Though her hurt eased only slightly, she nodded. “Very well, Jack. I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for having enjoyed the very lifestyle I have envied.” She managed a semblance of a smile.
Undisguised relief spread over Jack's features, mingled with something else—something that warmed her to her toes, despite the light drizzle which had begun to fall and the lingering chill in her heart. “Thank you, Nessa. I'm determined you won't regret your faith in me.”
Nessa met his eyes squarely. “So am I,” she said.
~ ~ ~
“ARE YOU CERTAIN you do not wish to accompany us to the theater tonight, Prudence?” Nessa asked a few days later, as a maid removed the tea tray. “I know you have not been in the habit of going, but it is a perfectly acceptable amusement.”
Her sister shook her head. “No, we are promised to Lady Trumbull this evening, but Lord Creamcroft has suggested the theater once or twice of late, so I doubt not we will attend sometime. Though Papa never approved of it, I did not find the theater so very depraved the one time I went last Season.”
Nessa allowed herself a small hope that Prudence might finally be beginning to think for herself. “I am glad to hear that, though I should rather have liked you along for my first visit.”
Prudence regarded her for a long moment, her pretty brow furrowed. “Do you find it… difficult… being alone with Lord Foxhaven, then? There is still time to cry off, you know.”
“Difficult? No, not at all.” Nessa had never mentioned the encounter with Mrs. Dempsey to her sister. “He and I deal very well together, as I have told you. 'Tis simply that Simmons will feel obliged to play the chaperone, I know, and I've no desire to listen to her sermonizing.”
Simmons had been Nessa's abigail from the time of her marriage to Lord Haughton and, if anything, was more of a stickler for the proprieties than her late master had been. She seemed to have a genuine fondness for her mistress, but her moralizing could be tedious—and Nessa had heard a fair share of it lately, on the subjects of her wardrobe and fiancé.
Yet more was forthcoming as she dressed for the theater a few hours later.
“Milady, are you certain you would not prefer to wear the peach? Its neckline is more becoming than that of the lilac.” Simmons held up the more modestly cut peach gown hopefully.
Nessa sighed. There was simply no pleasing the woman. “I thought you might consider lilac a more seemly color, Simmons. 'Tis approved for half-mourning, after all.”
The rail-thin abigail twitched her long nose. “Not when it is so vivid a shade—nor when cut so revealingly. Milady would not wish to be mistaken for one of the vulgar young women who perform on the stage, I am sure.”
Secretly, Nessa thought she might like that very much, but Simmons was speaking again.
“Though Lord Foxhaven's exploits with such women are well known, you must strive to rise above any vulgar competition and set him a virtuous example—if you are really set upon this marriage.”
“Of course I am,” said Nessa automatically, as she had a dozen times since the betrothal was announced. But now her attention was caught by Simmons' earlier words. Though she knew it was not at all the thing to encourage servants' gossip, she could not resist a bit of probing. “Exploits?”
The abigail nodded her mousy brown head sententiously. “Indeed, milady. Lord Foxhaven is known to visit the theaters frequently, and not for the performances. At least, not those upon the stage.”
Her pale blue eyes gleamed, though whether with outrage or avid curiosity, Nessa was not completely certain. Though she knew she should remonstrate, she remained silent in hopes of hearing more. Simmons did not disappoint her.
“One of the downstairs maids told me that he's been known to carry on with two actresses at the same time, on alternate days of the week. And each trying to outdo the other with her wicked, seductive ways in an attempt to have him to herself!”
Reluctantly, Nessa stopped this fascinating but disturbing flow of information. “That will be enough, Simmons. Pray remember that you are speaking of my fiancé. And pray put the peach away. I have already decided upon the lilac for tonight.”
Simmons pursed her lips disapprovingly. “As you wish, milady.” She finished Nessa's toilette in silence, but Nessa scarcely noticed, so tumultous were her thoughts.
