Bedding Lord Ned (26 page)

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Authors: Sally MacKenzie

BOOK: Bedding Lord Ned
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“But I need to marry, Lord Edward. I am running out of time.” There was a desperation in her eyes that was rather alarming.
“What do you mean?”
“Before I left for Greycliffe, Mama told me that if I didn't marry this Season, she and Papa will give me to old Mr. Wattles to be his fourth wife.” Panic flickered over her face, and her voice drew tight. “The man is at least sixty and still without a son to inherit his estate.”
“I see.” So this was why Miss Wharton was so determined to find a husband. “You can always refuse to marry him, you know. The days of parents forcing their daughters to the altar are long past.”
Miss Wharton looked at him as if he were a complete cod's-head. “You only say that because you're a man. You have no idea the pressures brought to bear on women to get them to wed.” She looked back out over the horses' tails. “If I don't marry this Season and refuse Mr. Wattles as well, my life will be more of a hell than it already is. I wouldn't put it past my father to throw me out onto the street.”
She must be exaggerating, but she sounded as if she believed every word she said. He wanted to do something to help.
Perhaps he
should
offer for her. He opened his mouth to suggest it, but then they emerged from the trees and he caught sight of Ellie and Jack again.
He must talk to Ellie before he said anything to Miss Wharton. The conversation might be a little awkward, but he'd always been able to talk to Ellie. He'd see if she were in immediate need of a husband. If she were, he would offer her his services. But if she wasn't, then he could approach Miss Wharton. In any event, there was no need to ask Miss Wharton in haste—she did have some time.
“I suggest you see what happens this Season,” he said.
“I don't know why this Season should be any different than the previous seven.”
He smiled at her. The cold and their conversation had made him feel almost human again. “Because I suspect this Season the Duchess of Love will be trying to find you a match.”
Miss Wharton's expression lightened and she smiled. “Do you really think so?”
“I am sure of it. In fact, I will make a point to mention it to her.” He grinned. “Now shall we see if we can catch up to my brother?”
Chapter 16
If opportunity knocks, throw open the door and drag it in.
—Venus's Love Notes
 
 
Ellie took Jack's hand and let him help her down from the sleigh. The red drawers under her many layers of clothing slid against her skin, and she shivered.
“Are you cold?” Jack asked, concern softening his eyes.
She flushed. “No.” The drawers weren't warm, but somehow they generated an odd kind of heat.
She glanced back at the other sleigh. Miss Wharton was smiling up at Ned as if he were her new best friend—or something more intimate, damn it.
Her stomach tightened. She'd tried to watch them during the sleigh ride, but it had been difficult since Jack's and her sled had been in the lead and she didn't want Jack to notice—she did not care to be teased about this. The few glimpses she'd managed had shown Ned and Miss Wharton in an intense, heartfelt conversation. What had they been talking about?
“I doubt you have to be jealous of Miss Wharton,” Jack murmured by her ear.
She glared at him. “I'm not jealous.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked amused. Blast it, he must have seen her looking back. Her fingers itched to scoop up a large handful of snow and wash his face for him.
“Of course you aren't,” he said. “I don't know what gave me that notion.”
“I don't either.” She spun away and immediately collided with Mr. Cox, who'd come up to take his turn with their sleigh. “Oh! Pardon me, sir.”
“Pardon
me
,” he said, grabbing her elbows to steady her.
“No, no, it was my fault entirely. I, er, wasn't paying attention.” She stepped back, hoping she wasn't staring. Mr. Cox's expression took her breath away: he was grinning widely, almost glowing with happiness. She glanced over at Lady Juliet, who blushed and looked even prettier than usual. Clearly these two had resolved their differences.
Envy lanced her heart as she watched them climb into the sleigh and drive off, followed by Mr. Humphrey and Miss Mosely in the other sled. Everyone was finding a match—everyone but her.
She turned and strode away, the damn silk drawers teasing her with every step. She was taking them off as soon as she could. Surely if she stuffed them under her mattress, Reggie couldn't steal them again—or, if he did, he'd have to shred them to get them free, which would be fine with her.
“Are you trying to run away from me, Ellie?” Jack asked, grabbing her hand and placing it on his arm.
“No.” She jerked back, but Jack had her fingers trapped under his. “Let go.”
“You don't want everyone to think we've had a spat, do you?”
