“It’s a lovely party, whot?” he said to her breasts as he twirled her around the floor.
“Yes, it is.” As it wasn’t difficult to see over his head, she idly monitored the entrance to the room.
“Excuse me, Dimmy, but would you mind if I cut in?” A pair of strong arms pulled her away from Lord Dimsdale, who sputtered in ineffectual protest.
“He was drooling over your perfect bosom, my dear,” Lord Caxton said after he’d taken her in his arms. “I’m surprised your bodice isn’t soaked with spittle.”
She barely had time to register his presence before he’d spun her toward the edge of the floor. When the music stopped, they strolled out onto the terrace. It was nearly empty of people since the evening was unseasonably cool. The few who were there melted into the shadows, far more concerned with each other than with Judith and Lord Caxton.
“When did you arrive? I…” She refused to tell him she’d been watching for him. “I didn’t know you were expected.”
“I’ve been in the card room,” he said. He leaned against the balustrade and regarded her with hooded eyes.
“All evening?”
“Why? Were you hoping I’d make an appearance?” He grinned.
“Certainly not. I’ve barely spared you a thought since we last met.”
He held a hand to his chest. “You wound me, truly you do.”
“At least you’re wearing a fashionable waistcoat today,” she said with a sniff.
He laughed. “My, my. Feeling feisty today, are you?”
She was feisty. And so irritated with him for not calling upon her again, even though she wasn’t supposed to see him at all. “Perhaps,” she said, more slyly than she planned.
“I think you were watching for me after all.” He studied her, and when she didn’t respond, said, “I am sorry I didn’t call after our drive in the park. I had some…family obligations. I assure you it was not lack of interest on my part.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” She brushed a stray curl from her cheek and attempted a neutral expression.
“I need to tell you something. Something I’d prefer you didn’t hear from someone else.”
Her curiosity piqued, she considered him. His lips were set into a grim line, but as he gazed into her eyes his features softened. His lips parted, and he leaned forward. “I…”
She was mesmerized. “You wanted to tell me something?” she said, a trifle breathless. She brushed an imaginary hair off her face.
“Did I?” he murmured, then pressed his lips to hers. She quivered at the touch of his hand at the small of her back, the other gently massaging the nape of her neck. He pushed closer, parting her lips with his tongue. She closed her eyes, allowed him to deepen the kiss. He tasted of whisky, smelled of sandalwood soap. Her hands moved of their own accord around his neck. She grabbed fistfuls of his thick hair and held on as he plundered her mouth.
He pulled away and she gasped for air, as if she couldn’t breathe without him. She moaned, her eyes fluttering open.
“I’m…” he started, but she silenced him with her mouth. After a moment, she pulled away.
Her eyes returned to focus, registered his guilty expression. She shook her head. “If you say you’re sorry, I shall smack you. You’re not sorry at all, and neither am I.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “No, I’m not sorry. Not about kissing you, at any rate.”
“What were you going to tell me?”
He didn’t answer but kissed her again, and it was some glorious moments before they again broke apart.
“You’re trying to distract me,” she whispered.
“Is it working?” She felt his smile against her lips.
“Yes. But we’ve been out here for too long. We should go inside before we’re missed.”
“I prefer it here. In this spot, this time. Nothing but you, and me.” He nuzzled her neck. She backed behind a potted plant, shielding them further from view. Her breasts tingled as his mouth made damp circles on her skin.
She tilted her head to give him greater access, even as one part of her heated brain realized they had to stop. “Lord Caxton, we…”
“Shh.” His mouth again found hers, and it took every ounce of restraint not to jump into his arms and wrap her legs around his waist.
Murmured voices from the other side of the plant caused them both to straighten. Judith held her breath, waiting for the other couple to pass. Fortunately, Lord Caxton’s magnificent frame completely hid her. It had never happened before—it was wonderful to be embraced by a man who was taller than she was. She also had never been kissed, like that or otherwise, and her knees were weak.
