“No indeed. When Sir Percy was injured, Lady Ashton naturally sent Miss Wharton to get me while she helped Percy.”
Lady Dunlee raised a doubting eyebrow.
Mama smiled. “It looks more as if Miss Wharton is assisting Percy.”
“Yes.” Jess nodded. “And the good news is—” She put her hand over her mouth. Ash could see the wicked gleam in her eyes as she looked at Percy. “Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t say.”
“Say what?” Mrs. Fallwell pushed past Lady Dunlee, bumping into Lady Palmerson in her eagerness to hear a new bit of gossip.
Lady Palmerson gave her an annoyed look and then turned to Percy. “Yes, Sir Percy, what is this good news?”
Percy had by this time managed to get to his feet, though he still had Ash’s handkerchief pressed to his nose. He took Miss Wharton’s hand and pulled her up to stand beside him. “The news is that Miss Wharton has graciously accepted my offer of marriage, pending her father’s consent, of course.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Fallwell looked at Lady Dunlee. Clearly the two ladies had been hoping for something more exciting.
“That’s wonderful.” Mama clapped her hands and brushed past the other ladies to hug Miss Wharton. “I knew you two would be perfect for each other.”
Of course Mama was delighted. She’d just been responsible for another society match.
She put her hand on Percy’s arm. “I think it would be best if you spoke to Miss Wharton’s father tomorrow, don’t you, Percy? Once you have, er, cleaned up a bit.”
Percy bowed. “You are correct as always, Your Grace.” He lifted Miss Wharton’s hand and kissed it—and all the women in the room sighed, except Jess, of course. “I shall call upon your father in the morning, if that will suit?”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Wharton said. “Papa will be delighted. He wants to get rid of me as soon as may be.”
Mama cringed slightly and then smiled. “Percy, I imagine it would be best if you avoided the other guests. Lady Palmerson, could you show Sir Percy how he might depart unobtrusively?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Come right this way, Sir Percy.”
Percy nodded farewell to Miss Wharton and then meekly followed Lady Palmerson out of the room.
“And now, Miss Wharton,” Mama said, turning back to her, “perhaps you and I should go have a word with your mother.”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace, that would be splendid.” Miss Wharton was so happy her face almost glowed. “My mother will be so dazzled by your attention, you could tell her I was going to swim to the Colonies and she would agree it was an excellent notion.”
Mama laughed. “Well, I do hope being married to Percy will be somewhat less arduous than paddling across the ocean.” She took Miss Wharton’s arm and raised her brows at Ash.
“I think Lady Ashton and I have had enough excitement for one evening, Your Grace. I believe we’ll return to Greycliffe House.” He turned to Jess. “Does that meet with your approval, my dear?”
Jess nodded, suddenly looking tired and a little nervous. “Yes, I would like to go home.” She looked at Mama. “That is, if you don’t object, Your Grace.”
“Of course I don’t object.” Mama grinned, a bit too broadly in his opinion. “There will be many more balls for you to attend. I’ll see you in the morning.” She chuckled. “And we should definitely be off so poor Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell can put this room to the use Lady Palmerson intended.”
Lady Dunlee blushed.
Lady Fallwell started inching toward the door. “I think perhaps I’ll just return to the ballro—oh!”
Lady Dunlee’s gloved fingers had wrapped themselves around Mrs. Fallwell’s wrist in what looked to be an unbreakable grip.
“Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Fallwell. I must insist you keep me company.”
“Ah, er . . .”
Mama smiled and ushered Miss Wharton out of the room. Ash followed closely behind with Jess; he had absolutely no desire to spend another minute with those two gossips.
Once they were out of the ladies’ earshot, Mama chuckled. “Lady Dunlee is not about to let Melinda Fallwell get before her with a juicy bit of gossip.”
She frowned slightly and touched Miss Wharton’s arm. “A word of advice, my dear. I’m quite certain both ladies suspect that something more interesting than just your betrothal happened in that room. If anything did, it would be best not to mention it.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Wharton looked anxiously at Jess.
