“We did not search that very thoroughly at first,” he replied evenly.
“No, we did not,” she replied. “We just took a cursory glance, really.”
He glanced at her. She glanced back with a sly smile on her lips.
“It wouldn’t do to ruin Wessex’s wedding,” he added.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “I could never live with myself.”
“Well in that case...” They had reached the doors of the ballroom, leading into the foyer. “Wait a moment.”
Jack held her back while Lord Bruton, who seemed to have been brooding against the wall all evening, gave up and retired. While waiting for Lord Bruton to ascend the stairs and return to his bedchamber, Jack and Hen were interrupted. Again.
This time it was Lady Sophronia. He winked at her. She only smiled wanly back at him.
“Sorry, Willoughby, not tonight. I have a headache,” Sophronia replied. “Henrietta, I do hate to spoil whatever scandalous antics you two were about to engage in, but my head is absolutely pounding. Would you escort me back to our rooms?”
“Of course,” Henrietta said, immediately concerned and linking her arm with Sophronia’s. Jack was sad to lose her for the evening, but there was something about seeing how she cared for others that made him fall for her even more.
“Willoughby, the gents in the card room were asking for you.”
Chapter Nine
It seemed safe to answer nature’s call. Or so Jack had thought. That carriage caught up with him ... and slowed down ... and...
The following evening
Two days before the wedding
The footman dispatched to search the entire road from London to Kingstag in search of the ring had not yet returned, and Henrietta was growing increasingly anxious. Logic and good sense dictated that they continue to search for the ring just in case it was lying about somewhere. Henrietta always adhered to logic and good sense. Especially when it dictated that she should team up with Jack to search Hippolyta once more.
She had a feeling their attentions would stray. At least, she desperately hoped so. There’d been a growing heat in her belly and sensitivity on her skin whenever she thought of him and whenever she daydreamed of kissing him, both of which she had begun to do with an alarming regularity.
He had brought her the most stunning and lovely bouquet of flowers.
He had arranged all manner of assignations and rendezvous.
Best of all, he brought out a side of her she’d never known she possessed. For the first time, she felt like a happy, beautiful, carefree girl. She didn’t want it to end.
She’d known that rogue Jack forever. She’d always envied his easy manner, his enthusiasm for everything, and his charming grin. Lucky her for finally being able to enjoy it.
As long as she didn’t forget the purpose of their rendezvous tonight: finding the ring.
But could she help it if she felt a shiver of excitement as she made her way to the stables? Or was it just a shiver from the chill in the night air because she had deliberately left her shawl behind? For once, Henrietta would try to stifle her practical and proper nature for a possibly romantic encounter. A shawl would be just one more frustrating layer in between his bare skin and hers. That thought brought on another shiver of anticipation and she quickened her steps to get there sooner.
The hour was late.
It was a starlit evening.
The house was aglow, full of guests celebrating the upcoming wedding. There was champagne and laughter. But an even lovelier night awaited her in the stables.
o0o
The Stables
The hour wasn’t that late. Everyone was still socializing in the drawing room. In London at this hour, he’d only just be dressing on his way out for the evening. Things were different in the country. And things were different with Henrietta.
Good old Henrietta.
Miss Henrietta Black.
When he thought of her now, she was just Hen. His partner in crime, his constant companion, his girl.
Jack felt his heartbeat quicken in anticipation of meeting Henrietta secretly at this hour. They had a mission. A purpose. A Noble Quest. Ravishment was not it. But still, his thoughts strayed to her and all the deliciously wicked things that tended to happen when a man and woman met, alone, in a secluded spot, with the cover of darkness.
But not too much darkness. Jack started to light a few candles. He did adore the way Hen’s skin glowed in candlelight. Also, it would facilitate the search for the ring. Unfortunately, the candlelight also revealed through the adjoining door how the tack room had been transformed.
Before he had a chance to move the candles or close the tack room door, Henrietta arrived. She looked so lovely—so nervous, but excited—that he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let go.
She smiled at him. But it wasn’t long before her gaze found the tack room door, taking in the table and chairs, and the bar.
Perhaps the candles had not been a good idea.
“I had wondered why all the gentlemen spent so much time in the stables marveling at your carriage—nice as it is. And now I see,” she remarked.
“Don’t let Hippolyta hear you disparage her,” Jack said. “She believes she has kept dozens of men captivated for days.”
“Is that a settee? And a game of dice?”
“No,” he replied quickly. But it was.
“No?” She quirked up one eyebrow.
“Can you blame us for avoiding all the wedding madness in the house?”
“It’s not fair that the men should have an escape, whereas I...” she heaved the most heartfelt sigh. “Well, if it weren’t for the missing ring, I’d be agonizing over different shades of white for the hair ribbons and other ridiculous things. But never mind that.”
“One must take one’s pleasures where one may.”
“Indeed,” she replied softly.
“Let’s find the ring,” he said. Because once that was out of the way, there would be nothing between them.
