Chills

by Heather Boyd

  Constance’s mouth grew dry. “Oh, why ever not?”

  Abernathy’s expression grew pained. “The usual tale, I imagine. I lost my heart to an angel, but she fluttered her wings and flew away.”

  With a toss of his head he threw the emotion aside and concentrated on the horse.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Abernathy nodded. “So was I.”

  Constance looked away, blinking rapidly to hold back her tears. The poor man sounded heartbroken. If she had known of his past, she might never have pursued him.

  Constance slumped a little. She didn’t know if she had the fortitude to pursue a man with a broken heart. His words hinted that he wasn’t over the woman, his angel, and it might take more skill than she possessed to turn his thoughts in her direction.

  By the weary set of his shoulders, he dwelled in the memory of his lost love. If she looked in the mirror one day, would Constance see that self-same pose confronting her?

  “You appear tired today, Miss Grange. Are you entirely recovered from your illness? I would not like to have Ettington take me to task for keeping you out too long. I understand you are very dear to him.”

  There it was—the first subtle suggestion linking them together. Before long, society would whisper loud enough to ruin her chances of making a respectable marriage. Humiliation would run her out of London faster than the creditors could chase her.

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Sometimes the marquess forgets he isn’t my guardian any longer.”

  “Well, I imagine you know him better than I. However, I should return you before you catch another chill. I wouldn’t like to lose the man’s good opinion.”

  As wealthy as Abernathy appeared to be, he clearly wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Jack. He would certainly have no chance against her mama. “Thank you, sir. I do think I feel a headache coming on.”

  Abernathy clucked the reins and turned for the park gates. “You should have said something sooner.”

  Despondent and at a loss for what to do, Constance sat quietly as the carriage turned for Ettington House. The lie she had just told brought heat to her cheeks. She hated lying and was very quickly coming to despise herself. London had corrupted her from the honest woman she had thought herself to be.

  Clenching her hands together, she pasted a contented smile on her face but inside, she quaked. Aside from Abernathy, there was no one else. Did she have the skills necessary to turn a damaged heart in her direction? Could she do such a cold-hearted thing?

  Ettington House loomed ahead—temptation waiting behind those impressive doors. Fearing another encounter with Jack, Constance was quick in alighting from the carriage, said goodbye to Abernathy on the street, and turned for the steps.

  Parkes stood waiting.

  The butler took one look at her face and drew her inside. She didn’t speak, and thankfully neither did the butler because if he offered one word of inquiry about her drive, Constance feared she’d weep.

  Once she gained her bedchamber, she locked the door, drew the curtains, and crawled into bed. Abernathy had been her last chance. He’d told her a great many things about his life, but all she remembered was that his hands were a little smaller than Jack’s and that he didn’t smell of cinnamon. Rolling onto her stomach, she slid her hands under the pillow and pressed her burning cheeks into the cool linen. Her hands encountered a hard object.

  Curious, she struggled up and opened a small, alabaster box. A pair of diamond earbobs rested on red velvet and glittered in the weak light. They matched the necklace Jack had already given her. Snapping the lid shut, she pushed the box away and let herself give in to a hearty fit of weeping.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AFTER TWO NEAR misses with poorly managed phaetons, Constance and Virginia entered Hyde Park on horseback and rode along the Kings Highway, or Rotten Row, as Jack and Virginia called it. Since they hadn’t managed to get out since Constance’s arrival, she was relieved to spend some time on her horse and away from Jack.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to avoid him in the house today. He had even caught her before she went riding—twirling her through an open door and kissing her senseless amongst the clean linens.

  Given the cheeky smile Jack had given her when he let her come up for air, Constance thought he would try it again. That was why she had to leave. If she was nearby, Jack would forget his responsibilities. She did not want to be that kind of distraction. He had made a promise to another woman. Constance was only in the way.

  Of course, now that she realized she loved Jack, her situation was grim. She couldn’t honestly dredge up any interest in securing a husband. She wasn’t the woman to mend Abernathy’s broken heart. She’d burned the list this morning, tucked away the gifts she would leave behind, and begun to plan to return home on the mail coach.

