Inwardly, Jack cursed himself for being such a bungler. He had successfully wooed dozens of women. Why had he botched it the one time it mattered? He should let the matter drop—allow her to live her life as she wished. It was the only fair thing to do.
As he opened his mouth to do just that, he suddenly recalled the letter he'd received only that afternoon from Havershaw. Fire had destroyed one of his tenants' cottages. Until it could be rebuilt, a family of five would be homeless. Without that trust money…
“Do you not wish to marry me after all, my lord?” Nessa prompted as he hesitated.
“Yes. Yes, of course! I was simply… surprised by your sudden change of heart.” But he was all too aware that it was not truly a change of heart. Her expression was determined, resigned, but certainly not happy.
Sir Hadley came up behind her just then, no doubt to claim another dance, but Jack waved him away. “Lady Haughton is feeling overcome by the heat,” he said. “Be a good fellow and fetch her some lemonade. I shall escort her out onto the terrace, where it is cooler.” Sir Hadley bowed in some confusion and hurried off.
Jack led her through the French doors a short distance away, then paused. It certainly was cooler out here. In fact, it was downright frigid—not surprisingly, as it was late October. What had he been thinking? What the devil had happened to his vaunted ability to plan for every contingency? Nessa shivered.
“My apologies. Let's go into the parlor instead.” Leading her back inside, he indicated an archway. A few moments later they were seated on a divan, alone in the room but with the door discreetly half open. Taking both her hands in his, he said, “I will marry you, Nessa, but only upon two conditions.”
Despite her obvious distress, a spurt of laughter escaped her. “My, how the tables have turned! An hour ago you were bargaining for my hand. Now it appears I am to bargain for yours. What are your conditions?”
Jack reached out to stroke her cheek, pleased to see she was still in possession of her sense of humor. “Brave girl. Only these: first, that we schedule our wedding to take place before Christmas.” He paused and she nodded, accepting that. “Secondly,” he continued, “that you come with me to Paris.”
“Paris?” she breathed, her eyes wide.
He nodded. “I've been invited to a post at Louis' court. We would leave just after the first of the year. Consider it a honeymoon,” he added with a grin.
Though she frowned at that, Nessa nodded slowly. “Very well, Jack. I will go with you to Paris. And now,” she finally met his eyes, “I have a few conditions of my own.”
“Indeed? Let's have them, then.”
She ignored his teasing tone. “First, as I said before, I will not be dictated to. Or bullied. Or abandoned in the country while you pursue your pleasures in Town.”
He nodded solemnly. “You have my word.”
Though she looked startled, a smile flitted across her face. “And—I want the rest of those waltzing lessons you promised me.”
Jack laughed aloud at this conclusion, but quickly sobered. “We shall consider it settled, then.” He regarded her quizzically. “Surely a kiss would be appropriate, to seal our troth?”
She looked wary, but did not shy away when he leaned toward her. He covered her mouth with his, savoring the light, slightly floral scent of her skin and hair. She truly was exquisite—an excellent choice. As he deepened the kiss, she seemed to melt beneath him—much as she had that afternoon in the park. Her breath quickened and mingled with his, and again it took all of his self control to pull away.
“Is this how you mean to bend me to your will, my lord, now you have agreed not to dictate?” she asked as soon as she could speak.
Her quick recovery surprised him, but he answered readily enough. “Do you not find me persuasive? That is but one of many weapons in my arsenal, I assure you.”
She eyed him speculatively. “Indeed. I asked you this afternoon whether that was how a rake kisses. I don't recall that you ever answered me.”
He tried to choke back a laugh, but failed utterly. “No, I suppose I didn't. How should I answer? That is how I kiss. If I am to be categorized as a rake, then I suppose the answer must be yes.”
The sparkle did not leave her eyes. “Ah, but you aren't truly a rake anymore, are you? Perhaps I shall never know for certain how a real rake behaves toward a lady.”
Nessa would never bore him, of that Jack was absolutely certain. “You little minx! How on earth did you ever attain such a spotless reputation in the first place?”
