by Heather Boyd
She bit her lip as she looked at the grounds. “More color and a few more garden beds.”
“Where?” he pressed, bumping her shoulder with his.
Before he could give serious consideration to the matter of wooing Pixie, he had to convince her that she was wrong about him. They needed to make it through a day without arguing. It would not be easy, but he had the advantage of knowing her tastes very well. She had a fine eye for gardens, and when she hesitantly pointed out her locations, he committed them to memory. Work would start first thing tomorrow.
“Will there be any statues needed in your improvements?” he asked, determined to draw all her visions out today.
“Perhaps, but I should not advise you on which one.”
Jack studied her lowered lashes, the dark smudge thick against her cheek. At first glance, he had not noticed how straight they were, but they were in complete opposition to the curly hair on her head. He could not wait to see the wild mass loose again.
He shrugged off the unruly thought and squeezed her hand. “Just one? I thought a pair might be nice. But not a saintly couple, if you please. I have to live here too.”
Constance bit her lower lip again and Jack really wished she would let it go. The plump flesh, dimpled by her teeth, pouted as red as wild strawberries.
“Would you care for Aphrodite and Hercules?”
“My own personal Aphrodite? Certainly.” Jack glanced at the rapid rise and fall of her breasts and ignored the sensation of heat rising, along with other parts. “You may choose the hero you like best.”
“Jack, I really shouldn’t.”
A foolish smile slipped free as his name crossed those strawberry red lips. Now that he was not simply the marquess to her, matters could progress. He couldn’t bear to have her ‘my lord-ing’ him forever.
“And the house? How do you like the house?” he pressed.
He would like Pixie as a lover, too. He’d always preferred dark-haired beauties.
Her lips pursed in thought and he glanced away, lest he find out if they tasted as good as they looked.
“My bedchamber is lovely, thank you. So is the rest of the house.” Her mention of bedchambers reminded him he had to remain on his side of the balcony, and not stray too often to her side. He might mention locking the doors, just to be safe. “Is there anything you would have different?” he asked, sure that she would mention the hunting trophies in the dining room, but she did not. Her gaze fixed on where his hand still held hers, his thumb rubbing over her knuckle.
“My door to the balcony is a little creaky,” she admitted.
Jack squeezed her hand and sat back. Here was his opportunity to mention locking the doors, but before he could get the words out, he spotted a meeting across the garden and held his tongue.
~ * ~
Virginia glanced up at the sound of footsteps on gravel and let out a strangled “Oh.” Bernard looked so very … neat.
He stopped a few feet away and held out both of his hands in supplication. “Does my lady approve?”
Squinting in the sunlight, Virginia pursed her lips and considered him warily before she approached. Bernard looked very different from this morning. Very fine, indeed. Gone was the scruffy and outdated coat. He dressed as well as any Corinthian.
She walked around him in a small circuit, pausing directly behind his back to admire his broad shoulders. His head snapped around to follow her movements. The cut of his starched collar bit deep into his neck, but he held his head there until she moved again to stand before him.
“Well?” Bernard demanded.
“How difficult were you for the tailor?” she asked, unable to flirt and confess how grand he looked. She was more comfortable with their acidic banter.
“He was amply compensated.”
“Oh, the poor man.” She laughed, yet anxiety tightened his jaw. “You’ll do.”
Those few words relaxed him so suddenly that he seemed to bend in toward her. Virginia stepped back, bumped the bench, and sat hastily, struggling for breath. He paused a moment then sat down beside her. Close. She stiffened in panic.
When he came no closer, she forced her body to relax. To blow out the breath she held. He was not even touching her.
“What did you do this morning?”
“Oh, I called on Aunt Augusta. I had an invitation to take tea,” she blurted out, confused and unsure of what he expected now that he was holding up his end of the bargain.
“Just you?”
“Just me.” Virginia swallowed over the memory of her uncomfortable audience with Aunt Augusta. The Dragon Aunt was not happy.
