“Hullo, Hen,” he murmured when she arrived but a moment later.
“Hello, Lord Willoughby.”
“Call me Jack,” he said, linking his arms with hers as they set off down the gravel path. “Given that we are embarking on an illicit moonlit assignation, I think Christian names are in order.”
They chatted amiably about dinner and the other guests until he was distracted by the sight of another old oak, which had been split right down the middle and was partly cut up for firewood.
“What happened there?” Jack asked. He’d been seeing it for days but never had a chance to inquire.
“Lightening strike. On the day the bride arrived. Quite a sign, isn’t?”
He agreed, though he couldn’t imagine what it was a sign for. When they reached the entrance to the stables, he had her wait for a moment while he lit the candles.
“Good thinking, Jack,” she said kindly. “It wouldn’t do to search in the dark and I hadn’t thought to bring any.”
“Indeed,” he said, feeling proud of the recognition but also a bit rakish because the real reason he’d brought them was a desire to see her skin under the glow of candlelight. He decided not to mention that.
“It’s a very fine carriage,” Henrietta remarked as her hand slid along the smooth curves of the wheel.
“Indeed.” His voice was oddly rough.
“I can’t quite see what all the fuss is about, though. It is just a carriage. And yet the men at this house party have been entranced with her for days.”
“Just a carriage? Don’t let Hippolyta hear you say such things.”
“Hippolyta? Jack, did you name your carriage?” she asked, laughing.
Jack leaned against the carriage and smiled down at her. “You don’t have much experience with men do you?”
“What part of ‘Aunt Sophronia’s faithful companion’ makes you think that I do?”
“That woman—that old, terrifying woman—is a tremendous flirt. Why, she winked at me at dinner!”
Henrietta groaned and rolled her eyes. “I am upstaged by a woman old enough to be my grandmother.”
“Not here. Not tonight. Let me show you how Hippolyta is not just any other carriage.”
Jack gave her a tour of all the conveyance’s features. He took every opportunity to lean in close to her as he pointed out the finely crafted dashboard, or to slide his hand around her waist to maneuver so they might better see the perfect spokes of the wheels. He wrapped his arm around her, guiding her away from a puddle of spilled whiskey some unruly gent must have left behind.
Hippolyta had many fine features to be pointed out. Jack was eternally grateful. Because he just couldn’t get enough of Henrietta. He breathed her in, ached to taste her skin or thread his fingers through her hair. He wanted to know her.
“And now...” He leapt into the carriage. In one hand he held a lit candle so they might search for the ring along the upholstered seat.
“I suppose you’re going to show me how well sprung she is,” she retorted.
Jack couldn’t help a low chuckle.
“You’re incorrigible!”
“C’mon, Hen,” Jack said, extending his hand. She hesitated. He gave her that grin. Henrietta placed her small, soft hand in his. Perfect. Fit. His intentions were to gently help pull her onto the seat beside him.
But that didn’t happen.
Jack used a little too much of his strength—she was rather light—and Henrietta tumbled against him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her. Unfortunately, he dropped the lit candle to do so. Disastrously, it landed it in the puddle of whiskey.
There was a sudden burst of flame, which dissipated as quickly as it had come.
Henrietta screamed. She clutched his shirt with her delicate little hands and buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He could feel her breasts pressed up against his chest.
He did not like it he did not like it he did not like it.
He liked it.
Of course he bloody liked it. He was a man. With a pulse. And she was ... she was Miss Henrietta Black, a chronically well-behaved child who had grown into a terminally proper woman.
Or so he had thought.
Facts forced him to reconsider. She had broken at least nineteen different rules when she knocked on his bedchamber door before breakfast. At the moment, she ought to be taking tea and gossiping with the ladies. Instead she was here, warm and luscious, in his arms. Plus, they were embarked upon a high-stakes quest together.
Jack revised his previous opinion. She might be responsible and proper, but she was still up for an adventure. He almost didn’t even want to find the ring just yet, so this journey could carry on a bit longer.