Here was yet more evidence that Jack really had been—and perhaps still was?—a rake, not that she'd doubted it after that encounter with Mrs. Dempsey a few days since. Again she felt that oddly painful squeezing of her heart at the thought of Jack with other women. At the same time, however, she felt avid curiosity. Just what sorts of things had Jack been in the habit of doing with all of these women? Surely, if anyone should know, it was his betrothed.
By the time she descended for dinner, Nessa had decided to devote the evening to finding out. Even if Jack really had put his debauchery behind him, as he said, there must be enough of the rake left in him to satisfy her curiosity.
“What a, er, striking gown that is,” Prudence commented as Nessa entered the drawing room. While her pretty young face could not pucker in the way Simmons' did, her disapproval was quite as pronounced as the abigail's. “Perhaps a shawl…?”
With a sigh, Nessa allowed the maid to fetch one from her room. Jack was to join them for dinner, but her brother-in-law would be present as well. And Nessa wanted Philip to notice his wife, after all, not herself. Lord Creamcroft arrived before the shawl did, but Nessa needn't have worried. He had eyes only for Prudence.
“You look lovely tonight, my dear. That shade of blue particularly becomes you. It matches your eyes.”
“Why thank you, my lord. Nessa convinced me to buy it, saying that very thing.”
Philip shot a grateful smile Nessa's way before returning his full focus to his lady. “Perhaps you should take her shopping with you more often,” he suggested.
Prudence pinkened, but with pleasure, Nessa thought. At this interesting moment, Lord Foxhaven was announced. The maid bearing the shawl slipped into the room just ahead of the butler, but Nessa delayed putting it on. Jack's greeting rewarded her procrastination.
“Good evening, my dear.” He bowed over her hand, his eyes frankly admiring. “I hope you'll not be barred from the theater, for fear you'll eclipse the performance with your beauty.”
Remembering Simmons' words earlier, Nessa was unable to suppress a chuckle. “Is not much of the point of attending the theater to see and be seen, my lord?” she responded playfully. “I'd not wish anyone to cast aspersions on your vaunted taste in women on my account.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, while Prudence emitted an audible gasp from the other side of the room. “No chance of that, I assure you, my lady,” he said in the same tone, though his expression was wary. He then turned to bow to his hosts. “Lady Creamcroft, it is a delight, as always. Creamcroft, your servant.”
They returned his greeting cordially, though Prudence shot a cautionary glance Nessa's way. She responded by pointedly draping the exquisite lace shawl across her bare shoulders, while smiling innocently at her sister. It would have been impossible to carry on the sort of flirtation with Jack she intended tonight with her sister along, she realized. Just as well she was not coming to the theater after all. Could she safely leave Simmons behind as well?
Dinner was an intimate affair with only the four of them at table. Even so, Prudence directed the conversation so efficiently along acceptable channels that Nessa was unable to do more than send the occasional suggestive glance Jack's way. At the close of the meal, she and Prudence left the men to their cigars and brandy, retiring to the drawing room.
“Simmons did not sound particularly well this evening,” Nessa commented as they seated themselves to await the men. “'Twould be unkind to drag her out on such a chilly evening. I believe I can do without her this once.” She spoke with studied casualness, picking up a periodical and leafing through it without glancing at her sister.
Prudence, howe
ver, responded just as she'd feared she might. “I'll have one of the other maids accompany you, in that case.”
“I don't see that it's necessary. There will be people all about us at the theater, after all.” She still avoided Prudence's eye.
“Nessa! You can't mean you intend to go entirely alone with Lord Foxhaven?”
Finally she met her sister's shocked gaze. “I'm not a schoolroom miss, Prudence, but a woman who was married five years. Lord Foxhaven and I are betrothed, to be wed in a month's time. Surely sharing a carriage alone, with a coachman just outside on the box, cannot be so very scandalous.”
Prudence frowned—an expression Nessa had come to find more than a little bit irritating. “Perhaps not for just anyone, I admit, but in our family things have always been done with an eye to the proprieties. You know that.”
