Loving Lord Ash (19 page)

She shook her head a bit too sharply. Her eyes still had a glimmer of panic, and her lips were pressed tightly together.

“Do have some tea, dear,” Mama said, handing her a cup.

Jess had no choice but to take it; it rattled in its saucer, and she put it down at once.

Seeing her with Mama this way—now that Ash thought about it, Jess had never attended any of his mother’s parties. She’d never taken tea or had supper with them. Once he’d stopped climbing trees and catching fish with her, he’d seen her only riding or painting in the studio.

Of course she hadn’t been at his mother’s house parties. She was only the head groom’s daughter.

No. He’d told her the disparity in their social standing had never mattered to him, and it was true. He felt far more at ease with her than he did with the women of the ton. They saw him as the future Duke of Greycliffe. Jess saw him as Kit. She understood him—

Bloody hell! If she understood him, she’d never have let Percy get between her thighs, not to mention the naked footman and who knew how many others—

No. He was not going to indulge in that line of thought again. He would simply hope her behavior all stemmed from her hot nature, which would no longer cause her to seek male companionship once she had him standing—or lying—by, ready to satisfy her needs.

He shifted in his seat. Blast it, that thought had had its predictable effect.

“Quite a lot has happened since last we saw you, Ash,” Father said, clearly trying to draw Mama’s attention away from Jess. He was successful.

“Oh, yes.” Mama bounced slightly in her seat and leaned forward. “I’m sure you will not be completely surprised that Ned and Ellie have wed. You were there at the ball when they announced their betrothal, and you likely knew they were already—”

Father cleared his throat. “Yes, my love, but perhaps you don’t wish to say precisely what they were already doing?”

Ellie’s face was bright red. She was studying her fingernails while Ned examined the cakes even more closely.

Mama grinned. “Suffice it to say that Ellie is expecting an interesting event.”

“And you, my dear, are expecting a grandchild to spoil.”

“As are you. Admit it!” Mama laughed, clearly delighted.

If he and Jess had had a true marriage, Mama might have any number of grandchildren to spoil now.

Damnation.

Father grinned. “I will not deny it.”

They shared one of their looks that always made Ash feel as if he and everyone else in the room had ceased to exist for them.

And then Mama bounced again and turned back to him. “And the day you left for the manor, Ash, we received a note from Jack asking us to come up to London to help him resolve a small problem—”

Father choked on a piece of seedcake and reached for his tea. Mama gave him a quelling look before she continued.

“And we found Frances”—she beamed at the girl—“who happens to be the long-lost granddaughter of the Marquis of Rothmarsh. And Frances and Jack fell madly in love and married this morning.”

With such rushed nuptials, he’d wager Jack had anticipated his vows as well.

Blast it, far from anticipating
his
vows, Ash still hadn’t managed to consummate his damn marriage—and he’d been wed for eight bloody years.

Mama frowned. “If only we’d known you were coming, Ash, we could have waited until tomorrow to hold the ceremony.”

Thank God they hadn’t known. He did not care to witness his brother’s wedding when his marriage was still in such a shambles. “Ah, well, that’s quite all right. No need to wait for us. I can see Jack and Frances are very happy.” He smiled at Frances, who looked almost as anxious as Jess to be free of this family gathering. Mama could be a bit overwhelming. “Does this mean, now that all your sons are wed, you’ll hang up your matchmaking mantle, Mama?”

Father’s eyes brightened. “By Jove, yes. You don’t need to hold those beastly monthly Love Balls anymore, do you, my dear duchess? And you certainly don’t need to invite the silly spawn of the ton to that yearly torture—er, party—in February.” He grinned. “I’d say this calls for something more than tea.” He got up to fetch the brandy bottle. “Anyone else care for a glass?”

“Yes!”

“Please.”

Jack and Ned didn’t hesitate. Ash nodded, too, and glanced at Jess. She looked as if she’d dearly like some brandy as well.

He should find a way to free her from Mama’s clutches. He looked down at Fluff, but the dog was contentedly resting his head on his paws. No excuse there.

“I still have to find a match for Miss Wharton,” Mama said.

“I thought you’d decided Percy would do for her, much as that seems like throwing a kitten into the jaws of a lion.” Father’s face was carefully expressionless as he handed Ash his brandy.

