by Jen YatesNZ
‘A pleasant man,’ she murmured.
A veritable snort sounded from above her head.
‘He was sniffing round your skirts!’
‘They’re my skirts, Lord Baxendene,’ she responded, eminently pleased with the calm, reasonable tone of her voice.
‘And if I want to make them mine?’ he growled.
‘Then I’d say—get in line! The box office is not open yet!’
Slipping her hand from his arm she stepped lightly off the bottom step and hurried forward to tuck her hand in Selena’s free arm as they headed outside to wait for the carriages.
Nevertheless, she was aware the Great Bax had come to a stunned standstill on the bottom step and wondered what she’d said that arrested him so.
He caught up with them as Jane was telling Lord Falcon-Smythe Selena would travel in her uncle’s carriage and they’d meet up at Gunter’s for ices.
At the fashionable teashop on Berkeley Square Falcon-Smythe was waiting to take Selena’s arm the moment her uncle handed her down, having summarily abandoned his sister to Lord Mowbray’s care.
Blocking the carriage door, Hades refused to assist Jane down until the others were entering the teashop. Then with a determined glint in his eyes he handed her to the pavement, holding her captive mere inches from his body.
‘The box office is not open—yet?’ he growled. ‘What—exactly—are you saying, Jane?’
Puzzled, she stared up into his smoldering eyes.
‘If—if gentlemen are going to start lining up for my attention you can get in line with everyone else—like at a play or the opera. The box office is not open yet. In fact, it has no intention of opening as I do believe the season for this particular play is over. What else could I have meant?’
He stared deeply into her eyes, assessing, as if searching for some other meaning entirely.
‘What indeed!’ he murmured.
And he didn’t need to grip her hand where he’d placed it on his sleeve—as if—as if he had proprietorial rights!
Though there was a deep, wicked place within her yearning to give him just that. Blast the man!
Lord Mowbray had found a table to accommodate the large party. Selena, in alt, was voicing her delight in making new friends and promising invitations to her ball at the end of the week. Bax smiled benignly at her, clearly considering present company acceptable for his niece.
Jane let her gaze roam the crowded room and was startled to see her stepson, Jack Galsworthy enter the teashop with another man and two stunningly dressed women. A look of startled discomfiture crossed his face as his roaming gaze found Jane. With a swift aside to the others in his party he crossed the room to greet Jane and kiss her cheek.
‘I didn’t know you were coming up to town, Mama,’ he said. ‘What brings you? Time to put off your mourning and visit La Callie?’
‘Certainly I’ll be doing that, but I’ve come up to help Lady Brisco chaperone her niece for her first season. You must know Lord Baxendene, Lady Brisco’s brother?’
‘I do,’ Jack said, with a genial smile and Bax responded with a terse nod then went on to make introductions around the table.
‘Why do you not introduce us to your friends?’ Jane asked Jack.
Giving her a roguish grin, he said, ‘Not the sort of company one introduces to one’s Mama. Might I call on you? Where are you staying?’
‘Of course,’ Jane said, and gave him directions to Brisco House.
With another kiss on her cheek he strode back to his party.
Feeling a little chagrined at her naivety in not instantly understanding why Jack had not introduced his friends, she turned back to find Lord Baxendene’s gaze fixed on Jack’s retreating back, and his jaw clenching as if he was severely displeased.
Her benign relaxed escort had vanished. Jane couldn’t have said who’d taken his place. Anything but relaxed, there was a belligerence about him and several times Jane caught him scowling in Jack’s direction.
At Brisco House he escorted them inside, all politeness and gallantry. But as Selena floated up the stairs, he kept a hold on Jane’s arm, steering her into the library.
‘What?’ she demanded, shaking his grip loose as he closed the door behind them. ‘And open that door this minute!’
His response was to lean back on it, fold his arms and fix her with a fierce scowl.
‘You’ll not encourage that—rip, Galsworthy—to hang around Brisco House.’
