Mad About the Earl (30 page)

So, Lady Arden approved of Jacqueline despite the odd abruptness of the girl’s manners. Indeed, Rosamund suspected that her sister-in-law would need to take up prostitution or murder someone to rate any society matron’s disapproval. Her merest utterance was interpreted as wit, her occasional awkwardness dubbed a pleasing freshness and lack of pretension.

She suspected Jacqueline’s path had been eased considerably by the news of the enormous dowry Griffin would set aside for her.

For Jacqueline’s sake, Rosamund was glad. The girl paid no attention to the toadies who gushed over her. Even so, the warmth with which she was received by haughty women like Lady Arden could not help but add to her confidence.

The door opened to admit another visitor.

“Ah!” said Lady Arden. “There you are, my dear boy. Do come in.”

Rosamund had her back to the door and so did not see who entered, but Jacqueline did. Her sister-in-law’s eyes widened, and she made a convulsive movement with her hands, as if she wished to stretch them out but couldn’t.

The gentleman—for gentleman it was—rounded the sofa so that Rosamund could get a good look at him. “Mr. Maddox!” Rosamund said, rising to curtsy. “How delightful to see
you
here.”

She said it quite as if she hadn’t scribbled a note to him recommending that he follow them to Town. Well, but she
was
surprised. She’d no notion he was acquainted with Lady Arden.

Rosamund sent a glance toward Jacqueline, who hastily got up and bobbed a curtsy.

Maddox had been smiling, but at the sight of Jacqueline, he froze.

“A transformation, is it not?” said Rosamund softly.

The gown Jacqueline wore was white muslin embroidered all over with violets. The deep, vibrant color of the flowers somehow made Jacqueline’s eyes appear blue rather than gray. Her hair had been cut and styled with a modish simplicity that was vastly becoming to her. A faint flush pinked her cheeks. She looked, Rosamund thought, very pretty indeed.

In a moment, the spell that seemed to bind Maddox broke. He bowed to her and Jacqueline and moved forward to kiss Lady Arden’s cheek.

“Do sit down, Anthony,” said Lady Arden. She smiled at them all impartially. “I believe you are acquainted?”

“We are,” answered Maddox. “Or at least, we used to be.”

A puzzled, hurt look crossed Jacqueline’s face. She glanced at Rosamund, as if for support. “It was not so long ago that we were friends, Mr. Maddox. I hope that, at least, has not altered.”

The fortnight they’d spent in London allowing Jacqueline to slowly become accustomed to the ton had altered her appearance. It had also taught her a modicum of restraint. So when Rosamund smoothly interceded to speak of neutral topics, Jacqueline did not burst out with some ill-considered remark but instead, followed Rosamund’s lead.

Half an hour passed in meaningless social chitchat. During that time, Rosamund was pleased to observe that Mr. Maddox could barely take his eyes from Jacqueline, though he appeared to listen and respond to all that was said. Jacqueline was subdued, and her face retained its flush. When Rosamund signaled it was time to take their leave, Jacqueline leaped up with a trifle more alacrity than politeness.

As she stood to go, Rosamund said, “Mr. Maddox, I plan to give a ball in a fortnight. I trust you will still be in Town? I shall send you a card for it.”

His brows drew together slightly. “Is that wise?”

Rosamund smiled. “I’ll leave you to be the judge of that, Mr. Maddox.”

When they were safely inside the carriage, Jacqueline put her hand on Rosamund’s arm. “Oh, Rosie, Griffin will kill you! A ball
and
Mr. Maddox! You do believe in taking the bull by the horns, don’t you?”

“I daresay he’ll be in a towering rage when he finds out,” she agreed. And she did not think that this time it would culminate in wild, vigorous lovemaking. “By then, it will be too late.”

I can manage him, Tibby.
Had she actually said those words? She wasn’t at all certain she could manage
this
. At least, not without resorting to underhanded means that were completely unworthy of a Westruther.