“Why would they think that?”
“Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because you're glaring at me.”
Ellie snorted and tugged again.
“Or because you're trying to wrestle free as if you fear I mean to abduct you. I only want to keep you from slipping and falling in the snow.”
She tugged once more. “No one is paying us the least bit of attention.”
Jack looked heavenward as if the Almighty might be persuaded to drop some sense on her head. “How long have you known Mama?”
“What do you mean?” Ellie felt a sudden trickle of unease.
“She's watching us like a hawk—or, worse, like the Duchess of Love in full matchmaking mode.”
Ellie glanced up to the terrace; blast it, the duchess
was
looking their way. “Oh, very well.” She bared her teeth in what she hoped looked like a smile from her grace's position. “I'll allow you to escort me, if you insist.”
“Thank you.” Jack directed their steps toward Ash and his snow fort. Ned and Miss Wharton were already there.
“I must say”—Jack was moving far slower than necessary, clearly intending to share his thoughts with her before they reached the others—“I don't see why you are taking your spleen out on me.” He treated her to an uncomfortably probing look. “If you'll remember,
I
urged you to pursue Ned. Since I've yet to see you do so, I'm beginning to conclude you don't want him.”
“What? You—”
He tightened his grip on her fingers to stop her protests. “And if you don't want him, Ellie, don't play dog in the manger. Ned needs another wife; if Miss Wharton will have him, it might not be a bad match.” He grinned. “And it frees me from her pursuit.”
She was so angry, she couldn't speak. Jack was by far the most annoying man of her acquaintance ... well, except for his next older brother.
He leaned close. “And if you
do
want him, do something about it, for God's sake, because if you don't, Miss Wharton will, and then you'll be back exactly where you were when Cicely married Ned: outside looking in and miserable about it.”
She finally found the breath to hiss at him. “I'd decided to do something about it, you blockhead, but you put paid to that by forcing me to ride with you just now.”
“Oh.” Jack looked a little contrite. “Well, I couldn't very well have chosen Miss Wharton; that would have been too much like slitting my own throat.”
“You could have asked Miss Mosely.”
“Yes, but I didn't want to take her away from Humphrey.” He grimaced. “And, frankly, I couldn't stomach the thought of spending half an hour alone in her company.”
“I would have thought you'd be willing to suffer a little for Ned's sake.”
“Yes, but only a little. Half an hour with Miss Mosely is far too much. Admit it, Ellie. I might have fallen asleep and crashed the sleigh, and then where would I be?”
“You'd be in a snowdrift where you belong, freezing your—” She stopped herself in time.
“Temper, temper.” He waggled his finger in front of her nose. “I am sorry, but self-preservation will almost always trump brotherly love. I shall try to make it up to you.”
“I won't be holding my breath.” She looked away from Jack to find Ned glaring at her. What was
he
annoyed about? She raised her chin as they reached him.
No, she wished to attract the man, not fight with him. “Did you enjoy the sleigh ride, Lord Edward?” How the hell was she supposed to flirt? She tried fluttering her eyelashes.
“Have something in your eye?” Jack murmured.
“No,” she hissed while trying to keep a smile plastered on her face. At least Ned had stopped glaring; now he looked merely puzzled.
“It was very pleasant,” he said.
“Oh, yes.” Miss Wharton nodded vigorously. “It was wonderful. Lord Edward is very good with the ribbons—almost as good as you, Lord Jack.”
“Never say it, Miss Wharton! I will have to challenge him to a race, then, to prove my superiority.”
Ned snorted. “You'd only prove your reckless stupidity. I'd refuse to race you.”
“Come, Lord Worry, don't you wish to impress these lovely ladies and have them swooning in the snow?”
There were going to be bodies in the snow, but they'd be Ned's and Jack's if Ned's clenching fists were any indication. Why did Jack insist on twitting him at every opportunity?
Ellie dug her fingers into Jack's sleeve, hoping to encourage him to stop taunting Ned. “It's far too cold to swoon; I don't care to get all covered with snow.” She turned to Ash. He'd already built one wall of the fort up to chest height and was working on a turret. “You're coming along with that quite well.”
“Yes, Lord Ashton,” Miss Wharton said. “It's wonderful. I've never seen such an impressive snow fort.”