Her lips parted as if to say something. But then she murmured her agreement. They started searching the floor around the carriage. But he kept finding his attention drawn to Henrietta. He couldn’t focus on the missing ring, but he couldn’t think of anything other than Hen.
When it was clear that the ring had not fallen to the stable floors and been brushed aside, Jack suggested searching the carriage once more. He helped her up and climbed in after her.
“It’s not in some crevice in the upholstery,” Henrietta muttered.
“Nor did I place it in the secret compartment,” Jack said after checking it.
“It doesn’t seem to be here at all. It doesn’t seem to be anywhere,” she said, her voice rising in panic. “We’ve been searching for an hour, at least. For a week now!”
“What do we do now, Hen?” He didn’t know. He wished he knew. The only thing he was sure of was that Henrietta would know.
“We probably ought to go back before anyone notices we are missing. Then we should confess to the duke.”
“You’re right, we probably ought to go back,” Jack murmured. But he really, really didn’t want to. He had another idea instead. “Or we could...”
“Yes?” Hen whispered. She peered up at him, lips slightly parted.
“We could do this,” he murmured, before claiming her mouth for the sort of kiss that made a man forget about everything, even the need to breathe. He had no idea now much time passed, only that he hadn’t yet spent enough time kissing Henrietta. Her delicate, artless sighs and moans were driving him mad. Her touch—tentative at first, but became bolder with his encouragement—was driving him wild. He wanted to remove all the infernal layers of clothing separating them from true satisfaction. He wanted to make love to her. Desperately.
However, Jack made an unpleasant discovery. While phaetons were excellent for many things—racing along at a reckless pace, impressing women, inciting the jealousy of other men, and generally showing off—th
ey were not very comfortable for making love.
In spite of being a well-sprung carriage, Hippolyta creaked. Every move caused a loud squeaky, creaky noise that was hardly the stuff of romance. The seat was not large enough to recline and the back was far too upright. The damned carriage was deuced uncomfortable.
None of these were sufficient deterrents to Jack. He had started to discover Henrietta and he would not—could not—rest until he knew the exact softness of the skin of her belly and a million other deeply intimate details.
Other things that ought to have been deterrents oddly were not: Henrietta was an unmarried woman. He had rules about that sort of thing, especially since he was not the marrying kind. He didn’t have the attention span, for one thing.
They had other matters on which they ought to fix their attentions: that deuced ring. Or concocting an excellent excuse for why he didn’t have it. They should be celebrating the impending nuptials with the other guests.
Henrietta sighed and leaned in more. The kiss deepened. His pleasure intensified.
No, there was nothing else they ought to be doing.
Nothing compared to the softness of Henrietta’s lips or how sweet she tasted.
With just one touch and just one taste, Jack forgot all else.
In most things, he had an admittedly short attention span, but he could spend hours, days, entire fortnights kissing her, making love to her, bringing her to heights of pleasure neither of them had ever known before.
He’d wager on it.
If he could tear himself away.
o0o
“Jack...” Henrietta murmured his name. She thought she heard the sound of people coming. But she couldn’t be sure, for her every nerve and all of her senses were attuned to Jack and the mad pleasure she experienced from his every touch.
“Hen, oh Hen,” he murmured her name. She sighed. She did so like being “Hen” instead of “Henrietta” or “Miss Black.”
She thought she might have heard angels singing, so dazed by his kiss and touch was she.
“Jack,” she murmured again, trying to pull back but finding herself drawn to him like a magnet.
But no, that was the sound of men singing. For a second, she considered it was the sound of angels singing. But angels would certainly never sing lyrics like “A country John in the village of late/ courted young Dorothy, Bridget, and Kate.”
The gentlemen must be making their way to the stables to visit with Hippolyta.
And they would see Henrietta and Jack locked in an embrace. Her hair was surely a mess. His cravat was certainly askew.
The implications of discovery hit her like a bucket of cold water. There wouldn’t just be one wedding—but two. Imagine that—she and Jack bound together in holy matrimony forever.
Henrietta hesitated.
She hesitated!
Eligible gentlemen did not often make their way to Dorset. Lord knew, she wasn’t getting any younger and neither was Sophronia. This might be her one and only chance at marriage. But it was Jack.
Who was always so distracted. Who was currently so transfixed by her kiss that their imminent discovery hadn’t occurred to him.
Who lost the priceless family heirloom. Who spent days and nights searching for it with her.
Who had never paid her much attention, other than to tease. Who brought her a glorious bouquet of flowers that he had risked his life to collect for her.
Who could have any woman he wanted. But who probably needed a woman like her.
He didn’t deserve to be trapped into marriage. Neither did she.
“Jack,” she said in a frantic whisper. “We have to go.”
“Is that singing?” Finally he seemed to realize they were about to caught in a very compromising position by a very loud, drunken chorus of men.
“We have to go, Jack. Now.”
Hand in hand they dashed toward the other exit of the stables—but Jack had another idea. He stopped before a ladder leading up to the loft.
“Climb,” he said.
“Are you mad?”
“I am mad with desire for you and want to finish what we started.”
Henrietta climbed the ladder. Promptly.
