs that a woman noticed before anyone else guessed her condition. So perhaps Jess would know in another week or two....

  Oh, God. He gripped his head to keep it from pounding. If she was increasing, Mama would notice and think the child was his. That would be beyond dreadful. Mama would be so happy—Father, too—and then he’d have to dash their hopes and go into all the awful, mortifying details.

  His stomach rebelled again, but he mastered it, though only just.

  The bloody footman. If the blackguard were here right now, he’d beat him senseless. No man of honor would consort with another man’s wife when she’d yet to give him his heir and spare.

  And, worse, Jess was still pining for the fellow. She’d admitted the papers she’d been reading last night had come from the man. If they’d been completely unexceptional, she would have shown them to him.

  His stomach finally won the battle, and he emptied its contents into the basin. Ugh. At least there wasn’t much. He would deposit the mess in the chamber pot and rinse out the basin once his head stopped spinning.

  He looked over at the wardrobe. He should read the damn letters and see exactly how bad things were.

  No, that would be dishonorable. Jess’s behavior was not an excuse for him to betray his principles. He would bring her up to the room instead and demand to read them in her presence. And once he’d read them . . .

  He would decide then how best to proceed.

  Yes. Now he had a course of action. Splendid. He would empty the disgusting contents of the basin and go in search of Jess.

  He looked for the chamber pot in the bedside cabinet, but it wasn’t there. It must be under the bed. He peered into the shadowy space. Ah, yes, there it—

  Wait a moment, there was a sheet of paper on the floor as well.

  He stared at the white rectangle. It must be one of Jess’s letters. They’d fallen all higgledy-piggledy last night.

  He should pick it up and, since he didn’t know for a fact what it was, he would have to glance at it. That would be enough to determine if it was personal correspondence, and of course if it was, he would read no further.

  He pinched the offending paper gingerly between his index finger and thumb. Suddenly his heart was pounding, and his stomach threatened to misbehave again. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to face whatever he would find.

  He turned the paper over.

  Oh, God!

  He was staring down—in horror—at a copy of Venus’s Love Notes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Try not to kill the messenger.

  —Venus’s Love Notes

  “Lady Ashton, I would be happy to walk the dog for you,” William said for the fourth time. He was following a few steps behind her and Fluff as they made their way to Hyde Park. “Or, if the animal can wait, I’m certain Shakespeare will be up and ready for his walk shortly, and then Lord Jack and his lady can accompany you. They generally take him to the park at nine o’clock.”

  Ah, yes. Jack and Frances, the newlyweds. They would love to have Kit’s estranged wife tag along with them, keeping them from their private conversations.

  “As you can see, Fluff wishes to go out now, William, and I would like some fresh air”—hopefully the air would be fresher in the park—“and some exercise myself.” She came to a corner. “Which way should I go now?”

  “Hyde Park is to your right, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” She had to tug a bit on the lead to persuade Fluff to change direction, but he eventually acquiesced. “You know it might be easier if you just walked up with me. It’s a bit distracting to have to speak over my shoulder.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that, my lady. That wouldn’t be at all proper.” He paused, and she could almost hear him wringing his hands. “Are you quite, quite certain Lord Ashton knows you’re taking the dog out? I would think he would wish to come with you, especially as it’s your first outing in Town.”

  “I told you he’s still asleep, William. Of course he doesn’t know.”

  She’d swear William moaned.

  “But I brought you along, didn’t I? That should satisfy even the highest sticklers.” She would have preferred to take Fluff out alone; she’d walked miles with just her dog for company at Blackweith Manor. But even she would admit country manners were different than London ones. It was also true that she didn’t know her way around, and with all the new sights and smells, she didn’t trust Fluff to find their way back to Greycliffe House. She’d likely get completely lost without William.

  Fluff lifted his head and gave a joyful woof. He must smell the park. He was certainly moving more quickly. She had to almost run to keep up.

  And then she saw it, a great green swath of grass and trees and country.

  “Mind the carriage!”

  “What? Oh!” She pulled back on Fluff’s lead just in time. They had almost stepped in front of a curricle. The driver gave them a very nasty look as he bowled past.

  “Idiot,” she muttered, looking cautiously both ways before allowing Fluff to cross. “He was driving far too fast.”

  “Yes, my lady. That happens early in the morning when there isn’t much traffic.”

  Fluff towed her through the park gate and then turned left. He seemed quite certain where he wanted to go. She glanced over her shoulder. William was mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Poor man. “What’s in this direction?”

  “The Serpentine, my lady. And Rotten Row, where all the haute ton go to be seen, though not this early, of course.” He smiled weakly. “They are all still abed.”