Ash hoped his face was equally unreadable, since his brothers, mother, and Ellie were all regarding him with varying degrees of sympathy. At least they were looking at him and not at Jess, though he’d swear he heard a very faint moan come from her direction.

“So Percy’s in Town, is he?” Perhaps that was for the best. If he was going to resolve his marital difficulties, he might as well face them head on. If Jess couldn’t control her passion for Percy, then there was no hope for the continuation of their union.

“Yes.” Jack glanced at Jess and then back at Ash. “Causing trouble as usual.”

“Oh, but I do think he may have formed a tendre for Miss Wharton,” Mama said. “And we need to find her a husband before the Season is over or her dreadful parents will force her to marry their ancient neighbor.”

“But will Percy be worse than the neighbor?” Ned asked. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll ruin her life?”

“No, not at all. I think she may save his.” Mama’s eyes drifted toward Jess. “Or at least I hope so.”

Jess turned white. Fortunately, Braxton appeared at the door just then.

“Lord and Lady Ashton’s room is ready, Your Grace. Mrs. Watson will show them up, if they are ready to retire.”

Thank God. Ash surged to his feet. “If you’ll excuse us, Mama?”

Jess hadn’t been certain that her legs would support her weight, so she was extremely thankful when Kit offered her his arm. She gripped it as they crossed the room. She’d never been so happy to leave a group of people in her life. Not that anyone had been the least bit rude. Oh, no. They’d all been unfailingly polite, even when Percy’s name had been mentioned.

Oh, God, Percy! She’d seen him once since that dreadful afternoon in the studio at Greycliffe Castle. He’d had the unbelievable effrontery to present himself at Blackweith Manor a few months after she’d arrived. She’d been there long enough to have got over her initial fury at Kit for abandoning her and to have settled into an extended fit of the blue devils.

The butler at the time had heard the rumors about her disgrace and had apparently thought he was assisting an illicit assignation when he brought Percy directly up to her bedroom. The chamber pot whizzing past his ear had disabused him of that notion. She’d gone after Percy with the fireplace poker. Fortunately Dennis had been upstairs also. He’d heard the commotion and had come running, disarming her before she broke Percy’s head.

She did not want to see Percy again, especially in London with Kit and his parents and brothers and all the nasty ton watching.

Mrs. Watson was waiting just outside the door. She beamed at Kit. “Oh, Lord Ashton, it is so good to see you!” And then she looked at Jess and said, ice in her voice, “Lady Ashton.”

Jess expected to be disliked; she’d been more shocked at Mr. Braxton’s pleasant welcome than Mrs. Watson’s cold one. The Greycliffe servants had always been intensely loyal to the duke and his family; they must see her as having ruined Kit’s life and thus the lives of his mother and father. At the very least, she’d cut up the duke’s and duchess’s peace for eight long years.

If this were the Dark Ages, she’d worry that someone might slip poison into her tea.

Mrs. Watson led the way up the stairs, chattering to Kit while Jess and Fluff followed behind. The woman was amazingly well preserved. Her hair under her cap was gray and she was rather stout, but she could still climb the steps and keep up a steady stream of talk without becoming the slightest bit breathless.

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen you here in Town, my lord, but don’t worry. I’ve kept your room well aired in the hopes you might see fit to pay us a visit someday. Once the duke and duchess arrived with Lord Ned and Miss Ellie, we were so hoping you’d come, too. It is too bad you missed the weddings, first Lord Ned’s and then Lord Jack’s. I tell you, we haven’t had so much excitement at Greycliffe House for as long as I can remember.”

They reached the top of the stairs, walked down the corridor, and stopped at a door at the end. Mrs. Watson opened it.

“Here you go then, my lord. It should be all as you remember it.” Mrs. Watson bustled over to tug one of the curtains straight.

The room was large and quiet and tasteful. The heavy mahogany furniture was covered in blue and green upholstery, and the carpet, bed hangings, and coverlet were blue and green as well. Jess felt as if she’d wandered into a secluded forest glade—with a jay screaming disapprovingly from the bushes.

To be fair, Mrs. Watson was a cooing dove where Kit was concerned, but when her eyes encountered Jess, her brows and mouth snapped down and her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something rotten.

