by Heather Boyd
Constance glanced to the side and smiled at the marquess, but he sat rigid at her side. Hoping that no one could see, she carefully slid her hand across to Jack’s clenched fist and brushed her fingers across his knuckles. She would not like him to miss the performance because of Miss Scaling.
His long, slow breath brushed her ear as she diverted his attention. With the light gone, darkness covered them in seductive intimacy. Surrounded by thousands, yet only aware of the people close, she sighed as Jack pressed his shoulder against hers. She didn’t restrain the grin that crossed her face as she pressed her own shoulder into his. She settled back into her chair, content.
The players moved on the stage and she watched, impressed by an art she had never mastered. She had barely mastered being the respectable Miss Constance Grange. Attempting to be anything more was beyond her ability. Jack’s arm moved, and a bare hand pressed over hers. Constance relaxed as his warmth seeped into hers, but instead of withdrawing, as he should, he turned her hand, laced their fingers tight together, and settled their joined hands between their chairs.
~ * ~
Constance strolled along beside Virginia and tried not to wonder why Jack had held her hand all through the play. It wasn’t that she found his touch unwelcome, but it wasn’t right. He had a woman ready to become his wife, and she had allowed him to take liberties belonging to her future husband.
Even worse, she was wicked enough to have enjoyed it.
As she’d followed Hallam and Virginia from the box, Jack’s hand had settled briefly at her waist, his thumb stroking firmly over the small of her back. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her character, so she’d hurried to catch up with Virginia and put more distance between them.
But even now, she shuddered at the pleasure that small intimacy had brought her. In time, she would grow used to a man touching her. Her husband would have that right. What she needed to do now was focus on the three men on her list and gain their attention—not the unavailable marquess’.
In the halls, she met Viscount Carrington and his sister, Miss Ryall. Carrington was all that she remembered him to be, charming and witty, with a ready smile for his acquaintances. Miss Ryall enthused about the play, but her eyes darted around the crowd.
“Miss Grange, I trust I may call on you tomorrow at three. I would like to make my future wife known to you.”
Behind him, Miss Ryall made a face.
Constance struggled not to laugh. “Oh, no, I am so sorry, but I have a prior appointment tomorrow. Lord Blamey is calling to take me for a drive in the park. Perhaps another time?”
Constance spied Miss Scaling across the room. The girl craned her neck, trying to catch Jack’s eye again but Jack kept his attention on the viscount.
“I shall gladly delay my call until a later time if you will promise to tell me the news of your interlude with Blamey,” the viscount pressed. “I am starved for interesting adventures.”
Constance didn’t like the sound of that. “I make it a point never to gossip, my lord. If you will excuse me, I think it is time to return to the box.”
Across the room, the gentleman Virginia had pointed out as Lord Bridges smiled a greeting. She couldn’t think of a way to speed up the process of courtship, so she smiled back and turned to Virginia. Except Virginia wasn’t there.
Alarmed, Constance tried to find her, until Jack’s hand brushed her lower back.
“Hallam has already taken my sister back,” Jack whispered close to her ear.
Oh, the way he smelled was remarkable. Needing more, she twined her arm through his and let him control the speed of their return, more than gratified he wasn’t swift about it.
Half way to their destination, she caught a glimpse of pink skirts caught between the folds of a curtain. If she had to bet, Miss Scaling lay in wait. She was positive the color was the exact shade of her gown.
Unwilling to contemplate Miss Scaling’s frantic handling of the marquess again, she pulled Jack aside and slipped them into an empty storeroom.
“Do you possess the power to read my mind?” Jack growled close to her ear.
Startled by the deep husk of his voice, Constance glanced up.
Jack tugged her into his arms and pressed her against the door. Alone in the heavy darkness, she pressed her hands against his chest and tried to think of a reasonable explanation for this embrace.
“Jack.”
“Shh,” he whispered and moved closer.
