by Sabrina York
Mattingly whistled. “And who is that lovely creature with him?”
Jonathan scanned the crowd. His stomach tightened as he spotted Hisdick in a corner, where he was wont to be. But he was sitting with Meg. And she was laughing.
Laughing!
He set his teeth and headed in that direction, ignoring Mattingly and St. Clare as best he could.
As he approached, Meg smiled at him. “Hallo, Your Grace. Is the receiving line finished?”
“Quite finished.” He tried not to snap.
“This is a lovely party,” Hisdick said. Was he aware there was a crumb clinging to his moustache? Probably not. Hisdick never was aware of much.
“What are you two doing?” Surely this was not the accusation it sounded.
“We’re talking,” Meg said with an elated glint in her eye, “About Pride and Prejudice.”
Jonathan frowned at her. “Odd topic.”
She laughed. “It’s a book, silly.”
“By Jane Austen,” Hisdick felt required to add. “It’s a fiction.”
Meg nodded. “But a lovely fiction.”
“Well.” What could he say to that? “I don’t read fiction.”
Hisdick reared back. “Well, you should.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Perhaps when Parliament is out?” Meg suggested.
Unfortunately, Jonathan had no time to respond. Because his erstwhile friends, Mattingly and St. Clare, descended just then.
“I say, Devon. Aren’t you going to introduce us to this lovely vision?”
No.
But hell. Did he have any choice? Begrudgingly, he made the introductions and resolved to stay by her side all night.
What a pity his mother had other ideas. She found him and took his arm and skillfully led him away to a pocket of guests that included Glorianna Pickering. Miraculously, everyone else melted away, leaving the two of them together. Once the girl realized what had happened, she paled.
“I-I. Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Miss Pickering. How are you enjoying the party?”
One would think such a question would not be a stumper. Lovely Miss Pickering’s mouth came open and then didn’t close. But no words came out.
He leaned closer and whispered, “A nod will do.”
Of this, apparently, she was capable.
They stood there in silence and he tried to think of yes or no questions he could ask, but his mind wasn’t working properly. He kept glancing over to where Meg was holding court. Hisdick, Mattingly, and St. Clare had been joined by several other young men—none of whom Jonathan had invited. A prickle ran up his nape. Who were they? What were they saying? And why did she keep laughing, for pity’s sake?
“Your Grace?”
He started.
Lady Pickering had returned, ostensibly to rescue her little lamb from her own shyness. “Did I mention that Glorianna has seven brothers and sisters? All younger.”
“Why no.” He took a sip of his champagne. “You did not.”
“She’s wonderful with them. Aren’t you, dear?”
Miss Pickering nodded.
“She so loves children. I do hope we will meet your girls while we are here. Do you suppose that can be arranged?”
“Most certainly.” Apparently this was good enough for Lady Pickering. She trundled her mute daughter off to the buffet table. Unfortunately, Louisa Mountbatten was right there—courtesy of Mother—to take her place. What followed was a wholly different kind of conversation. One where the woman was not shy in the least and Jonathan found himself unable to get a word in edgewise.
But, with the exception of the occasional grunt or nod, nothing much was required of him, so he let her monologue—about kittens and ribbons and some other such nonsense—trickle over him as he watched the knot in the corner grow.
Was that William Everton?
Bloody hell. Who had invited him? The man was an out and out rake.
He shot a glare at his mother. Unfortunately, she took it as a cue to switch out the damsels, bringing him Cecily Peck and taking away Louisa Mountbatten.
Cecily was an excellent foil to the others. She neither talked too little nor too much, but there was something slightly knowing in her eye. Something the younger girls did not possess.
“What a lovely party,” she said in a dulcet tone, sending him a teasing glance.
“My mother will be thrilled to hear it.”
“I love throwing parties,” she said on a sigh. “Such excitement. Fascinating people.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Do you not enjoy…fascinating people?”
He was sure she was flirting with him, he just wasn’t sure if he cared. “Doesn’t everyone enjoy fascinating people?”
“I met Byron once at a party.”
“Really?” He’d met Byron at White’s, but he didn’t feel the need to mention it.
“You have the look of him.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin as she touched his arm. Stroked it. “Do I?”
“Mmm. Such beautiful brown eyes. And that curl on your forehead. I imagine the ladies swoon if you so much as smile at them.”
He smiled at her then. It wasn’t intended, it just happened. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had someone faint on me.”
She batted her lashes. “More’s the pity.”
“It seems to me it would be awkward,” he had to add. It would be, wouldn’t it?
“Perhaps. Depending on the company.” She laughed, a melodic tinkle. “I hear you have a lovely conservatory here in Sutton. Would you show it to me sometime?”
He nodded. “I would love to.”
“Excellent.” She glanced around the room and leaned in, whispering, “How about now?”
Egads.
He tried not to lurch back, but she was being way too forward for comfort. “Perhaps tomorrow? I do have other guests.” He bowed to her and then turned away, but not before he saw her serene expression curl into something of a snarl.
