Loving Lord Ash (12 page)

Well, it would have been much better if she’d stopped him before he’d got between her legs. As much as she hated to admit it, she understood why Kit had such a hard time believing her protestations of innocence.

“Hallooo!”

She snapped her head up to see who was calling to them. This could not be good—she couldn’t think of a single person she’d wish Kit to meet.

Oh, blast. It was George Huntington, the worst of the local men. He was one of Percy’s friends and had made her life hell her first few years at the manor. Fortunately, he was usually in London now, but she’d had to apply her knee forcibly to his groin just a few days ago when she’d encountered him in the village.

“Well, look who’s here,” Huntington said, drawing level with them and reining in his horse. He was wearing his usual unattractive sneer. “So this is why you turned me down last week, Jess. You’d rather entertain a farmer than the future Squire Huntington.” Clearly, he was looking at the wagon and not at Kit.

She
looked at Kit. His jaw had tensed as he struggled to control his temper. He wasn’t going to try to fight, was he? She didn’t want him getting hurt.

She could handle Huntington.

“I’m surprised you are out riding at all, Mr. Huntington. I must remember, if I’m ever so unlucky as to be subjected to your attentions again, to use more force in discouraging you.”

She was happy to see the worm turn a little green and shift in his saddle. She’d thought she’d used plenty of force. He’d grabbed his privates and fallen to the ground cursing in a most satisfactory fashion.

“Did this fellow insult you, Jess?” Kit’s voice was icy, a distinct thread of danger in it.

Mr. Huntington’s color went from green to white.

It was surprisingly pleasant to have a man defend her, not that it was necessary. “Yes, but I dealt with the situation. Let’s drive on. Good day, Mr. Huntington.”

Huntington did not care to be dismissed so cavalierly. His anger trumped his good sense, as usual, and he grabbed Chester’s bridle before Kit could put him back in motion.

“On second thought, I’m not surprised you’d prefer this pretty farmer to me. After all, he’s of your class, isn’t he? You must feel right at home in the hay.” He turned to Kit. “I hope the jade hasn’t misled you, my friend. She may call herself Lady Ashton, but she’s really just an Irish strumpet.”

She was going to jump out of the wagon and strangle the bloody miscreant. “And you are a despicable, lying toad.”

He sniffed. “I was prepared to offer you some excellent carnal exercise, Jess, but you have lost your chance at that.” He looked back at Kit. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for her. You’ve likely discovered what my friend, Sir Percy, says—she isn’t worth more than a farthing or two.”

Chapter Seven

Gossip often lies.

—Venus’s Love Notes

A red haze shimmered in front of Ash’s eyes. He was going to murder the blackguard. “You—”

Jess touched his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered. Her brow was tented in what looked like worry.

“Don’t what?” He struggled to keep his voice down. At least the fool was beginning to look somewhat concerned. “He just called you a strumpet.” He wouldn’t point out all the other ugly things Huntington had said. They didn’t bear thinking of, let alone repeating. And then to have mentioned Percy as well—

He was going to haul the vile wretch off his horse and grind his fist, if not his heel, into his ugly face.

“I know. He’s not the first to do so.”

Damn! Guilt punched him in the gut. “I apologized for—”

“I didn’t mean you.” She leaned closer. “He’s reputed to be excellent with his fists.”

“Good.” He turned his attention back to Huntington and raised his voice. “Then I won’t feel bad when I darken his daylights and smash his damn nose.” There was no fun in pummeling a man who couldn’t defend himself; in fact, honor would demand he show some mercy. But if the fellow fought back, he needn’t strive for restraint.

The blackguard’s expression was suddenly markedly less cocky. “Good God, man. There’s no reason to shed blood over a common whore.”

Jess moaned, though she muffled the sound almost immediately.

Bloody hell, his head was going to explode with anger. He struggled to maintain some control. “You are speaking of my wife, sirrah.”

“Wife?” Huntington’s voice actually squeaked.

Jess put her hand on his arm. “Please, let’s just leave.”

“What do you mean ‘wife’?” Huntington said. “She’s not your wife; she’s Ashton’s.” His eyes widened. “Did she actually get you to marry her? That makes her a bigamist.”