“By being relentlessly respectable, of course,” she replied. “Did I not tell you I was heartily tired of it?”
“You did. And sometime you must tell me what it was like and just why you developed such an aversion… but not now. I perceive Sir Hadley and your lemonade have found us.”
Practiced in such matters, Jack expertly and surreptitiously straightened a ruffle of Nessa's rose gown and one of his lapels before turning to face the interloper. “My apologies, Leverton. It was too cold on the terrace for Lady Haughton's comfort, so we changed our venue for her recovery. She seems much more the thing now.”
Sir Hadley glanced suspiciously from one to the other, but Jack regarded him serenely—as did Nessa, he noted with approval.
“Is that my lemonade, Sir Hadley? You are a dear, thank you. I'm quite parched.” She took the glass from her erstwhile suitor with a breathtaking smile, earning a grudging one in return.
“My honor to be of service, my lady,” he said, bowing. “My very great honor. Perhaps I might persuade you to accompany me back to the ballroom?” He sent a darkling glance at Jack.
“An excellent idea. I'll come with you.” Jack rose and extended a hand to help Nessa to her feet, forestalling Sir Hadley, who had perforce to precede them from the room. Jack took the opportunity to whisper, “Shall I approach the Creamcrofts, or do you wish to speak with them first?”
The look she flashed him held a hint of alarm. “Let me do it, please! I'm not certain how—” But Sir Hadley had turned back, so she broke off. “Thank you, my lord,” she concluded, more audibly.
Her face giving no hint of the turmoil she doubtless felt, Nessa proceeded regally to the ballroom to dance the next set with Sir Hadley. Jack wasn't certain he could have performed any better himself, under the circumstances. Yes, she'd do quite nicely.
~ ~ ~
THE REMAINDER OF THE EVENING passed far too quickly for Nessa, dreading as she was the announcement she must make to Prudence during the drive home. She danced one more waltz with Jack, and honored her other, previous commitments on the floor, but sat out the remainder of the dances to give herself time to think.
Her newfound popularity was an impediment to this goal, however. Between Miss Leverton and various interested gentlemen, she was given little time to herself.
“Are you certain you do not wish for another glass of ratafia?” Mr. Galloway asked, seating himself rather too close to her on the bench where she'd sought refuge behind a potted palm.
“Quite certain, thank you,” she replied, scooting an inch or two away from him. “I am merely a bit tired. Pray go and enjoy the dance.”
No sooner had he left her than Miss Leverton appeared with a fresh volley of advice for Lady Haughton's improvement. Nessa smiled and nodded at what she hoped were appropriate intervals while her mind traveled other paths.
Was she doing the right thing? If not, what alternative did she have? She imagined life in the country, at Haughton Abbey's dower house—an intolerable prospect. Or at Cherry Oaks, where her Cousin Filmore, a man after her father's heart, now held sway. Even worse.
No, marriage to Lord Foxhaven must be superior to either of those alternatives. Mustn't it? He had promised much, but of course she had no way to enforce those promises. She hoped she could trust him. And Paris…!
“You understand what I mean, do you not, Lady Haughton?”
“Oh, certainly, Miss Leverton. Thank you for advising me.”
Wh
atever instructions she had just imparted, her self-appointed mentor was not finished. She launched into yet another monologue.
What would it be like to live with Jack in Paris? Nessa was unable to suppress an anticipatory shiver. And that “persuasion” he'd alluded to—he'd implied he meant to do more than kiss her, but did she really want him to? Certainly, his kisses were completely different from Lord Haughton's, but kissing had always been the least unpleasant part of marital intimacy. Would… that be different, too? Her thoughts shied away from the subject.
“I'm sorry, Lady Haughton, I did not mean to embarrass you with my plain speaking.”
Nessa had no idea what Miss Leverton had been saying, but it was clear her own musings had brought a blush to her cheeks. Happily, it served to deter her advisor from further counsel. As Amanda Leverton stood, Prudence approached.
“Will you be ready to leave soon, my dear? Supper is not to be served until after midnight, and I confess myself quite tired.”