Nessa stifled an urge to say, “Proprieties be damned,” and instead pressed her slight advantage. “Then… it is not unknown for a woman—a respectable woman—in my situation to attend an evening entertainment with her betrothed unchaperoned?”
Prudence hesitated a long moment, then reluctantly shook her head. A wave of exultation and burgeoning freedom swept through Nessa. What other fictitious restrictions had Prudence led her to assume were de rigeur, she wondered? Of course, as a widow, she must have far more freedom than a young girl making her comeout. Why had she not realized it before? And now, betrothed, she should have yet more liberty. It was high time she took advantage of it.
Impulsively, she rose to give her sister a hug. “Pray do not fret, Prudence. With my upbringing, I doubt I am capable of shaming you in any way. But I must learn more about Lord Foxhaven before I marry him, and having a servant present makes that difficult—particularly when the servant is Simmons.”
The gentlemen joined them at that juncture, sparing Prudence a reply, but Nessa feared from her expression that she still had reservations. Given her own intentions for the evening, she could not in conscience claim they were unfounded. To reassure her sister further, however, she refrained from any open flirtation with Jack until they all departed—the Creamcrofts for Lady Trumball's musicale and she and Jack for the theater.
~ ~ ~
JACK HAD BEEN observing Nessa with mingled admiration and amusement all evening. No other woman he knew could have looked so alluring and flirted so subtly while staying strictly within the bounds of propriety. Now that they were alone in the carriage—a circumstance he had scarcely dared hope for—she surprised him yet again.
Shifting to sit next to him rather than across, she smiled up at him. “Pray tell me what I may expect at the theater. Your experience is far greater than mine.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at the apparent double entendre. “The performances vary greatly, of course,” he responded, casually draping one arm across her shoulders. She made no protest. “Leda Varens' Titania is generally held to be excellent, and John Kemble always does a creditable job. I'm sure his Oberon will be no exception.”
Nessa nodded, though a bit impatiently. That wasn't the sort of thing she'd meant, as he well knew. “I've no doubt I'll enjoy the play immensely. I've read it, and 'tis one of my favorites. But what of the theater itself? I've never been, you know.”
He blinked. “Never? Ah yes, I keep forgetting how very sheltered a life you've led. You have a gift, my dear, for appearing more worldly than you truly are.” It was something he needed to keep in mind. For all her seductive flirtation, Nessa would be extremely easy to shock—and perhaps frighten.
“Why thank you, my lord.” She smiled at him, taking his words as a compliment. “I'm pleased to know I don't always give the impression of a country bumpkin, even if it is how I've primarily lived.”
Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze, feeling suddenly protective of her—a feeling alien to his experience. “Never that, my dear, I assure you.” He proceeded to tell her more about the Covent Garden theater: the deep stage, allowing for elaborate scenery, the tier upon tier of box seats along the sides.
“And the actresses?” she prompted when he paused. “I'm certain you can tell me whether they are as beautiful and talented as I've heard?”
He hesitated, wondering just what she had heard. This was the second time tonight she'd referred obliquely to women with whom he'd dallied. No doubt the high-sticklers surrounding her were only too eager to spread tales about him—mostly true, unfortunately. It was only natural she would be curious.
“Of course a woman must be extremely attractive, as well as talented, to tread the boards at one of the premier theaters in London,” he said carefully. “As I said before, Mrs. Varens is thought to be quite good.”
Nessa leaned toward him. Her clean, fresh scent filled his senses, headier than any exotic perfume. “And what is your opinion of her, Jack? Do you have any particular favorites among the actresses?”
He'd have liked to think she was jealous, but she sounded simply curious to learn about something outside her experience. “I have had, from time to time,” he admitted, grinning down at her. “Recently, however, I fear I haven't given any of them much thought. I've been rather taken up with other pursuits.” He pulled her against him, and she snuggled under his arm in a most satisfying manner.
“I can't help but wonder just how one goes about becoming such a favorite,” she said then, tilting her face up to him in an obvious invitation—one he was quite incapable of refusing.