“What did she bleat about today? Getting Jack married or getting you your own house?” Bernard asked.
When he leaned against her shoulder, her heart thumped a little faster. “Both, actually,” she admitted. “My aunt does not believe Pixie is a fit guest to accept into Ettington House. She’s refused an introduction and asked me to send her packing. I haven’t the heart to mention this to Pixie since she is so sure she doesn’t belong already.”
“I would not do that if I were you. Jack may not like bending to the dragon’s wishes on this issue. He is very fond of Pixie.”
“Well, of course he is. We have known her forever. He would never be cruel.”
“That is not quite what I meant, love.” Bernard shifted his leg so their knees touched. “My dear, he is very, very fond of Pixie. You would break his heart if you sent her away.”
Virginia touched his knee, but her breath churned painfully in panic. “Jack cares for her?”
“More than words can describe. Only the blind cannot see it,” Bernard assured her, but she had to shake her head a few times before she believed her ears.
“But he has never said a word, never hinted that he has deeper feelings for her. How extraordinary.”
“Ah, I see you have been blind too. He has never hinted because he has only just come to consider the matter. You should know a man rarely thinks far enough ahead to envisage his future wife. Cheer up. At least you like Pixie. She will make an excellent sister-in-law.”
Virginia tried to wrap her mind around the image of Jack and Pixie together. They fit. She could easily picture them together, married with children about them, grown old and at peace. They would create a happy home. Virginia would never be uneasy with Pixie as Jack’s wife. But what about his betrothal?
She drew in a shaky breath and dared to hope Jack could marry for love. His life would be filled with laughter, and she’d not worry for him as she often did.
Her only concern now was how Jack would get out of his betrothal. His intended’s family was sure to demand significant compensation for breach of promise.
“I can hear that clever mind of yours working from over here,” Bernard whispered, amusement softening his tone. “What are you thinking of with such serious attention?”
“I am relieved that Jack has chosen such a worthy woman.”
“Only if she admits she loves him in return,” he murmured, still regarding her with his dark-eyed stare.
Virginia squirmed and looked down, unable to hold his gaze a moment longer. She had never known how to react when Bernard stared at her like that. “Do you believe her indifferent?”
“I believe Pixie confused. But she is Jack’s concern, not mine. I have my own personal matter to deal with, and she is all I can handle for the moment. She takes up all my thoughts and energies.”
Virginia could not help it—she blushed and stammered out something incoherent, then froze when Bernard’s fingers grazed her back.
“Do not fret, Virginia. It is not widely accepted that I am a patient man, but for you, my patience is endless.” He removed his hand and sat forward, resting his arms on his knees.
Virginia fought to steady her breath. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until we have shared a bed before you decide if thanks are in order.”
Virginia spluttered and turned on him.
“If this is how you speak around women, then it is no wonder you have not married. What a fine display of tact.”
“That’s my girl—all fire and brimstone. I merely wanted to forewarn you that I have not taken a woman to bed in some time. It is possible that I've forgotten how it is done,” he replied.
Virginia could not help it. She laughed. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a moment.”
He turned earnest dark eyes on her and Virginia’s merriment died. “Four years, one month, and a few days.”
Virginia gulped out another “Oh,” and looked down, attempting to count back that length of time.
“The night we last danced,” he supplied with a shrug.
“We argued, if I remember correctly, at my betrothal ball.”
“That we did,” he said sadly. “You were right, though. I was being an insensitive ass. I hope the vase you threw at me was not a sentimental favorite.”
“No, not at all.” After half a minute of silence she added, “I hope none of the shards hit the woman you were making love to?”
Bernard chuckled. “No, the lady was unhurt. Your aim was fairly accurate, given your degree of anger.”
“I should apologize, I suppose.”