Constance brushed her hands upward and the rapid pounding of his heart drew a smile to her lips. This was wrong. Her reputation would be shredded for this. No amount of explanation could stop the scandal if someone found her and the cold-hearted marquess embracing like this.
Although, right now, he seemed to be the warmest person she’d ever met.
Suddenly light-headed, she rested her head against his chest. She deserved to go to Bedlam. Constance would not mind staying close to him. He was so warm. And that scent of his made her forget herself. She fought against the urge to cuddle closer.
~ * ~
“Damn,” Jack whispered. “You’re not making this easy.”
Pleasure spiked as Jack cradled Pixie against him, resting his chin on top of her head. “I apologize. Miss Scaling had laid a trap before us. I did not want to fall into it. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Constance whispered.
Jack laid his cheek against her hair and sighed. The dark mass was soft and his mind imagined the strands draped across his pillow. Desire surged instantly.
Definitely a problem he didn’t need.
When Pixie clutched the lapels of his coat, Jack lifted his head and looked down at her face. He could not see much beyond her ear, so he raised one hand to her face. He lifted her chin. Unfortunately, darkness hid her green eyes and he had no idea of her mood. But he was determined to seize any opportunity to unravel his feelings for her.
Her grip on his coat tightened. Jack eased himself away from temptation and opened the door a crack. The hallway was clear as far as he could see. They needed to return before the gossips noticed their absence. Thinking to whisper into her ear, Jack slid close again, but before he could speak, Pixie pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips.
Jack froze.
Then she was gone. Through the door and hurrying for his box before he could fully appreciate her soft strawberry lips on his. Jack shut the door and counted to one hundred.
Shock was a wondrous thing.
Every secret wish, every stored-up hope collided in a rush of pure exhilaration. Pixie had kissed him.
Kisses did not signify a sisterly affection. He had a sister and she had only ever kissed his cheek. Lips were something else entirely. To be sure he was in control again, Jack counted another hundred before he stepped into the corridor.
Luckily, the corridor was empty. He slipped into his box and his chair quickly. Pixie had turned her face to the stage and took no notice of his arrival, but her hands wrapped tight around her fan.
Jack did not trust himself to touch her again, so he sat and concentrated on the remainder of the play. He tried very hard to suppress his body’s reaction to that gentle kiss. And especially, he tried to keep from grinning like a lovesick fool.
Chapter Fourteen
DON’T PANIC, PIXIE. Don’t panic.
No matter how many times Constance repeated those words, she didn’t feel any calmer. She couldn’t blame her agitation on her pursuit of a husband. Although she was painfully nervous about spending time with Lord Blamey, that was not the reason for her fears. Constance had a much larger problem.
Saints preserve me, when will I learn to think before I act? Constance paced around the room, picking up small objects, cleaning them with a fine linen handkerchief, and then meticulously returning them to the precise place they had sat before. So far, she had circled the room twice. She didn’t know what to do, and she didn’t know how to forget what she had done.
Last night she had kissed the marqu
ess.
Like the coward she was, Constance had taken breakfast in her room. She could not face him and behave normally. She was sure she wouldn’t swallow a bite. The little food she had managed to choke down from her breakfast tray had settled painfully in her belly. She hoped it would not make a repeat appearance in the near future.
Constance pulled the cloth between her fingers. She still didn’t know what had come over her. One minute she was a rational and sensible young woman. The next, a wanton light-skirt. Being so close to Jack overwhelmed her. The pressure of his gloved hands against her back mesmerized her, the thud of his heart was music to her fingertips. The dashed man had no right to scramble her wits like that.
Constance swung around and continued her pacing, remembering Jack’s lips against hers. For one glorious moment, she had imagined that he wanted to kiss her back. Maybe she was lucky that he hadn’t. She had hoped he did not taste of cinnamon, too, because if he did, she would have to forswear the use of it in her home. Of course, she might not have a home to live in, but that was beside the point. The smell would eventually provoke painful memories. Kissing Jack might just be her biggest blunder.