Perhaps the man was too stupid to fight. It wouldn’t be sporting to drub a half-wit. “I
am
Ashton, you fool.”

“But Ashton never comes to Blackweith. He’s abandoned his wife. Everyone knows that.”

Hell, he
had
abandoned Jess. He’d never considered how that would affect her status in the community—well, he’d thought she was too busy working her way through the neighborhood men to care about anything else—but he should have considered it. He should never have left her exposed to such insults.

“Well, he is here now, Mr. Huntington,” Jess said. “If you will be so kind as to let go of our horse, we can be on our way.”

The blockhead narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know that I believe you, Jess. Why would the Marquis of Ashton be driving your old wagon?”

The frayed thread of Ash’s patience snapped. “Good God, man. No one cares what you believe, though I’ll be happy to leave the imprint of my signet ring on your forehead, if that will help convince you.”

Huntington must have believed he’d do exactly that, because he finally let go of their horse’s bridle and backed his own horse away. “I was just trying to look out for Jess’s welfare.”

“
Lady Ashton
to you, sirrah.” By God, he wanted to bash the fellow’s brains out.

“But, er, Lady Ashton and I are friends. We just had a slight misunderstanding.”

Jess snorted. “Friends? A
slight
misunderstanding? I sincerely detest you, sir. You’ve been spreading nasty rumors about me since I arrived at the manor, besides subjecting me to your very unwelcome advances.”

Huntington laughed. “Oh, come, Jess—”

“
Lady Ashton
. Do I have to pound that into your thick skull, Huntington? Are you that slow a learner?” Zeus, how he wanted to feel the satisfying crunch of the miscreant’s nose under his fist.

Huntington smiled weakly and ran a finger around his cravat. “Come, Lady Ashton, I will admit to a little flirtation, but it was all in fun.”

“Oh, yes,” Jess said. “I had great fun thrusting my knee into a rather sensitive part of your anatomy the other day to deter your ‘little flirtation,’ and I thoroughly enjoyed hearing you scream as you fell to the ground. Watching you writhe in the dirt was highly entertaining as well.”

“Heh.” Huntington was looking a bit nauseous. “You have such a delightful sense of humor, Je—” He paused and looked at Ash. “Lady Ashton.”

“I am not joking.”

Damnation!
“I regret dueling is illegal, Huntington,” Ash said, “but I shall take great enjoyment in thrashing you soundly should you ever annoy my wife again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Oh, well, I’m sure there’s no need—”

“Do I make myself clear?”

The man straightened, backing his horse farther from the wagon. “Yes, quite clear. There is no need to make such a point of it. I can see Lady Ashton prefers we not continue our friendship now that you have returned, my lord.”

“There was never any friendship to continue, you dastard!” Jess looked as if she wished she had something to throw at the man. Her sharp tone caused her dog to start barking.

Huntington’s horse took exception to the sudden, deep noise and reared, almost depositing Huntington on his arse. It was a near thing, but the man managed to keep his seat, though he did lose his hat.

Meanwhile the dog, likely encouraged by the commotion he’d caused, leapt to his feet and redoubled his efforts. Huntington’s horse was having none of it. It took off at a flat-out gallop.

“Shush, Kit. Sit down and compose yourself.”

Since he was already sitting, Ash concluded Jess was addressing her dog. The animal, after one last parting bark, flopped back down in the back of the wagon. Jess turned around to pat him.

“Good boy. That’s the way to send George running.”

The dog licked Jess’s face.

“Has Huntington truly been a thorn in your side all these years, Jess?” Now that he wasn’t so blindingly angry, Ash realized the name was familiar. Had Walker, his estate manager, mentioned him?

No, it had been Percy. He’d overheard Percy talking to some fellow at Mama’s house party the year after he’d left Jess at the manor. He’d been out on the terrace alone, trying to compose himself—it had been especially hard to endure Mama’s matchmaking parties those first few years—and Percy had been inside, likely unaware that Ash could hear him. He was certain Percy had said Huntington was one of the many men who’d enjoyed Jess’s favors. He remembered the incident because his pain was still so raw; it had just underlined how little he meant to his absent wife.

