“It seemed most unfair for Lady Foxhaven to be trapped indoors on such a rare winter's afternoon,” he declared, as though defying Jack to contradict him.
Nessa chimed in, “Yes, now that the redecorating is completed, I find time hangs rather heavily on my hands on those days when I have few callers.”
“Indeed.” Why, Jack wondered, did he seem unable to utter more than a single word at a time? Neither his wife nor her young gallant showed signs of guilt, so he'd not give Nessa the satisfaction of displaying any jealousy, however sharply its tooth might bite him.
His taciturnity had an effect upon Sir Lawrence, however. “We were just driving into the Park, my lord,” the stripling all but babbled. “I don't suppose you'd care to accompany us?”
“Thank you. I believe I would.” Turning his horse, he kept pace alongside them. “I wish you'd informed me, my dear, that you've begun to find Town life boring,” he said languidly. “There are several remedies I might suggest.”
He was rewarded by a stare from Nessa and a glare from Sir Lawrence. The latter spoke first. “Lady Foxhaven don't need any more work piled upon her slender shoulders, my lord. Ain't she done enough already, redoing your house from cellar to attic?”
Jack raised his brows. “Have I overworked you, my lady? I must apologize, in that case.”
“Of course not, my lord,” she responded with a distinct twinkle in her eye, reminding him of the Nessa he knew. “I quite enjoyed the task.”
“What else could she say?” muttered Sir Lawrence, almost but not quite under his breath.
Jack kept his eyes on Nessa's. “The truth, I hope. Always.”
She colored slightly and glanced away. “Look! Is that an early crocus?” she asked brightly, pointing off to the side.
Obligingly riding over to investigate, Jack reported that it was. “It would appear that spring is nearly upon us— nearly, but not quite. The sun has gone in, and the breeze grows chill. I suggest we head for home.”
The others agreed— Sir Lawrence reluctantly— and they turned onto the path leading back to the Park gates. Upon reaching Foxhaven House a few minutes later, Jack quickly dismounted, handing his horse over to the waiting groom.
“No need for you to climb down, Sir Lawrence. I can assist my wife to the ground.”
Though he pouted a bit, the young gentleman remained where he was while Nessa exited the carriage into Jack's waiting arms. “I'll see you at the Duke of Clarence's ball tonight, will I not, my lady?” he inquired, looking after her more longingly than he had any right, in Jack's opinion.
“Of course,” she responded lightly. “I'll—we'll be there. Thank you for the drive, Sir Lawrence.”
With a tip of his hat and a final lowering glance at Lord Foxhaven, he shook the reins and departed.
Jack chuckled, forcing down his irritation. At Nessa's indignantly inquiring glance, he sobered a bit. “You're running a risk with that one, madam wife. He's in a fair way to becoming besotted enough to challenge me over some imagined slight. You don't want his blood on your head, I presume.”
“You said that once before, and it's as absurd now as it was then. Sir Lawrence is merely a friend. Besides,” she continued with a bewitching smile, “what makes you so certain you would best him in a duel? Perhaps he's a crack shot.”
“Perhaps. Do you really wish to find out?”
She paled slightly at his seriousness. “No, of course not. 'Tis absurd, as I said. The matter will not arise.”
“Good.” The quick glance she shot him showed she recognized the parallel to an earlier conversation. Jack smiled to himself as she turned away to precede him into the house. He was in control again, which was where he preferred to be.
~ ~ ~
HALF AN HOUR into the royal duke's ball, however, he realized he had congratulated himself too soon. He'd had his first misgivings when Nessa had emerged from her chamber, clad in that scandalous gown of pale peach gossamer satin. When she moved, it gave a disturbing impression of near-nudity under the transparent gauze overdress. Judging by the way other men's eyes followed her, Jack was not the only one to notice.
In the carriage, he'd noticed she wore a new scent, subtle but intoxicating. She sat just close enough to tempt him without quite inviting his touch. Did she have any idea how maddening she was? He rather suspected she did.