But there had been that look in Maddox’s eyes when they rested on Jacqueline. Rosamund shivered, closing her eyes as the most blatant and painful longing welled inside her. Not for Maddox to look at her that way, of course. But oh, she wished Griffin would!

Jacqueline said, “Did you think Tony had changed, Rosamund? He was so … guarded, so formal in his manners.”

“You could hardly expect him to tease you the way he does at home,” said Rosamund. “Not in Lady Arden’s presence.”

“Yes,” said Jacqueline, brightening a little. “That must be it.”

Rosamund hesitated. Then she said, “Perhaps it is you who have altered. Perhaps the change was unwelcome to Mr. Maddox.”

Jacqueline frowned. “What on earth do you mean? You said I look a thousand times prettier in my new clothes. Though I am no judge, I
feel
prettier in them.”

“You were always a very attractive girl,” said Rosamund firmly. “The gowns and the hair merely show your looks to best advantage. I have a theory,” she added, “that Mr. Maddox was content for you to remain home at Pendon Place and never spread your wings. He had you all to himself then, didn’t he? Now he must compete with all the other young bucks vying for your favors.”

“They only want my money,” said Jacqueline.

“There are plenty of gentlemen among your admirers who do not give a fig about your money,” said Rosamund, and it was true. “As Mr. Maddox will discover when he comes to our ball.”

Doubtful, Jacqueline said, “So this is all a ploy to make Tony jealous?” She wrinkled her nose a little in distaste.

“Of course not. But it will show him how you are to be appreciated, my dear. I believe he cares for you a great deal, but he does tend to treat you as if you are another man on occasion. He will learn that he ought to have more care.”

Jacqueline digested this. “You do not go to all this trouble for nothing, Rosie. Are you trying to make a match between me and Mr. Maddox? I—I wish you would not.” Her voice trembled on the last words, and her gray eyes shimmered with tears.

“My dear, whatever is the matter?”

Jacqueline dashed moisture away from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, you have no notion! It is so hopeless. Every time I see him, I forget. And later, it comes rushing back to me and I feel sick, Rosie. Rosamund, I
cannot
marry Tony. Griffin is perfectly right about that.”

Shocked to her soul, Rosamund put her arms around Jacqueline and held her as close as she was able with their bonnets in the way. “But why, darling? Can’t you tell me?”

Jacqueline shook her head and burst into sobs. Rosamund murmured reassurance and tried her best to soothe her.

The carriage halted, and Jacqueline made a heroic effort to compose herself.

“Go straight up,” said Rosamund. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“No, don’t,” said Jacqueline, trying to smile. “Truly, I am well. And I—I think I should like to be alone for a while.”

*   *   *

Griffin arrived home late, a little jollier for the brandy he’d imbibed with Lydgate and his cronies at Lydgate’s club. A trifle jollier but by no means intoxicated.

He went to his dressing room, where his valet awaited him. “Ah, there you are, Dearlove.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Dearlove, reaching up to ease the tight-fitting black coat from Griffin’s shoulders. “A pleasant evening, my lord?”

“Yes,” said Griffin. “It was.”

Lydgate’s friends had been far more congenial than he’d expected. Whether it was out of consideration for Rosamund or a liking for him, Griffin didn’t know, but Lydgate had gone out of his way to introduce Griffin to the ton and to pave his way wherever possible.

Yes, the evening had been a pleasant one. And now he proposed to spend an even more pleasant interlude in the arms of his wife. “Lady Rosamund home yet?”

“I believe the countess and Lady Jacqueline returned an hour ago, my lord.”

“Very good.” Griffin sat in his comfortable wingback chair and extended his leg. Dearlove donned gloves to remove Griffin’s boots, handling them with as much care as if they’d been a pair of infants rather than footwear. But Griffin had become accustomed to Dearlove’s foibles and he forbore to scoff.