It
had
been several days since Jess had had the luxury of a bath, but then it had been equally long—perhaps longer—for Kit.

“
Your
things are here by the wardrobe,” the housekeeper said, not quite looking at Jess. “Shall I send up a maid to put them away?”

Oh, damnation. Some supercilious young girl would have her fingers all over Jess’s outdated and threadbare clothing, and then go gossip about Lady Ashton’s shabby wardrobe with the other servants.

She shouldn’t care. She wouldn’t care if she were back at the manor. Well, at the manor no female besides Dennis’s rose-mad sister Helena ever saw her, and Helena certainly didn’t care what Jess’s clothes looked like, even though taking care of them was ostensibly her job. If they didn’t have leaves and thorns and petals, they weren’t of any interest to Helena.

Kit glanced at her, and Jess was desperate enough to shake her head slightly, hoping he’d take her hint even if he didn’t know her reasons.

He gave her a puzzled look, but said, “No, thank you, Mrs. Watson. I believe we can manage well enough on our own.”

“Very good, my lord.” Mrs. Watson looked at Jess, sniffed, and headed toward the door, but paused on the threshold. “Shall I have water sent up for a bath?”

Kit grinned. “Yes, thank you. That would be splendid.”

Mrs. Watson nodded. “I shall ask William and Richard to bring it up directly, my lord.” She cleared her throat, pressed her lips together, and finally managed a stiff, “my lady.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Kit turned to Jess. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I would like to use the water when you are done.” Rinsing the grime of the trip off her skin and out of her hair sounded wonderful. Being clean might help her face Kit’s family with more fortitude.

“Of course. I will even let you use it before I do.” He grinned. “If it is not too indelicate for me to say so, I suspect I am far dirtier than you. I must smell like horse.”

“Oh, no, you smell—” Like home. Like Kit. “You smell fine. I’m the one who smells of wet dog.” She ran her hand over Fluff ’s ears. “Fluff insisted on sleeping with me last night.”

And now she was blushing, blast it. She couldn’t think about beds without thinking about what Kit had done with her in one particular bed. She hurried to pick up her valise.

“I’ll just take my things to my room. Come, Fluff.” She looked around. Where was the door to her bedchamber?

“Er, Jess . . .”

Kit looked uncomfortable, as if there was something unpleasant he needed to tell her. Well, she would listen to him in a moment. “I know this is silly, but I don’t see the connecting door.”

“That’s because there isn’t one.”

Even better. No connecting door meant no late night temptations. She headed for the corridor—

“Not that way, Jess.”

She frowned, even as her heart started pounding. She must have misunderstood. He couldn’t mean . . . “Pardon me?”

He smiled cautiously. “
This
is your room.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip and put down her bag. Now she was having trouble breathing. “But then where is yours?”

He must be teasing her. She was certain this was his room. Mrs. Watson would not have brought them to her room, and the woman had definitely said “your” room when she’d been talking to Kit. . . .

Oh, God.
“Where are you sleeping?”

“Here.” He shrugged and gestured with his head to the bed. “There.”

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t make any words come out. Specks of lights danced in front of her eyes.

She felt Kit’s strong fingers grip her arms. He shook her slightly, and her vision cleared.

“It will be all right, Jess. This bed is bigger and firmer than the one at the White Stag.” He flushed. “We can put something down the center to divide it, if you want. It will be almost as good as separate beds.”

She wet her lips. “There must be another bedchamber I can use. This is a big house.”

“But we’re married, Jess. Mama and Father believe married couples should share a room and a bed. If I insist you have your own room, everyone will know we haven’t reconciled.”

“But we haven’t.” Fluff, the traitor, had left her to make himself at home in front of the fire.

“We are trying to reconcile though, aren’t we?” He dropped his hold on her and stepped back. “I know it’s awkward, but especially with both my brothers married, it would be more awkward if we didn’t share a room. The servants would talk, and I’m sure that would get the damn ton talking as well. And with Mama and everyone here, I can’t see any way we can avoid attending at least some social events.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look at Fluff and the fire. “Blast it, I can’t believe Jack is wed. I swear he didn’t know this woman when he left the castle just weeks ago.”