Loving Lord Ash (33 page)

There was a trap here somewhere. “I’m surprised, too. You must have comprehended that I would have gladly torn you limb from limb in that studio.”

Trendal nodded. “Yes. I was actually happy to see your anger. It meant you still care for Jess.”

The damn effrontery of the fellow. “Of course I care for her. Jess is my wife.”

Trendal’s brows snapped down. “Then why the hell did you abandon her for eight bloody years?”

“That is none of your bloody business.” Ash struggled for control. Much as he’d like to rearrange the man’s face, Trendal
had
stood by Jess. “I thank you for being her friend, but I do not discuss my marriage.”

Trendal glared at him, and Ash glared back. Concern that the gossips might be watching them whispered through his mind, but he was too angry to heed it.

Trendal dropped his eyes first to examine his fingernails. “She loves you, you know.”

Ash froze. Part of him wanted to scoff—how the hell did this Miss Molly know Jess loved him? And part of him wanted desperately to believe the man.

“I told her to go after you and settle things, but from what I’ve observed tonight, nothing at all has been settled.” Trendal looked back at Ash. “Have you seen her sketchbook?”

“Sketchbook? No.” So Jess had shown the book to this fellow, but she wouldn’t let him look at it?

Hurt mixed with his anger. He’d like very much to hit something. Perhaps Trendal. He clenched his fists. But not in Palmerson’s ballroom in front of all the ton.

He’d give Trendal credit; the man never flinched, though he was clearly aware Ash wanted to pummel him.

“No, she didn’t show it to me, but I suspect you should see it. Ask her to let you.” Trendal inclined his head. “And now I hesitate to risk taking that flush hit you so wish to give me—which would delight the gossips and make Lady Palmerson’s ball the talk of the Season—but I feel I should tell you Sir Percy has left the room—”

“I don’t care where that blackguard goes.”

“—through the same door Jess used just a few minutes ago.”

“Bloody hell.” So Jess was trysting with Percy again. He should let her go.

No, this was his chance to put an end to his foolish hopes once and for all. Jess didn’t love him; she didn’t even respect him enough to honor her written promise.

“If you’ll excuse me, Trendal?”

Trendal stepped back. “Do try not to be a complete idiot, Ashton.”

As soon as Jess opened the door to the room set aside for women to repair their flounces and attend to other matters of a personal nature, she heard sobbing. Damnation. She wanted to speak to the girl but she didn’t relish dealing with a female watering pot.

Jess looked around. The sobber must be hidden behind the privacy screen or one of the high-backed chairs. She flinched as the woman let out a particularly piercing wail. Anyone passing in the corridor might have heard that. She closed the door firmly behind her.

Was no one with the girl? She listened for the murmur of another voice offering words of comfort or at least a warning that she should try to muffle her misery.

Nothing. Only the deep wracking sobs.

The girl had to be the one she’d seen with Percy, but that blackguard certainly didn’t deserve such tears; instead, whoever it was should be capering about with joy at being quit of him.

Jess cleared her throat, but got no response. She tried again. “Pardon me, but are you all right?”

She heard a gasp, and the crying stopped abruptly. The girl didn’t show herself, but Jess thought she’d seen a flash of puce-colored fabric by the wing chair across the room. She headed in that direction.

“I’m f-fine. Go away.”

The “away” stretched out into a wail followed by a hiccupped sob and then a low moan. Clearly she was
not
fine.

“Shall I get your mother?”

“No!” Panic vibrated in her suddenly shrill voice. “Good God, do not get Mama, I beg of you. That would be disastrous. She’d drag me home at once and make me marry old Mr. Wattles. He’s already gone through three wives. I would be his fourth.”

Another torrent of sobbing ensued.

Clearly this was not the time to point out Jess could add three plus one to get four.

“Then let me sit with you. I am Lady Ashton—”

“What?!”
The girl jumped out of her chair and turned to glare at Jess. She looked like a deranged grape.

“You
jezebel!
Why did you have to come to London now?” Her bosom heaved; she dashed tears from her eyes. “Why couldn’t you have stayed hidden in the country for even one more week? Ohhh, I
hate
you.”

Jess could only gawp. Deranged indeed. The poor girl. It was a wonder her relatives let her go about in society.

