Jess ignored her. The room could be Lady Palmerson’s bedchamber for all she cared. She strode back into it as Miss Wharton hurried off with a moan of distress.
Percy closed the door behind him. “And now, Jess—”
“And now, Percy, we settle this once and for all.” She wished she could challenge the snake to a duel, but instead of pistols or swords she’d have to make do with words.
“So dramatic.” He sauntered farther into the room and picked a fat cherub off a table. He turned it over in his hands. “We’d best not dally, though.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “I suspect Isabelle has gone to fetch Ash.”
Wonderful. She certainly didn’t need Kit finding her alone with Percy again.
“And Lady Dunlee needs to pee,” she said. “This is the ladies’ retiring room.” How long had it been since Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell had pushed on the door? She and Percy likely had only a handful of minutes until they were interrupted. Well, it wouldn’t take long to say what she needed to.
He snorted. “That’s what I like about you, Jess. You’ve never strayed far from your roots.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come, you know exactly what it means. You’re an Irish groom’s daughter, crude and coarse and lower than even an English servant.”
Yes, that was what she’d thought he’d meant. And Miss Wharton believed Percy loved her? If he did, it was a very odd sort of love.
“If I’m so below you, Percy, why did you play with me when we were children? Why did you steal kisses when I was a girl? And why did you try to . . . to do what you did in the Greycliffe studio?”
He laughed brittlely and put the angel figurine down. “You are naive, aren’t you, Jess? A child will play with anyone. And a man . . . I don’t expect my whores to come from the ton. Any reasonably clean female will do. You offered. Why would I turn down a bit of sport?” His eyes looked rather bleak, very much at odds with his words. “You’ve got a lovely cun—”
“Stop!” She fisted her hands to keep her fingers from wrapping around his throat. How could he say such things? “I did not offer. You were the one who started what happened that day.”
He flushed and shrugged. “Perhaps I did make the first move. I’d been drinking, after all, and you tempted me.” His lip curled up. “You didn’t try to stop me.”
“Because I thought you meant marriage!”
An odd, almost confused expression flashed through Percy’s eyes, but he shook it off and smirked. “Marriage? To you? The heir to a baronetcy doesn’t marry an Irish servant.”
“The heir to a duchy did.” The words were out before she could stop them. But Kit had married her, even though she was exactly what Percy said she was.
Percy scowled. “He wasn’t supposed to. I thought for certain he was such a bloody prig, he’d wash his hands of you.” His voice grew harsher. “But no, the saintly Marquis of Ashton couldn’t let a damsel in distress go unrescued.”
He took a deep breath, clearly struggling to regain control. “Ah, well, it turned out far better than I’d planned. I’d no idea I’d devised the perfect way to torture Ash for years. It’s been quite amusing watching him suffer.”
Percy was making no sense. “Why did you want to hurt Ash?”
His lip curled. “You didn’t have the pleasure of knowing my mother. She was forever holding Ash up to me as the prime example of manly perfection—and a measure of what a disappointment I was.” His face twisted. “I don’t think she ever managed to speak a sentence to me that didn’t have ‘Lord Ashton’ in it.”
Jess felt a flicker of sympathy, which she quashed. “That wasn’t Ash’s fault.”
Percy went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Mother’s greatest dream was for Ash to marry Cicely, but he married you instead. Poor Mother. She was inconsolable, until she realized she could get Ned to take Cicely. Then as long as you and Ash never reconciled, the title would come to Ned or to his son, and Mama would no longer be just the wife of a baronet. She’d be the mother-in-law and grandmother of a duke.” His voice broke. “And then Cicely died with the damn baby.”
Perhaps Percy had loved someone other than himself.
“My family’s not had much luck with the Valentines.” He smiled unpleasantly. “But I got back at them, didn’t I? I kept the heir childless and separated from his one true love.” He said the last three words in a sarcastic, saccharine tone, but Jess barely noticed it.
“What?! Are you daft?” She felt an odd spurt of panic. “Ash didn’t—doesn’t—love me.”