“This is one way,” he responded, lowering his lips to hers.
As before, he found her surprisingly inexperienced for a woman with five years of marriage behind her, but her very innocence inflamed him. She seemed as eager to learn as he was to teach. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, probing the sweet depths of her mouth. Her momentary stiffening told him this was a new experience for her. Then, tentatively—almost experimentally—she touched his tongue with her own. A faint moan escaped him.
With extreme reluctance, and drawing on considerable self control, he ended the kiss. “We'd best stop while we still can, my dear.” He tried to speak lightly, but his voice actually held a slight tremor. Where was his practiced sophistication with the ladies now? This particular one seemed to cut right through it.
“Of course, Jack, if you think it best.” Her words were prim, but her voice was slightly breathless with what just might be desire. He'd find out later, he promised himself. Just now, however, the carriage was pulling to a stop in front of the theater.
A few moments later, they mounted the imposing staircase of the Covent Garden theater, greeting various acquaintances on the way to their box. Nessa's rapt expression and occasional exclamations forced Jack to see the glittering chandeliers and sumptuous decor through her eyes, as though for the first time. It was rather grand, he supposed. Until now, he hadn't realized just how jaded he'd become with Town life.
“Look!” She clutched his arm just then. “Is that one of the actresses?”
Following her gaze, he had to stifle a laugh. “No, that is the Countess Lieven, wife of the Russian Ambassador and one of the patronesses of Almack's. She is rather exotic looking, I'll grant you.”
Nessa blinked, glanced down at her own attire, then back at the countess. “And to think Simmons and Prudence thought my gown too immodest!”
Jack was forced to resort to a fit of coughing, which drew a few stares but was preferable to the attention a roar of laughter would have attracted.
“Are you all right?” Nessa asked in some concern.
“Perfectly,” he said as soon as he could safely do so. “I simply find your candor refreshing.”
She looked rather confused. “I hope not to choke you with it. Is this our box?”
It was. Harry and Lord Peter were already within. Jack had forgotten until that moment that he'd invited them. Still aroused by that kiss in the carriage, he felt a surge of irritation, then realized it was for the best. Alone in the box with Nessa, he'd have run a grave risk of bringing her reputation down to the level of his own. Tempting as tha
t seemed right now, it was the last thing either of them needed.
“Here you are at last,” Peter greeted them. “The curtain's due to rise in five minutes. Lady Haughton, I bid you good evening. You look lovely tonight.” He bowed.
Nessa smiled prettily. “I thank you, Lord Peter. 'Tis nice to see you and Mr. Thatcher again.” She extended her smile to Harry, who stepped forward with alacrity.
“The pleasure is entirely ours, I assure you, my lady.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips to plant a lingering kiss on the back of it.
Jack's irritation returned abruptly. “If the play is about to start, we'd best take our seats.” He all but snatched Nessa's hand away from Harry, and was rewarded by a stare from the lady and a knowing smirk from his friend. What the devil was the matter with him?
The possible answers to that question plagued him throughout the first act. He distracted himself by pointing out various aspects of the set, performance and actors to Nessa in an undertone.
“And who is the young lady playing Cobweb?” she whispered near the close of the act. “She's lovely, and displays great energy!”
“That is Selena Riverton,” replied Jack in an even lower tone. “A relative newcomer to the London stage.”
Nessa turned to give him a long look. “You know her, do you not?”
Now how the devil had she deduced that? He'd have sworn his voice gave no hint. “I, er, we've met, yes,” he responded lamely.
Her half-smile was enigmatic. “Then your taste has not been overrated, it would seem.” She turned her attention back to the stage, leaving him in greater turmoil than before.
ELEVEN
NESSA TRIED TO FOLLOW the familiar play, but her own story seemed far more dramatic at the moment. The only object upon the stage that truly claimed her attention was Selena Riverton. She wasn't sure what had prompted her to make that guess, but Jack's reaction had proved her intuition correct. That sprightly beauty was one of the actresses he'd dallied with.
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