“What an amazing assemblage,” she commented now from his side. “And to think I was proud of the attendance at our little soirée.”
Her eyes were wide, reminding him forcibly of the innocent Nessa he'd met last autumn. That memory, combined with her seductively sophisticated appearance now, produced in him an almost overwhelming surge of desire. Clinging to the remnants of his hard-won control, he nodded.
“It's to be expected when one of the royals throws a ball, it happens so seldom. In no way does it diminish your own triumph.”
She smiled up at him, but something of his desire must have shown, for she quickly became coquettish again. “I trust I'll do you credit tonight, as well. Surely having my dance card already full can be construed as another sort of triumph?”
“I am astonished we were not trampled to death in the stampede when we arrived,” he said dryly. “You did save me a waltz or two, did you not?”
“Three, in fact, to include the supper dance. You are my husband, after all.” She dimpled up at him until he didn't know whether to shake her or kiss her breathless.
“I'd nearly forgotten,” he teased, then decided abruptly that he'd gone far too long without certain husbandly rights. His resolve to stay out of her bed suddenly seemed absurd. She was his wife, damn it. Tonight would see the end of this silly estrangement, he was determined.
The dancing started then, opening with the traditional minuet and followed by a waltz. Nessa danced both with him, and her airy grace wrought his frustrated desire to a fever pitch before he was forced to relinquish her to another partner.
Watching her go down the room on the arm of Mr. Pottinger, he redoubled his resolve. Before he slept tonight, Nessa would be totally his again!
~ ~ ~
NESSA LEFT Jack's arms reluctantly. This standoffish role was becoming more and more difficult, she thought as she allowed Mr. Pottinger to lead her into the country dance forming next. All she really wanted to do was go home with Jack and resume those “lessons,” which had been in recess for far too long.
“You are beyond stunning tonight, my lady,” declared Mr. Pottinger in his affected lisp as they took their places in the dance. “Every other woman here is cast completely in the shade.” His gaze swept over her admiringly and she had to force herself not to flinch.
Again.
Not for the first time, she regretted her choice of attire. Somehow, this gown had not appeared nearly so scandalous when she'd had it fitted in the modiste's shop a few days ago. She'd had her first misgivings when her looking glass confirmed Simmons' shocked exclamations, but had decided it was just the thing to break through this odd reserve Jack had erected against her of late.
What the deuce was wrong with the man? The more outrageously she flirted with him or tried to invoke his jealousy against others, the cooler and more controlled he seemed to grow. This gown had been a last-ditch effort to incite his desire— and it seemed to be working. Unfortunately, every other man present appeared similarly affected, a consequence she foolishly hadn't considered.
Mechanically, she went through the intricate figures of the dance, her mind still occupied with her husband. Her scheme to simultaneously punish him and enjoy herself had been less than successful. Oh, flirting and feeling desired by numerous men had its appeal, but as the novelty waned, the appeal grew less and less. Tonight, she had to fight the urge to hide herself from leering eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, she had gone too far.
The sight of her sister's face as the dance concluded confirmed her fear.
“Nessa!” Prudence exclaimed in a strangled whisper the moment Mr. Pottinger took his leave of her. “What can
you be thinking?”
Philip, Nessa noticed, was discreetly averting his eyes. She fought down a blush. “I'm merely taking your advice, Prudence.”
Her sister flushed to the roots of her pale brown hair. “I meant for you to carry it out in private, Nessa! Not for all the world to witness! How—”
But then Sir Lawrence appeared to claim Nessa for the next dance, and Prudence had perforce to contain herself— though her shocked eyes still spoke volumes. Lifting her chin defiantly, Nessa accompanied Sir Lawrence to the floor. Even if Prudence were right—as a niggling voice told her she was—she would carry off this evening with aplomb.
Sir Lawrence appeared to be struck completely speechless, which Nessa thought was just as well. She was sick of fulsome, lust-barbed compliments tonight. The hours she must still endure stretched endlessly ahead. Perhaps a fictitious headache…
“You look pale, my lady.” Sir Lawrence finally found his voice. “Perhaps we should sit out this dance until you feel recovered.”