Glorianna Pickering? Louisa Mountbatten? Cecily Peck? Had Mother deliberately invited the flightiest, most irritating debutantes on the market? Clearly, she had.
He headed for his mother, thinking they needed to have a chat, but he caught a glimpse of Meg’s blue dress out of the corner of his eye. She was on Hisdick’s arm. They were leaving the room.
Alarms blared in his head, and he changed course to follow them.
Unfortunately, the party was a crush, so it took him a while to make it through the crowd and by then, the hallway was empty. With his pulse pounding, he rushed down the hall, madly opening doors.
Ah. He should have known they’d be in the library.
What he hadn’t expected, what he’d never imagined, was that he would find Meg in Hisdick’s arms.
“What on earth is going on here?” he bellowed, much louder than he’d intended.
They both whirled around, and to his ire, Meg laughed. “I wanted to show Richard Jane Austen’s first book and look.” She pointed up to where mistletoe dangled over their heads.
First of all—Richard? They’d just met. How were they already on a first-name basis?
Second of all, blast Mother and her mistletoe.
It was a struggle to batten down his rage. “Hisdick, I need to speak with Meg, if you don’t mind?”
For all his social flaws, Hisdick could take a hint. He nodded and exited the room, even closing the door in his wake.
Once he was gone, Jonathan needed a moment. A moment to control the raging beast within, perhaps.
“What is it, Jonathan?” Meg asked, coming closer and peering up at him like an innocent.
“What is it? What is it?” he sputtered.
“Yes.” He had no idea why she laughed. “Why did you send Hisdick away? We hadn’t even found the book yet.”
“Don’t you know?”
She stared at him. Blinked. “Know what?”
“How dangerous that is?”
“What?”
Honestly? Did she not know? He raked back his hair. “You can’t just leave a party with a man and go into a deserted room with him.”
“Why ever not?”
“You most certainly cannot kiss him.”
“But there was mistletoe.”
“That doesn’t change anything. You could have been compromised.”
“With Hisdick? What nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. Had Lady Jersey, hell, had anyone else come in and seen you kissing Hisdick, you would have been done for.”
Meg put her hands on her hips. Her eyes snapped fire. She was magnificent.
“I did not kiss Hisdick.”
“You were going to.”
“What nonsense.”
“There was mistletoe.” He pointed above his head.
She looked up, then shrugged. “It does not signify.”
“It most certainly does signify.” He had no idea why his anger was rising, but he did have a suspicion that it wasn’t anger at all. It was something more…feral. Something utterly mad.
Without thinking, he yanked her into his arms and took her mouth, covering her, smothering her, tasting that delicious nectar he’d been craving since last night. It was a wild kiss, a devouring kiss, one that shocked him to his core.
Because she kissed him back. Every sort of passion he felt, she gave back.
When it ended, there in the darkened room with no sounds but their ragged breathing, his world was changed.
He knew now, he could never let her go. Knew now that Meg was his.
He leaned back and gored her with a dark, dominant gaze. “I’ve thought about that all day. Wanted that all day,” he said.
She made a show of patting her hair to make sure it was all still in place.
“Well.” Surely his voice didn’t crack. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“What-what could I say?”
He growled at her. “That you wanted it too.”
To his dismay, she turned away. “It was nice—”
“Nice?” A roar. Fury burned through him, and without thinking, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, making sure, this time, it was a damn sight more than nice.
They were deep in it. Mouths melded, souls entwined, when the bark of a laugh came from the door. Horror trickled through him. What had he been thinking, kissing Meg like that, here? Now? Surrounded by the mavens of the ton? He could have ruined her utterly. He whirled around and nearly collapsed in relief when it was just his sister.
“This is becoming something of a habit,” Susana said with a smirk.
“Well, really,” Meg said, once again patting her hair. It was clear she was breathless and there was a rosy tinge on her cheeks. Also, she would not meet his eye.
“What on earth are you thinking, Jonathan?” His sister strode in and tipped up Meg’s chin, checking her face for any evidence of savagery, perhaps.
“I came in here to save her,” he said, not unlike a child caught stealing a cake.
Susana shot him a disbelieving look.
“She was kissing Hisdick,” he insisted.
Meg snorted. “I was not kissing Hisdick.”
Susana sighed. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss Hisdick.”
Neither could he, but that was entirely beside the point. “The point is, she was in here, alone with Hisdick. I came in to save her.”
“And somehow she ended up kissing you?” Susana tipped her head to the side.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he sputtered.
“It’s not?” Meg’s voice was wobbly, wan.
Dear God, were those tears in her eyes?
Blast. Women were confounding. “That’s not what I meant, darling—”
“Darling?” Susana tsked. She took Meg by the arm. “We are going back to the party. There are still several men who wanted to talk to you, dear. And you.” She speared Jonathan with a fierce glower. “Get yourself together. You’re supposed to be looking for a wife.”
He was. He’d found her.
But before he could say as much, both Meg and Susana were gone.