“Not necessary. Your spectacular display of temper gave me something to think about other than my musty books.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JACK SANK INTO his seat with a groan. As much as he usually enjoyed the theatre, tonight he was restless. Perhaps the rainy weather outside had dampened his enthusiasm. Perhaps it was being stared at by most of the ton while they pondered his every action. Couldn’t they find something else to do?
But truthfully, his unease stemmed from the dark-haired Pixie sitting beside him, who had waved so happily to the box opposite. Had she waved to Viscount Carrington or Miss Ryall, his sister? Both had waved back.
Her excited smile forced Jack to bite back an oath. He liked Carrington. Truly he did. Only when he smiled at Pixie, danced with her, or talked to her, would Jack gladly strangle him. Carrington wasn’t on the list of suitors, but he appeared to be becoming her friend. Jack hated that. He scanned the room as he attempted to suppress the urge to slay his competition for Pixie’s affections and watched the musicians settling in to play.
Across the theatre, he spotted Lord Blamey. There was very little to recommend Blamey. Plain, brown hair, round, unremarkable face, and clothing without a hint of ostentation. He was certainly not a compelling candidate for Pixie to tie herself to.
If Jack was asked his opinion, and he doubted he would be consulted again, he would declare Pixie too good for Blamey.
Music echoed around the chamber and he turned back to the stage. He had no right to grumble about her pursuit of a husband. After all, it wasn’t as if he had decided to enter the running himself. He liked Pixie, but marriage? He wasn’t sure he was ready.
Jack glanced around again. His friends, the Earls of Louth and Daventry, had made an appearance tonight, accompanied by two gaudily dressed light-skirts.
Daventry was in his element. He loved to shock. In front of the ton’s astonished eyes, he appeared to be making love to one of the women. He leaned over to whisper in her ear and when she bent her head to his neck she appeared to be feasting on him.
Louth’s companion was draped over his lap. When he slid his hand over her rump, the crowd’s whispers increased to a roar.
Jack envied his friends’ freedom to do as they pleased. But Jack couldn’t embarrass his sister by behaving in the same manner. But the theatre could be so much more enjoyable if he could dabble with a dark-haired Pixie perched on his knee.
Jack was in trouble. There were a million ways his imagination suggested to prove he could be a superior partner. However, all required Pixie’s co-operation. Given that she was going to stick to that vexing list, he would have to be clever about pursuing her. He didn’t like that she thought of him as old and crusty. He would have to prove to her that he could more than keep up.
A gagging sound broke into his thoughts and he dragged his gaze back to his companions. Virginia and Hallam sat at the front of the box and spoke only to each other. At least it appeared they had finally stopped fighting. He felt incredibly good as a result. Jack wasn’t subjected to Virginia’s random and often extreme emotions, and he could concentrate on analyzing his own.
That contemplation was turning into a bigger puzzle every moment because Pixie’s future featured heavily in his thoughts. That strange grating-sound happened again and he turned further to find Pixie choking. Alarmed momentarily, he soon realized that she was struggling to hold in her amusement.
“Drop something,” he muttered out the side of his mouth.
She did. Her fan tumbled from limp fingers and, after fumbling around for it and laughing quite heartily, she raised a serene face once again.
She had such an animated way of living. Jack found her antics fascinating to watch. Yet he could only converse with her freely in his home, and then he was always conscious of hovering servants.
“I dropped my fan,” she apologized.
“I am glad to see you have found it.”
“It was just next to my foot. I do hope it isn’t ruined.”
“Miss Grange, if the poor fan is ruined for the benefit of hearing your laughter, I would be happy to arrange a dozen replacements,” Jack promised.
He knew an excellent place to purchase fans. Should he purchase a similar fan or find something more remarkable. He opted for the latter.
“I shall have to decline,” she whispered. “No more charity, my lord.”
Jack shook his head. He had not considered she might take his gifts as an act of charity. It was not that at all. He cursed himself for yet again underestimating the woman. Oh, but she could get under his skin and work him into a frenzy of confusion in moments.