  Today’s ride was her farewell to her horse too. Falentine would stay with the marquess. She couldn’t bear to sell the mare to cover the debts, so she would let Jack take Falentine back where she would be well cared for.

  The Row teemed with eager riders. They occasionally paused so Virginia could introduce her to other acquaintances, but their greetings were thankfully short. Every rider was keen to keep moving. However, she could not escape the sensation of scrutiny and longed for privacy. There were too many eyes watching, eager to see her made a fool of again.

  She and Virginia kicked their horses to a canter, letting the ever-present grooms follow along. Having the marquess’ liveried servants trailing behind added more discomfort to her day, a constant reminder of how spoiled she'd become. Little luxuries, servants to fetch and carry out her every whim, would become an unpleasant memory to torture herself with in Fleet. The thought of debtor's prison chilled her, but she wouldn’t let her grim future spoil this day.

  As they approached a bend in the broad sweep, Constance spied a body of water—the Serpentine, she supposed—and a group of riders milling just off the track. She recognized Miss Scaling, her mother, and Lord Wade watching riders file past. Mrs. Scaling waved and good manners gave them no choice but to slow their pace.

  “What a surprise to see you, Lady Orkney,” Mrs. Scaling greeted Virginia, but she did not acknowledge Constance’s presence. “Now we are guaranteed a splendid ride.”

  Virginia inclined her head, but didn’t speak. She caught Constance's eye and nodded toward the path. Constance urged her horse alongside Virginia's dappled grey, but inside she fumed. This was to be her first, last, and only ride in London. She didn’t want to share the moment with rude people.

  As they rode along at an elegantly slow pace, Virginia's horse grew agitated by the unfamiliar horse crowding her other side. Falentine danced aside to give the grey room and Constance watched anxiously until Virginia settled the high-strung gelding.

  But while she wasn’t paying enough attention, Miss Scaling smoothly drew her horse between them and Constance found herself separated from Virginia. When Lord Wade’s gelding joined her other side, Falentine began to toss her head, unhappy with her new companions. Wade’s gelding nosed her mare in a most uncomfortable way, and Constance had no choice but to back her up.

  “I say, that’s a very fine piece of horseflesh,” Lord Wade noted, turning his mount to follow.

  Given that none of the party had deemed her fit to speak to before, Constance bristled at the abrupt statement.

  “Is that a touch of envy I hear, Lord Wade?” Her tone lacked civility, but she failed to care. “I cannot expect you to be familiar with a horse from Lord Ettington’s extensive stables, given your limited acquaintance with him. Excuse me.”

  It would be better if everyone believed her horse belonged to Jack. She directed Falentine away from the Scaling party and looked for her groom. She was done with trying to fit in. She didn’t belong in London. She didn’t belong in Jack and Virginia's world, and she was going back to Ettington House to begin packing.

  Virginia twisted in her saddle.

  "Pixie, w
hat's keeping you?"

  How to answer that without sounding pathetic? Constance didn’t know and had no wish to explain in front of strangers. Miss Scaling, perhaps sensing that Virginia was planning an escape, backed her mount so its grey flanks butted Falentine's head. At the touch, Falentine shied and the grey lashed out with its hind legs, grazing Falentine’s foreleg and narrowly missing Constance's riding habit.

  It was all too much for her mare. Pushed and bullied by unfamiliar horses, Falentine bolted. Constance cursed as the mare took the bit between her teeth and left the well-ridden path, heading for the green parkland beyond.

  Virginia cried out, but Constance could not answer. She was too busy ducking low branches. All her concentration focused on her panicked mare as she plunged on, abruptly turning for the Serpentine.

  Constance tightened her grip on the reins and tried to regain control. No matter the trick she used, she made little progress beyond a slight turn. With the Serpentine on her right, trees dotted everywhere else, Constance started to panic. She was unfamiliar with the park, but a stand of trees came into view directly ahead. Constance used all her weight on the reins, but she was unsuccessful.

