by Heather Boyd
Virginia nudged her side. “I see an old friend. Do excuse me for a moment.”
Constance pulled her thoughts and gaze back to her circle with a start. Left standing with Miss Scaling and Lord Wade, she smiled nervously.
Both smiled in returned.
She spotted a tall redheaded man in the crowd. Mr. Abernathy? Success. He was handsome. His pale skin contrasted starkly with the red locks on his head and thick arched eyebrows framed green eyes that twinkled in conversation. The crowd shifted and familiar blue eyes observed her. Constance blushed. Jack was speaking with Abernathy. She could only hope that he was saying good things about her, not relating more childhood pranks.
Constance’s foot slipped on the slick grass. For one horrifying moment, she teetered on the edge of Lady Beckwith’s garden pond. She swung her arms and Lord Wade did make a grab for her, but instead of securing her, as she hoped, he fumbled and ended up pushing her away.
It could have taken only a moment to fall. It felt like an eternity.
Cold pond water surged over her face, muffling the sounds of horrified astonishment from the guests closest to her.
Miss Scaling and Lord Wade gazed down at her and did nothing.
Constance spluttered up to the surface and sank again, but strong hands caught hers and tugged. Dirty pond water splashed over Jack’s pristine boots and legs. Gasps of shock echoed around them, and Jack even cursed. But then he removed his coat, slipped her arms in the sleeves, and wrapped her in it, unmindful of the damage she was sure to cause.
Around her, the sound of laughter drowned out the meaning of any whispered words. She wanted to die, to crawl away into obscurity, and see no one ever again. She lifted her gaze reluctantly at the repetition of her name on so many lips and found Miss Scaling standing very close. Not close to her, but close to Jack, a small smile playing on her lips as she gazed at Jack’s profile.
Constance met Jack’s gaze.
He was furious. His eyes flicked over those gathered and lingered on each laughing guest. He held their gaze a moment longer than might be comfortable, then reached for Constance’s soggy, gloved hand. He wrapped it around his shirtsleeve and pulled.
Miss Scaling’s face lost its smirk as Jack hurried Constance determinedly from the garden.
Constance stumbled as her wet dress tangled about her legs, denying her any dignity or grace in her exit. She kept her gaze lowered. She would not glance back again, but instead concentrated on her steps. Silence grew behind them, but the heavy thwack of her skirts sounded a counterpoint to her miserable exit.
Her trip to London was an abysmal failure and she wanted nothing more than to go home to Sunderland and wait for her jailors.
Virginia caught her other arm. Constance was grateful. As they made their way around the side of the house, a servant rushed ahead, hopefully seeking Jack’s coach.
When they reached the front drive, Constance lifted her chin and glanced about miserably. Lord Daventry winked slyly. Beyond him, a dozen of the most notable and wealthy members of the ton summoned their carriages too.
Constance was stunned at the degree of loyalty it conveyed. Somehow, she had made friends with important members of the ton. She wanted to giggle, but she feared she might become hysterical. Jack nudged her through the door and she sat gingerly on the velvet seats, skirts squelching horribly as she ruined his carriage.
Virginia threw a carriage rug over Constance’s knees and then tugged off her wet, clinging gloves. “Did I see Lord Wade push you in, dearest?”
“He did not mean to,” Constance replied, but she was not quite sure why she said it. He had crowded her as much as Miss Scaling.
Her teeth chattered as the carriage lurched forward.
“No, not Wade, but do you mean to tell us that Miss Scaling did not mean to hook your right foot with her left?” Jack asked, with some heat. “For God’s sake, woman, do not make excuses for vulgar people. I saw what happened—all of it. I am sorry I could not get to you before you fell.” Jack cursed and thumped the side of the carriage with his fist. He dropped his hand to his knee, tapped his fingers against it, and then stilled.
“I believe I shall have some fun,” he said with a grin.
