Loving Lord Ash (36 page)

“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not. Perhaps she would throw the damn sketchbook in the fire as she should have done when she’d been packing to leave the manor. “I thought you wished to depart, my lord.”

Roger, the blackguard, laughed. “Eager to be alone with your husband, are you, Lady Ashton?”

“No.” Her knee twitched, begging to repeat its performance from the ladies’ retiring room. “I seem to have suddenly taken ill.” She smiled with gritted teeth. “Apparently something—or someone—in the vicinity puts me out of humor.”

He laid a dramatic hand on his chest. “I’m cut to the quick, my dear Lady Ashton.”

She snorted. “I don’t believe that for one moment.” She poked him in the waistcoat. “You are far too busy about other people’s business, my lord.”

Roger captured her hand and cradled it against his chest. “In this case, yes, I am, and I shan’t even apologize. As long as my efforts bring about the desired results, I’m happy.”

She jerked her hand free. “Ha! Results desired by whom?”

He smiled and turned to Kit. “Good luck, Ashton. I’m afraid she really will cut off her nose to spite her face if you let her.”

“Why you—”

Kit covered her fist before she could swing it at Roger’s face. “Perhaps it would have been wiser not to have said that, Trendal.”

Roger grinned. “I am just getting her blood pumping. I’ve often found that one sort of passion leads to another.” He waggled his blasted eyebrows.

Ohhh, she was going to stomp on his dancing slippers, not that that would do much damage, unfortunately.

“I do believe you are making things worse.” Kit kept a very firm hold on her. “Come along, my dear. You can vent your spleen on me in the privacy of the carriage.”

She treated Roger to her nastiest look as she spoke to Kit. “There is hardly time for that. As I remember it’s a very short ride.”

Kit inclined his head. “Then you can flay me with your tongue once we are safely inside Greycliffe House.”

“Ah, now
that
sounds like fun.” Roger winked. “A tongue can be a lethal weapon in so many ways.”

Now what the hell was he getting at? And why was Kit suddenly blushing?

“Good evening, Trendal,” Kit said. “Shall we continue, my dear?”

“Yes, indeed. We have lingered here”—she glared at Roger—“far too long.”

They made their way around the perimeter of the ballroom. Jack and Frances were dancing; Kit’s mother and father were on the other side of the room with Miss Wharton and a man and woman who must be her parents. Miss Wharton’s mother looked remarkably like a peacock—or, rather, peahen. She had a very beaklike nose and a collection of plumes that trembled on her head. Her husband was more like a toad, squat and brown, but puffed up at the moment from the duke’s and duchess’s attention.

“Do you think Percy will actually present himself to Miss Wharton’s father tomorrow?” She hoped so. Surely if Percy had a wife and family, he would leave her alone.

“Yes, I believe he will. I thought he appeared thoroughly smitten with Miss Wharton when he proposed, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “It was as if all the anger and ill-humor had drained out of him like . . . like pus from a boil.”

Kit chuckled. “There must be a more attractive way to say that.”

“I think it’s quite apt. Percy
has
been a painful, annoying boil on my side for as long as I can remember.”

She could feel Kit looking at her. He must be thinking about that horrible afternoon in the Greycliffe studio. They would have to speak about that, likely tonight when they got back to Greycliffe House. That and the paper they’d signed at the White Stag and a few other things.

Her stomach tightened. She didn’t look forward to that conversation, but it couldn’t be avoided any longer.

And then she saw Mr. Huntington. Damnation. She didn’t want to have another confrontation this evening.

Mr. Huntington caught sight of them—and jumped behind some potted palms.

“What’s the matter with him?”

Kit grinned. “I believe he developed a hearty respect for me after our first meeting. He’s been avoiding me whenever our paths threaten to cross.”

“It is too bad you weren’t at Blackweith Manor, then. I could have used someone to discourage the fellow.”

Kit’s hand squeezed hers. “I should have been there, Jess. I should never have left you so unprotected.”

A lump blocked her throat; she swallowed it. “Oh, I wasn’t unprotected. I had Roger and Dennis.”