Though not surprised, as the Creamcrofts frequently left such functions early, Nessa wondered whether Lady Mountheath's hatefulness had contributed to her sister's fatigue. She felt a moment of panic on realizing that the moment she'd been dreading was almost upon her. Best to get it over, though. “Certainly, Prudence. I am rather fagged myself.”
When they were all ensconced in the carriage a short time later, Prudence commented, “I could not help overhearing just a bit of what Miss Leverton was saying to you as I walked over, Nessa. Perhaps you should not rely too heavily on her advice after all. It seems most improper to me for a lady to hint that she might like to be kissed in order to prompt a gentleman to a declaration.”
Nessa coughed. Was that what Amanda had thought put her to the blush? It was too funny, after the occurrences of this day. Though a mere month ago, such advice probably would have shocked her, she realized. What a change Lord Foxhaven had wrought in her! Perhaps he really was a bad influence, she thought with a secret grin.
“Prudence, I have something to tell you,” she said while her courage was still high. Her sister and brother-in-law regarded her expectantly. Philip still wore grim lines about his mouth, she noticed. He, at least, should be pleased that Prudence would be spared further embarrassment on her behalf.
Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “Lord Foxhaven has made me an offer of marriage, and I have accepted him,” she said in a rush, then braced herself for her sister's reaction.
For a full minute, it did not come. Then Prudence said, faintly, “Oh, Nessa, are you certain? He is so… That is, you have been accustomed to such… I am very happy for you, of course, but…”
Her husband broke in, firmly. “Our heartiest congratulations, sister. Though Lady Creamcroft may doubt it, I believe you and Foxhaven will deal very well together. Had a few words with him earlier this evening and he seems a fine chap.”
Prudence regarded her husband uncertainly. “But the stories—”
“Overblown, or at least ancient history. I'm certain of it.” Prudence appeared to need further reassurance, so he put his arm about her shoulders. “I'm sure your sister can tame whatever wild tendencies might remain in him, my dear. A good wife always can. We'll send an announcement to the papers in the morning.”
Nessa knew Philip's eagerness stemmed from his wish to protect his wife, but she felt the tiniest bit hurt nonetheless. Did he want her out of their house so badly as all that? But then she considered the rest of what he'd said.
Tame Jack's remaining wild tendencies? If he truly had any left, her preference would be to coax them back to full vigor. This promised to be a most interesting engagement, whatever befell.
NINE
JACK HUMMED to himself as he mounted the stairs to his bedchamber. The evening had gone remarkably well, all things considered. For a while there, it seemed he'd ruined everything, but in the end it had turned out far better than he'd anticipated.
“Congratulate me, Parker,” he greeted his waiting valet. “I am betrothed.”
Though betraying no real surprise, Parker regarded him closely for a moment. Then, breaking into a wide smile, he heartily congratulated his employer. “I am truly happy for you, my lord.”
It was Jack's turn to attempt deciphering Parker's visage, but with as little success as usual. “So you think I've done the right thing, do you?”
“I do, my lord. I feared for a moment that you had been too precipitate, but I see now it is not the case.”
“How the devil can you know that?” Jack demanded. “I met the woman less than a month ago, after all.”
Parker merely smiled and proceeded to help him out of his coat, but Jack felt oddly reassured. He could not recall a time in their long acquaintance when Parker's judgment had been faulty.
Lord Peter and Harry presented themselves at Foxhaven House at the unheard-of hour of ten o'clock the next morning, eager for news.
“'Sdeath, Harry, did Peter have to drag you from your bed to have you here so early? Get yourself some coffee from the sideboard.”
Harry, decidedly groggy, complied. “Don't know why Pete couldn't have told me whatever news after he had it. Rising early ain't good for my constitution, I'm sure of it. So what is it? Do you leave for Paris in the morning?”
Helping himself to a cup of coffee as well, Lord Peter turned toward Jack with interest. “I scarcely slept for the anticipation, Jack. Out with it!”