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. Except his voice had that husky quality to it.
“Are you hurt?” she peered up at him. He ached upon seeing the concern in her eyes. Women didn’t usually look at him thus and it was ... warm. Nice. He liked it.
“It was just a quick burst of fire. Nothing to worry about.”
“You’re not even concerned about Hippolyta,” Henrietta pointed out.
His beloved carriage’s welfare hadn’t even occurred to him. Another detail he had overlooked: he and Henrietta were still locked in an embrace. That must mean something.
“Hen,” Jack said, his voice rough. Desire thrummed through his veins and he had no intention of stopping it. Especially not when Henrietta was still in his arms.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“This,” he murmured before claiming her mouth with his.
Hen didn’t kiss like a prim spinster. No, she kissed like a lovely young girl. She tasted sweet. The touch of her soft lips on his was light, curious, sweetly unsure. Her innocence was arousing. Or perhaps it was just her. It was her first kiss, he reckoned. But he hadn’t reckoned on the deep pride and surprising sense of possessiveness this aroused in him.
The unmistakable sound of boots on gravel and the low murmur of men’s drunken chatter intruded upon their reverie. It took a moment for Jack’s wits to return, and another to reluctantly end the kiss. Yet another for the implications of the looming situation to spur him to action.
“Henrietta, quick.” Holding her hand, Jack jumped down from the carriage. Clasping her at the waist, he lifted her down.
“Lift your skirts.”
“I beg your pardon!”
The sound of the men grew louder as they grew closer. Her eyes widened in horror. If they were caught...
“We have to run, and fast, Hen.”
With her hand in his, they dashed down the center aisle of the stables, rudely awakening slumbering horses. Taking cover in the shadows, they ran back to the house.
“The ring!” Henrietta whispered, alarmed, as they approached the servants’ entrance.
“We’ll look again tomorrow,” he said. In daylight. Preferably with chaperonage and supervision. Because if he was left alone with her, they would be very distracted indeed.
Chapter Five
Jack urged his horses to go faster. Just to see if that one lone carriage was following him. He glanced over his shoulder, and indeed, the driver had cracked the whip and spurred his horses to pick up the pace.
The next morning
On the lawn
While the guests were occupied with a cricket match on the lawn, Henrietta left Lady Sophronia in the company of Mrs. Barrows, with whom she got along famously. Then she took the opportunity to sneak off and meet Jack.
She waited by their oak—correction, the oak tree—as they had agreed during a furtive conversation at breakfast. Taking advantage of the distance, she indulged in a long, lingering look at him. Oh, lud. Jack looks so handsome, she thought as he strolled across the lawn toward her.
His wheat-colored hair seemed nearly golden in the sunlight, and it was slightly ruffled by a caress of wind. Even from a distance, she could see that he smiled and seemed happy. She herself was a bundle of nerves and anticipati
on. It wasn’t just about the ring, either.
Henrietta couldn’t help but notice the way his breeches clung to his muscled legs and his green jacket clung to his broad shoulders and wide chest. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining what was underneath.
As he approached, she stifled the urge to fuss with her bonnet ribbons. Again. She’d spent a good ten minutes getting them just so. The problem was truly with the bonnet, though. The brim was a touch too large and because of its decorations it resembled nothing so much as a bird’s nest. One of the duke’s sisters had bought it from the milliner in the village and regretted the purchase once it arrived at the house. It was handed down to Henrietta. Lucky her.
She pulled out a sheet of paper and unfolded it clumsily, all too aware that a very handsome man approached and she was wearing this atrocious bonnet.
“Good morning, Hen.”
“Good morning.”
It was Jack. Only Jack. There was no reason to be flummoxed. No reason at all. But the paper shook in her gloved hands. Though she’d known him forever, Henrietta felt oddly nervous to be near him. Had he always been this large? Had his blue eyes always fixed upon her thus, and with a mischievous sparkle to boot? No, she couldn’t quite recall...