Jack didn’t pity her. He gave her things because he liked to take care of her and wanted her to be happy. She had him wrapped around her pinky finger and the moment she realized his weakness, he feared he knew how it would go.
Marriage. God help him.
“My dear, you really shouldn’t think the worst of me all the time.” Jack turned, catching her embarrassed expression before she hid it. “I find great enjoyment in knowing that you wear or carry an item I purchased with your taste specifically in mind. If it was charity, I wouldn’t notice you wear my necklace every day.”
Frustrated, he dragged his eyes away from her pert nose and glanced across the theatre. But his thoughts churned uncertainly. Could this feeling of lust and desire that plagued him when Pixie was near be more? He enjoyed taking care of her but did he want to do it for the rest of his life. Given their contentious past, would she even consider him as a suitor?
A disturbance caught his eye and he turned his head toward the movement. Another box was filling up.
To his dismay, a young woman caught his eye before he could turn his head away. Miss Scaling. Somehow she had managed to follow him again. Jack clenched his fist. He had wanted just one evening with Pixie without having to be on guard. The chit was intent on capturing his affections. Well, perhaps not his affections, but she did have her eye on his title. Her ambition was preposterous.
The theatre darkened and the performance began, keeping Jack free from further inspection. Miss Scaling’s constant appraisals made him feel like the last piece of meat at the market. But all thoughts of the enterprising chit faded from his mind when a feather light touch ghosted over his clenched fist. He forced himself to stretch his fingers.
~ * ~
Society was blind as well as stupid. Tonight’s performance confirmed it. But not the performers on stage—it was the audience itself Constance found fascinating.
The entrances of Lords Daventry and Louth were great acting designed to repulse the puritanical sector of society, but the courtesan glued to Louth’s side appeared uneasy and uninvolved with his apparent groping. The girl kept her face turned away from the crowd, and Louth’s h
and, while appearing firm on her rear, never moved. Was she a servant dressed up for the role? When the lights dimmed, they put distance between themselves, and from past attendance, Louth would leave early.
Lord Daventry had his hands full of a tiny blonde woman and was oblivious to the action around him. Constance hoped he would take his form of entertainment elsewhere before he got too carried away. Given what she’d learned of him, she could not believe she had left his name on the list as long as she had. He might be a nice enough fellow, but she did not want to be pawed at like that.
Lord Carrington had waved to her earlier and was now speaking to a pretty redhead beside him. She couldn’t help but think he was acting too. He was entirely pleasant and he waved at a great many ladies. Constance had noticed him nod in Louth’s direction before turning to speak to his sister. Miss Ryall ignored whatever he said and kept her eyes fixed on the stage.
With Virginia and Hallam in the front row, it was difficult to see into the pit. She could only see small portions of those below, though once, she thought she spied the ginger-headed Mr. Abernathy in the crowd. But the next time she risked a glance he was nowhere to be seen. The spectacle of the theatre was interesting, there was no doubt about that, but she could not bear to live in this world for long.
More than ever, she wished she didn’t have to choose a husband who had buckets of money to cover her family debt. Constance scrubbed her gloved hand over her knee, wishing she could marry for love. Marry someone who didn’t care that she occasionally made a fool of herself, as she had with Jack’s cane.
Jack should be embarrassed to be in her company, but since she often erred in his presence, he appeared to have grown reconciled to her blunders. The marquess was remarkably tolerant and for that, she couldn’t help but be grateful.
When Miss Scaling made her grand entrance, Constance bristled. The girl stared at Jack far too long. The foolish girl had no notion of subtlety. Jack stiffened, obviously very aware of the girl’s scrutiny and, no doubt mortified by such bold behavior, his fist curled. Constance would like nothing better than to let her know she had no chance of winning Jack with those kinds of tactics. Miss Scaling would never be the kind of woman Jack needed.