She adjusted her fichu and patted her hair, hoping nothing was out of place. “We must go in, my lord. We’ll be found out.”
“Would that be so bad?”
She eyed him with confused surprise. “Are you honestly asking if I would mind you ruining my reputation?”
He sighed, his expression one of acute disappointment. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do such a thing to you. But I don’t want this to end.”
“Lord Caxton?”
“Peter.”
“What?”
“I think you should call me Peter now, don’t you?”
Her cheeks warmed as she remembered, but she pushed the thought away and focused on what she wanted to ask him.
“Peter, then. I wondered, did your father tell you not to see me?”
He was quiet for a moment, his face shadowed in the flickering light from the ballroom. “Yes.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Yes. Although I suspect it’s not quite the same story your mother gave you. This is where this conversation is headed, is it not?”
“What did he tell you?”
“That, my darling, is a question I am not at liberty to answer quite yet.”
“But—” A door opened and a woman emerged from the ballroom. Her silhouette was all too familiar. Judith groaned. “Oh, no, it’s my mother. Stay here.”
Judith pushed Peter back into the shadows and came out from behind the plant. She leaned forward on the balustrade, as if she’d been studying the topiary in the garden for the last hour, or however long they’d been out there.
“There you are,” Lady Grangemore said. “I’ve been looking for you an age. Have you been out on the terrace all this time?”
Judith turned and smiled innocently. Or at least she hoped it was innocent. “Oh, hello, Mama. It was stifling in there, so I came out for air. It’s such a beautiful evening.”
Her mother raised her eyebrows. “It’s cold, and you’ve missed two dances, Judith. People are beginning to talk. Come quickly, or you’ll miss the last waltz on top of everything else.”
Her mother clutched Judith’s elbow and steered her inside. She risked a quick glimpse over her shoulder, but if Peter was still there, he was skilled at hiding.
****
Peter couldn’t enter the ballroom from the terrace after Judith returned; he’d heard her mother say she’d been missed, and if Lady Grangemore saw him, she’d know instantly they’d been together. Despite what he’d said, it would be bad indeed if it were even hinted she’d been out there with him. Especially because in two days’ time his engagement to Lady Cassandra would be announced. He’d meant to tell Judith. He had opened his mouth to speak, but when she’d focused those lovely green eyes on him he’d been lost. Wholly, utterly lost. So he’d kissed her.
Afterwards he knew he’d never be able to marry Lady Cassandra. He would go against his father’s wishes and marry the woman he was coming to love. He just had to figure out how to do it without ruining them both.
Chapter 6
As usual after an encounter with Lord Caxton, Judith found it impossible to sleep. She spent half the night staring in her bedchamber mirror, touching her lips and sighing, and the other half gazing at the silky fabric topping her four poster bed, imagining what it would be like to be his wife.
P
lans for convincing her mother she should be permitted to marry him floated aimlessly through her brain, fleeing like a cat in a bathtub every time she remembered Peter had not actually proposed. If he was the rake Lady Grangemore claimed he was, perhaps he was simply toying with her.
But that kiss—kisses—hadn’t felt playful.
She had finally dropped off to sleep close to dawn, what seemed only moments before her maid came in to wake her, bearing a cup of chocolate and a devastated expression.
“What’s wrong?” Judith sat up straight, expecting to hear her mother was ill.
“Oh, miss.” Grace shook her head, her expression morphing into pity.
“Out with it, please. You know I hate suspense.”
“You’ve not read the paper this morning, then?”
Judith narrowed her eyes. “You just woke me. I have never been in the habit of reading the newspaper in my sleep, assuming I read it at all.”
Grace sighed dramatically. Judith refrained from shaking her, although she dearly wanted to do so.
“It’s Lord Caxton, miss. I’m sorry to tell you, but…”
Lady Grangemore burst in before she could finish her sentence. Glancing sharply at Grace, who disappeared with surprising haste along with Judith’s breakfast, her ladyship sat on the edge of Judith’s bed and took her hand.