‘Jack? How dare you! He’s James’s son, my stepson. Certainly he may call on his stepmother. He didn’t show a shred of interest in Selena. I doubt he registered which of the young ladies was she.’
‘He was too damned busy eyeing up his Mama—’
Jane stepped backwards, as much from the force of his invective as from the shock of his denigration. She stared back at him, thoughts whirling in her head. James had often lamented Jack was a bit of a loose cannon, but—Hades was so far off the mark it was ludicrous!
‘You jest! And in a most unseemly fashion. Jack has never given me reason to feel he thinks of me as anything but his—Mama!’
‘Poppycock!’ Hades pushed away from the door and came towards her. ‘He doesn’t gammon me with his smarmy Mama. His father’s dead. Who’s to keep him from you now? Especially here in London.’
Appalled and angry, Jane stood her ground until he was almost upon her, then ducking quickly as he reached for her, darted across the room and wrenched the door open. Turning back to face him, she was struck by the notion she’d never seen Hades Delacourte looking so thunderous.
Good! Perhaps now he’d back off.
‘You’re wrong about Jack,’ she snapped.
‘I’m not,’ he growled. ‘I’ll be back after luncheon to take you and Selena driving in the park as planned.’
So much for backing off.
‘Anyone would think you had nothing better to do!’ she recklessly threw at him.
‘Nothing better than bringing my niece out in style,’ he growled, each word hammered like a nail into wood.
So, his concern was all for Selena?
Time to decamp. She’d never yet won an argument with Hades Delacourte—and she was in no condition now to sort through the jumble of her thoughts.
Jack wanting her in that way was ludicrous!
And here she’d been happily thinking coming to London to chaperone Miss Carstairs and spend time with her dearest friend, Holly, was going to be enjoyable!
She devoutly wished she was still a child and could throw a satisfying temper tantrum. Starting up the stairs with more fury than elegance, she slowed as it occurred to her Selena didn’t need a chaperone to go driving in the park with her uncle.
***
Surely he had something better to do, she’d said.
Nothing better than seeing his niece brought out in style, he’d said.
Then she’d left Selena to inform him she deemed her presence unnecessary since Selena was driving with her uncle—and there’d been no way he could back off because the chit was so excited to be driving in the park in a bang up to the trees equipage with requisite debonair escort—even if he was her uncle.
He’d been bored. He was still bored. Chumsley and his friend Ogilvie had been in White’s and had gone beyond boring with their persistent taunts about losing his horse—and the most beautiful woman in London—to Wolf. The loss of his horse still rankled but he’d moved on from Sheri. Much as he would’ve relished melting all that icy perfection, he’d known from the start she wasn’t for him. She was the epitome of the perfect duchess and he’d finally woken Wolf up to that fact.
Just hadn’t intended losing his latest prize hack over it, dammit, he muttered to himself as he called his carriage. Nor could he seem to get his mind off this same pointless lament. Time to visit Knight.
The Matrix Club turned out to be more deadly quiet than Whites, and Knight more taciturn than usual, only making desultory conversation with two gentlemen seated where Rogue and Wolf us
ually lounged. He’d find more congenial entertainment elsewhere. Covent Garden maybe.
But by the time his carriage was carrying him back along Piccadilly he’d had enough of being confined and more than enough of his unusual inability to decide on his entertainment for the evening.
Signaling his coachman to stop, he swung down and told the man to await him at Boodle’s. The place was bound to be livelier than White’s or the Matrix and walking the couple of blocks from Piccadilly might help to clear his infernal muddy thinking.
Losing considerably more than he’d won at the faro tables proved the error of that hope. Tired of the ribald ribbing of yet more of his so-called friends, he pushed away from the table declaring himself for home.
His concentration was shot and the blame for that could be laid firmly at Jane’s door. If she’d stop playing bloody Lady of the Manor, give him what he was asking for—as every other woman he’d ever asked did—if she’d surrender to the inevitable he’d be able to stop thinking about her.
Alcohol wasn’t helping. Gambling wasn’t helping—and the only woman he desired didn’t appreciate the pleasure he was offering her.