He knew he should follow them, knew he should go back to the party, but he just couldn’t. Instead he poured himself a whisky and dropped into the chair by the fire—though the hearth was cold—and glared at the logs.
Chapter Seven
“Where on earth is Jonathan?” the dowager asked as Meg and Susana came back into the salon.
“He’s pouting,” Susana said.
“What?” Her tone led one to believe a duke had no business pouting whatsoever. “He has a party to host.”
“Perhaps it’s too much for him.” Susana again.
Meg was glad her friend was on her side, because she wouldn’t want her as a rival.
“Perhaps,” the dowager said. “I’ll have a chat with him. Where is he?”
“The library.”
As the dowager stalked down the hall to find her errant son, Susana pulled Meg aside and checked her hair and dress for rumples. “What was that, dear?” she asked in an undertone, lest anyone else hear.
Meg shook her head. Her body was still quivering to the thrill of Jonathan’s touch, that feral kiss. It was too much to expect her to think. “I don’t know.”
Susana shot her a sideways look. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t know why he kissed me.”
In response, Susana turned her to the glass. “Don’t you? Can’t you see how lovely you are?”
She stared at her reflection. Oh, she looked fine. “I’ll never be as pretty as Tessa.”
“Oh dear. Is that it?” Susana sighed. “I do know how you feel, though. I was certain Christian would fall for her once he met her. She was so beautiful. But darling, Tessa is gone. Jonathan’s not even mourning anymore.”
“I know.” It hardly signified. Tessa has always been the pretty one. Meg had always been the one who tromped through the mud with the boys.
“But that is all beside the point. You are here and you shall have a wonderful time. Come now. Let’s go speak with Everton. Have you met him yet?”
Meg made a face. “He spits when he talks.”
“Oh dear. How about Mattingly?”
Mattingly was nice. Funny. Clever. He just wasn’t Jonathan.
Meg shrugged.
“Surely there is someone you would like to talk to.”
“I enjoyed conversing with Hisdick…” He was extraordinarily well-read and had an excellent grasp of subtext.
“All right.” Susana linked their arms once more and they made their way over to the corner, where Hisdick had once again positioned himself and they had a lovely conversation about authors such as Sarah Burnley, Elizabeth Thomas, and Jane West, though Susana didn’t contribute much. She simply stood guard.
* * *
“What are you doing in here?”
Jonathan winced as he heard his mother enter the room. For a second, he thought to hide his whisky, then reminded himself he was a duke and he could drink whenever he damned well pleased. So he lifted his glass. “I needed a break.”
She sniffed. “Susana suggested perhaps you weren’t up to hosting.”
Susana had the right of it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was host. He wanted to go into the salon, sweep Meg off her feet, and carry her bodily to his chambers.
But he couldn’t. Damn it all anyway.
“You must go back. The card games are about to start.”
He forbore rolling his eyes, but just barely. He might be seated with one of them. “I don’t like to play cards.”
Her snort echoed the room. “You like cards enough when you go to gaming hells.”
“Gaming hells aren’t dangerous.”
“Well, I never. This is a party in your own home. You are not in danger.”
“Ah, but I am.” He refilled his glass. “Did you know Miss Peck suggested I take her to the conservatory? Tonight?”
“I’m sure she didn’t.�
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“I’m sure she did.” Also, his mother had probably not noticed the deep gouges on his forearm from Cecily’s talons. “Mother, I appreciate you inviting them all, but…”
“But what?” Her eyes went wide and all innocent-like.
He stared at her for a moment. “You have to know that none of them would suit.”
“None of them would suit?” The fact that she parroted him and batted her lashes while doing it made suspicion bubble within him. Oh, he knew her. He knew her well. He just hadn’t suspected she could be so manipulative.
“But you didn’t want me to settle on one of them, did you?”
Her innocent look intensified. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Jonathan, you are talking in riddles.”
“Am I? Who is the woman you really want me to consider. Just tell me. It will save some time.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shifted her intense attention to the pleats in her skirt.
“Is it the Malbury girl? What’s her name? Portico?”
“Portia. And no. She’s spotty.”
“Drake’s daughter? Petunia?”
“Priscilla. And no. She’s mannish.”
“All right. Who then?”
The dowager sniffed. “I have no intention of choosing your wife for you, and frankly, I am insulted at the allusion that I do. You’re a grown man and you can choose your own wife. Now, come back to the party. You’re going to play cards and you’re going to like it.”
With a command like that, he could hardly disobey.
But he took his whisky with him.
* * *
Truth be told, once the card games started, the party was tolerable. Probably because a lot of the guests left at that time to go to bed. And probably because Jonathan managed to be seated with Mattingly, St. Clare, and Everton. And, as they all knew, Everton was an easy mark.
Pity they weren’t playing for money.
For her part, Meg sat with Susana and Christian and Hisdick. There was far too much laughter coming from that side of the room. It almost ruined his concentration.
But at least, from this vantage point, he could keep his eye on her, and he found, as long as he could keep his eye on her, he could remain calm.