Judith began to worry in earnest now—her mother never rose before noon, let alone tread the halls in her nightgown. Was Lord Caxton hurt? Killed in that curricle of his? Oh, God.
“Mama? Would someone please tell me what is going on? Peter’s dead, isn’t he? I know it!” A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.
Her mother raised an eyebrow, probably at Judith’s use of Lord Caxton’s Christian name, then shook her head. “Dead? Where on earth did you get that idea? No, he’s very much alive, and far more like his father than I would have expected. He’s engaged, Judith. To Cassandra Bothwell. It was announced in The Times today.” She held out the newspaper, carefully folded to display the announcement.
Judith’s mind reeled. Engaged?
Engaged!
He had to have been engaged to the woman he knew she detested when he kissed her last night. She spared a quick moment for the thought he had been trying to tell her something but pushed it away in the face of his enormous betrayal.
“No. It can’t possibly be true.” She snatched the paper out of her mother’s hands and read it carefully. It was all there, in black and white. Lord Caxton, heir to the Earl of Longley, to marry Cassandra, daughter of the Duke of Bothwell. Judith closed her eyes to block the image from her view, but the words swam in front of her. Her stomach roiled as the realization set in.
“I’m sorry, darling,” her mother whispered.
Pain stabbed at her heart, run through by an invisible sword. Judith’s eyes flew open. “No, you’re not. You told me to stay away from him, and I didn’t. Now my heart is broken and you feel justified, knowing you were right all along.” Tears streamed unchecked. She rubbed a fist angrily across her cheeks.
“That’s not fair, Judith. I never wanted this. I forbid you to see him precisely so he wouldn’t break your heart.”
Judith slid down into the bedclothes, turned away. “Please leave me, Mama. I need to be alone.”
There was silence for a moment. Her mother leaned over and kissed the top of her head, patted her shoulder, and left, the door softly closing behind her.
Judith’s tears dried; she was too angry now. She wished she could decide with whom she was angriest—him, or herself.
****
“It’s in The Times? Father, how could you? You were supposed to wait two days. I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet.” His father handed him the paper without comment to confirm the awful truth.
Peter stared at the announcement, as if his desperate wish would cause the words to vanish from the page. The words he had left unspoken last night now threatened to choke him.
What must she be thinking?
He threw the paper to the table and rose.
“Where are you going?” his father asked.
“To see Judith. To explain.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. As usual, you’re allowing your emotions to get in the way of your good sense. Assuming you have any, of course,” the earl muttered.
“At least I have emotions.” Peter cast a withering glare at his father, barely registering the fall of the older man’s face before he turned and left the room. His statement was hurtful, but this entire mess was the earl’s fault. Once he’d extricated himself from this unwanted alliance with Bothwell and secured Judith’s hand, he would make amends with his father.
Maybe.
Unfortunately, however, Grangemore’s stern-faced butler would not admit him, no matter how charmingly he begged. He stood on the steps of the house after his fourth unsuccessful attempt to gain admittance and scanned the windows. Was it his imagination, or did one of the curtains twitch?
He was preparing to walk around to the back of the house to seek entry through the kitchen when a voice addressed him.
“She doesn’t want to see you.” Lady Grangemore’s head emerged from an open window. Peter couldn’t imagine how angry a viscountess would have to be to hang out the window like a common strumpet.
“I want her to know I’m sorry. I tried to tell her last night, but…” Telling her how her daughter’s lips distracted him probably wouldn’t help his cause. “It wasn’t my doing, and I have no intention of marrying that vicious creature. Will you tell her?”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind, and you will marry—what did you call her?”
“A…”
Lady Grangemore waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. You will do your duty, of course, like your father before you, regardless of who you hurt in the process. We will be leaving Town until the deed is done. I do not expect to see you here again, Caxton.”
