Chills (36 page)

“And who would that be?”

“Oh, just a country lord and his whelp of an heir,” Scaling offered.

“What is your purpose in telling me this?” Jack asked, struggling not to clench his fists.

“I can’t abide dishonesty in business. Especially amongst lords who think nothing of involving innocents in the plan. Now that is not allowed.”

Jack tried not to show it, but Mr. Scaling had a fascinating set of morals. His own daughter was highly skilled at causing mayhem in pursuit of her goals for an advantageous match. Jack found his indifference to her activities strange.

“I believe I can guess the identity on my own,” Jack replied, grimacing as he considered Mr. Cullen Brampton’s appearance in London. “Thank you for your candor.”

“Don’t thank me,” Scaling protested. “Just let me know when the property comes up for sale. I am prepared to offer fair payment.”

Rendered speechless, Jack could only stare. Did Mr. Scaling really think he would ignore what his daughter had done to Pixie and do business with him?

Scaling bowed and walked away, leaving Jack with a dilemma. He had considered putting Thistlemore up for sale immediately, but perhaps he should investigate why so many people were keen to acquire the property. Lord Daventry had interesting business contacts who Jack could apply to for an assessment.

Jack turned in time to see Pixie, resplendent in green silk tonight, bear down on him.

A cross expression marred her beauty. “How did he find you?”

“The man is blessed with all the traits of a hunting dog,” Jack replied, fighting the urge to bend low to kiss her cheek. It was best not to start anything here. Later, he would taste her properly.

“I may have overstepped, but I thought I had fixed the Scalings problem for you.”

“What did you do?” Jack asked, falling into step beside her as she prowled the edge of the dance floor. The dress, another low-cut gown of his choosing, drew his eye and he stirred as the stamp of her feet jiggled the smooth, creamy skin above the neckline. Jack envied the diamond necklace nestled between her breasts more every day.

“Oh, I stumbled over their spy, a housemaid, in the act,” Pixie grumbled. “Poor girl has had the wits scared out of her for no good reason. I was so sure it would work.”

“I’m sure you were provoked.” Quite frankly, Jack didn’t care. He was too busy planning exactly how quickly he could remove her from that gown when he got her home. He almost steered her toward the open balcony doors with the intention of finding a dark corner and slipping his fingers across her chest, burrowing beneath the fabric to touch her nipples.

“Well, I caught the girl peeking in your appointment book. I know you value loyalty and your privacy.” Pixie’s face twisted in distaste. “Her parents and brother work for the Scalings, but they had threatened to dismiss them if she did not turn traitor.”

Despite the seriousness of her discovery, Jack wanted to laugh at her pique, and that destroyed his lustful thoughts for the moment. Pixie did not enjoy being thwarted.

“You know, it is entirely possible they simply wait outside our house and follow us,” Jack suggested. “Getting information from the maid, or any servant, would only warn them where we were going ahead of time.”

“They couldn’t be that direct, could they?”

“It does appear to be Mr. Scaling’s style,” Jack mused. “What did you do about the girl? Did you dismiss her for me?”

“Of course not. It’s not my place to order your staff, but her family might come to Parkes in search of employment in the future.”

Jack smiled. It would be interesting to watch Pixie deal with the servants. She treated her own as friends more than paid employees. “Ah, I’m sure we can arrange something. Perhaps we could speak of it later. Where has that sister of mine got to?”

“I believe she is conversing with Lady Rosthorn and her daughter by the terrace doors,” Pixie warned him.

Jack groaned. Lady Rosthorn’s daughter was unmarried. “Perhaps you should join her. I need to speak to Lord Daventry before he disappears.”

Pixie’s eyes widened.

“There’s nothing wrong. I’ll tell you about it later.”

~ * ~

Constance crossed the ballroom floor between dances, only to be intercepted by Lord Daventry. She glanced behind her, but Jack had disappeared from sight. “Ettington is looking for you.”

Lord Daventry held out his arm for her to take. Humoring him, she allowed him to promenade with her.

“Well, it appears that his better half has found me instead,” Daventry grumbled.

The whispers from the sidelines increased another notch louder. She wondered what all the fuss was about tonight. There was always something society squawked over. They had only gone a few steps more before Agatha joined them. Agatha linked her arm with Constance’s free one and together they led her further away from the whispers, behind a pillar, of all places.

“What is going on?”

“Nothing of importance. Stay here with Miss Birkenstock. I need to find Jack and bring him back in here,” Lord Daventry fumed.

Confusing man. “All right, if you must.”

When she turned to her companion, Agatha’s face wore a worried frown. “Are you feeling unwell, Miss Birkenstock? Perhaps you should sit?” Constance looked around, but saw no vacant chairs, only curious, whispering people.

“We should stay here until Lord Ettington returns.”

Hmm, that could take a while. Constance craned her neck but saw nothing of him. “Do you know what are they whispering about tonight?”

“Yes,” Agatha said in a small voice.

“And.”

“I don’t want to say,” Agatha whispered.

“I beg your pardon?” All this whispering was getting on her nerves, but Constance was more disappointed that Agatha’s confidence was backsliding.

“I don’t like to gossip,” Agatha apologized, and looked down at her hands.

“Could you tell me then why Lady Rosthorn just turned her back on me and took Virginia with her?” Constance demanded, finding no further fun in the evening.

“Oh, no.”

“All right, enough of this. Just tell what they’re saying or I’ll … I’ll take a key from your pianoforte the first chance I get,” Constance threatened. “An important one.”

Agatha looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”

“Just try me,” Constance crossed her arms in a mocking, aggressive stance.

Agatha didn’t even crack half a smile. “You won’t be cross with me? I don’t have so many friends as to lose any.”