The thought of escaping all of the eyes— both lecherous and condemning— appealed mightily. “Yes, let's,” she said eagerly. “Somewhere… out of the way.”
“I know just the spot.” Taking her hand, he led her between the dancers to the opposite side of the enormous room, then through a curtained alcove. A dimly lit hallway opened onto at least a dozen rooms, most with doors ajar. The sounds of low conversation and laughter came from more than one of them.
He did not lead her into any of the rooms, however, but past them, through another archway and down a half-flight of stairs, then around a corner. When he finally stopped, they were in a sort of miniature conservatory filled with greenery and blooming hothouse flowers. The room would have been dazzlingly bright during the day, as half the ceiling and all of one wall were of glass. Now it was lit by at least a dozen hissing gas lamps.
Nessa looked about at the fairyland surroundings in surprise and more than a little misgiving. “Sir Lawrence, I don't believe—”
Before she could finish, however, he released her hand and clutched her to him, pressing his mouth against hers. For a moment she froze in complete shock, then began to struggle. He released her at once, and she backed away from him, drawing the back of her hand across her mouth. “Are you mad? What can you be thinking?”
She turned to go but he blocked her way, going down upon one knee in the doorway. “My lady— Nessa— pray forgive me. I was overcome by your beauty, by your sparkling wit, by… everything about you.”
Frowning, she stepped to the side, attempting to go around him. Yes, she had definitely been an idiot to wear this gown! “Very well,” she said severely, “just never let it happen again. I'm going back to the ballroom now.” Jack had been right, it seemed. “My husband—”
“Does not deserve you,” interrupted Sir Lawrence, his handsome young face eloquent with feeling. “'Tis a violation of all that is right that a woman like you should be bound to such a reprobate instead of worshipped as you deserve. As I will worship you.”
Worse and worse! She had to escape before Jack came seeking her, or she really would have this foolish boy's blood on her head. “Sir Lawrence, I'm very flattered, of course, but—”
Again he interrupted her. She was beginning to find that irritating. “Come away with me, now, tonight! We can be in Dover by morning, in France tomorrow. Once in Paris, no one will find us. I'll shower you with—”
“No, you will not!” she interrupted him in turn. “Stop this at once. I am a married woman, and fully intend to remain so. If I have raised any expectations I am truly sorry, but I cannot go to Paris or anywhere else with you. Now let me go!”
“I recommend you do as the lady asks,” drawled Jack's voice from the hallway. Unless, of course, you'd care to answer to me?”
NINETEEN
ENRAGED AS HE WAS on discovering his wife in a tryst with another man, Jack rather enjoyed the effect his words had on the pair before him. Nessa gasped, a hand flying to her throat and her eyes widening with horror. Sir Lawrence, still on his knees, nearly fell on his face as he attempted to turn and rise simultaneously.
“Jack!” Nessa squeaked. “How did you—?”
Sir Lawrence regained his balance and planted himself directly in front of her, facing him. “Ungallant of you to spy on your wife, my lord,” he sputtered. “And it'll do you no good. I mean to take her—”
At that point, Jack's precarious hold on his temper snapped. Almost without his volition, his fist shot out to connect squarely with the young man's nose. Sir Lawrence fell heavily onto his posterior, his mouth open in amazement and pain. He groped for a handkerchief to staunch the blood suddenly spurting from his nose and struggled back to his feet.
“I think not,” said Jack coldly before the other man could act or speak. “You're welcome to name your seconds, of course, but if I were you, I'd not want it generally known that I was knocked down in my pursuit of another man's wife. I suggest you occupy yourself elsewhere.”
Sir Lawrence glowered for a moment, though the effect was rather spoiled by the bloody handkerchief he held to his face. As Jack held his eye with the steely glare that had intimidated bolder men than he, Sir Lawrence's defiance wavered, then crumbled. With one apologetic glance at Nessa, he fled the conservatory.
