by Sue London
Gideon’s expression remained implacably dark and he didn’t even recognize her suggestion with a response.
Jack tried a different tack. “Did you hear talk of a dry summer this year?"
"Why are you changing the subject?"
"You weren't going to and the last thing we need to do is end up screaming at each other in the middle of the dance floor."
"At least then you would get to break the engagement like you've been dreaming of since this whole thing started."
Jack frowned. "Is that what you're trying to do? I'd prefer we not make our differences public."
"No, you would rather make your preference for other men public. Although considering the circumstances in which we met I don't see why I should be surprised."
Jack planted her feet and managed to pull Harrington off his balance, causing him to stumble into her.
"That is outside of enough!" she hissed at close quarters to him. "My circumstances only included a desire to read rare Greek texts and you well know it."
"You hardly seemed shocked by my attentions."
Jack gasped and looked up at him in outrage. "How dare you! Shocked is exactly what I was." She looked around to see that they had garnered the attention of a good number of the dancers. She grabbed Harrington's arm and dragged him toward the French doors that let out onto the veranda. Once outside she pushed him into the shadows and drilled a finger into his chest. "What exactly is this about?"
"You say you were shocked. You say a lot of things. But your body says something else. And I'm more likely to suspect your words to be lies."
"You are the most outrageous-"
Jack's retort was cut short by Harrington taking her lips in a swift kiss. She started to pull away but he wrapped one arm around her back, his other hand cupping her face as he deepened the kiss. He licked and nibbled the seam of her lips until she surrendered and let him plunder her mouth. She had never felt this before, as though she was floating, all of her nerves tingling in sudden awareness. The sensations were new, novel, wicked. The warm, solid strength of him pressed against her. The band of his arm across her back. The swirl of his tongue in her mouth. The gentle strength of his hand holding her head while his thumb stroked her jaw. As she melted into his embrace he turned and now she was the one hidden in the shadows with her back pressed against the cool stone of the townhouse wall. His mouth moved down to kiss the side of her throat, her ear. His hand caressed one breast, finding and teasing the nipple that had peaked.
"See?" he whispered to her. "Your body welcomes my attentions. I imagine that with very little effort I could have you out of that dress and begging me for more. Why should I trust a woman who can be seduced by a man she doesn't even like?''
With that he pulled away from her and strode back towards the party.
Jack could feel her heart beat with the thunder of a galloping horse, her skin hot from a combination of embarrassment and rage. How dare he? How dare he? The man was worse than the devil. She wouldn’t marry him if he served himself up on a silver platter. Regardless of how her body betrayed her when he was near, she couldn’t imagine a worse man to marry. He was completely without morals or common human decency!
Then she remembered that he had salvaged her reputation with a sham engagement announcement in the library without hesitation. And how oddly vulnerable he had seemed the first time they had danced. How they had stood staring at one another after the curricle ride. She touched her swollen lips and sighed sadly. Hopefully this would all be over soon.
Gideon made his way to the card room, pushing dandies and nabobs out of his way. Gods, he'd nearly ravished the girl on a public portico. He didn't know what demon had possessed him. It was as though he had been spoiling for a fight with her just to show her how her body would react to him. And Lord, how it reacted. It was like touching a match to gun powder the way she came alive in his arms! No prim bluestocking then but a goddess, all curves and heat and passion. He didn't know why but it made him angry. Because he didn't want her? Because he couldn't have her? Because she shouldn’t be able to create a similar reaction in him? There would be hell to pay if she ever realized that she could so easily distract him, sway him, with the promise of her attentions. Serious and uncompromising as she was, she would have him begging to kiss her beautifully turned ankle. If she were his mistress she could deplete his accounts in a trice. And if that wasn’t the most disturbing thought he'd ever had he didn't know what was.
He joined Lord Whitby as a partner in whist, proving that he was completely distracted because the opposing team featured no other than Lady Spencer. Damn and double damn. To hell with Parliament, he was going out to Cornwall no later than Monday next. It was as though he couldn't turn about in London without stumbling over some aspect of this debacle of an engagement.