After a quick wash and a vigorous scrub of his teeth, Griffin dismissed his valet. He donned a dressing gown and went into the bedchamber he shared with Rosamund. Oh, she had her own apartments, of course, but she rarely slept anywhere but in his bed.

Tonight, however, there was no warm, willing woman waiting for him beneath the covers. He shrugged. Perhaps she hadn’t finished undressing.

Impatient to see her, he crossed the bedchamber to the other side of his suite, continued through two sitting rooms and into the bedchamber that had been reserved for Rosamund’s use.

Here, he found her standing before the full-length cheval glass, staring pensively at her own reflection.

And well she might stare. The breath left his lungs in an audible
whoosh
.

The garment was a simple robe in the Grecian style so popular earlier in the century. Low at the bosom, high at the waist. Very plain. Nothing startling in that.

But the material from which this particular garment was fashioned was so filmy as to be almost completely transparent.

Rosamund wore nothing underneath but her skin. Her firm, high buttocks and long legs showed clearly through that scandalous gown. In her reflection, he saw, with a surge of hunger, the shadows of her nipples, the contours of her breasts and hips, the slightly darker triangle of hair on her pubis.

She looked like a beautiful goddess. Aphrodite, perhaps? One of the saucier ones, anyway. Her bearing had that same mixture of regality and innocence and sinful knowing that never failed to send him wild.

“My God, woman,” he said hoarsely. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Send me to an early grave?”

She turned her head. Then she smiled that siren’s smile of hers, and he was lost.

They made love in one of their passionate frenzies, falling into slumber almost instantly. In the morning, he woke, lying on his side with her body pressed against him, her backside snuggled into his groin.

A groin that was rock hard and aching for release.

He reached around and touched her, bringing her quickly to a long, muted, shivery orgasm.

“Mmm.” She smiled sleepily. “That was a nice way to wake up.”

Deliberately, she pressed back against him. “Do you have something else I might like?”

“Let me see,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They had not left their bed yet when Rosamund finally broached the subject she’d been warming up to all night.

She had meant to raise it with him as soon as he came in, but he’d caught her trying on one of the scandalous garments she’d ordered from the back room of that clever modiste Jane had told Cecily about.

It had all gone downhill from there. Or at least, the lovemaking had been more than satisfactory, but it had made it impossible for her to mention Maddox. Nor was it the perfect time to speak of Jacqueline’s suitor now. Griffin might well see such behavior as manipulative and dig in his heels.

But, well, she had to approach him about it sometime, didn’t she? Perhaps it
was
manipulative of her, but she owed it to Jacqueline to tackle the issue when Griffin was in his mellowest mood.

And he was exceedingly pleased with himself today.

“I do not think I shall walk for a week,” she murmured, stretching.

Griffin laid his hand on her breast. “That would be tragic. I might have to stay here and tend to your needs.”

“How should we survive?” said Rosamund.

She sighed as he bent to lick her nipple. She caressed his hair, enjoying the exquisite sensations. Soon, however, she urged him to lift his head so that he looked in her eyes.

“Griffin, I need to talk to you about something.”

His eyes took a moment to focus. Then he muttered what sounded like an oath under his breath and flung himself onto his back. “I knew it was too good to last. Talk away.”

“I want to ask you about Jacqueline. And Mr. Maddox.”

He muttered an oath but she held up a hand. “I am not going to pester you any more on the subject of his courting her—although I still cannot see the objection—but Griffin, Jacqueline was in tears yesterday afternoon, and I want to know why.”

Griffin kneaded his temple with the heels of his hands. “How should I know? Females turn into watering pots at the drop of a hat, don’t they?”

“Not Jacqueline,” said Rosamund quietly. “In fact, the only other time I’ve seen her tearful was when you—” She broke off, realizing that what she’d been about to say would scarcely lighten his mood.

“When I what, my lady? I am quite accustomed to figuring as the ogre, so you needn’t think to spare my feelings.”