It
was
impressive, but then anything Ash constructed was. He'd built a fairytale castle once when they were children that she and Jess and Cicely had played in for hours—until the boys decided to be French troops and attack. Percy had led the charge and kicked down one of the walls when he'd got close, so infuriating Ash he'd jumped on Percy's back. Then the two of them had rolled around punching each other, taking down the rest of the building in the process.
Cicely had cried for hours, even with Ned and then Percy trying to comfort her, and Ellie had been very sad herself, but Jess ... Jess had laughed.
Ellie had never been able to tell how Jess felt about anything—except Ash.
“It's not hard to build,” Ash said, adding another handful of snow to the turret. “This snow is just the right wetness.”
“Oh, I could never manage anything like this,” Miss Wharton said, “no matter how good the snow was.”
“Indeed,” Ned said. “Don't let my brother fool you. He could build a castle out of mashed potatoes.”
Jack laughed. “I've seen him do so. Confess, Ash: You'd rather be an architect than a duke.”
“Oh, no.” Ash smoothed the turret's side. “This is just a hobby. I need something to do to keep myself busy; you know Father doesn't really need my help with his properties.”
Ned and Jack exchanged a look, but neither said anything. There was one property over which the duke wished Ash would take complete control—Blackweith, where Jess lived and Ash never went.
“Is the snow also good for snowballs, Lord Ashton?” Miss Wharton asked.
“Yes, indeed. You might wish to begin assembling some, though I thought once everyone is back, we'd start by building some snowmen we can use for target practice.”
“What, no real snowball battle?” Jack asked. “If I can't race Ned, I'd like to knock his hat off.”
“I'd like to see you try,” Ned said, “especially with your arm in a sling—or have you recovered sufficiently to use both hands?” His voice held a touch of sarcasm.
“I can throw one-handed quite well, but, yes, I believe my other arm is feeling much better. Thank you for your concern.”
Ned rolled his eyes.
“I can't imagine the ladies would care to watch you pelt each other with snow,” Ash said.
“Oh, I don't know.” Ellie would definitely enjoy that. She'd even like to fling a few well-placed snowballs at them herself.
“Oh, Miss Bowman, you must be joking,” Miss Wharton said, looking appalled. “I have only sisters, as you may know, so we didn't have snowball fights at home, but I was shocked one winter when my male cousins visited after a snowstorm. They chased and tackled each other, smashed snow into each other's faces, and dropped handfuls of it down each other's backs.” She shuddered. “They seemed to enjoy the violence.”
Ellie would admit that while throwing a snowball at Jack or Ned would be satisfying, getting hit by one would only hurt. “You are likely right, Miss Wharton.” She looked at Ash. “Where do you want us to put the invading army, Lord Ashton?”
“Over there,” Ash said, pointing to a treeless patch of snow about twenty yards away. “And look, here are the others now.”
The sleighs were indeed drawing up, the couples in each windblown and laughing. The duke and duchess had come down from the terrace to greet them. Ellie watched Ned's parents pause to talk to each couple in turn, and then the duke helped the duchess into the first sleigh, took the reins from Mr. Cox, and headed off for their turn around the park.
The Duchess of Love must be in alt. This had to be her most successful party to date.
Once the others joined them, they made their way to the mock battlefield. Ellie watched Ned walk with Miss Wharton; her head came just to his shoulder.
It should be Ellie's head by Ned's shoulder, but no—she was stuck with Jack.
“You can still throw a snowball or two at the snowmen, you know, and pretend the fellow you're decapitating is Ned,” Jack said.
Ellie snorted. “Or you.”
He sighed dramatically. “Oh, ye of little faith. I said I'd make it up to you, didn't I? And I will.”
She couldn't prevent a little flutter of hope. “How are you going to do that?”
He shrugged. “I don't know yet. It will be a spur of the moment thing.”
“I see.” What she saw was she shouldn't rely on Jack for help. But that was fine. Hadn't she decided just last night that she must do something herself if she wanted to marry Ned? The time for being the quiet, dependable, old friend, hoping Ned would see her as something else, was long past.
But what should she do? She couldn't very well tackle him and sit on him in the snow until he agreed to marry her, no matter how much that plan appealed to her at the moment.
“Do you want to make the snowman's head, Ellie, while I work on the body?” Jack asked.
“Very well.” She began with a small ball of snow and in no time had a sizable one. She was enjoying the exertion—perhaps she'd turn this head into a chest.

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