Loving Lord Ash (30 page)

He took a bite.

“No, but I have something else for you to read.”

All his body’s inner alarms went off, and he choked.

“As I assume you must know, I write a little leaflet with advice of a romantic nature.”

“Uh.” He could bolt from the room, but that would only put off the inevitable. Mama was just like a terrier after a rat when she had something she wanted to convey.

“Well, it isn’t a secret, is it? I don’t suppose you’ve read any of my
Love Notes
?”

“No!”

Don’t shout. Remain calm. Try to smile as if this was a normal sort of conversation.

Unfortunately, it
was
all too normal where Mama was concerned. “I thought those were directed at women.”

Oh, damnation. He’d said the wrong thing. Mama’s eyes lit up with the gleeful expression a fencer must have when he sees the opening he’s been looking for, right before he runs a man through with his sword.

“Precisely! Which is why I, er, that is, why a friend wrote this.” She pulled out a stack of papers she’d hidden behind her skirts. “It’s marital advice specifically for men. But I—that is my friend—would really like to have a male’s opinion before publishing it.” She tried to give him the papers.

He wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “You should ask Father.”

She laid them on the table by his elbow. “I have, of course, but he refused to read the first word.”

“Ah.” He glanced over at the papers and saw the title.

Hell! He jerked and spilled his coffee all over his fingers. At least it was already lukewarm.

“Oh, I don’t mean to suggest that
you
need any advice on how to woo your wife.”

Mama laughed, but her eyes were watching him like a hawk, so he concentrated on wiping his fingers and mopping up the puddle in his saucer. He’d got much better at hiding his feelings now that he was an adult, but having Jess around had unsettled him. His control was shaky.

“Why don’t you ask Ned or Jack to read it?”

“Perhaps I will once you are finished, but I particularly want your opinion.”

He risked looking at her. She was smiling, but now there was a crease between her brows and her eyes had their worried look.

Of course she knew there were still problems between him and Jess.

“Please, Ash? I truly think it would help.”

Damn. He knew whom she thought it would help, and it wasn’t the author. And perhaps she was right. It couldn’t hurt.... Well, it would indeed be painful to read, but if he learned something that would show him how to resolve his issues with Jess, then it would be worth the suffering.

At least he hoped so.

“Very well. Though I can’t say when I shall be able to get to it.”

He’d swear she was going to clap her hands, but she managed to catch herself at the last minute and adjust her fichu instead. “Of course. I understand. Whenever you have a moment would be fine.” She smiled again. “But it would be splendid if you could read at least a few pages before we go to the Palmerson ball tonight.”

“Yes, well, I can’t promise. And now I hate to leave you alone. . . .” He’d hate more to stay and risk being quizzed about his relationship with Jess or, even worse, for Jess or one of his brothers to discover him with such embarrassing reading material. “But I’m afraid I really must depart.” He picked up the papers and stood.

Thankfully Mama didn’t ask him where he needed to be so early in the day, but she did frown at his plate. “You hardly ate any breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” He bowed and fled, though he did try to make his retreat look like a leisurely stroll rather than a panicked rout.

He paused in the entry hall. He couldn’t retreat to the study to read Mama’s booklet. Ned, or especially Jack, might come in and find him; they’d plague him unmercifully if they caught sight of what he was reading. Normally he’d go to his room, but Jess was there—

Damnation, he heard dog nails on the stairs and voices. Someone was coming with Fluff and Shakespeare.

“Madame Celeste is very quick.” That was Frances’s voice.

“Really? I can’t see how she can have a dress ready by tonight. She only took my measurements yesterday.”

And that was Jess. He saw their slippers. In a moment they would reach the landing and turn to see him—and ask him what he had in his hands.

He took his only path of escape—the front door.

Fortunately it was a warm morning, but he couldn’t very well sit on the stoop to read. He’d go to the park in the middle of the square. As he remembered, it had a few benches in among the trees. He’d be comfortable and, more importantly, he’d be hidden from view.