His response had been so lowering.
There had been no more smiles, no more touches, and certainly no more hand holding. Constance could freely admit that she missed all of it. At least she was honest with herself, even if the knowledge didn’t provide a comfort. But what she should do about it was a mystery. Should one apologize for kissing?
Constance didn’t know the etiquette about these matters. The greater problem was she had no one to ask. She couldn’t expect Virginia to be sympathetic since she had practically thrown herself at her brother—a marquess, and an engaged man.
Constance slumped onto the thickly padded chaise and lowered her head to her hands. The prickling of an impending headache grew behind her eyes. No surprise, since she had trembled all night, afraid Jack would toss her out on the street. Sleep had eluded her till very late, and when her maid had woken her, all her terrors had returned full force. Jack would be angry and she couldn’t blame him.
The door clicked behind her, and she turned, expecting the worst.
“Pixie, are you ever coming out?” Virginia asked.
Constance tried not to let her relief show. For one dreadful moment, she feared Jack had come. “Forgive me. I am a little sluggish today.” Constance turned away to hide her embarrassment.
“Jack was concerned you might be ill. He sent me up to check. Here, look at me a moment.”
Virginia turned Constance and her cool hand pressed to Constance’s brow. Constance flinched. “Virginia, there is nothing wrong with me. I am simply fatigued.”
Virginia’s face was full of concern. “Your cheeks are pink and your skin is hot to touch. I think you could be getting ill. Shall I give your apologies to Lord Blamey?”
Constance turned away and toyed with the strings of her reticule. “It is nothing but the effect of a restless sleep. Don’t worry so.”
“Well, if you say so, but remember I will be expected to give a full report to my brother before you leave for your outing.”
“Your brother is not my keeper,” Constance snapped yet regretted it as Virginia gasped.
“I know he has no claim on you, but he tends to feel responsible when we don’t take care of ourselves. Forgive us for worrying about you.”
Constance was the most undeserving woman in the world to snap at a friend. Virginia’s contrite expression escalated her guilt. She had used Jack very badly last night and imposed upon him worse than Miss Scaling had ever done. She couldn’t blame her actions on the scent of cinnamon or the heat of him. She was the one who had pushed them into that room.
“Virginia, I didn’t mean to quarrel,” Constance apologized as she crossed the room. “As soon as I return from my outing with Lord Blamey, I am going to rest again. I hope afterward I will be fit company.”
She didn’t mention to Virginia that she would probably be packing as soon as she returned. Virginia would require a detailed explanation if Constance did.
Her friend hurried forward and gave her a hug. “Everyone is entitled to a display of bad temper now and again. Just remember we love you, and only want your happiness.”
“I know and ...”
There was respectful scratching at the door and Constance crossed to open it.
“A caller for you, Miss Grange,” the butler announced, and his disdainful expression hinted he didn’t care for the caller.
Trembling, Constance thanked him and fretted in silence while Virginia helped her don her dark blue pelisse and matching feathered hat. Together, they made their way to the drawing room to greet Lord Blamey.
~ * ~
“My dear, you look wonderful,” Lord Blamey gushed.
Jack squinted through the portrait spy holes as the obsequious ass fawned over Pixie. In the light of day, he looked even plainer. His grey coat sat poorly over his less than muscular physique.
“My lord, it is such a pleasure to see you again.”
He couldn’t imagine Pixie would like Blamey, yet she seemed perfectly charming and polite as he flattered her.
Blamey’s thinning brown hair lay heavy over a patch of white skull, and Jack wished for a gust of wind to blow through the room. But with all the windows closed, it would take an act of God to get his wish.
“Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine,” Blamey replied. “We have a lovely day for our outing. I shall be honored to have you beside me. Shall we go?”
Jack considered throwing up, but the tunnels were so hard to clean. When the door to the drawing room closed behind them and Virginia, Jack stepped into the room, and strode to the front windows.