There was nothing left but to go home!
As he passed a table Jack Galsworthy threw down his hand, declared himself out of the game and reached Bax’s side as he was bidding the doorman goodnight.
‘Fancy rounding off the night with the ladies at Madame Lacie’s?’
Bax shrugged.
‘Might as well.’
Perhaps he’d find some enthusiasm when he got there. Anything to shift this lowering feeling of boredom and the hankering for something he apparently couldn’t have.
They rode in the Baxendene carriage to Covent Garden. No doubt that had been Galsworthy’s purpose in hailing him in the first place, he thought sourly.
‘So—how come you’re squiring my delectable step-mama about town? Not that I blame you. She’s a prime piece!’
He wasn’t bored now. More like simmering with rage. And Galsworthy, that—mutton-monger—had no idea!
‘I’ve been squiring my niece about town. Lady Rotherby happens to be her chaperone.’
‘You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed my delectable, widowed, Mama is well-endowed in all the right places, just because she’s acting as a chaperone. That serene Lady Do Good air she has. That hair! Don’t you want to spread it across your bare chest? Ruffle up that damned serenity and find the fire beneath? ’Cos with that red hair there must be fire!’
Bax made no response. He was too busy clenching his fists and keeping them under control. He had no intention of starting a brawl in his own carriage.
Galsworthy was still oblivious.
‘I’ve always fancied her, you know! Now Papa is gone and she’s out of mourning she’d probably appreciate a real man in her bed. I sometimes wonder if the old man was capable! Certainly wasn’t in the last few years. And she never got pregnant.’
Bax noted he had control of his fist, but his mouth was another matter.
‘Turn your lecherous eyes in some other direction, Galsworthy. Lady Rotherby is a lady, in every sense of the word, not some doxy from the stews!’
Blessed silence filled the carriage and Bax thought he’d finally got through to the bounder.
‘I knew you fancied her!’ the lout chortled. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t? Especially now she’s filled out so lusciously. Life with m’father agreed with her.’
Bax signaled his coachman to stop and leaned across Jack to thrust the door open before the groom could leap down to do it for him.
‘Get out, Galsworthy. I’ve changed my mind about visiting the ladies tonight. But don’t let that stop you!’
The cold, hard note in Bax’s voice finally registered and Jack Galsworthy scrambled down to the pavement. Unbelievably, he turned to argue.
Bax leant forward so the single street lamp shone directly on his face.
‘Stay away from Lady Rotherby, Galsworthy. Is that plain enough for you?’
Jack stared up at him for a moment, then tossed back his head and laughed.
‘May the best man win!’ he taunted and swaggered off along the darkened street.
‘Curzon Street!’ Bax barked up at his coachman and sat back in a blacker mood than when he’d retreated to Bancombe Park after losing his damned horse to Wolf.
Now he had another worry to add to the list. Galsworthy was the kind of conscienceless cur to ruin Jane’s good name and reputation and call it sport. He needed to find a way to head Jack off—and get Jane into his bed—because no other woman was going to do.
If there was an honorable part of his mind trying to argue his intentions were no better than Galsworthy’s, he thrust it down into the mire of his black mood. What the hell was taking them so long to get home? He needed a brandy.
‘Baikie!’ he yelled. ‘Spring the horses!’
‘Nearly there, m’Lord,’ came cheerfully through the window from the coachman’s perch.
Bax fumed. The man had been in his employ too long. Thought he could cozen him like a mother soothing a fractious child.
No sooner had that lowering thought further darkened his mood, than the carriage rumbled to a halt and the groom was opening the door.
‘Baxendene House, my Lord,’ the man pronounced as if Bax couldn’t recognize his own house!
‘Brandy. In the den,’ he growled at Garnet as he entered.
‘Very good, my Lord.’
The butler still moved nimbly despite his advancing years and was back with the requested brandy almost before Bax had settled his large frame on the huge leather settee, leant back and draped an arm over his eyes.
At the sound of the brandy splashing into the glass, Bax muttered, ‘Think I need to head up north again, Garnet.’