“I have nothing to say, except to give you my best wishes on your betrothal, Miss Wharton.”
“Yes, indeed.” Ash bowed. “Let me add my very sincere felicitations. I do hope Percy turns out to be an adequate husband.”
Miss Wharton grinned. “Oh, I think he will, Lord Ashton. And he will certainly be leagues better than old Mr. Wattles.”
Hell, she’d done it again—dropped an embarrassing mess in Kit’s lap.
“It would help if you’d smile,” Kit murmured as they reentered the ballroom, his hand warm on Jess’s where it rested on his sleeve.
She forced her lips to curve up, but judging by the startled look the woman in the pink turban gave them, the expression didn’t look particularly pleasant.
Jess didn’t feel pleasant. It didn’t matter that Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell might not be able to guess exactly what had happened in the ladies’ retiring room. If they just recounted what they’d seen, the ton would be in alt. Society loved to speculate about her and Kit and Percy. By the end of the ball, there might be a hundred stories circulating, one more salacious than the next.
At least she wouldn’t be around to hear them. She and Kit were making their way to the front door and freedom.
Freedom . . . ha! Tomorrow Kit would take her back to exile at the manor—or, worse, send her with a servant—and begin divorce proceedings.
“Jess, you do an excellent impression of a thundercloud, but it really would help matters if you could stop. I believe you’ve just given poor Lady Cartley heart palpitations.”
She looked in the direction he indicated. A plump woman in a blindingly yellow gown was pressing her hand to her breast—and whispering behind her fan to a sour-looking little man.
“You are also tilling society’s soil so that any seeds of gossip Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell sow will flourish.”
Jess wouldn’t be in London to suffer the harvest, but that didn’t mean she relished the idea of people spreading tales about her. However, it was deuced difficult to smile when one was contemplating a long life of loveless solitude, especially as she didn’t have the acting skills honed by years of exposure to the ton. . . .
Wait a minute—what was she thinking? She’d just faced down Percy, something she’d wanted to do for eight years. She’d bloodied his damn nose. She wasn’t about to creep and crawl across the ballroom like a frightened mouse.
“Let the blasted gossips say what they will. I don’t care. If I wish to look like a thundercloud, I shall.”
She wasn’t about to creep and crawl around Kit, either. She’d promised herself even before she’d done battle with Percy that she would settle a few issues with him tonight.
He laughed. “Yes, my lady. Whatever you say.”
“Don’t try to act meek, my lord.”
His brows shot up, but his eyes were smiling. “I assure you, my dear wife, I am not acting. If poor Percy is any indication, you have a punishing right.”
She grinned at him. “Oh, I suspect it was my first blow that really did the trick.” Hopefully she hadn’t done any permanent damage. Miss Wharton might like to have children.
“I suspect so, too.” His eyes were still laughing, but there was an odd warmth in them as well. “I beg you not to resort to such tactics with me. A simple word will suffice to get my attention if you wish me to stop whatever I’m doing.”
Ah . . . and what was he expecting to be doing that would require her to ask him to stop—or that would bring him in range of her knee, for that matter?
/> A little shiver of anticipation snaked up her spine—
No. They had much to discuss before she could allow anything of that nature to occur, if that was indeed the sort of activity he was hinting at.
“Lady Ashton, how pleasant to see you.”
She turned to find Roger at her elbow. “Roge—”
Roger’s eyebrows rose in warning at the same time Kit’s fingers tightened on her hand. She wasn’t a complete dunderhead—she got the message. “Lord Trendal. Lord Ashton and I are on the point of leaving. I’m sorry we didn’t have the opportunity to speak earlier.” Frankly, she’d thought Roger had been avoiding her.
“I won’t keep you. I just wished to say I had the opportunity to chat with Lord Ashton earlier. He tells me you haven’t shown him your sketchbook.” Roger smiled. “You should share it with him, you know.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She’d never shown that book to anyone. It included a few sketches of the Blackweith servants and the local shopkeepers and farm laborers and even the local gentry. She’d never been that interested in drawing landscapes. But most of the sketches were of Kit. “The drawings are very rough.”