"Good evening, Lord Harrington," Lady Spencer greeted with her usual dimpled smile. "I hear congratulations are in order."
"Indeed," he said shortly. "My thanks for your interest."
"Plum girl," said Lord Hartly, Lady Spencer's partner. "Good blood, that Walters. Too bad they didn't marry back into nobility until now."
"Yes," Gideon said drily. "Tragic."
"Oh, don't be such a stuffed shirt, Lord Harrington," Lady Spencer chided. "Certainly just the thought of marriage hasn't dulled your sense of fun."
"Of course not," he said warily, trying not to send any signals that he was inviting the widow to plan a tryst with him again. The last thing he needed was to offend the Walters before he had a chance to make that escape to Cornwall. Much to his chagrin Hartly and Whitby chose that moment to retrieve refreshments, leaving him alone with the beautiful widow.
"Have you set a date?" Lady Spencer inquired.
"Not as of yet."
“Will it be this Season?”
"We feel no reason to rush."
"Nonsense, I have heard all about town that your whirlwind romance is the stuff of Spring fairy tales. Certainly something like that can't be delayed for another year."
Gideon eyed Lady Spencer, wondering how many games she had afoot other than whist tonight. Finally he said, "It will be as my practical, sensible fiancée wishes it. She has not expressed an interest in marrying this season."
"You'd best be careful, Lord Harrington. I've heard it said that she ran off all her other suitors. If you leave her to her own devices you may lose your beloved fiancée."
"And what would I lose her to, exactly?"
"Fate."
"If she doesn't want to marry that wouldn't be my fault."
Lady Spencer looked at him a bit sadly. "Wouldn't it, though?"
Jack danced almost every dance that night. She danced until her feet hurt and then she danced until she couldn't feel them at all anymore. She suffered all the banal chitchat, the hollow compliments, and the senseless gossip that came with dancing in the bon mot. There was only one conversation she would remember from the evening other than the one she had with Harrington and that was from her second waltz, her dance with the duke.
The Duke of Beloin had bowed low to her and taken her hand to sweep her elegantly out onto the dance floor. Once he had secured their spot in the twirling dancers he had smiled at her and asked, "Are you enjoying yourself?"
They were of a height, he only an inch or two taller, and Jack looked almost directly into his eyes if she didn't lower her gaze to his cravat or shoulder. "Of course, your grace."
"You lie abysmally, Miss Walters. As the wife of a politician you will want to work on that."
Jack smiled ruefully and bit her bottom lip.
"As a start," he continued, "you must be enthused about all social occasions. You must love people, even people that you find annoying. And you must never, ever let anyone see how you and Giddy argue."
Jack tried to pull back but she discovered that although of a similar height and build the duke was by far superior in strength. "No," he said. "You won't be stopping this waltz. Unlike Giddy I'm not so easily distracted by you
."
"Distracted?"
"Yes, most definitely. Had I known of your powers I would have thrown you in his path four years ago rather than have him focused on Parliament."
"Four years ago I was only fourteen."
His gaze swept over her. "I doubt it would have mattered. Unrequited love could have proven even more distracting."
She distanced herself as much as she was able from him. "I thought you were Harrington's friend."
"I am Harrington's friend. Friendship and politics are two different beasts. If that weren't true, Giddy and I would have had it out over pistols one morning long ago."
"I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me, your grace."
Beloin sighed. "Quince, if you please. I am trying to tell you to stop fighting with Gideon. At least publicly. Your engagement couldn't bear much scrutiny, I would think. And when I originally asked you to dance it was to tell you one simple thing."
"What is that, your grace? I mean… Quince."
The duke gave her a remarkably boyish smile when she used his nickname. "I think you will make Giddy a splendid wife."
"Once I learn to lie," she said solemnly.