  The foolish horse was going to get them killed.

  A shout reached her ears and then the pounding of hooves drew closer, but could not risk a look. The mare was not tired and those trees were not getting any smaller. A snort at her side told her another horse had caught up.

  Jack’s stallion, Lucarno, drew level and advanced on the mare’s head. He and his horse bumped, attempting to control Falentine's wild flight. The mare turned, but found another horse caging her in.

  ~ * ~

  Jack cursed the mare. Trust Pixie’s mount to grow into a contrary beast. Jack pushed his horse slightly ahead of Pixie and reached for the halter. Using Lucarno’s bulk and his hands on the bridle, Jack got control of the horse by pulling Falentine into a long, slow circle, careful not to cause Pixie to slip from the saddle by a sharper turn. Both horses were blowing at the change, no doubt disappointed to stop their flight.

  When they had slowed to a walk and finally stopped, Hallam walked his ugly grey in to take Falentine’s reins. Jack dismounted, swept Pixie from her saddle, and crushed her against his chest.

  She could have been injured—he could have lost her. His heart pounded so hard he thought he heard double. “What the devil happened? You could have been hurt.”

  He squeezed her again, and then worried for her ribs. Jack let Pixie go, pushing her to arms length to peer into her face. Her eyes were closed, but her hands gripped his forearms tightly.

  After a moment's tense wait, listening to her settle into long deep breaths, she opened her eyes. "I'm all right."

  Although relief coursed through him, Jack turned away to examine the horse before anyone noticed him showing Pixie too much attention. Even in the midst of a near tragedy, desire turned parts of his body rigid.

  The mare was heavily sweated and blowing hard. Jack soothed her with his gloved hands and started to check her over. As he ran his fingers along her front leg, Falentine flinched away from him.

  Jack soothed the horse. “What happened, sweet girl?”

  “She was kicked.”

  Jack whipped his head around in Pixie’s direction. “And who was so ill-mannered as to kick at you, my love?”

  As the last words left his lips, riders approached and he turned as his sister, the groom, and calmly following some distance away, the Scaling ladies joined them.

  Jack swore. By the time he had finished expressing his irritation, Pixie’s eyebrows were almost to her hairline. Now he understood. He could guess the who quite easily. Perfume, a pond, and now a bolting horse.

  Despite his best intentions, Pixie was not safe gadding about London without him anymore. Her very life was in danger because he had failed to act—to prove to society that she was more than a mere house-guest.

  She was his future, and if that meant publicly claiming her before she'd given up on the list, then he would. He would take steps today to show London that he did not possess a heart of ice.

  Jack looked at Pixie.

  A light sheen of perspiration marred her skin, her hair had lost most of its moorings, tumbling about her shoulders in chaotic waves. Yet he didn’t think she’d ever looked lovelier.

  Although he had wanted to avoid acting precipitously, but he could no longer avoid it. Miss Scaling had better get it into her thick head that he had a very great interest in Pixie's welfare. If she were a man, he’d call her out.

  Lucarno’s head swung over Pixie’s shoulder, docile and adoring, and she hung on his neck. Jack held his breath. With any other person, Lucarno would have tried to bite them long before this point. When Pixie let go, Jack pulled the stallion’s head to him and tugged down. The horse obediently knelt.

  “Oh, he will still do it.” Pixie cried happily, startled out of her frightened state by his horse's little known trick.

  Pleased, Jack mounted the stallion then held out a hand for her. This was going to be a very public rescue. Pixie walked to him with a little hesitation in her step, but he lifted her to his lap and waited while she arranged her skirts.

  Jack tightened his grip on her waist. "Ready?"

  Lucarno struggled to his feet, prancing about foolishly.

  “Thank you, Lucarno,” Pixie whispered, and then settled against Jack’s chest.

  As a tremor raced through her body, Jack tugged her tight against him, gave her a little time to settle her breathing, and then turned his horse toward the closing riders.