But Constance did not think that anyone else would enjoy it. Even slumped in her wet gown—miserable and embarrassed—the anger in Jack’s voice concerned her. He would get revenge for her if she said nothing to stop him.
“Jack, it is not necessary. I lost my footing and fell. Please do not make me feel worse. I am not harmed in any way, just a bit more damp than I usually like.” She tried to make light of it, tried to laugh at her predicament. Judging from the look on his face, Jack was aware of what she was trying to do.
He shook his head. “I suppose you mean to tell me next that Miss Scaling did not mean to pour a full bottle of perfume over your gown last week, either.” He arched a brow. “She has her black little heart set on embarrassing you, Pixie. I cannot stand by and allow this to continue. Who knows what she’ll do next.”
Constance said nothing as the carriage lurched on its way. What could she say? Jack was right. Miss Scaling had set her sights on humiliating her. She considered Constance a threat, even when there was no need. Constance sank further into her corner, conscious of the puddle forming at her feet, and buried herself into Jack’s large coat.
When the carriage arrived at Ettington House, Jack escorted her inside, dripping water all over the entry foyer. Once the door closed behind them, Jack scooped Constance up in his arms and carried her to her bedchamber. She was grateful since her knees were weak and her teeth chattered non-stop. Once at her room, Jack kicked the door shut and carried her to the hearth.
Constance shivered as he removed his coat from her shoulders. He ran his hands up and down her arms briskly then wrapped her in a blanket from the chaise. Wrapped tight against the cold, Jack held her until her maid arrived.
“Organize a hot bath and brandy. She’s thoroughly chilled,” Jack ordered.
Her maid’s eyes rounded, but she hurried off to do his bidding, leaving them alone once more. Even though Constance was snuggled against Jack’s chest, she couldn’t get warm. She started to shake and buried her nose against Jack’s waistcoat, seeking the greater warmth he radiated. His attempts to rub warmth into her back didn’t prevent her teeth from chattering.
“You must promise me that you will be cautious around Miss Scaling from now on. Do not remain in her company for long, and never alone. She means to harm you. Promise me you will be on guard.”
She nodded.
Despite her misery, the very real concern in Jack’s tone reached her and she felt slightly better. He wasn’t angry with her for the scene she’d just caused.
~ * ~
Constance pushed the heavy covers down, only to feel them rise again. She pushed, but a deep familiar voice rumbled in the darkness beside her, and she let them be.
“I’m hot, Jack.”
“I know,” he murmured into her ear. “You have a fever. Keep under the blankets and try to go back to sleep.”
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. He shouldn’t be here. She did not want to disappoint him by behaving improperly again.
“Your coughing keeps me awake. Since I could not get back to sleep, I decided to keep an eye on you.”
When he brushed her sticky hair away from her face, Constance leaned into his cool touch. “You don’t have to be here, you know. I can look after myself.”
“Shh,” Jack whispered into her ear.
Constance rolled and encountered solid, silky skin.
She recoiled in shock.
While her mind struggled with the knowledge that Jack lay beneath the sheets with her, he wriggled closer and slipped his arm beneath her head. With her cheek resting on his bare shoulder, her remaining senses ran amok. She breathed in, but the action caused her to cough. Her hands flattened on his taut chest, but she had no chance to explore. He captured her curious fingers and held them tight
between his own.
When her coughing subsided, she pressed her head to his chest.
“Go back to sleep, little one.”
Constance lifted her head. “I’m not so little.”
Jack pressed her head back to his chest, and then hugged her tighter to him. “Of course, Pixie,” he whispered. “You’re practically a giant.”
Constance smacked his chest lightly then closed her eyes.
She was too tired to debate the issue of her height at this hour. Besides, Jack was kissing her temple. Little light kisses that caused a contented lassitude to creep over her.
Her next memory was of Virginia’s stealthy departure in the morning. She turned her head to the side, but Jack was gone. When she reached her hand across to where he had lain, she touched silk—the kind of ribbon that held back Jack’s hair.