  “Splendid. I’m not especially anxious to encounter any of polite society.” Now that she considered the matter, anyone who saw them would probably assume she was some sort of servant, given her country clothes, and leave her alone. Excellent. It was better for everyone that she remain anonymous.

  A light breeze stirred the ribbons on her old bonnet, and she tilted her face up to the warmth of the sun. She felt free for the first time since Kit had appeared at her studio door. It was only an illusion of freedom, of course, just like this large, lovely park set in the midst of England’s largest city was only an illusion of the country. But she would believe it for a little while and enjoy it. Too soon she’d have to go back to Greycliffe House and Kit’s parents and brothers. And Kit.

  Oh, God, what was she going to do about Kit? She definitely wanted him, but did she love hi
m?

  Did it really matter?

  She was so confused. Yes, she’d loved him as a girl, but in an ethereal sort of way. He was her friend; he was handsome and honorable. She’d thought him male perfection. And she’d dreamed of him for years while exiled at the manor. But she’d never experienced this breathless, churning desire before.

  She’d watched the men at the manor pant after each other, and she’d thought them very silly.

  Ha! Now she began to understand. Kit didn’t know how thankful he should have been for Fluff’s large, furry presence in the middle of the bed last night.

  If she’d loved Kit as a girl, she wanted him now as a woman. His brief kiss had shaken her to her soul—and had shaken other, much less spiritual places. She’d never wanted to see a man naked except as a model, her paintbrush in her hand, and now she wanted to strip Kit bare, inch by inch, and run her fingers . . . and her tongue—

  She waved her hand in front of her face. It was rather warm in the sun.

  She must remember lust was not love, and her image of Kit might be as much an illusion as this park.

  All right, she’d seen his chest and shoulders.

  She dodged a low hanging tree limb.

  Oh, who the hell cared? She was Kit’s wife. He could give her pleasure and children. Wasn’t that enough?

  They had come to a group of trees; beyond them, down a broad expanse of lawn, was the Serpentine. Fluff barked and tugged on his lead. She was tempted to let him go, but she saw there were swans by the water. She didn’t want him worrying the birds.

  “We’re going down to the lake, William,” she said, turning to look for the footman. He’d fallen behind and was clutching his side as if he had a stitch. He must not be used to walking so quickly. “Come along at your own pace. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see us.”

  “Yes. My. Lady,” he panted.

  She let Fluff pull her down the slope. They were almost at the water when she heard a man call her name. Her heart leapt in response, but she quickly realized it wasn’t Kit’s voice. Who could it be?

  “Jess!” he called again.

  She looked around and saw a stylish fellow in a beaver hat, blue coat, tan riding breeches, and glossy boots coming toward her on a beautiful brown horse. She would swear she’d never seen him before, but Fluff gave his friendly woof and changed direction.

  The man swung down and scratched the dog’s ears. “How do you like Hyde Park, Kit?”

  The voice was definitely familiar. She studied his face. Good God! “Roger?”

  He gave her an exaggerated bow. “The same, though you should more properly address me as Lord Trendal now, you know.”

  She threw her arms around him. She was so happy to see a familiar face—a friendly familiar face.

  He laughed, hugged her briefly, and then set her away. “I think you’re scandalizing that fellow up on the top of the rise, Jess.”

  She turned and looked. “Oh. That’s William, one of the Greycliffe servants. He insisted on accompanying me and Fluff.”

  He frowned. “Fluff?”

  “Kit—my husband—thought it was too confusing having a dog with the same name. And I did sometimes call him Fluff, you’ll remember.” She grinned. “The dog, that is, not the husband.” She took his arm, and they started walking toward the water, he leading his horse, she being led by Fluff. “When did you get to London?”

  “The day before yesterday. I left the morning after I dropped you at the White Stag.”

  “You made much better time than we did, then.” Fortunately. She would not have wanted to run into Roger on the road. Kit would not have taken it well.

  “I was on horseback, and you were in that dreadful wagon.”

  She laughed. “It is dreadful, isn’t it? We rented a coach at the Singing Maid.” If Roger was here in Town and going about as Baron Trendal, he must have reconnected with his family. That was good. She’d been after him to go home. “Was your mother happy to see you?”

  He smiled and nodded. “Very. I was the prodigal son returned. Apparently she’s been rather worried.”

  “Of course she’s been worried.” He’d written his mother only sporadically in the years he’d been at the manor, usually at Jess’s urging. “You are her child, her firstborn. She loves you.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose she does.”

  “Of course she does.”

  Would she ever have a child to love?

  Only if she came to some agreement with Kit.

  She’d never thought much about children. What was the point when her husband was miles away and detested her? She’d never had much experience with children or family, either. As long as she could remember, it had been just her father and her.