“Don’t worry,” Frances said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t have any suitable clothes either when I arrived in London.” She laughed. “Suitable? I was dressed as a boy, so obviously my situation was dire indeed. But Madame Celeste had two dresses ready in less than twenty-four hours. I’m certain you’ll have your gown in plenty of time for the ball tonight.”

“Oh. Th-that’s good then.” Jess’s stomach sank. It would be better if Madame Celeste was not quite so efficient. Attending her first ton event was going to be stressful enough, but attending it without Kit’s support—

Stupid! Why the hell had she thought she’d have his support? He hadn’t cared enough about her to spend last night in their bed.

No, that wasn’t quite true. The bedclothes on his side
were
mussed this morning. He must have arrived after she’d fallen asleep and left before she’d woken.

How . . . annoying.

She flushed. She should never have looked at the duchess’s shocking leaflets, but she’d skimmed through them after supper and had planned to try some of their suggestions. She’d been very, er,
anxious
to try them. Very,
very
anxious.

She’d waited expectantly for Kit to appear, but as the clock ticked the time away, she’d gone from excited—that was one way to describe the churning, needy feeling—to impatient to angry. She’d finally given up and blown out the candle. And then she’d tossed and turned for what had felt like hours. Fluff had almost abandoned her for the hearth.

Kit must have been in someone else’s bed. Where else could he have been? Talking to his brothers until all hours of the night? Not bloody likely.

No, he’d been out “visiting.” He had many beautiful women anxious to entertain him and a lot of time to make up for, since he hadn’t been able to indulge his lecherous urges on their trip from the manor.

Her flush deepened. Well, he
had
exercised those urges briefly when he’d touched her at the White Stag—and then he’d blamed
her
for being a light-skirt!

Damn it. The ton was certain to be gossiping about his nocturnal activities at the ball tonight, making her even more of a laughingstock.

Ohhh! If Kit were within reach right now, she’d kick him in the place that would do the most damage to his profligate ways. And to think she’d begun to doubt the rumors. She was such a fool.

She’d had enough. She would have it out with him tonight, after this dreadful ball they were committed to. She’d beg off going at all if she didn’t think the duchess would ask embarrassing questions—or, worse, waggle her eyebrows in that hideously knowing way.

William appeared from the back of the house and noticed the dogs—or the dogs noticed him. He was becoming quite their favorite. They rushed over to greet him.

“Hallo, boys,” he said, patting them. He smiled at Frances and her. “Shall I take them down to the kitchen, then, and find them some breakfast?”

Shakespeare sat up and begged, and Fluff so forgot himself as to woof with enthusiasm.

“I think so,” Frances said, laughing.

The dogs knew the way to the kitchen quite well and took off, leaving William to catch up.

“And now let’s have our breakfasts,” Frances said, leading the way into the breakfast room.

Jess followed her—

Blast, there was the duchess, sitting alone at the table. She’d been eyeing Kit and Jess all during supper the night before, clearly trying to divine what it was that was keeping them apart. Ha! She should tell the duchess where her son had been last night—or, rather, where he hadn’t been.
That
would stop the woman’s speculations.

Or, perhaps it wouldn’t. It was hard to tell with Kit’s mother. Best to hold her tongue and eat quickly so she could leave quickly. Her control was very fragile after such a trying—and lonely—night.

“Good morning.” The duchess beamed at them. “Did you run into Ash in the hall? He was just here.”

Oh, God. Jess reached for some toast and took a large bite. If she was chewing, she couldn’t say things she shouldn’t.

“No, Your Grace,” Frances said, “we didn’t.”

“Really?” Kit’s mother frowned. “I don’t see how you could have missed him. He left no more than a minute ago.” She shrugged, smiling again. She was sunnier than the damn celestial orb itself. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We don’t need him until it’s time to leave for Lord Palmerson’s.” She took a sip of tea. “Where’s Jack, Frances?”

“He got up early to visit his children.”

Jess inhaled a crumb and started coughing. Jack had children? She reached for her teacup.

“I was surprised, too,” the duchess said. “But it turns out Jack has set up a foundling home in Bromley. Can you believe it? And here I’d thought he was rather irresponsible.”

“He doesn’t want the ton to know what he’s doing,” Frances said, a slight frown appearing between her brows, “so please don’t say anything, Jess.”