She shut the window with a decisive thud and flicked the drapes closed.
He stood on the street, unaffected by the jostling of passersby as her words echoed in his ears.
Leaving Town? Going where?
Home? Country house party?
A house party was more likely; traveling all the way back to Derbyshire, a three day journey, would be a social defeat he did not imagine Lady Grangemore was willing to concede.
Something niggled at the back of his brain. He took a last look at the windows, imagining a sad green eye peering out at him, and went home to find an invitation.
****
“Why are we going to a house party? In Kent, of all places? The Season just began.” Judith was perilously close to whining, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She curled in a chair by the window, while Grace packed a fortnight’s worth of clothing under Lady Grangemore’s scrutiny.
“There’s a terrible outbreak of cholera that’s beginning to spread to Mayfair,” her mother said, notably avoiding Judith’s eyes. “Lady Howley is offering a respite until it is contained.”
“This is the first time you have so much as mentioned this, Mama. It’s an excuse, not a reason. You just don’t want me to see Lord Caxton.”
“You don’t want to see him either.” Lady Grangemore studied Judith. “Do you?”
“Of course not,” she snapped, wondering if she meant it.
“This will eliminate the chances you will encounter him accidentally, which would be terribly awkward and invite gossip. By the time we return, he will be wed to Lady Cassandra and you can proceed with the Season.”
The pain in Judith’s heart settled into a dull but persistent ache. “Very well.”
She stared morosely out the window, wishing he would return. She knew he’d exchanged words with her mother—Grace had seen Lady Grangemore slamming the drawing room window shut—but no one would tell Judith what he’d said. The likelihood she would never see him again, kiss him again, was uncomfortably high. An unintentional sigh—more of a moan, really—escaped her lips.
“Oh,
enough, Judith,” Lady Grangemore muttered to the ceiling.
Her mother should have been more sympathetic, given the parallels between her own situation and Judith’s, but instead the woman was all business. She directed Grace to close the trunk and ring for a footman.
“Come. We’ll have tea and then set out. It would be nice to get at least halfway by nightfall.”
There was a pause, and Lady Grangemore moved to Judith’s side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come along, darling. I know you’re upset, but this will pass. Howley House is quite an impressive pile, I’m told, and there are tunnels for smugglers underneath.”
Judith cocked her brow. “Smugglers? Why are you using that as an enticement and not telling me to stay away?”
“Because I know very well you and your brothers used to play pirate when you were young. And because I expect the smugglers are long gone. It would be perfectly safe to explore. Perhaps I’ll even join you.”
Judith couldn’t stop a tiny smile from forming as she imagined her mother exploring dark and musty smugglers’ tunnels, brushing cobwebs from her eyes.
Lady Grangemore seized on it, of course. “Ha. I knew that would cheer you. Now, time for tea. I’m famished.”
Judith allowed herself to be hauled to her feet and dragged downstairs, sparing one last glance toward the window and the future she might have had with the beautiful man in the ridiculous waistcoat.
Chapter 7
It didn’t take long for Peter to determine there were house parties taking place in Surrey and Kent over the next fortnight, and that he had been invited to both. A visit to his club in the evening for a chat with the most gossipy man in London yielded information on which party Lady Grangemore planned to attend. He penned a note of acceptance to Lady Howley, who was, conveniently, his godmother and instructed his valet to pack a trunk.
Before he could leave, however, he needed to talk to his intended. Perhaps she could be persuaded to break the engagement.
Needing to clear his head, he walked to the Bothwells’ townhouse. The butler eagerly admitted him when he provided his name, despite the fact he was calling unfashionably early—apparently a new habit for him. He was asked to wait in the morning room, another garish, cluttered chamber evidencing Lady Bothwell’s unfortunate taste for gilt. It did open out onto a lovely garden, however, which Peter found preferable to look upon.
Treasure Her Heart Page 4