Percy snorted. “Yes, he does. You were the only one who never saw it.”
“But he never—”
“What? He never flirted with you or stole a kiss behind the stables? Of course he didn’t. He was the bloody, saintly Marquis of Ashton, someday to be the Duke of Greycliffe. He couldn’t go around stealing kisses.” Percy almost snarled. “God, how Mother held that over my head.” His voice grew high and priggish. “‘Lord Ashton would never do that. Lord Ashton knows the proper way to go on.’ Bah!”
“You’re lying.” This was just another of Percy’s many attempts to hurt her.
But...
If she’d acted differently, could she really have had Kit’s love all these years?
No. She could not believe Percy.
“I saw how he looked at you,” Percy said. “Everyone did. The man was drowning in desire.”
“Damn you, Percy.” Before she knew it, she’d come up to him so they were only inches apart. She wanted to slap him or grab him around the neck and squeeze, but she gripped her skirts to keep her hands out of mischief.
He laughed and stepped back a pace. “Did you truly not realize you could thank me for all the outrageous rumors about your whoring—and Ash’s raking?”
Oh, damn. Her stomach suddenly felt like it was full of lead. She pressed her fingers into her forehead. The rumors . . . Percy must be lying. “But the stories were in the newspapers.”
“Jess, it doesn’t take any effort at all to get gossip about the Marquis of Ashton into the papers. He’s the ton’s favorite topic—the Duchess of Love’s loveless son and heir to the duchy.” Percy shrugged. “As far as I know, your charming husband is as virginal as a blushing young maiden.”
Oh, God! Had she unwittingly been Percy’s marionette all these years? “I can’t believe Miss Wharton thinks you love me.”
She thought she saw pain in Percy’s eyes before he looked away.
“I do love you, Jess.” It sounded as if the words were being dragged out of him. “I always have, even though you were beneath me.” He tried to laugh, but didn’t quite succeed. “I was desperate for you, and did you even notice? No. Oh, no. You were too busy panting after the bloody marquis. God, I hate him.”
Her hands tightened into fists. She wanted to kick him, to pummel him, to spit on him—
But this was her fault, too, wasn’t it? She was the one who had believed the lies.
If they were lies. Kit hadn’t been in her bed for most of last night, and she’d seen him come in from the dark, scandalous garden just this evening.
No, clearly Percy was doing what he did best: twisting things to confuse her. He simply wanted to extend his torturous hold over her.
Well, she hadn’t got Percy here to discuss ancient history. She was here to help Miss Wharton.
“Percy.” She took a deep breath and addressed his back. “Percy, you don’t love me.”
She held up her hand as he turned and opened his mouth to speak. “But even if you do, I do not love you. In fact, I detest you. I hate what you did to me and what you did to Ash.” She took another deep breath. No, this was not about her, it was about Miss Wharton. “But that’s the past. We can’t change it. We can change the future. I don’t love you, but Miss Wharton, poor girl, does.”
He shrugged and turned away from her again. “Oh, well, poor Isabelle. She needs a husband, you know.”
Jess grabbed Perc
y’s arm and jerked him around. She poked him in the chest. “You’re a bloody idiot, Percy, if you let Miss Wharton get away, not that you’re good enough for her. But I suspect she’s your only hope of pulling yourself out of your sick fascination with me and Ash.”
He frowned. “I—” And then something changed in his eyes, and he suddenly pulled her into his arms.
What? Oh, God, now she heard it, too—the door opening.
Bloody hell! She was not going to let this happen again.
Chapter Nineteen
Men have very thick skulls.
—Venus’s Love Notes
Blast it, one person after another waylaid him as he tried to leave the ballroom. Ash struggled to be polite. He shouldn’t stir up the gossips more than they undoubtedly were: they must have noticed he was headed for the same door Percy had followed Jess through moments earlier.
He finally got free of Viscount Trent, Frances’s cousin and one of Jack’s friends, and took the last few steps to the door. Thank God! He slipped through—and almost collided with Miss Wharton.
“Oh, Lord Ashton!” She grabbed his sleeve. “Come quick. Lady Ashton is going to murder Percy.”