After a moment of surprise the duke threw his head back in a loud guffaw. She had never seen the debonair aristocrat do such a thing and she giggled nervously. “Yes,” he finally agreed. “Once you learn to lie.”
Chapter Eight
When Jack awoke early in the morning it was to a front hallway full of flowers. Flowers thanking her for a dance, flowers with poems attached, and flowers with notes begging for a carriage ride or trip to the theater. And then two special arrangements. One small arrangement of Cantebury Bells from the Duke of Beloin with the note "Thank you for the laughter - Q." And a very large arrangement of yellow roses from Harrington. A letter was attached, which Jack took to the front window in order to catch the early morning light for reading.
"Dear Jacqueline, It seems that I am always doing something that requires apology and last night was no exception - which occurred to me only after all those glasses of wine wore off. The florist assures me that a yellow rose represents an apology so with this bouquet I hope to apologize for every transgression thus far and perhaps have a bit of payment towards the future.
- Gideon."
Jack was holding the letter to her chest and staring out the window wistfully when she heard her mother scream in the dining room. Knowing it could be anything from a mouse to a pirate, because her mother would have the exact same reaction to either threat, Jack ran to the room. She found her mother sitting at the table, newspaper clutched in hand and tears streaming down her face. Her father was trying to pull the paper from his wife's grasp while consoling her, a bit at sea about what was so upsetting. Seeing Jack, Mrs. Walters thrust the paper towards her. It was open to the society pages.
Jack turned the paper towards the light.
"It has come to this reporter's attention that Miss W and Lord H were on the outs last night. This can hardly be a surprise since I have it from a Very Good Source that the 'fairy tale romance' is exactly that - a fairy tale. According to the VGS Miss W and Lord H were found in an illicit embrace in Lord W's library less than a fortnight ago. Miss W may be smart, but not smart enough to remember that you should stay out of the kitchen, or rather library, if you don't want to get burned."
Jack threw the paper down on the table. "I'm going to kill him."
Mr. Walters jumped up out of his chair. "Jacqueline, what is it?"
"I'm going to kill him," she said once more before running from the room towards the stables.
Gideon had already started on his second cup of tea. Wine usually didn't give him this much of a headache but then again, he usually didn't try to drink a whole vinyard’s worth in a single night. He had risen early and had a productive morning, however. Going through his correspondence he had a letter from his steward at Kellington reassuring him that the rumors in Parliament about smuggling along the shores of Kent were not on his lands. Now Dibbs was packing for Cornwall because Gideon had decided there was no time like the present to escape London. And three footmen had been dispatched on early morning errands, including the delivery of flowers and a letter to Miss Walters. That had been a difficult letter to write since he didn't like apologizing in general, but nearly mauling an innocent, especially while in such a temper, was far beyond the pale. Honestly he should just be glad that he wasn’t spending the morning on the dueling fields, or already married this morning. Soon he could leave for Cornwall to inspect his new investment and this mess would stay behind in London. Miss Walters could do what she wanted to maintain the story of their engagement, their Spring fairy tale as Lady Spencer had called it. Or not. He wouldn't counter her, but he certainly wouldn't be adding to the story himself either.
That was when he heard the crash in the front hall.
"Tell me where he is now or by God I will tear down every brick of this house until I find him!"
Gideon closed his eyes briefly. If this was a fairy tale then the troll had just arrived in the guise of his very enraged fiancée. Either the wrong letter had been delivered to her or she sincerely did not like yellow roses.
He arose from the breakfast table and she was in the doorway before him. She was breathing hard, her hair pulled from its pins in loose wisps around her face, her dress rumpled. She looked like she had just ridden pell-mell across the city to his door. Or, gods help him, like she had just been tumbled. Her cheeks were flushed and those magnificent breasts strained against the fabric of her morning dress from her gasping breaths. It wasn't just the wine after all. He desperately wanted to press her against the wall and start back where they had left off last night.
"You!" she said viciously. He realized she was pointing a riding crop at him and backed up a bit.