  “Mistress, are you all right? I am so sorry, my lord. I don’t understand how she got away so fast,” her groom blathered, fittingly embarrassed that something should have happened on his watch. Jack had employed him to keep Pixie out of trouble. Obviously, his years buried in Sunderland had impaired his vigilance.

  “I am perfectly all right, Mr. Whisker. Would you be so kind as to relieve Lord Hallam of Falentine’s reins and return her to the stable? Have Brown go over her forelegs,” she requested, but a faint tremor betrayed her fright.

  “Yes, both of you return home, Whisker. Once Falentine has been cared for, I want to see you in my study,” Jack snapped, unconsciously tightening his grip at Pixie's waist.

  The servant paled. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Jack,” Constance warned, digging her fingers under his to loosen his grip, “he is my groom.”

  “He has gone soft in your employ, Pixie. He was a tougher man when he worked for me. You have spoiled him.” Jack smoothed his thumb over her belly and her body lost some of its rigidity. A pity he couldn’t say the same. With every jolt of horse's hooves to the ground, Pixie's hip nudged his groin. He was going to be in agony before they even left the park.

  “Your man? When did he work for you?” Pixie turned, trying to look at him, but her hat bumped his nose.

  “Get rid of the hat, Pixie, I want to keep my eyes.”

  When she removed it, he stuffed it between them. “I sent Whisker to you along with a list of instructions explaining how to keep you out of trouble, all of which he seems to have modified or ignored.” Jack spoke loud enough that his voice carried to the groom, and the man had the grace to color. “But enough of that now—we have unwanted company.”

  “Oh, my lord. Such splendid riding, such elegant horsemanship,” Mrs. Scaling gushed, sickeningly eager, as always, to get into his good graces.

  Jack spared her no attention and kicked his mount toward his sister. Miss Scaling flanked Virginia and it annoyed the hell out of him. The young blonde smiled with a pretty mix of innocence and calculated flirtation, but her eyes eventually registered Pixie’s presence in his arms. Her eyes soon turned cold and Pixie pressed into his chest, recoiling from the venom in her stare.

  Jack dropped his chin to rest on Pixie’s head. "Do you think she could try anything else to make her appearance closer to Virginia's?"

  Pixie coughed into her hand to hide her giggle. “You do yo
ur sister a disservice. She is much prettier, and so much nicer.”

  “Well, perhaps when Virginia’s happy, she is.” He really liked confiding his thoughts to her.

  Virginia's eyes widened, taking in Pixie’s position atop Jack's lap, his hand curled over her belly, trapping Pixie hard against him.

  Virginia beamed.

  ~ * ~

  Unsure what to make of Virginia's sudden happiness, Constance kept her eyes on the Scalings’ party. She didn’t trust them.

  “Come along, sister. We’ll be late.”

  Virginia soon joined them but glanced around the gathering crowd.

  Word of Jack’s behavior would spread, and Constance shuddered at how society would perceive her current situation. Jack’s betrothed would certainly hear of it.

  “We look forward to seeing you at the Frampton soiree tonight,” Mrs. Scaling called after them. A ripple of interest passed through the crowd, but neither Virginia nor Jack acknowledged her words. Hallam’s horse fell into step beside them, but Jack kicked his stallion and headed for the park exit.

  Even amid the bustle and noise of London's chaotic streets, Constance felt very safe. But she wasn’t fool enough to forget her ease had a lot to do with the strong arm wrapped tight around her middle. She could breathe now and when she did, she drew Jack's cinnamon scent deep into her lungs, hopeful this last breath would sustain her.

  Jack's arm tightened on her middle, tension evident in how close he held her against his chest and how fast his breath struck the exposed skin of her neck. He was not relaxed at all.

  “You frightened me very badly today, Pixie,” Jack admitted as they turned up Park Street, taking a detour to avoid the more congested route toward his home.

  “Well, I did not do it on purpose, so I don’t see how you can be angry about it. It wasn’t my fault.”

  She raised a hand to rub her brow. Her morning had not gone as planned. She’d wanted one last pleasant day before she left. Miss Scaling had ruined it.