He choked back a surprised laugh. “Pardon me?”
She tugged, clearly beside herself. “Your wife is going to kill Percy if you don’t come now and stop her.”
He sniffed. He didn’t smell alcohol, but intoxication was the only explanation he could imagine for Miss Wharton’s bizarre behavior.
“Oh, why won’t you come?” She tugged again. “There is not a moment to lose.”
Clearly it was best to humor her, so he allowed her to drag him down the corridor. “Where are they?”
“In the ladies’ retiring room.”
He choked back another laugh.
“And Lady Dunlee needs to use the chamber pot and has gone in search of Lady Palmerson, so Percy is sure to be discovered at any moment if your wife doesn’t kill him first.” She took a deep breath. “Or even if she does, I suppose, but then there will be nothing to be done about it.” She looked back at him. “Though I imagine you would not care for Lady Dunlee to find Lady Ashton standing over Percy’s lifeless body.”
“Er, quite right.” Had he somehow stepped into Bedlam? Miss Wharton had never appeared mad before, just annoying. “Miss Wharton, please compose yourself. I’m sure all will be well.”
She gave him an exasperated look as if he were the bedlamite and stopped in front of a closed door. “They are in there.”
Apparently it fell to him to open the door, though Miss Wharton looked quite capable of performing that task herself.
He took a deep breath. He was very much afraid of what he would find, and it would not be a dead body. But Miss Wharton was correct in that Lady Dunlee would be extremely scandalized should she enter the room now and see Jess in Percy’s close embrace. He did not wish to give the ton even more delightfully shocking tidbits to feast on.
He would deal with the problem and then take Jess back to Blackweith Manor and quietly—or as quietly as possible—begin divorce proceedings.
He pushed open the door.
Oh, God. Even though he’d expected to see Percy’s arms around Jess, the sight still hurt, like a lance shoved through his eyes. At least they weren’t naked on the ground like last time. He would—
“Take that, you bloody blackguard.”
Zeus! Jess had just driven her knee into Percy’s groin. Ash flinched in sympathy as Percy yelped and released her. And then as Percy doubled over, Jess’s fist came up to hit him in the nose.
The man fell to the ground, blood everywhere. Jess pulled back her foot as if she was going to kick him for good measure.
Perhaps Miss Wharton’s concern for Percy’s life was not unwarranted. “Jess, that’s enough. It’s not sporting to hit a man when he’s down.”
She glared at Ash as Miss Wharton ran to Percy’s side. “He’s an Evil. Disgusting. Snake.” She had to take a breath between each word, she was so angry.
“Oh, look what you’ve done.” Miss Wharton started crying as she knelt next to Percy, wrapped her arms around him, and held him close, blood and all. “You’ve broken his nose.”
“I hope I have.”
Ash put a comforting—and restraining—arm around Jess. If Ned couldn’t break Percy’s nose—and he’d tried at the house party—it was very unlikely Jess could. No, he’d wager his nose wasn’t the part of Percy’s body that was paining him the most. “Noses tend to bleed a lot.” Percy’s blood was now all over Miss Wharton’s bodice. “Is your nose broken, Percy?”
Ash tried to sound solicitous. He should be furious—Percy had clearly been taking unwelcome liberties with his wife—but he was actually having a hard time controlling his laughter. This was assuming all the aspects of a farce.
Percy glared at him over his handkerchief. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, thank God for that,” Miss Wharton said. “You poor, poor man.” She glared at Jess. “Why did you hit him?”
Ash felt Jess, who’d relaxed slightly, stiffen again. He kept his arm around her waist. The last thing they needed was for Jess and Miss Wharton to pull caps.
“Because he was mauling me about, as I’m sure you saw.” Jess transferred her attention to Percy. “That had better be the last time you try something like that, sirrah. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Percy flushed and, surprisingly, did appear mortified for once.
Miss Wharton, however, looked furious and started to get to her feet as if she intended to try out her pugilistic skills on Jess. “Don’t you talk to Percy that way.”