"Yes, me. Can I hope you haven't abused my staff terribly?"
"How dare you," she said, advancing on him. Retreat seemed the best option until he knew what she was about.
"Care about my staff? Yes, it is daring."
"Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone? Why did you have to do this? Roses? You sent roses as a salve? There is nothing that you can ever do to apologize for this!”
She was glorious in her fury but Gideon was at a loss to understand its source. "Perhaps you'd best tell me what it is you think I've done."
"You've ruined me, you bastard!” With that she sprang to attack, landing one solid blow to his shoulder before moving close enough that he could trap her wrists and try to contain her. After a bit more struggle, wherein she managed to land some less significant blows, she finally dropped the riding crop and began to weep. Giant, heart-rending sobs that sounded like her entire world had been destroyed.
Gideon pulled her to his chest, cradling her in his arms while she cried. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and just held on to her. They were still in that embrace when Mr. Walters came into the room, tight lipped and silent. Gideon raised his brows in question to the older man and Mr. Walters handed him the paper.
Gideon stared, the words refusing to make sense at first. Once they did he nodded dumbly to the girl’s father. The story was out and their options were narrowed to one. He had expected to feel enraged if trapped like this but he only felt numb. The inside of his chest felt cold and brittle, like the top of a pond in winter. Even breathing hurt.
"I'll go get the special license," Mr. Walters said. Gideon nodded again.
Walters began gently prying his daughter away. "You need to come with me, Jackie."
"Papa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about that right now. Let's get you home. Harrington, do you have a carriage we can borrow?"
"Of course," Gideon managed to say.
With that the Walters withdrew far more quietly than Miss Walters had arrived. Gideon found that his arms seemed oddly empty without the warmth of Miss Walters in them. He frowned. He had never wanted to marry. Didn’t want to marry. Not Miss Walters, not any w
oman. Women were difficult, sly, and vindictive in his experience. Manipulative. Downright evil by his estimation. Unless he missed his guess Lady Spencer as an excellent example of the species and had provided that tidbit to the newspaper. To what end he had no idea. But that was a common failing for him, not understanding the subtle manipulations of the feminine mind. He couldn’t count the number of times he had failed to anticipate his mother’s plots.
He rubbed his bruised shoulder. As difficult as Miss Walters might be she perhaps wasn’t exactly sly. In fact she might be more direct than most men of his acquaintance. But no matter her temperament, there was to be a marriage.
"Dibbs!"
"Yes, my Lord."
"I'm not going to Cornwall."
"No, my Lord."
Chapter Nine
Jack spent the carriage ride home staring listlessly out the window at the passing town homes. Although still in a fashionable district, the Walters lived fairly distant from the grand London address where the earl resided. When she and Sam had toured Mayfair to gawk at the homes of aristocrats last summer, she had never guessed that she might use the knowledge of where the Earl of Harrington lived in just such a way. She had been furious this morning and had wrested Tyche's reins from the groom before he'd had a chance to saddle the creature, then rode barebacked across town like the hellion she was out in the country and had been careful to hide while in town. How could he do this to her? She felt the fat tears start to roll down her cheeks again, helpless to stop them.
If he wasn't the one to give the story to the paper, then why would the Wynders or Lady Spencer do so after all this time? Seven days had passed. It didn't make any sense. Besides, even if he wasn't the one to talk to that spiteful gossip at the newspaper, all the trouble had started with him.
And with her, she admitted to herself with a gusty sigh that fogged the carriage window. She always went her own way. She just had to sneak into Lord Wynder's library to read some of his Greek texts and now her family would suffer for it. She knew they couldn't leave London to escape the censure since father had leased out the country house to help pay for both her and Sam's seasons. It wasn't something that was talked about, but Jack knew. She knew they were living close to the fine, every inch the impoverished genteel. She knew that both her and Sam's dowry's had been gifts held in trust from Grandfather, their mother's father, and it had been the shiny hook that was hoped to raise the girls above their current station in life.