‘You’ve just returned from there, my Lord.’
‘Aye, I have, haven’t I? Should’ve stayed—’
When he said no more, the butler cleared his throat and asked, ‘Will that be all, my Lord?’
‘Thank you, Garnet.’
As the door clicked shut behind the silently moving butler, Bax discussed the problem with himself in his head.
He’d really be better off at Bancombe Park with the ‘lads’, as he called the residents there, and with his painting. But there were numerous reasons why he couldn’t go just now.
And none of them had anything to do with bloody Angular Jane!
Chapter 8
Hades was not himself when he called next morning to escort them back to the modiste for more fittings, though he was the usual larger-than life, palavering Bax.
Jane wished she wasn’t so sensitive to the confounded man and could be oblivious to the darkness around his eyes and the deeper lines bracketing his damned sexy mouth, as were his sister and niece. But he was difficult to ignore as he breezed through kissing said sister and niece on their proffered cheeks then bowing deeply, lingeringly over her hand as if she was precious beyond reckoning.
An insane part of her longed to believe such was the case. You’re innocent, not naïve, she silently berated herself, retrieving her hand and avoiding Holly’s curious gaze.
She’d worked out her strategy last night and wouldn’t be turned from it now, either by Holly’s pleading eyes or her rakish brother’s blandishments.
Sweeping them with her practiced Lady of the Manor smile, she said, ‘I’ve no need to return to La Callista this morning. I shall take my medicines—and a footman if I may, Holly—and visit with your Mama.’
Keeping her eyes averted from Hades, she widened her smile for Holly, whose narrowed gaze promised an interrogation later.
‘Of course you may borrow a footman, Jane. But are you sure—?’
‘I am,’ Jane interrupted before she could plead more. ‘There’s no hurry for my gowns. Selena’s need is more important than mine.’
Lord Baxendene’s chest was swelling. He was obviously about to voice why it was imperative she join them, but she wasn’t his to command an
d he must be made to see that.
‘You’ll be back for luncheon, won’t you, Jane? Hades is taking us out to Richmond.’
She wouldn’t outright lie to Holly, or make a promise she’d no intention of keeping. Nor was she about to tell her dear friend—yet—she most certainly would be somewhere else this afternoon. Besides, she hadn’t decided precisely where, yet.
Having spent a half hour visiting with Lady Baxendene, Jane returned to Brisco House. Writing a note for Holly saying she’d gone to visit James’s elderly Aunt Elspeth, though neglecting to mention where the woman lived, she gathered up her maid and escaped before they could return to foil her plans.
To Dolly’s delight they drove through Hyde Park at a leisurely pace after the briefest visit to Aunt Elspeth.
‘T’is like a holiday, my Lady,’ she enthused when they stopped and Jane sent the footman for tea and muffins from a park kiosk, which Dolly pronounced ‘ever so fine, my Lady!’ and then ambled back through Grosvenor Square and into New Bond Street.
Now mid-afternoon, Jane could browse, discuss with the modiste—and Dolly, who was beyond delighted to be included in the discussions—and make her own choices.
When Madame Callie began enlarging on his Lordship’s superior taste and eye for color and obliquely querying why Jane had not attended with the others during the morning, she cut the woman off with a smile.
‘I really do prefer to make my own choices, Madame Callie. I’ve found some men too confident in their ability to expound on what others should be doing or wearing. Before you know it they’ll be telling one what to think! Ruling one’s life, in fact! Am I not right, Madame Callie?’ Jane asked, all earnestness.
The woman’s dark eyes danced with amusement.
‘Oh undoubtedly, Lady Rotherby. I do believe you ‘ave ‘is Lordship’s measure!—The kingfisher blue you chose for your habit will suit very well, but you know ‘e was right about forest green being ze perfect color for you?’
‘I know, Madame Callie,’ Jane sighed, ‘which is precisely the reason I didn’t choose the forest green!’
Madame Callie cocked her head on one side for a moment then smiled knowingly.
