Pushing himself from his seat, James settled on the plaid sofa next to her. His hands tentatively patted her shoulders in what he hoped was a show of comfort.
“Shush now. You mustn’t cry. You’ll make yourself sick. Just tell me what is wrong, and I’ll try to help as much as I can.”
She lifted tear-soaked blue eyes up at him and whispered, “Oh dear, I’m not sure I can bear to tell you anymore. If word were ever to get out…It’s all so embarrassing.” A shudder shook her slender frame.
He drew her closer, settling her head in the notch of his shoulder. His chin settled on the top of her head, the silky chestnut hanks of hair tickling his nose. Missy had hair this color, with similar streaks of dark red and polished mahogany. But Missy’s was richer, warm, and more luxuriant.
“We certainly can’t have you risking your good reputation by coming here for naught. Tell me and I promise this will not go beyond us,” he soothed.
She tilted her head back and gazed up at him. Suddenly, a strange lethargy stole over him. The effort to keep his eyes open became a task in and of itself. Lady Victoria leaned in, bringing her breasts flush with his chest. Reflexively, he pulled away but there was little he could do to evade the contact as she pressed relentlessly forward, her eyes fixed on his mouth.
“Are you like all the other gentlemen of the ton? Do you find me cold and frigid?” Her voice caught on the final word.
James could only gape at her in stupefied silence, his head having become a considerable weight upon his shoulders, his mind swiftly losing its clarity. Too late, he saw her lips ascending to his. The kiss landed softly, like a whisper. James pulled back but she pursued, pressing more firmly. He closed his eyes and he saw her, the scent of lilacs surrounding him. It was Missy. His eyelids grew heavier, his will weakened and the lust he’d kept bottled for so long, fought to reign.
He saw her through a hazy, lethargic fog as she fumbled with the button holding her cloak in place. It fell around her where she sat, partially landing on the sofa, the rest a puddle of blue on his gold-and-green geometric rug. And what it revealed he had no business seeing, for underneath she wore a pink silken nightdress.
He closed his eyes and saw her clear as day. It was Missy in his guest chamber with her chestnut hair and beautiful eyes. His mouth opened, almost helpless to resist her now. An experienced tongue darted forward to stroke his. He felt himself slipping, his anchor to reality eroding away. He was losing the battle he had been valiantly fighting since the day she discovered she was female and he was male and where all that could lead.
His eyes fluttered open once more and he saw slate blue eyes. Filling his hands with warm female, James closed his eyes and surrendered.
Morning proved to be a harsh mistress. It created light where there should be dark and movement where only stillness should exist. James rolled over with a groan, a persistent dull throb holding his head captive.
Shielding his eyes with his hand from the glare of the sun already streaming through the dark green curtains in his—he took a hurried look around—his bedchamber.
His bedchamber!
He skittered to an upright position, hastily throwing off the white bedsheets. He was in his usual sleeping attire, his drawers, but somehow that didn’t seem right. James sank back onto the bed, the hazy recollection of the events from the night before slow to filter through his disjointed memory.
There was little doubt he had had several drinks. The woolly taste in his mouth surely attested to that. Oh yes, the dinner party and Missy. And then Missy had appeared at his door. He snapped upright again, his eyes wide as a jolt of alarm shot through him. No, not Missy but Victoria Spencer wearing a dark wig and crying. With a sinking feeling of dismay, the disjointed pieces started to come together in dribs and drabs. They had been in the library and Lady Victoria had started to weep and—bloody hell, the kiss. Oh God, she had kissed him—and he had kissed her back. His stomach gave away in a horrifying thud.
James tossed the sheet off and slowly arose from the bed, still mindful of his head. Who had undressed him and put him to bed? Surely not Lady Victoria? He gave his room a thorough once-over, noting its customary orderliness. No clothes strewn about; nothing out of place.
“Randolph.” If anyone would know, it would be his valet.
His valet was prompt in responding to the bellowed summons, appearing at his door within seconds.