Jack now turned to his wife, who still stood in shock, both hands covering her mouth. “Let us hope I adequately discouraged him from calling me out. I trust your modesty will not be outraged if I fail to challenge him on your behalf?”
Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “Please… please do not.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I never thought— that is, I had no idea—”
“What effect you have on men?” he asked, moving closer to her. “Oh, I think you had a very good idea, my dear. Why else would you have worn this dress, so obviously designed to elicit desire?”
The horror faded from her eyes and she regarded him candidly. “I only meant to elicit it in yourself, my lord, not in every man present. I seem to have achieved quite the opposite effect, however.”
He took another step toward her, so that they were nearly touching. “Opposite? Hardly that.” Her perfume surrounded him, intoxicating his senses. “In fact, I should say you have succeeded rather too well.”
“I have?” she breathed, swaying toward him.
By way of answer, he gathered her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. This time she did not resist, but responded with a fire rivaling his own. Her arms twined about his neck, pulling him closer until his body molded to hers, their tongues urgently stroking each other. Jack groaned, deep in his throat. His nether garments suddenly felt far too tight.
“Oh, Jack, I've wanted you so,” she gasped. “Why did you not come?”
“You never asked,” he murmured, tracing his lips along her jawline to the sensitive spot below her ear.
She shuddered slightly. “I'm asking now,” she whispered, sliding one hand down to cup him through his breeches.
Now it was Jack's turn to shudder with longing, though her forwardness in such a setting amazed him. “Let us go home, then. I'm certain I'll not last out the evening after this sort of encouragement.”
But Nessa pulled him in for another heated kiss. “I'm not certain I'll last till we get home,” she sighed a moment later. “This is a lovely place, and I see a divan over there, by those ferns. Perhaps, if we lock the door…”
“Nessa!” Jack's laughter was tinged with urgent longing. “Pray do not tease me like this. I've half a mind to call your bluff.”
“Who's bluffing?” she asked, slanting a seductive glance up at him through half-closed lashes. “Don't tell me that in all your colorful career you never did anything more scandalous?”
At the moment, Jack could barely recall anything he'd ever done with any other woman. His every sense, every nerve, was focused on Nessa. Her perfume, mingling with that of the flowers about them, her touch, her voice… “I've never been more tempted to, that's certain.”
“Well, then?” She slid her hands up and down his back, then around to his thighs, urging him beyond rational thought.
“Very well, my naughty wife. Just a moment.” He turned and closed the door, only to find no key to lock it from the inside. Still, what were the chances of anyone finding them here? He shoved the heavy iron doorstop in front of the door, so they'd at least have warning should it open, then turned back to Nessa.
“If you're not serious about this, now is the time to tell me.”
By way of response, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the divan. Screened from the door by three small orange trees surrounded by exotic flowers, it nestled amid towering ferns near the far wall. Casting caution to the wind, Jack sat down and drew her against him.
“Perhaps we need a conservatory at Fox Manor,” he murmured, attending to her throat again with his lips. “What say you, madam wife?”
“Hmmm… Let's see how this one works before we make any rash decisions.” She loosened his cravat and ran her fingers through his hair, then began to unbutton his coat.
Snatching at the last vestiges of his control, Jack grasped her hands. “My darling, if you insist upon having me here and now, we'll have to forego disrobing entirely. We must be prepared to look innocent in short order, should any discover us here.”
“I rely upon your expertise,” she said with a smile that nearly sent him to the edge again. “Show me.”
Fumbling somewhat in his haste and need, Jack began to undo the front fastening of his breeches. At once, Nessa reached to help him, clearly as eager as he. Lifting her skirts, he was pleased and relieved to discover she wore nothing beneath her garters and petticoats. Touching her, he found her wet and ready for him.
She had now freed him from the upper portion of his breeches, so he shifted until he lay on his back upon the divan, which was luckily long enough to support him. Before he could direct her, Nessa took the initiative, climbing astride him. She lowered herself upon him, engulfed him, and the world receded, narrowing to only the two of them.
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