She didn’t try very hard, either. It was a beautiful day, and instead of staying indoors with Sophronia, Henrietta would spend the morning out of doors, in glorious sunshine, with a handsome—if vexing—man for company.
However, this wasn’t a frivolous walk about the garden or anything like courtship. They had a purpose.
“I have compiled a list of where the ring might be,” Henrietta said. “We shall proceed in order until we find it.”
“Very organized of you,” Jack said. He leaned against the gnarled tree trunk and gazed down at her.
“There is no point in aimlessly wandering about,” she said.
“You might enjoy the view. Or have an unexpected adventure.” His mouth slowly turned up into a smile.
“I beg your pardon?” she was distracted by thoughts of kissing him again. They had kissed. Briefly. Fleetingly. He probably kissed all of the girls. Literally, all of them. She should not turn into a ninny about it.
“Wandering aimlessly has its perks,” he said. “A beautiful, unexpected view or an unanticipated adventure. Or a kiss...”
He had to mention the kiss.
“While that was ... nice...” she stammered. She had to stammer, didn’t she?
“Nice?” He lifted one brow as only a rogue will do.
“I couldn’t sleep for worry while a priceless family heirloom is missing,” Henrietta rushed. Between the kiss and the missing ring, her nerves were utterly frayed. Indeed, this morning Sophronia had inquired if she was unwell. Henrietta didn’t know what to do about the kiss—would it happen again? Or not? What would it mean? Or not? She should find that cursed ring first. And then worry about kisses. Prioritization, that.
“So you made your list of where it might be,” Jack said, trying to peer at the sheet of paper in her hands and casually brushing up against her as he did. She experienced a tingle of anticipation from the touch.
“Yes. Precisely.”
“Do tell, my lady.”
“I thought we might carefully review the pathway between the stables. Perhaps the ring was in your pocket and it fell out.”
“Excellent thinking. Shall we?” Jack offered his arm. Henrietta looked at him warily, curiously.
“If all those people watching the cricket match should see us wandering about arm-in-arm and our heads bowed together, they will think we are having a romantic stroll. If they see us pacing furiously between the stables and the house with our heads down and otherwise ignoring each other, they will be curious. Eventually someone will do the math and determine that we are responsible for the ring, that it is missing, and thus, that we are looking for it.”
“You are not so foolish after all,” she replied. Her heart twinged at the faint smile he gaze her, as if he were sad and tired to always be thought of thusly.
Not knowing what to say, Henrietta slipped her arm in his and strolled alongside him.
o0o
Henrietta wasn’t the only one to think him a fool. Jack knew the opinion was shared by most who encountered him. He’d never been able to focus on his lessons—Latin, botany, and ancient history just didn’t captivate him. Forget about the preacher’s sermons. Or most conversations. Even most women couldn’t hold his interest with their twittering and harping on this and that. Horses races he liked—they were fast and fascinating and then over. He enjoyed sports. Carriages intrigued him—particularly the design and construction of them.
And Henrietta. She had caught his interest.
And he didn’t want her to think him a fool.
“Slow down a bit, Hen,” he said to the woman stomping along at a clip beside him. He peered down at her and could see little other than her atrocious bonnet, which seemed to resemble some sort of shrubbery. “Remember, we are lovers indulging in a morning stroll through the gardens.”
“You’re right,” she said, though she kept her gaze firmly fixed upon the grass and gravel underfoot.
“We are not two people who are increasingly panicked at the absence of a priceless family heirloom.”
“You’re right. It must be somewhere,” she said firmly. Hen peered up at him expectantly. His heart sank. He had been the damned fool to misplace the thing. On the one hand, this mistake was a disaster.
On the other hand, this disaster was allowing for time with Henrietta, which he was finding quite enjoyable. Perhaps it was even more enjoyable than drinking in the stables and accepting compliments on Hippolyta.