Jack swiftly followed.
With hardly a second to spare, the mob of carousing gentlemen burst into the stables. “Hippolyta!” they cried.
“Now, where were we?” Jack asked, sweeping Henrietta into his arms for another kiss that made her knees weak, her thoughts flee, warmth smolder in her belly, and wicked desire take over her.
“Come with me,” he whispered. She followed his gaze and noted the soft pile of hay in the corner. Her heart was thudding with the anticipation of an actual roll in the hay.
Finally, life was starting to happen for her. Little old Henrietta, about to have an illicit assignation with a notorious rogue. At least, that’s how the others would see it (not that they must ever know). She could only think of Jack and wanting more of him.
There was just one problem.
There were lots of low beams in the hayloft and little light to see them by. Especially when one was glancing over his shoulder and treating her to a wicked smile that promised all sorts of pleasure, except...
“Jack!”
Thud.
“Oh my God, Jack!” Henrietta fell over his body. After hitting his head, he had fallen to the ground. His eyes were closed. She could not tell if he was breathing or if his heart was beating. Did he live? Or had she just discovered love only to lose it so soon?
Love. She loved him.
And he lay dying in her arms. In a hayloft.
Oh, goodness! She couldn’t go for help—not without revealing their tryst. She would be ruined, for Jack would be too dead to marry her! A tear slid down her cheek. Then another, and another. It was too cruel that he should be taken from her so soon!
“Hen...”
“Oh! Jack! You’re alive!”
He stirred in her arms. Then he opened his eyes.
“I remember where I put the ring.”
Chapter Ten
... and that damned carriage happened to reappear at the Red Lion when Jack arrived later that night, intent on an ale and a bed. He felt in his pocket for the ring. Safe.
Somewhere on the road to Dorchester
At dawn
It was one thing to see Hippolyta parked in the stables, but Henrietta had to admit that it was quite another to see her majestically roll along the country roads at a clip. The horses were especially animated this morning, as if they sensed the urgency of this mission. Henrietta, decked in that atrocious bonnet, sat beside Jack.
“Are you certain of this?” Henrietta asked.
She did not usually take impromptu journeys, especially ones that were the result of a blow on the head.
“I am as certain as the last seven times you asked that question,” Jack replied.
“No need to be smart about it,” she muttered.
“Your nerves. You are overset.”
“My nerves are fine,” she ground out, though she gripped the carriage rail
until her fingers were white.
Tomorrow. The wedding was tomorrow. They were on a mad journey—a race against time!—to find this ring. Also, she might have fallen in love. Her nerves were not fine. Not at all.
“Why don’t you close your eyes and try to sleep,” Jack suggested.
“I couldn’t possibly sleep on this death trap of a machine,” she replied.
“Don’t speak that way about Hippolyta,” he said, defensively.
“You men and your curricles,” she sighed.
“High-flying phaeton,” he corrected.
“Carriages. Whatever. It’s what got us into this debacle in the first place.”
“And what will save us. In any other vehicle we wouldn’t have a prayer of getting to town and back in time for supper.”
“I’m sure we could afford to slow down a little, at least around the turns,” Henrietta said. In fact, as another turn
approached, she nervously clutched his arm for fear of tumbling right out onto the road. Also, because she hadn’t quite finished being affectionate with him.
“Have some fun, Hen,” he urged. “Take off your ridiculous bonnet. Let the sun shine on your face and the wind blow through your hair. We’re on an adventure.”
“Tell me again where we are going and why?” she asked. Last night he’d hit his head and this morning they were dashing along at a breakneck speed.
Nevertheless, she started working on her bonnet strings to loosen them. It was early yet. The roads were deserted. It’d be nice to be free of such a vexing piece of millinery.
“Back in London all anyone can talk about is the duke’s wedding,” Jack explained. “It’s in all the gossip columns, especially.”
“Which I shall avidly read about in three weeks’ time when they make their way out here to Dorset.”
“Indeed. No detail was too insignificant. The papers reported on the bride’s attire from her veil to her shoes. They even reported on what the duke would wear. Of course, they went on and on about the Duke’s ancient and impeccable lineage and the bride’s scandalous sister. The type of cake served at the wedding breakfast was even the matter of a wager in the White’s betting book. Not that I should be telling you that.”
“Very well, but what does this have to do with the ring? And wherever it is that we are going?”
“The papers also mentioned the ring and that Gold & Son’s Jewelers was tasked with resetting and fixing up the blasted thing. Apparently after a few generations it was starting to show signs of wear. Only the best for Wessex brides,” Jack said. He glanced down at Hen. The absurdly large bonnet lay in her lap.
“Go on then,” she urged. “Eventually you’ll get to the point about the ring, right?”
“I thought nothing of it when I read it, and I thought nothing more when I went to collect it. I did notice a peculiar man outside who seemed a bit nefarious. But again, that is just London folks for you.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Henrietta murmured.
“But when I was a few miles outside of the city, I stopped to answer nature’s call, if you will.”
At the Duke's Wedding (A romance anthology) Page 6