“Yes, though fortunately he does spend most of his time in London now.” She frowned at him. “I try to avoid him whenever he’s here, but I didn’t know he was back in the area until I ran into him in Mr. Sheldwick’s shop a few days ago. He insisted on walking me home.”

“And you went with him? That doesn’t seem wise.”

Her frown turned to a scowl. “You don’t know Mr. Sheldwick.” She sighed and looked out over the fields. They’d resumed their plodding pace toward the next town.

“Mr. Sheldwick is a sweet old man and completely oblivious to gossip. He heard Huntington’s offer to escort me and insisted I accept. He doesn’t think I should be walking by myself.”

“He’s right about that. You should have taken one of the footmen or at least your dog.”

Jess snorted. “This is the country. I’m perfectly safe by myself.”

“Oh? And were you perfectly safe walking with Huntington?”

She looked somewhat chagrined. “I don’t like him, but I didn’t think I was in danger.” She raised her chin. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

Blast it, Jess had always been far too independent and headstrong for her own good.

Perhaps she’d encouraged the fellow.

No, she’d have to be an amazing actress to feign such anger. “I cannot believe the fellow would so abuse the Marchioness of Ashton.”

“Well, people don’t consider me a marchioness; they think I’m just a mistake you’ll eventually get around to correcting.”

Damnation. He gripped the reins too tightly, and the horse tossed its head. He forced his fingers to relax. “Our marriage is no one’s business but our own.”

She laughed at that. “Come, Kit. Whatever I am, you are definitely a marquis, one day to be a duke, one of the most powerful men in England. Of course your marriage is everyone’s business.” She looked him in the eye with the same defiant expression she’d so often used as a girl when she was trying to pretend her feelings hadn’t been hurt.

Something near his heart twisted.

He remembered the exact moment when she’d gone from childhood playmate to . . . to something else. He’d been sixteen, and she, fourteen. They’d been out riding early in the morning as they often did, when the grass was still wet with dew and they had the world to themselves. They’d reached the north field, and Jess, as usual, had challenged him to race to the old oak tree. And then she’d taken off, and he’d taken off after her.

She’d inherited her father’s magic with horses; she could ride like no one else he knew. But he could ride, too. Her horse flew over the grass; he leaned low and urged his horse faster.

He always beat her, but this morning they reached the tree at exactly the same time.

Jess had let out a very unladylike whoop, and when she’d ridden back to him, she and her horse had been almost dancing.

He’d expected to feel annoyed, but when he saw her so happy and excited, the sun, filtering through the oak leaves, lighting her face, he’d had an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her.

And then she’d laughed, and the spell had been broken.

Nothing had been the same since. He’d watched her flirt with Percy and the other men, yet he could never bring himself to try to attract her interest. She was so different from him—a bonfire to his flickering candle.

And he hadn’t had time for a flirtation or a courtship. He was going to be the duke one day. He’d been away at school or busy with his father, learning what he needed to know to manage the duchy.

And, yes, perhaps he’d been . . . not afraid, but overwhelmed by the emotions Jess made him feel, and had taken refuge in his studies and his architectural drawings. Those were orderly, factual, predictable. They didn’t involve messy things like love and desire and jealousy.

If he were completely honest, coming upon Jess with Percy had given him the golden opportunity to get the woman he wanted. Except he hadn’t managed even that. He’d married Jess, but then he’d sent her away.

Stupid, and yet what else could he have done? She might have been carrying Percy’s child. He’d thought, once he was certain she wasn’t increasing, that he could put the ugly scene behind him, but he’d underestimated its power over him.

And he hadn’t realized how much she desired sexual congress. He’d heard all the rumors. Percy hadn’t been the only one whispering about the disgraced Lady Ashton. He’d had firsthand experience of her wildness last night, hadn’t he?

He shifted on the wagon’s hard, wooden bench to take some of the pressure off his growing desire and encouraged the horse to pick up its pace. The sooner they got to the next town the better.

He glanced at Jess. She was looking away from him at the passing scenery, which was mostly just muddy fields and hedges.

He’d forgotten the full effect her presence had on him. He felt a bit giddy, a little irresponsible, always on the verge of doing something he’d regret when he was with her. Like what he’d done last night in that dreadful bed. Though he didn’t quite regret that....