“I thought they conveyed uncommon emotion.”
Kit stiffened. “And I thought you said just earlier this evening that Lady Ashton hadn’t shown you those drawings, Trendal.”
“I didn’t show them to him.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve never seen those sketches.”
Roger grinned. “Actually I have. I went to fetch you one day from the studio a year or so ago. You weren’t there, but the sketchbook was.”
“And you opened it?” God! She felt betrayed.
“Oh, no. I never touched it. You’d left it open on your easel. I only looked at what was in plain sight.”
All right, yes. It was possible she’d done that.
Roger turned his attention to Kit. “You must see these drawings, Lord Ashton. I believe they are some of your wife’s best work.”
“I’d like to see them.” Kit looked down at her. “Perhaps you will show them to me tonight, Lady Ashton?”
“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not. Perhaps she would throw the damn sketchbook in the fire as she should have done when she’d been packing to leave the manor. “I thought you wished to depart, my lord.”
Roger, the blackguard, laughed. “Eager to be alone with your husband, are you, Lady Ashton?”
“No.” Her knee twitched, begging to repeat its performance from the ladies’ retiring room. “I seem to have suddenly taken ill.” She smiled with gritted teeth. “Apparently something—or someone—in the vicinity puts me out of humor.”
He laid a dramatic hand on his chest. “I’m cut to the quick, my dear Lady Ashton.”
She snorted. “I don’t believe that for one moment.” She poked him in the waistcoat. “You are far too busy about other people’s business, my lord.”
Roger captured her hand and cradled it against his chest. “In this case, yes, I am, and I shan’t even apologize. As long as my efforts bring about the desired results, I’m happy.”
She jerked her hand free. “Ha! Results desired by whom?”
He smiled and turned to Kit. “Good luck, Ashton. I’m afraid she really will cut off her nose to spite her face if you let her.”
“Why you—”
Kit covered her fist before she could swing it at Roger’s face. “Perhaps it would have been wiser not to have said that, Trendal.”
Roger grinned. “I am just getting her blood pumping. I’ve often found that one sort of passion leads to another.” He waggled his blasted eyebrows.
Ohhh, she was going to stomp on his dancing slippers, not that that would do much damage, unfortunately.
“I do believe you are making things worse.” Kit kept a very firm hold on her. “Come along, my dear. You can vent your spleen on me in the privacy of the carriage.”
She treated Roger to her nastiest look as she spoke to Kit. “There is hardly time for that. As I remember it’s a very short ride.”
Kit inclined his head. “Then you can flay me with your tongue once we are safely inside Greycliffe House.”
“Ah, now that sounds like fun.” Roger winked. “A tongue can be a lethal weapon in so many ways.”
Now what the hell was he getting at? And why was Kit suddenly blushing?
“Good evening, Trendal,” Kit said. “Shall we continue, my dear?”
“Yes, indeed. We have lingered here”—she glared at Roger—“far too long.”
They made their way around the perimeter of the ballroom. Jack and Frances were dancing; Kit’s mother and father were on the other side of the room with Miss Wharton and a man and woman who must be her parents. Miss Wharton’s mother looked remarkably like a peacock—or, rather, peahen. She had a very beaklike nose and a collection of plumes that trembled on her head. Her husband was more like a toad, squat and brown, but puffed up at the moment from the duke’s and duchess’s attention.
“Do you think Percy will actually present himself to Miss Wharton’s father tomorrow?” She hoped so. Surely if Percy had a wife and family, he would leave her alone.
“Yes, I believe he will. I thought he appeared thoroughly smitten with Miss Wharton when he proposed, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “It was as if all the anger and ill-humor had drained out of him like . . . like pus from a boil.”
Kit chuckled. “There must be a more attractive way to say that.”