Jack leaned back in his chair, extending his legs toward the library hearth. “Both of you clearly need more to occupy your time—and minds. To think that my small doings should hold such fascination for two such purportedly worldly gentlemen…”
The worldly gentlemen advanced menacingly toward him, and he threw up a hand. “Very well, very well. No need to douse me with hot liquids. Lady Haughton and I are betrothed, with the wedding to take place before Yuletide. Satisfied?”
The two faces before him were a study in contrasts, Harry's evincing distaste and pity, Lord Peter's disbelieving joy. The latter spoke first.
“Congratulations, old fellow! I knew you had it in you. Well done!” He clasped Jack's hand and pumped it heartily.
But Harry shook his head gloomily and dropped into a chair. “I was afraid it would come to this. Really going to go through with it, are you? Set up a nursery, the whole bit?”
That thought hadn't occurred to Jack before, and sobered him abruptly. A nursery? Children? Him, a father? It seemed terribly unlikely, somehow—not to mention more responsibility than he'd bargained for, far outstripping the others that went with his title.
“I, er, yes. I suppose so,” he said lamely. “The announcement may not appear in the papers for a day or two, so I'd prefer you keep the news to yourselves until then, by the way.”
“So, Jack, tell us how you pulled it off,” prompted Lord Peter, pulling a chair close. “I take it your blackmail, whatever it was, was effective?”
Harry raised an eyebrow at that, his interest reviving. “Blackmail, say you? There's a new courtship technique.”
But Jack shook his head, cursing himself for ever using the word aloud. “Merely a figure of speech, Peter. Oddly enough, Lady Mountheath made herself useful in my cause.”
“What? She never—” began Lord Peter.
“Not intentionally, I assure you. She was apparently rude to Lady Creamcroft on account of her sister's choice of dancing partners. I managed to parlay Lady Haughton's anxiety for her sister's social standing into an agreement to marry me, that is all.” Jack hoped they would be satisfied with that, but he was not to be so fortunate.
“Just like that?” Peter was openly suspicious. “She insisted upon no conditions? No unusual promises?”
Jack grinned, remembering. “Actually, she did.” The moment the words were out, he regretted them, but now he was forced to elaborate. “She, ah, wants me to teach her to waltz.”
“What else?” his friends said together.
“There are times it is damned inconvenient to have close fri
ends,” Jack observed. “There are things a man prefers to keep private, you know.”
“Oh, come, Jack!” Peter protested. “We've been with you on this campaign from the outset. Surely we deserve the details of the final coup.”
Now Jack felt distinctly embarrassed, but had to agree he owed that much to his compatriots. “All right, then. I promised not to dictate to her, or leave her alone in the country. It would seem old Haughton was quite the bully, judging by her disinclination to remarry. I've no doubt if I were to begin ordering her about she would cry off at once.”
Harry brightened at once. “By Jove, a loophole! Well done, old boy! You can get your inheritance before the wedding, then play the tyrant, eh? I should have known that if anyone could devise a way to have his cake and eat it too, it'd be Jack Ashecroft!” He rose to bow in tribute, spilling the last drops of his coffee on the thick Turkish carpet in the process.
Lord Peter frowned. “That's not your intent, is it? To have her cry off before the wedding? Paris—”
“What would he want with a wife in Paris?” demanded Harry with a laugh. “If Old Nosey had asked me, I'd have gone like a shot. I hear there's a grand time to be had. Don't have the blunt handy to go on my own, or I'd be there now.”
“I don't doubt it,” said Lord Peter in obvious disgust. “You'd happily drink and wench yourself to death, and be found in some gutter within a sixmonth.”
Harry grinned. “Wouldn't I, though? And what a way to go! I'd thought to do it here in London, only Jack stopped giving his parties too soon. You'll need to celebrate your betrothal, though, eh?” He turned hopefully to his host.
But Jack was lost in thought. Did he want to go through with the wedding? Harry was right that he might possibly achieve his original aim without doing so. Surely he should snatch at the chance? His freedom had always been very precious to him. All he'd have to do was give Nessa a disgust of him. Merely tossing a few orders her way would no doubt do the trick. After all, it appeared she valued her own freedom as much as he did his. So why should he find Harry's plan so distasteful?
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