And then the girl slapped her hands over her face and started sobbing again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so . . . so . . .”

“Miss . . .” What was her name?

“Wharton.”

“Miss Whar—” Oh, dear, did she hear voices in the corridor?

Miss Wharton must have heard them, too. Her entire body jerked. “Don’t let them in. I can’t . . . they’ll see . . .”

Jess did the only thing she could think of. She ran to the door and leaned against it.

The doorknob rattled, and then the door started to open.

She dug in her heels and pushed back, gesturing to Miss Wharton to come help—they’d have better luck keeping the door shut if they used both their weights.

And they’d better keep it shut. It would look very odd indeed if they were discovered trying to prevent women from coming into the retiring room. She had a sudden memory of Charlie and Ralph darting, giggling, into the large linen closet at the manor.

Good God! People would begin to think she had unusual proclivities, especially given the peculiar state of her marriage.

Miss Wharton hurried over to add her considerable bulk to the effort.

“Something’s wrong, Melinda,” one of the women in the corridor said. “I thought the door started to open, but now I can’t get it to budge.”

“Let me try, Clarissa.”

Miss Wharton turned white as a sheet. Jess elbowed her and gave her a pointed look. This was no time to swoon, though at least if she went down, she’d block the door.

Miss Wharton nodded and pushed back harder.

“You’re right,” Melinda said. “I can’t get it to give an inch.”

“What could Lady Palmerson be thinking to lock the door to the ladies’ retiring room during a ball?” That was Clarissa. “I need to piss in the worst way.”

Miss Wharton made a strangled sound, which she quickly muffled.

“What was that?” Melinda asked.

“What do you mean, what was that?” Clarissa sounded very out of sorts and perhaps a touch desperate.

“I thought I heard a noise coming from that room.”

Something thudded against the door, as if one of the women had thrown her weight against it. Jess was very glad she and Miss Wharton were working together. The door didn’t move.

“I don’t know how anyone could have got in there,” Clarissa said. “Come on. Let’s find Lady Palmerson before I need to go so badly I can’t walk.”

The women retreated.

“Oh, dear Lord.” Miss Wharton was back to moaning. “I am ruined. I may as well let Mama take me home now and tell Mr. Wattles we will set the date.”

“What do you mean? Who were those women?”

“You don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew, would I?” Jess was beginning to lose patience with the girl.

“Clarissa,” Miss Wharton said in the voice of doom, “is Lady Dunlee, the biggest gossip in London, and Melinda is Mrs. Fallwell, her bosom friend and London’s second biggest gossip.”

“Oh, I see.” That
was
bad. “Then we had better settle your problem and leave as quickly as possible.” Jess kept her voice down. They should stay pressed to the door in case someone else came along. “Why do you hate me? We’ve never met.”

Wait, she had heard the girl’s name before. “Oh, that’s right. You’re the woman the duchess is trying to match with Percy.”

Miss Wharton turned her head to look at her gloomily. Apparently she’d spent her anger. “Yes. And you’ve gone and spoiled everything.”

“How in the world have I done that?”

“Percy was just about to pop the question, and now all he can think and talk about is you. He’s in love with you.” And she started to cry again.

“Miss Wharton, please. Get a hold of yourself. We don’t have much time. Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell might be back with Lady Palmerson at any moment.”

Miss Wharton swallowed two or three times, but finally managed to stop the waterworks. “He said he’s loved you since you were children, and you broke his heart.”

“Gammon! If he truly believes that, he’s a bedlamite. I no more broke his heart than Lady Dunlee broke this very solid door. He’s using me as an excuse to avoid meeting you at the altar.” Typical behavior for Percy, but she wouldn’t say that. The girl looked to be sincerely attached to the worm. “I’m sorry.”

Miss Wharton shook her head. “No, he really does love you.”

How to explain her error without going into the gory details of that hideous afternoon in the Greycliffe studio? “Miss Wharton, I promise you, Percy could have married me if he’d wanted to. He was in a position to propose, and he declined to do so most emphatically.”

Miss Wharton stared at her. “And I promise you he loves you.” She shrugged and looked away. “It’s almost an obsession. Lady Ophelia Upton, his longtime female companion, told me it’s why she broke off her, er, connection with him.”

Good God. If Percy loved her, he had a very odd way of showing it.