“I think it’s quite apt. Percy has been a painful, annoying boil on my side for as long as I can remember.”
She could feel Kit looking at her. He must be thinking about that horrible afternoon in the Greycliffe studio. They would have to speak about that, likely tonight when they got back to Greycliffe House. That and the paper they’d signed at the White Stag and a few other things.
Her stomach tightened. She didn’t look forward to that conversation, but it couldn’t be avoided any longer.
And then she saw Mr. Huntington. Damnation. She didn’t want to have another confrontation this evening.
Mr. Huntington caught sight of them—and jumped behind some potted palms.
“What’s the matter with him?”
Kit grinned. “I believe he developed a hearty respect for me after our first meeting. He’s been avoiding me whenever our paths threaten to cross.”
“It is too bad you weren’t at Blackweith Manor, then. I could have used someone to discourage the fellow.”
Kit’s hand squeezed hers. “I should have been there, Jess. I should never have left you so unprotected.”
A lump blocked her throat; she swallowed it. “Oh, I wasn’t unprotected. I had Roger and Dennis.”
“You should have had your husband.”
Yes, and she would have if she hadn’t been so stupid that day in the studio....
Or perhaps if Kit hadn’t found her with Percy, he would never have married her. It was his sense of chivalry that had prompted him to offer for her, nothing else.
Or was Percy right? Did Kit love her?
She would find out tonight.
The lump in her throat grew and moved to her stomach.
Chapter Twenty
At some point, you just have to
close your eyes and leap.
—Venus’s Love Notes
“My lord!” Braxton’s eyes widened as he opened the door. “We didn’t expect you home so early.” He peered over Ash’s shoulder. “Is it just you and Lady Ashton, then?”
“Yes, Braxton.” Ash forced himself to smile. “I believe London balls may require some getting used to after years in the country. They are very crowded, hot, and noisy. We decided we had had enough.”
“Ah. I see.”
Braxton’s bewildered expression indicated he did not see at all. The man’s gaze shifted to Jess, who was standing stiffly at Ash’s side, and his face grew tight with worry. Damnation. Now the staff would be speculating about their marriage.
Whom was he fooling? The staff—
both here and at the castle—had been speculating for eight years. He’d hoped to begin to resolve the issue in the carriage, but Jess had been correct: the ride had been far too short. He would have barely got her bodice loosened—
And he would have got his face soundly slapped. She’d moved to the far wall as soon as she’d got into the coach, much as she had on their trip from the country. They’d ridden the whole way in silence.
Clearly there was still rough ground to get over before he could hope for marital bliss. But now they would go to their room and talk and then—
Perhaps then. Talking had to come first. He could not allow himself to think about anything else or he’d be incapable of talking at all. He’d wish to rush directly to, er, doing, which would likely result in him encountering Jess’s balled fist or worse.
His cock flinched at the memory of how she’d dealt with Percy.
“Are Ned and his wife still up?” He didn’t particularly wish to speak to either of them, but Braxton would expect him to inquire.
“No, my lord. Lady Edward gets very tired, being in the family way. I believe they went up to their room several hours ago.”
“I see.” Good. No need to make small talk, or risk having Ned or Ellie guess they’d been involved in something other than dancing tonight. Some version of the story would be making the rounds tomorrow, but by then he hoped he wouldn’t care what people said.
“Shall I have some tea and cakes sent up to the drawing room, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Braxton. Lady Ashton and I are going to retire for the night as well.”
Braxton grinned. “Very good, my lord.”
Oh, damn. Had Jess noticed Braxton’s expression?
She had. Her jaw hardened. Ash hurried her toward the stairs.
“Good night, my lord, my lady,” Braxton called after them, waggling his brows.
Well to be honest, Ash, too, hoped something more than sleep would occur this evening.
“I hope you’re not thinking what Braxton is,” Jess muttered.
Damn. “Er, what is Braxton thinking?” He remembered a caution from Mama’s handbook: Don’t assume you know what is in a woman’s mind.
Loving Lord Ash Page 28