  She’d envied Kit his family. He had his parents and his brothers, and they seemed to genuinely like each other, no matter how much they might tease and argue. And now his family was expanding with sisters-in-law and a niece or nephew on the way. Perhaps, if she gave Kit a son, they would accept her, too.

  The swans saw them approaching and hurried off to the other side of the Serpentine, so she let Fluff off his lead. He bounded into the water.

  “Looking at him splashing about like that,” Roger said, “you’d never guess he hates baths.”

  She laughed. “Perhaps his distaste actually stemmed from your poor singing. Apparently he was transfixed by the Greycliffe footmen’s duet yesterday and was as meek as a lamb in the tub.” She looked back at William, who’d run down the hill once Roger had arrived and was now hovering only steps away. “Fluff’s going to need another bath I’m afraid, William.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Now what was the matter? He was scowling at her quite ferociously. Perhaps he didn’t want to have to bathe Fluff again. And he really was standing far too close. Roger was always extremely careful about what he said, but it would be disastrous if she should slip up and give some hint of his secret proclivities. “Wait here and hold Lord Trendal’s horse, will you, William? We wish to go closer to the water.”

  Good heavens, William’s expression grew even darker. He looked like a thundercloud—an extremely disapproving thundercloud.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “You know you’ll have some explaining to do when you see your husband,” Roger said once they were well out of William’s earshot.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m quite certain William suspects we’ve arranged a lovers’ tryst.”

  “Oh, surely not.” She looked back again. If it were physically possible, darts would be flying from William’s eyes to lodge in her chest. “Oh, dear, I believe you are correct. That’s likely what he’ll tell Kit. Do you suppose I can persuade him to hold his tongue?”

  “Not a chance. If you suggest it, you will look very guilty indeed.”

  “Damnation.”

  He patted her hand. “I take it things do not go well with Lord Ashton?”

  She did not wish to discuss Kit with Roger. “Things are still uncertain. Was your brother as angry at your welcome as the prodigal son’s brother?”

  He raised his brows, but let her change the subject. “Not at all. Archie was delighted to see me. He’s taken good care of things in my absence, as I was certain he would, and he’s on the verge of getting betrothed to a lovely young woman.” He smiled. “I think he suspects what I am, yet seems not to think me a demon. I will probably take him into my confidence shortly. It’s only fair he know the title will come to him or to his son eventually.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right.” Fluff had finally tired of running in and out of the water. He shook himself off and came over to flop down in the grass by her feet.

  “I believe I am.” He looked at her.

  Blast, he was going to start in on Kit again. She bent over to pat Fluff.

  “Frankly I’m shocked to see you here,” he said to the back of her head. “I would have thought you’d go to Greycliffe Castle. Ashton doesn’t frequent London, but he must know
Town is the very worst place to be if you have any secrets.”

  She straightened, but kept her gaze on Fluff. “We thought the duke and duchess were still in the country. Even I know His Grace hates London.”

  “That’s very true. I discovered the story at White’s last night. Apparently there was some scandal with Jack—not that there isn’t always some scandal with Jack—but this time it was more serious, so Greycliffe and Her Grace came up to help resolve the issue.” He laughed. “And the resolution included a wedding.”

  She looked at him then. “A happy wedding. Jack and his wife are staying at Greycliffe House, too. They seem very much in love.” If only her own scandal could have ended in such harmony, but she’d wager her scandal had been far, far worse than anything Jack and Frances had been involved in.

  “Which reminds me.” He grinned. “Did you read the Love Notes?”

  She flushed. “Damnation, Roger, what did you mean by putting those sheets in my bag?”

  His grin widened. “The Duchess of Love is very wise, Jess. Read them and see for yourself.”

  She bent down to put Fluff ’s lead back on. “I wish I’d known I was going to run into you today. I could have brought them and given them back to you.” She was not about to admit any interest in Kit’s mother’s marital writings, especially to Roger.

  “Humor me and read them. You’ll thank me eventually.”

  “Oh! You are absurd. I—”

  “Look who’s here!”

  Bloody hell, she recognized that voice. It had echoed in too many of her nightmares.

  She looked up to see Percy coming toward them on a big black horse, Mr. Huntington riding a chestnut at his side.

  She’d not seen Percy since he’d made his ill-advised visit to the manor shortly after she’d arrived, and she’d gone after him with a fireplace poker. The years hadn’t been kind to him. Dissipation clung to him like the musty smell of an old, long-closed trunk.

  “Huntington here told me you’d left the manor, Jess,” Percy said, “but I didn’t expect to see you in Town.” He looked at Roger. “Are you going to introduce us to your companion?”