No, he
couldn’t
love her. The notion was absurd. But Miss Wharton clearly believed that he did. “Even if he does love me, Miss Wharton, it makes no difference. I’m married.”

Miss Wharton nodded. “And he hates Lord Ashton with a passion.”

Ohhh, if Percy were in the room right now, she’d bash the chamber pot over his head.

“Do you love Percy?” Miss Wharton asked.

But first she’d use the chamber pot. Just thinking about Percy and his machinations made her stomach heave.

“Of course not. I love my husband.” Fool that she was.

“But you’ve been estranged. Percy says Lord Ashton is going to divorce you.”

“Percy knows nothing about my marriage, but even if Lord Ashton and I part ways, I would never
ever
have anything to do with Percy.”

Miss Wharton looked extremely dubious.

“More to the point, do
you
love Percy?”

Miss Wharton nodded decisively. “Yes, I do. I’ll admit at first I pursued him because I needed a husband, and I couldn’t get Lord Ned or Lord Jack to propose.”

Oh, dear. Hopefully Jess’s shock and, well, amusement didn’t show on her face. Miss Wharton didn’t strike her as the type of girl who would appeal to Ned or Jack.

“But now I really do care for him.”

“You shouldn’t. You must see he’s a nasty individual.” The words were out before Jess could swallow them. It was none of her concern what Miss Wharton did, but still, she couldn’t bear to think the woman would throw her life away on such a scoundrel.

Miss Wharton was shaking her head. “But don’t you see? He’s not nasty with me. He’s kind and gentle.”

“Percy?”
If Miss Wharton could make Percy behave in a fashion even approaching kind or gentle, she was a magician.

“Yes. Oh, I know he’s got a deep streak of anger, but he’s never been angry with me . . . well, except just now in the ballroom. He was a bit short with me then. But that was only because you’d reentered his life. If it weren’t for you . . .” Miss Wharton looked Jess in the eye. “If you will only stand aside, Lady Ashton, I think Percy will marry me. And I’m certain I can make him happy.”

Jess felt a momentary urge to scream. “Miss Wharton, I cannot step aside because I’ve never been in the way. I’m already wed, and I want absolutely nothing to do with Percy. He’s a complete and utter fool if he doesn’t marry you, and I’d be delighted to tell him so.” It was about time someone tried to force some sense into Percy’s hard little brain.

“Would you?” Miss Wharton looked hopeful—but then she sighed and her shoulders drooped. “No, you can’t. He won’t listen.”

Damn Percy. It was bad enough that he’d been making her and Kit’s lives miserable all these years, but to play with Miss Wharton’s affections, especially when he must know she needed a husband desperately, was unconscionable.

“He’d better listen, because I’m going to find him right now and tell him exactly that.” She stepped away from the door and jerked it open.

Miss Wharton grabbed her arm. “Oh, no, please, Lady Ashton. Only consider! At Lady Palmerson’s ball? Think of the scandal if you are discovered. I’m not worth that.”

Jess shook off Miss Wharton’s hold and stepped into the corridor. “You
are
worth it, Miss Wharton, but this is not only about you—or even largely about you. Percy has been a thorn in my side forever. He has much to answer for, and I believe the time has come for him to do so.”

Miss Wharton followed, wringing her hands. “But perhaps you should wait until tomorrow? Give yourself a chance to sleep on it?”

“I have ‘slept on it’ for far too many nights. I don’t intend to sleep again until I’ve confronted the blackguard.” But where to find the worm? She’d haul him off the ballroom floor if she had to, but she would rather not, not so much because of the scandal but because someone might try to stop her.

“Oh, no, Lady Ashton. Percy isn’t a blackguard, really he isn’t. He just needs someone who understands him. His parents were horrible to him”—Miss Wharton flushed—“much as mine are to me.”

Jess listened with only half an ear as she headed back toward the ballroom—

Wait a minute. Had she seen motion up ahead? Yes.

“Well, look who’s here. Were you lurking in the shadows for me, Percy?”

Percy stepped out of an alcove he’d shared with the statue of some naked Greek god. “Of course, my dear. I began to think you were avoiding me.”

“Well, I’m finished avoiding you now.”

Miss Wharton inserted herself between them. “Percy, let’s return to the ballroom.”