“Milord?” he inquired, his short stout form erect in military fashion.
“How did I get to bed last night?” James grabbed the frame of his bedstead, using it for support while pressing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb in an attempt to dull the pain behind his eyes.
The answer was so long in coming, James was forced to raise his head and drag one eye open. Randolph stood regarding him in a quizzical manner, which was truly beginning to vex him.
“Um—I would assume the way you always do, milord.”
James dug his fingers deeper into the bridge of his nose. Well, it appeared that mystery was solved.
“Please bring me some coffee. A whole pot of it. And have my bath prepared.” With those instructions, James turned in dismissal.
Could it have been Lady Victoria? What an unsettling thought—no, more like terrifying. He gave a low groan, in part because his head felt like it had been split in two, but mostly because he couldn’t remember if he’d managed to put his entire future in jeopardy by compromising the daughter of a bloody marquess.
He sank to the edge of the bed, his head dropping low from the weight of pain and unrelenting anxiety. Surely, he couldn’t possibly have had sex with the woman and not remembered. And a virgin no less. He bolted up and peered closely at the white bedsheet. No maiden blood. Certainly that was a good sign?
Despite several more minutes of endeavoring to force his mind to reveal the evening’s events, his memory refused to cooperate, remaining stubbornly blank. It appeared the only way he would learn what had occurred was to go to the source. It was embarrassing, humiliating in fact, but he would have to seek out the lady to discover if he had just committed an act of supreme idiocy and sealed his future.
Chapter Six
Normally Missy didn’t mind her sisters’ inquisitiveness. In fact, most days she welcomed it. Today was not one of those days. Today she wished she could remain in her chamber and while away the day wrapped in a cocoon of her own melancholy.
“Why are you still abed?” Emily asked from the chamber door. Sarah, nearly identical in height and features, stood like a comrade in arms beside her. Setting any feelings of guilt aside, Missy peered over her dusty rose counterpane and sent them what she hoped was her sternest go-away-do-not-bother-me look.
Paying her no mind, they blithely proceeded in, their frocks turning her bed into a profusion of pink-and-white-striped gingham and lavender muslin.
“The flowers started arriving early this morning. The drawing room is beginning to look like a florist shop.” Sarah teased, her green eyes dancing with delight. “Mama is thrilled.”
Their mother would be even more so when she finally had a ring on her hand and a wedding date scratched on the calendar. But Missy was relieved she had yet to press her on the issue.
Flicking a glance at her younger sister, Missy tried to smile, tried to find some pleasure in the fact that after several years in the marriage market, her popularity hadn’t declined as yet. Unfortunately, James’s early departure had succeeded in dampening her spirits and shaking her resolve once again.
“I suppose I should rouse and take myself downstairs,” Missy said with little enthusiasm and making no effort to do so.
“But first you must tell us about the supper party. How many gentlemen attended?”
The gentlemen could have all been a group of licentious reprobates, but it was the quantity that impressed Sarah. In her youthful opinion, the more men in attendance, the more successful a gathering.
Missy pushed herself up into a sitting position. “It was
one of Mama’s parties and everyone knows she always throws a marvelous party. But yes,” she managed a small smile, “to answer your question, there were many gentlemen present.”
Flipping over and sliding down onto her belly, Emily propped her head in her palms. “Did they flirt with you?” The question elicited a giggle from Sarah.
Oh dear, she hoped her sister wasn’t thinking about what she herself had missed, being unable to attend the party. “They are men. That is what they do. Don’t worry, Emmy, next year you will be inundated with offers.” Missy took in her delicate beauty. Both her sisters would have the gentlemen of London on their knees.
“Missy, please, I am not upset that I didn’t debut this Season. Frankly, I was quite relieved when Mama told me she wanted to hold off another year. The prospect of being on display like that—” She broke off, shaking her head firmly. “No, it all worked out for the best so not another word about it.”
At Emily’s assurance, Missy breathed a sigh of relief.