Last night hadn’t been a dream. Constance stuffed it under her pillow, unsure of what to make of Jack’s attentions. But whatever his intent, she had certainly enjoyed them.
However, this morning she had another problem. She felt dreadful. A chill had seeped into her bones and she ached all over. She reached for her handkerchief and sneezed, then buried herself back under the covers.
When the breakfast hour arrived, the housekeeper trooped in and out with honey tea for her throat, a hearty breakfast, extra firewood, and hot bricks in case she needed them. The little woman fluttered around the room so fast Constance’s head began to ache.
Jack strolled in not long after, impeccably dressed and sinfully handsome. “How is our guest this morning?” he asked from the foot of the bed.
“Not quite myself,” she croaked.
Although Jack frowned at the news, a telling blush heated Constance’s cheeks as she remembered sharing a bed with him.
“You seem flushed. Are you still fevered?” He paused beside the bed and brushed his knuckles across her cheek.
If it was possible to blush harder, she did. Try as she might she could not look at him and forget he had held her against his bare chest. Or that she had snuggled against him shamelessly eager for his affection.
His eyebrow quirked upward. “Are you blushing, Pixie?”
Constance squirmed.
Jack rewarded her with a broad smile. He had slept with her. Why wouldn’t she be embarrassed? She smiled hesitantly back, but started to cough again.
His smile faltered. “Virginia will return in a little while. She has some errands to run, but will be back to keep you company as soon as she can.” Jack settled on the edge of her bed and pulled the newspaper from under his arm. “Would you like to hear today’s news?”
While the servants bustled around behind his back, he read the paper aloud. But he skipped the society gossip. Her embarrassment was sure to have made the paper today.
Constance struggled to stay awake, but Jack’s voice soothed her better than any sleeping draft. She drifted in and out of consciousness as Jack caressed her face, and once she even captured his strong fingers against her cheek.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO be resting in bed.”
Constance gasped as Jack stepped into the stables, catching her where she was not supposed to be. “I wanted to check on Falentine. I haven’t been riding in over a week and I am feeling just a bit guilty.”
Constance hooked her foot on the lower rail and raised herself up to reach her horse’s ears. Falentine slanted her head and almost dislodged her from the fence. Dear Lord, she had wished his arms were around her as she fell asleep last night. When he had not come, her disappointment was intense. She was such a wicked girl to want the attention of a betrothed man.
Jack rested his gleaming boot against the lower rail beside her and Constance tried not to notice how his trousers pulled tight across his thigh. Ladies shouldn’t think like that. But Constance found it very hard not to notice and admire how well he looked.
“No need for that,” Jack promised, settling his hand on her back to hold her in place. “The grooms have taken her out every day.”
A larger head pushed close as Jack’s horse demanded attention too. He indulged Lucarno with soft words and a good scratch, but quickly returned to touch her again.
Constance glanced at the shamefaced grooms. “Ah, they didn’t tell me that.”
Falentine’s velvety soft whiskers tickled her cheek. Constance tucked her loose hair back out of reach of the nibbling horse, anxious not to let her graze on her dark locks. By rights, she shouldn’t be running about with her hair down, but she had not wanted to put it up just for the ten minutes she needed to see her horse.
Jack turned his head to the grooms and they scattered. “Not surprising. They don’t get many pretty visitors to the mews and no doubt wanted to extend your stay somewhat.”
“Jack,” she warned. “They meant no harm.”
When Falentine nudged her again Constance threw her arm around the horse’s neck and squeezed.
Jack’s warm hands closed about her waist and dragged her to the ground. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
It might have been her illness that made her sway into Jack, but whatever the reason she really didn’t care. She felt infinitely better in Jack’s arms.
He secured her tighter against him with one arm, but the other rose to play with her hair. He twisted a long curl around his finger, and then unwound it before brushing the end across her nose.