“Just tell me.”

“They are talking about the Jamison ball.”

“The ball? Really? Did I make another social gaff and not notice?” Constance thought back over the evening, but could not remember how she could have offended anyone.

“Yes. I mean no.”

“All right, I give up.” This was worse than listening to a bad poetry recital. Constance glanced around them but could see nothing of Virginia or Jack.

“About Lord Ettington …”

Constance’s head snapped around. “Excuse me?”

“They know about last night. That’s what they are whispering about. They know about you and Ettington. They say you’re his—” Agatha didn’t finish.

But Constance understood.

She was a fool to have come tonight. Of course, any gossip about the marquess would spread faster than honey on a hot day. She had hoped to have one last night before saying goodbye to the few true friends she’d made. She had given up her respectability last night, but she did not regret one single minute that she had shared with Jack. “That was quick.”

“It’s true?” Agatha goggled, and Constance braced herself. She hoped Agatha hadn’t formed a tendre for Jack. If so she wouldn’t be pleased to be conversing with his mistress.

“I suppose it is. I should apologize. Lord Daventry never should have left you with me. And I should have had the foresight to stay away. Please, go find your grandfather. You shouldn’t be in my company.”

Constance went to pat Agatha’s hand then thought better of it. She was a soiled dove, a mistress. She didn’t want to taint such a nice girl with her affection.

“No,” Agatha cried. “I know how hard it is to refuse an ardent suitor. I’m not going to leave you alone.” She took Constance’s arm.

“Agatha, I’m not going to be alone long,” Constance promised, trying to extract herself from Agatha’s grip. “I’m going to leave. I really should not have come. Excuse me.”

“Wait.” Agatha clenched her arm tighter. “I’m coming with you.”

“Agatha, you shouldn’t. This will not help you at all, and your place is here. Mine isn’t.”

“I don’t belong here either, but the marquess and his sister have always been kind to me. It is the least I can do.” Agatha tucked Constance’s arm through hers and hurried toward her grandfather. When Agatha told him she was ready to leave, he didn’t quibble.

Once they hit the open air of the city, Constance could breathe again, but she shook at the hostility directed at her tonight.

Mr. Birkenstock commandeered Viscount Carrington’s hack as he arrived and poor Carrington looked so dazed that he stepped aside and watched them leave without a word.

Agatha and her grandfather were blessedly quiet for the journey to Ettington House. Although the older man’s jaw clenched occasionally, he never spoke a word.

Yet as she stepped from the carriage outside Ettington House, it occurred to Constance that Jack might be irritated she’d left without him. However, Jack should have known society would not ignore a mistress, especially one displayed under their own noses. She waved the Birkenstock’s away and turned for the steps.

~ * ~

Jack searched the ballroom again with his eyes and his control slipped. “Where did you say you left her?”

“Over in the corner with Miss Birkenstock. I don’t see them,” Daventry looked around, “or Mr. Birkenstock either. They must have tried to find you. We must look for them.”

“Don’t bother. She’s not out there,” Virginia informed him, scowling like a fury. “There’s more hot air circulating in this room than can be contained in one of those atrocious balloons. Jack, what have you done?”

“A slight miscalculation, sister. Don’t fret,” Jack muttered. “Where is that woman?”

Daventry groaned. “Ettington, you are the most watched man in England. Of course someone worked it out, but please tell me you didn’t actually forget to ask a particularly important question?”

“I may have,” Jack squirmed. As if he would make her his mistress. How absurd.

Daventry and Virginia exchanged an embarrassed glance.

This mess was completely fixable. He just had to propose and post the notice.

Viscount Carrington joined them with a laugh. “Is there any particular reason Miss Grange just left the ball with Agatha Birkenstock and her grandfather? The girl seemed ready to faint.”

“She left?” Jack winced as his sister thumped him.

“They appeared to be in a hurry,” Carrington offered.

Jack groaned aloud. “Now you can fret, Virginia. Daventry, see my sister home safely, but not for a few hours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“GOING TA SPREAD your legs for the marquess again, are ya?” a slurred voice called out to Constance as she reached the front door of Ettington House.

Peering into the dark of Orchard Street, Constance could make out a slim form slumped against the house fence. She moved to better view the face and gasped. “Cullen?’

“Why so surprised?” Cullen dragged himself to his feet and staggered forward a step or two. “Told ya I’d come back. Ya should have listened.”

Constance stepped back from his lurching gait. “Cullen, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Where else would I be?” Cullen asked, raising a flask to his lips and taking a long pull. “I only had one job to do and that was get you ta marry me. Don’t think I want to now that I know where ya been.”

Cullen must have heard the rumors.

His graze raked her, but despite his words, he grinned lasciviously at her appearance. She drew her wrap tighter about her shoulders.

He had not even asked if the rumors were true. Just convicted her without proof, then come to taunt her for her weakness. And to think this man’s opinion had held sway over her thoughts for the last few years. If not for the money, she would have married him without knowing this side of him.

He did not make a very good friend. Jack had always asked her to explain her mistakes before he chided her for them.

Constance bit her lip, then moved toward the house and safety. “I think you should leave, sir.”

“Sir, now is it?” Cullen lurched forward. “Why you crafty piece of—”

Cullen never completed his sentence. Footsteps swiftly descended the stairs and a dark arm swung toward Cullen. Parkes’ fist connected with Cullen’s flapping mouth. He fell hard to the pavement. Two burly footmen caught Cullen’s arms and dragged him into the street.

 
“He’ll just use ya till he gets bored and toss ya away, ya silly strumpet,” Cullen called loudly. “My uncle and I had plans to get rich from Thistlemore. At least you would have been respectable.”