“So did you receive any more proposals?” Sarah seemed intent to remain on point.
Missy immediately remembered the kiss in the garden. “No, but Lord Crawley kissed me,” she said, without giving her admission much thought. She shared most things with her sisters—though certainly not everything.
Emily gasped, bolting upright while Sarah emitted a high squeal and clapped a hand over her mouth. “But I thought you were in love with James?” Sarah leveled her with a disapproving stare.
“It was just one little kiss,” Missy countered in her own defense. “And James took little notice of me with that—that, Lady Willis fawning all over him.”
“Well?” Emily prompted.
“Who is Lady Willis?” Sarah asked, clearly intrigued.
“Well what?” Missy said, directing her attention to Emily. She had no desire to discuss James’s “women friends.” She now regretted even mentioning the woman.
“What was it like—the kiss?” Emily dashed an errant braid over her shoulder as she leaned forward, her eyes aglow with curiosity.
With a casual shrug, Missy said, “As I said, it was just a kiss.” With none of the passion and heat she’d experienced when James had kissed her. But she certainly wouldn’t expound upon that with Sarah present. And she saw no reason to divulge why she hadn’t slapped the fresh Lord Crawley when he had taken such liberties. Her mother would have a fit if all her daughters went about comparing gentlemen’s kisses.
“But what of James?”
Missy sent her sister a sharp glance. Once Sarah got something into her head, she was like the proverbial dog with a bone.
Missy pushed back the counterpane and hopped from the bed, avoiding her sisters’ collective and rather avid regards.
“I’d long thought James and I had a…connection but now I’m not so certain. Sometimes I don’t even think he likes me.” Missy didn’t miss the disbelieving glances exchanged by the two, reflected back in the mirror as she took a seat on the cushioned brocade chair. Picking up the silver-handled brush from the vanity, she loosed the braid hanging halfway down her back and began brushing the tangles from her hair.
“Not like you?” Sarah bounced off the bed. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Within seconds, both girls, one on each side, flanked her.
Emily addressed Missy’s reflection in the mirror. “I hardly think that’s true.”
Missy placed the brush down calmly, turned slowly in her chair and tilted her head to look her sister in the eye. “And this you base on what?”
“You have been his favorite since I can recall. Plus, I have two eyes and I can see. He’s forever watching you. The moment you look, he turns away. I have read enough novels to know what that means. He is obviously madly in love with you.” Her green eyes seemed to challenge her to deny her claim.
Missy sniffed, while a tendril of real hope clung to her words with fierce tenacity. “I have hardly seen him since my debut. You yourself have commented on how rarely he visits anymore.”
Emily lifted her narrow shoulders in an artless shrug. “In the novels, that would indicate he is a man of honor. He wouldn’t be so crass as to pursue the sister of his dearest friend. And I do see his point. Thomas has said often enough that James is too cynical for marriage. Well, at least to marry for love.”
Missy wished her brother would refrain from making such remarks within her earshot. But sadly, however, it wouldn’t change the facts. Thomas would never approve of James for any of his sisters.
“What is a rakehell?” Sarah asked.
Missy swung her head to the other side to see her youngest sister’s brow furrow. “Where, pray tell, did you hear such a term?”
“I can’t remember. I think perhaps I read it in the papers.”
Papers? Humph! “You better not let Mama catch you reading those gossip sheets,” Missy scolded, rising to her feet and brushing past Emily as she made her way back to the bed.
“So, what do you intend to do?” Emily followed close on her heels.
“Do about what?”
“Do about James?”
“What can I do? I cannot very well force him to love me. And he certainly hasn’t given me reason to hope he ever will.”
“But he must feel something. Why else would he have taken you alone into the study during Mama’s ball?” Sarah said with a sly glint in her eye.
Missy spun so quickly on the ball of her feet she nearly tripped over her pink cotton nightdress. Her jaw dropped. She quickly snapped it shut. Heat bloomed in her face. “What?” she asked in a strangled whisper.