Percy put his hand on Miss Wharton’s arm and stopped her. “She’s right, Isabelle. What I did wasn’t honorable.” He sighed and looked from Jess to Ash. “What I’ve done for the last eight years hasn’t been honorable. I’ve known that for a while, but I couldn’t stop myself.” He looked at Miss Wharton again. “Until you showed me the way, Isabelle.” He grimaced. “And Jess knocked some sense into me.”
“Oh, Percy.” Miss Wharton sank back down by his side and put her head on his shoulder.
Egad, was that a look of tenderness that flitted across Percy’s face?
“Well, I hope this means you will leave me and Ash alone from now on,” Jess said, “and busy yourself about your own affairs.”
Percy nodded as Miss Wharton took his bloody handkerchief and handed him her own.
“You know, I did love you, Jess. Desperately.” Percy glanced at Ash. “And I hated you.”
Jess drew in her breath as if she planned to give Percy another piece of her mind, but Ash tightened his grip on her, hoping she’d get the hint. She glared at him, but held her tongue. There really was no point in ravaging Percy further.
“Why the hell did you hate me?” He fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to Percy. Miss Wharton’s frilly bit of cloth was already soaked through.
Percy dabbed at his nose and winced. “My mother constantly dangled you in front of me as an example of perfection.”
“Good God. I’m sorry.” That was revolting.
Percy flushed. “And I suppose I was envious, too. You had everything—money, prestige, a happy family, Jess. And neither you nor your brothers ever liked me.”
Ash was tempted to point out that they hadn’t liked Percy because he’d always been a royal pain in the arse, but if Jess could restrain herself, he could, too.
“You’ve had a very hard time of it, Percy,” Miss Wharton said, patting him on the arm. “It’s no wonder you lost your way and did things you wish you hadn’t.”
Surely the woman was joking?
Apparently not. She looked completely serious—and completely enamored.
“I know you don’t want my advice, Percy,” Ash said, “but you really are a fool if you don’t ask Miss Wharton to marry you at once, before she regains her good sense.”
“Oh, Lord Ashton, how can you say that? Any woman would be happy to marry Percy.”
Miss Wharton paused, likely realizing she’d overstated the case. “Well, any woman who understands him like I do.”
A miracle occurred: a sliver of good sense wormed its way into Percy’s brain box. His cravat covered in blood, Ash’s handkerchief pressed to his nose, Percy turned to Miss Wharton.
“Isabelle, Ash is correct. I know I’m not much of a prize, and obviously I’m the greatest cods-head in London, if not in all of Britain, but I do sincerely care for you. You are a pearl of great price and would be very wise to decline my offer, but”—he shifted position so he was on one knee—“will you make me the happiest of men?”
Miss Wharton burst into tears again. “Oh, of course I will, Percy.” She flung her arms around his neck.
“What in the world is going on here?”
Oh, blast. Ash turned to see Lady Palmerson standing in the doorway, Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell—and Mama—behind her.
“Good evening, ladies.” Clearly, he was in the best position to attempt to gloss over the situation. “I’m sorry to say Sir Percy got confused and stumbled into this room by accident.”
“Confused?” Lady Dunlee said, her sharp eyes examining every detail of the scene.
Ash cleared his throat. Percy deserved to suffer a bit; after all, the problem was mostly of his making. “I believe he might have had a few too many glasses of champagne.”
Percy moaned convincingly.
“Good heavens, is that blood?” Lady Palmerson’s eyes widened as she examined Percy more closely, and then she looked a little faint, but whether that was from the sight of Percy’s blood or the worry that he might have dripped some of it on her carpet, Ash couldn’t say.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. As you might imagine, Percy was quite taken aback when he realized his error. He beat a hasty retreat, but unfortunately in doing so he stumbled and hit his nose.” Ash smiled, hoping that would do.
Of course it wouldn’t.
“And what are you doing here, Lord Ashton?” Lady Dunlee sniffed as if she could smell a lie—or perhaps just a whiff of alcohol. “Have you also imbibed too freely?”
Loving Lord Ash Page 27