Blamey had jammed a conical top hat on his head, denying Jack the reflection of sunlight off his large skull. Teeth gritted as Blamey handed Pixie into the carriage, he cursed under his breath when Blamey held her hand a fraction of a second longer than needed.
Hell, he didn’t like Pixie being manhandled. Blamey hauled himself into the carriage seat and slumped untidily beside Pixie. The tiny woman slid as far to the side as possible, and Jack leaned forward to see her expression. She looked uncomfortable. Why was he letting her do this to herself?
Perhaps last night might not have ended the way it should have. He hadn’t trusted himself to do anything more than nod a goodnight. But in his bedchamber, locked tight in his desk, was the beginning of an important list. With a shaking hand, he had considered all the benefits of marrying Pixie. The reasons against had been few. It had been a troubling night.
A part of him still resisted. That part of him had wanted to talk to her this morning over breakfast and find any reason to tear up his list. Pixie’s absence had sorely disappointed him and as a result, he sent off two letters.
Later today, he had requested a meeting with his man of business to pay, anonymously, Pixie’s debts to the tradesmen of her home village. He was also going to pay off Mr. Scaling by the same devious means. The second letter’s response would take longer.
Lord Blamey clucked the reins and then the curricle drove her out of sight.
“I thought you would have followed,” Lord Hallam remarked as he stepped up to the window.
“I considered it, but—”
“Come on, the horses are saddled. Your sister has had enough of my company for one morning. Come riding with me. If our paths happen to cross Pixie’s, then so be it.”
Jack looked at Hallam closely. “Why do you have such a particular interest in Miss Grange today?”
“I considered the benefits ascribed to the addition of siblings as a result of marriage,” Hallam began, adjusting his new riding gloves over his knuckles. “It seemed to me that my best interests are served by ensuring the sister I acquire by marriage meets with my approval. Pixie is intelligent, well spoken, and Virginia already loves her as a true sister. I have no doubt Virginia would encourage me to encourage you. Just think of the familial bliss in that kind of fu
ture. Can you blame me for hoping to see that come to fruition?”
Jack choked. “God, you’re trying your hand at matchmaking?” He would never conceive that his trusted friend’s usual indifference had disappeared.
“I did warn you that I intended to make your sister happy.” Hallam smiled. “This most assuredly will achieve that aim.”
Jack did not know how to reply, but he did want an excuse to watch over Pixie. Hallam provided an easily explainable reason to be in the park.
~ * ~
“My lord, have a care,” Constance cried. Lord Blamey was a truly terrible driver. The grey shied to avoid crashing headlong into the path of an oncoming landau. She was grateful for the horse’s sense of self-preservation.
“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t see that carriage there,” he muttered and dragged his eyes back to the path ahead.
Constance was relieved, but she didn’t entertain the fantasy it would last. She had never encountered such a scatterbrained gentleman. He certainly shouldn’t be responsible for managing a phaeton and horse on London’s busy streets. His gaze constantly darted around them in a most disconcerting way. Constance wasn’t positive he even remembered she was squashed beside him since he hadn’t struck up much in the way of conversation.
Determined to fill the awkward silence, she risked distracting him to ask a question. “Have you been in London long, sir?”
Lord Blamey looked at her in surprise. “Oh, I have been here since the current parliamentary session began. I never miss a day.”
Constance waited for him to continue, hoping he had more to say, but he turned his imperfect attention back to the horse and the surrounding sights.
“Do you enjoy all that society in London has to offer?” Constance pressed. “Do you attend the balls and the opera often?”
Blamey winced. “Some.”
Constance shifted her gaze from the horse and looked at him properly. His gaze was pinned on an open carriage at the edge of the park. Lord Blamey stared with such fixed attention that Constance needed to gather the reins when he refused to heed her repeated warning. The horse, now assured of a competent driver, swiftly obeyed her commands. The phaeton jerked to a stop.