Emily joined in on the fun, grinning a Cheshire cat smile. “We saw the two of you going into the study during the ball.”
“And just what were you doing downstairs at that time?” She tried for a certain amount of censure but failed miserably, her voice trailing off to a squeak.
“How else were we to know what went on?” Sarah said, exhibiting not an ounce of shame.
Missy let out a soft groan. This should come as no surprise to her. It was just the sort of mischief her sisters would get themselves into.
“Oh don’t be such a ninny. We didn’t tell anyone. And we won’t,” Emily added the latter after receiving a sharp look from her.
Missy stared at her sisters long and hard. “You can never speak a word of this to Mama. And most definitely you cannot even breathe—and I do mean breathe—a word of it to Thomas. Do you understand?”
Emily and Sarah gave their assurances with fervent nods.
James presented himself at the Spencer residence early that morning, well before normal calling hours. Despite the slight chill in the air, beads of sweat wound its way down past his temple to trickle by his ear. James caught it with a swipe of the back of his gloved hand. Mentally bracing himself, he tapped the brass knocker, which featured a lion’s head, on the imposing oak door.
After what felt like an interminable length of time but had only in fact been mere seconds, a tall, thin, angular man clad in black answered.
“May I help you?” he inquired.
“Lord Rutherford to see Lady Victoria.” His pulse pounded. He clenched and released his hands to shake off the nerves.
The butler opened the door further for his admittance and James stepped into a high three-storied foyer. It was grand on a scale rivaling his parents’ home in Berkshire. Everything gleamed, from the marble floors, the gold-gilded framed artwork, to the bronze chandelier suspended high above. Even the papered walls shone an iridescent silver. Everything appeared oppressively new and overdone.
“Simmons, who—ah, Lord Rutherford, what a pleasant surprise.” The marchioness rushed forward, plump hands outstretched. Lord, how the woman could gush. He had no idea where she’d come from. One moment it had been just he and the butler, the next, in a flurry of dark blue paisley, she appeared.
A wide smile wreathed her plump face as she reached out to squeeze his hands. “Victoria will just be thrilled to see yo
u.” Turning to the servant she’d addressed as Simmons, she said, “Please inform my daughter she has a visitor awaiting her in the drawing room.”
So, while Simmons went off to do her bidding, the marchioness escorted him to the drawing room, or perhaps more aptly put, shepherded him like one would a sheep to the slaughter.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” the marchioness said, fluttering about. Her brown eyes sparked with girlish excitement. She watched him as if she couldn’t believe he was there and, as he had never before called on her daughter, he could well imagine why. He could practically see her little mind furiously working, already planning the betrothal party and the wedding. She would most likely have the grandchildren’s names picked before he took his leave. He darted a glance at the drawing room doors and prayed Lady Victoria wouldn’t be long.
“Would you care for some tea?” the marchioness asked. Her hand hovered over the teapot on the tray set.
James politely declined and took a seat on the purple-and-red damask settee. Like everything else in the room, it looked and smelled newly bought.
His headache had faded to a faint twinge behind his eyes. However, he had a feeling triggering it again could easily fall to the rather stout woman beaming at him at that very moment. She poured herself a cup of tea and took the seat opposite him.
Even if a man had romantic feelings for Lady Victoria, the thought of forever having the marchioness as his mother-in-law was enough to make him reconsider such a union. James prayed fate would not be so cruel to him. Where the hell was she?
“I was just telling Victoria,” the marchioness paused, most likely to stretch the story to its limit, “I believe it was only yesterday—yes, yesterday—I was telling Victoria that I do not think I ever—”
“Lady Victoria.” James bounded to his feet the moment he saw her framed in the doorway. He then shot a quick look at the marchioness. Had she taken his interruption as rude? He need not have worried. If anything, Lady Cornwall’s smile only grew broader, as her gaze darted between him and her daughter. He could practically hear her little matchmaking mind whirling faster than a printing press.
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