“Of course I won’t.” Even if she were one to blab, which she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have the opportunity. Much as the duchess might think otherwise, the ton would give Jess the cut direct or, if not that, then avoid her as though she was carrying the plague. Which she was in their minds—she had the blood of an Irish groom in her veins, no matter how talented and respected he was.

Even Papa would say it was best to breed quality to quality if you wanted a good racehorse . . . or a future duke.

Kit should have thought of that eight years ago.

She glared at her toast. The playwright William Congreve had got it exactly right: “Married in haste, we repent at leisure.”

Why
had
Kit married her?

The duchess spread jam on her toast. “I’m glad you’re here—I wished to speak to you both about tonight’s engagement. I’m afraid it will be a terrible squeeze”—she smiled at Jess—“since word is sure to have got out that you and Ash will be attending. It might be hard to edge through the crowd, so I plan to arrive early and get settled in a comfortable spot.” She smiled again. “That might also curtail the number of people goggling at you and Ash, Jess.”

They wouldn’t be staring at Kit, they’d be gawping at her. Navigating a crowded room would not be a problem. The duchess need only let her lead the way. The crowd would part as though she were ringing a leper’s bell.

The duchess frowned slightly. “I hate to say this, but . . .” She leaned toward Jess. “Most people will be polite, but there is always one or two who won’t be.”

“Like Percy.”
Of course. It always came back to Percy.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, though I truly am hoping Percy behaves.” The duchess sighed and shook her head. “I really thought Miss Wharton would be the making of him, but if he doesn’t offer for her soon, I shall have to find her another gentleman. Her parents have threatened to marry her to an elderly neighbor if she doesn’t catch a husband by the end of the Season.”

“I thought Percy was on the verge of asking for her hand a few days ago when I saw him with Miss Wharton at Lady Wainwright’s Venetian breakfast,” Frances said.

“Yes, I thought so, too.” The duchess looked at Jess. “But now . . .”

Oh, God. Now her presence in Town would dash some poor spinster’s hopes in addition to everything else.

Why the hell did Percy still care what she did? He’d ruined her life and Kit’s—his job was done.

“Jack told me no one liked Percy growing up.” Frances helped herself to a slice of ham.

“I do feel sorry for the boy.” The duchess looked at Jess. “You must have known his parents were very unpleasant.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I had heard they were.” Of course she’d never met Percy’s parents. A baronet and his wife weren’t going to have anything to do with a groom’s daughter. Everyone—except her—knew what use the heir to a baronetcy would have for such a woman, and it didn’t involve introducing her to his parents.

But servants did gossip. Lady Headley was said to have been an overbearing woman who would pinch a penny until it howled for mercy. She reputedly bullied her husband and son shamelessly. Once she died, Percy’s father ran through all the family’s funds and expired nine months after his wife while in bed with two of the maids.

“I invited Percy to the Valentine house party year after year,” the duchess said, “hoping he’d find a nice girl who would settle him down. And I kept hoping he and Ash would resolve whatever it was that stood between them”—she smiled at Jess—“and become friends again.”

“They were never really friends,” Jess said.

“Well, yes, that’s true. But I’d hoped they’d at least come to terms with . . . things”—the duchess smiled again—“so Percy would stop spreading nasty rumors about you.”

“Which Ash believed.” That had always hurt, that Kit could think so little of her. But then why wouldn’t he? He’d caught her with Percy in such damning circumstances.

“Yes,” the duchess said, “just as you believed the rumors about Ash.”

Jess smiled weakly and concentrated on her toast. Of course Kit’s mother would say that.

She wished the duchess was right. Just yesterday in the park, Kit had told her she couldn’t believe everything she heard. He hadn’t denied the rumors completely—she’d noted that—but she’d thought he’d been on the verge of telling her the truth.

But then Jack had arrived, and the moment was lost.

Damn it, they could have discussed all that last night if Kit had come to bed at the proper time.

She forced herself to take a bite of toast and chew it thoroughly. The duchess and Frances had moved on to discussing some eccentric old woman who dressed her cats in silver and gold livery.