But Henrietta thought him a fool for misplacing it. Which he had done, probably while drinking and talking about Hippolyta.
Jack sighed, hopelessly. They had to find the ring.
Up and down the gravel path they strolled leisurely once, then twice, then thrice.
“What did the ring look like, anyway?” she asked. “I don’t think the duchess has worn it since Wessex’s father died years ago.”
Jack wracked the recesses of his brain trying to recall what the jeweler had handed him.
“It was a dark stone. Flanked with some shiny white ones. In a gold band,” he said finally. “Or was it silver? Also, there may have been rubies.”
“You are hopeless.”
“I’m a man. I’m not supposed to have an eye for jewelry.”
“Well, there goes my plan to have someone in the village try to make a forgery in a few days time,” Henrietta muttered.
“With all the diamonds, rubies, and sapphires lying around?”
“If you knew the names of the stones,” Henrietta said slowly. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
And then, just to vex her, he said, “It could have been an emerald.”
Jack glanced down at her with a grin. Her eyes were flashing and her cheeks were pink—blazing mad, she was.
“You are quite adorable when you make those sounds of strangled frustration.”
“I’m so glad you think so,” she said witheringly.
“Doesn’t old Sophronia feel the same?”
“I don’t think she can hear them. Not that she would ever admit it, but her hearing is not quite all it was these days.”
In earlier days, it had been—he remembered Lady Sophronia always heard when someone muttered something wicked. Now that he thought about it, Sophronia and Henrietta had always been there. Around. They dined with the family but were not quite a part of it. As a child, Jack had never wondered how anyone was related—he merrily played with his cousin, the duke, and the cook’s children. In his memories, Hen was always just there, off to the side, watching but not participating lest Sophronia need her.
“How did you become her companion anyway?”
“I was an orphan of too high a status to be sent to the workhouse but not high enough to be brought out. Thus, I earn my keep by keeping the crotchety old woma
n entertained.”
“She’s not too crotchety, is she? I’ve always found Sophronia fiendishly entertaining. But then again, I haven’t had to live at her beck and call. “
“She’s not bad at all,” Henrietta said firmly. “It’s just ... nothing.” She sighed. Jack thought he understood.
“It’s just that a young woman may not want to spend all of her time devoted to an old lady. Not when you could be gallivanting with rogues or taking care of babies of your own.”
“Something like that,” Henrietta said softly. Then she looked away and obscured his view of her pretty face with that absurdly large bonnet. But it had happened—he knew it. They’d shared a moment.
“Wessex says she came with the house,” Jack said, lightening the conversation.
“I’m given to understand that, along with lands and houses, titles also come with an assortment of dependent relations,” she remarked.
“I didn’t get any,” he said. There were some cousins in the Outer Hebrides, but other than Wessex, the rest of Jack’s family was long gone. No pesky sisters or brothers. No mad old aunts and their lovely young companions.
“Lucky you,” Hen said.
“It’s a bit lonely,” Jack replied. Not untruthfully.
“Is that why you keep so much company with so many women?”
“Speaking of...” he murmured as a flash of white caught his eyes. Then another, then another.
“Quick! Hide!”
o0o
They’d been having a moment. Henrietta was dismayed when it ended abruptly with Jack tugging her under the cover of one of the large, gnarled old oak trees that shadowed the path.
But then she wasn’t dismayed at all.
The large branches hung low and created a sort of cocoon where they’d be hidden from whatever they were hiding from. She found her back up against the tree. Jack’s body protectively covered hers. He slyly peered around the thick trunk, trying to see if they had escaped.
As he did, his hand strayed from the tree trunk to her hip. Henrietta sucked in her breath. That felt too perfectly wonderful. His hand, casually, possessively on her hip.
“It’s the White Muslin Crew,” he muttered. “I say, they are a plague among men.”
At the Duke's Wedding (A romance anthology) Page 3