“You should have had your husband.”

Yes, and she would have if she hadn’t been so stupid that day in the studio....

Or perhaps if Kit hadn’t found her with Percy, he would never have married her. It was his sense of chivalry that had prompted him to offer for her, nothing else.

Or was Percy right? Did Kit love her?

She would find out tonight.

The lump in her throat grew and moved to her stomach.

Chapter Twenty

At some point, you just have to
close your eyes and leap.

—Venus’s Love Notes

“My lord!” Braxton’s eyes widened as he opened the door. “We didn’t expect you home so early.” He peered over Ash’s shoulder. “Is it just you and Lady Ashton, then?”

“Yes, Braxton.” Ash forced himself to smile. “I believe London balls may require some getting used to after years in the country. They are very crowded, hot, and noisy. We decided we had had enough.”

“Ah. I see.”

Braxton’s bewildered expression indicated he did not see at all. The man’s gaze shifted to Jess, who was standing stiffly at Ash’s side, and his face grew tight with worry. Damnation. Now the staff would be speculating about their marriage.

Whom was he fooling? The staff—both here and at the castle—had been speculating for eight years. He’d hoped to begin to resolve the issue in the carriage, but Jess had been correct: the ride had been far too short. He would have barely got her bodice loosened—

And he would have got his face soundly slapped. She’d moved to the far wall as soon as she’d got into the coach, much as she had on their trip from the country. They’d ridden the whole way in silence.

Clearly there was still rough ground to get over before he could hope for marital bliss. But now they would go to their room and talk and then—

Perhaps
then. Talking had to come first. He could not allow himself to think about anything else or he’d be incapable of talking at all. He’d wish to rush directly to, er, doing, which would likely result in him encountering Jess’s balled fist or worse.

His cock flinched at the memory of how she’d dealt with Percy.

“Are Ned and his wife still up?” He didn’t particularly wish to speak to either of them, but Braxton would expect him to inquire.

“No, my lord. Lady Edward gets very tired, being in the family way. I believe they went up to their room several hours ago.”

“I see.” Good. No need to make small talk, or risk having Ned or Ellie guess they’d been involved in something other than dancing tonight. Some version of the story would be making the rounds tomorrow, but by then he hoped he wouldn’t care what people said.

“Shall I have some tea and cakes sent up to the drawing room, my lord?”

“No, thank you, Braxton. Lady Ashton and I are going to retire for the night as well.”

Braxton grinned. “Very good, my lord.”

Oh, damn. Had Jess noticed Braxton’s expression?

She had. Her jaw hardened. Ash hurried her toward the stairs.

“Good night, my lord, my lady,” Braxton called after them, waggling his brows.

Well to be honest, Ash, too, hoped something more than sleep would occur this evening.

“I hope you’re not thinking what Braxton is,” Jess muttered.

Damn. “Er, what is Braxton thinking?” He remembered a caution from Mama’s handbook:
Don’t assume you know what is in a woman’s mind.

He was afraid he knew all too well what Jess was thinking, but it was far safer to pretend not to. He opened the door to their bedchamber and waited for her to precede him.

Fluff was lying in the middle of the bed. He lifted his head, gave a welcoming woof, beat the mattress a few times with his tail—and dropped his head back on Ash’s pillow, damn it.

He was a smart animal. He knew when to lie low.

“That we will . . . that you will . . .” Jess stepped away and faced him. “Nothing will happen until we talk.”

Did she think he was going to pounce on her like a wild animal?

His cock was quite taken with that notion.

He sent it a strong admonition to behave.

“Of course.” He closed the door. “Let us sit and converse.” He gestured to the settee.

Jess crossed her arms and glared at him.

Perhaps he really should have tried to coax her into conversation on their way home. Mama’s handbook had said ladies sometimes worked themselves into a lather if left too long to muse on a problem. Hell, even Darby, the ancient coachman who’d driven them up to London, had said that.

“First, we need to discuss that paper you had us sign at the White Stag,” Jess said. She lifted a brow. “Remember?”