Constance giggled and captured his hand.
Jack squeezed her tight then let her go. “I want you in bed directly.”
While he fumbled with her fallen shawl, Constance kept her eyes trained on her horse. She wished she could join the horse there again.
Fighting her astonishment, she scrambled for something to say. “Did I thank you properly for the horse?”
“I believe so,” he laughed. “You did crush my coat horribly.”
Constance turned. “I’m sure it wasn’t crushed beyond repair.”
He cupped her face in his hand and his lips quirked. “Not beyond repair, but my valet did grumble. You need to return to the house,” Jack urged. “It is unhealthy for you to remain here long. Take my arm.”
Grudgingly, she let him lead her back across the gardens. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but she didn’t want to show it. Jack might get the notion into his head that she needed to be treated like a child again. She didn’t think she could suffer that. Constance didn’t like being ill, or confined to bed for that matter. It was so tremendously boring staring at the ceiling—no matter how many wicked cherubs graced it.
Jack opened the lower door and bade her to enter before him. As she stepped through, his hand settled against the small of her back again to propel her forward.
“Go upstairs and rest, little one,” Jack urged. “When Virginia returns she will have plenty of news to tell, I’m sure.”
“I hate being ill,” Constance grumbled, but intended to take a nap just the same.
Jack cupped her face again and his smile grew wide. “It’s a little hard to miss your dislike. Are you always this difficult to please?”
“No,” Constance grumbled, not looking at him.
His grip firmed and his thumb brushed her lips, but then he turned and walked away toward his study without another word.
She watched his broad back disappear, wishing he would have stayed with her. It was not often that they could talk freely, and she missed his company already.
Appalled by her scandalous thoughts, she headed for the main stairs. She shouldn’t think about Jack that way. He was betrothed. She needed to forget the ridiculous desires flooding her mind.
“Lord Bridges to see you, Miss Grange,” Parkes intoned solemnly. Surprised, Constance looked up and found herself facing the butler and Lord Bridges in the entrance hall. Given that she was on her feet and in front of him, she couldn’t say she wasn’t up to receiving visitors.
“Lord Bridges.” she asked. “Forgive me, but I’m not entirely well today. I didn’t see you immed
iately. A pleasure to see you again.”
He reached for her hand, but she clasped her skirts and bobbed a curtsy rather than have him touch her.
“Yes, I had heard a rumor you were unwell, but I didn’t expect to see you up and around. I understood you to be bedridden.”
Constance chuckled. “I escaped momentarily, but it seems I was caught.” She turned for the drawing room, but her shawl caught on something and fell from her shoulders. She caught it before it hit the floor and recovered herself.
Behind her, Lord Bridges chuckled. “An escape is often more successful when you have an ally waiting to assist.”
“I had no great plan. Just a short stroll to check on my horse then back to rest,” Constance replied, leaving out the fact that the marquess expected her compliance and might think to check on her to be sure that she had indeed rested. That thought pleased her.
“Regardless of your supposed illness, you do look lovely,” he promised.
He was a very poor liar. Constance knew she did not look well. Perspiration made her brow itch but she couldn’t wipe it away while he was here. A flush of heat swept her skin.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I commend you on an excellent ploy to garner sympathy from the ton. After the events of the other day you must surely realize the stain on your reputation, but I saw through your plan,” Bridges chuckled. “Society assumes you are at death’s door.”
Constance gaped. “My lord, I have little interest in society’s gossip. I am ill and if you will excuse me, I believe I should retire. Good day to you.”
Lord Bridges intercepted her before she made it to the drawing room door.
~ * ~
Jack smashed his way through the drawing room doors and found Pixie wrapped in Lord Bridges arms. Given that she was fighting against his grip, Jack concluded that she didn’t want to be there any longer. He crossed the chamber, pulled Pixie from Bridges’ arms, and shoved the man away from her.