“Yes.” Where the hell was she going with this? She was definitely trying to pick a fight.

He tightened the reins on his temper. Giving in to his urge to respond in kind would only earn him a large dog down the center of the bed again. And he should get the damn thing out anyway. He would not give up hope of burning it this evening. “I have it in my bureau. Shall I get it?”

“Please do.”

He went over and pulled open his sock drawer, rummaging around until he found the sheet. “Here—”

Jess snatched it out of his hands. “Do you remember what you promised?”

“Yes.”

She read it aloud anyway:

“I, Christopher, Marquis of Ashton, in consideration of my wife forsaking all others, swear that I will not engage in sexual congress with any other woman.”

“And so I haven’t.” He grinned in what he hoped she’d take as a joking rather than lecherous way. “I haven’t even engaged in sexual congress with my wife.”

Oh, all right, that had been his cock talking, but damnation, he was frustrated.

Jess inhaled sharply, her brows snapping down as she slammed the paper on a side table. “So where were you last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“You weren’t in bed.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Not when I went to sleep.”

He was willing to grant that Jess was not quite as experienced as he’d first thought, but surely she must comprehend the effect she had on him. “No, I was downstairs in the study drinking—you can ask Ned or Jack if you doubt me. They were there”—he grimaced—“until they went upstairs to their wives.”

Her frown lightened to a look of puzzlement. “So why didn’t you come upstairs, too?”

Zeus!
“Because I was afraid I would lose control and try to have sexual congress with my wife, of course. I am not a bloody statue, madam.” His damn cock, apparently oblivious to the danger, was insisting that he’d like to have some sexual congress right now. It was getting hard—no, it was getting
difficult
—to think. “Can we sit down?”

She flushed and stepped away from him.

“Good God, Jess. I won’t ra—”
No!
He had to get hold of his blasted tongue.

And now he couldn’t think about tongues, not after Trendal’s comment at the ball.

“You must know I won’t touch you without your consent. You do not need to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She glared at him. “Perhaps
you
should be afraid of
me
.”

What the hell did she mean by that? Was she struggling to restrain her own amorous urges?

More likely her urges involved a fist or knee applied vigorously to his person.

“We still have points to discuss before . . . before anything else may or may not happen.” She crossed her arms—and his brainless cock hoped she did so to keep from reaching for him.

“Percy admitted that he’d been the author of many of the rumors concerning your raking, but I find it hard to believe he was behind all of them. A man of your age and rank surely must have a few indiscretions in his past. I need to know if I’m likely to run into any of your by-blows.” Her flush deepened. “I merely wish to be forewarned, you understand. After years of living with people whispering about me, I’ve become a bit sensitive. I hate it when everyone else knows something I do not.”

Ah, so Percy was the one behind her odd notions of his vast amatory experience. That wasn’t a surprise. “You don’t have to worry about by-blows.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t have any.”

“How do you know?”

“I—” Cowardice raised its ugly head. He cleared his throat. “Men just know these things.”

Zeus, lightning should strike him dead right where he stood.

Of course Jess didn’t accept that. She frowned. “Are you impotent?”

“Good God, no.”

“Do you have the pox?”

“No! Where are you getting these ideas?”

“The manor servants sometimes talked among themselves and forgot I was nearby.” She chewed her lip. Suddenly her eyes widened. “Is that it? Do you prefer men? But I’m sure Roger would have told me if that were the case, and—”

“I’m a bloody virgin!”

All right, he shouldn’t have shouted that. Fluff woofed again and glared at him. Thank God the door was closed. No one but Jess—and Fluff—had heard him.

He hoped.

Hell
. He closed his eyes. What did it matter? The most important person had heard. Now Jess knew he was no better than a boy—
less
experienced, in fact, than most boys.

“But you’re thirty years old.”

“I
know
how old I am.” He felt like a two-headed snake at a Bartholomew Fair.

Remember, the truth would have come out eventually, at an even more awkward moment. There was no hiding his ignorance.

He flushed. “You’ll have to teach me all you know.”

“Damn it, Kit. For the last time, I’m as virginal as you are.”