Chills (33 page)

He smiled at something Agatha said and responded without too much thought, still glancing discreetly at Pixie. As if feeling his eyes, she straightened a little, and her free hand fluttered to her stomach. She put her cup down with a clatter, apologized, and dashed from the room.

Jack looked at Virginia, perplexed, but when he made a move to follow, she shushed him and had him stay with Agatha. It was then he realized that he was alone with Miss Birkenstock, in a chamber with a closed door. With a murmured excuse, he put his cup down, and strode to the door to have Parkes summon a suitable chaperone.

Jack remained in the front hall until a maid arrived, and then went above to find the ladies. Virginia was standing outside Pixie’s door, knocking and asking to be let in. There was no response and the door wouldn’t open. Virginia looked at him anxiously then disappeared behind his bedroom door, no doubt heading for the balcony to access Pixie’s room.

Jack gripped the doorframe and pressed his head to it. But he heard nothing from within.

Virginia returned a bare minute later. “Pixie said she felt ill all of a sudden, but is feeling better now. She’s going to rest.” Virginia glanced at the door then shrugged. “I’ll return to Agatha and pass along Pixie’s excuse.”

Jack waited till Virginia had disappeared down the stairs then headed for the balcony himself. But her doors were locked against him, the curtains drawn. What the devil?

Jack returned to his study. He supposed he could go find the housekeeper’s set of keys and let himself into her room, but he would rather keep their liaison private until he proposed. Maybe if he gave her a little time she might come out on her own.

His butler entered his study an hour later and stood patiently on the other side of his desk, disturbing him from his wedding plans. “Yes, Parkes?”

“Miss Grange has requested a tray in her room for luncheon. I thought you might prefer the same, my lord.”

So much for talking to her soon. “Thank you. Has there been any news from my uncle today?”

“No, my lord. But I did speak to His Grace’s housekeeper yesterday and believe he is expected the day after tomorrow.”

At least his uncle wasn’t here to witness him make a mess of his courtship. The duke was well acquainted with Pixie and would probably laugh at Jack for requesting the duke’s presence for a wedding without securing her acceptance first.

“My lord, if I may, I wondered if I might share an observation with you.”

Puzzled, Jack nodded.

“On the day Miss Grange attended Lady Marchmouth’s at-home, I heard crying in the house.”

“Crying? I assume you dealt with the maid.”

“It wasn’t a maid, my lord. The sounds were coming from Miss Grange’s bedchamber, and I have noticed a certain distraction in her manner since then.”

“Oh.” Jack had detected a tendency toward lower spirits lately, but he hadn’t pinpointed the exact moment of the change. Pixie rarely cried. “Did you mention this to my sister?”

“No, my lord. I know how you prefer not to rely on Lady Orkney. I thought Miss Grange would have brought her troubles to you given enough time, but I have just overheard that her maid is preparing for Miss Grange’s departure.”

Jack stood. “I beg your pardon. Is she packing?”

“Not yet, sir, but the maid asked for one of the smaller trunks to be brought down tomorrow,” Parkes replied. “Given you’ve not requested a carriage made ready as you would usually, I thought you might be interested.

Virginia swept into the room, and Jack had the butler relate Pixie’s recent request. She appeared perplexed.

“Did Pixie say anything about the Marchmouth at-home?” Jack asked.

Virginia frowned. “Not a word, come to think on it. Do you think someone was horrible to her?”

Jack tidied up his scattered papers before his sister noticed and dropped them in a drawer. “I don’t know, but something has upset her. What gossip is circulating around Town?”

Virginia threw herself into an armchair. “Well, there is talk about some jewelry you purchased yesterday morning. It is rumored that you’re about to pay off your mistress and marry.”

“I don’t have a mistress at present.”

“Just as well, Jack. Pixie doesn’t care for them any more than I do.”

Parkes coughed, and made to escape, but turned back on the threshold. “Oh, there is one other matter, my lord. Miss Grange might have invaded your bedchamber. I found the door ajar.”

Jack raked his fingers through his hair. “Miss Grange has access to the whole house. But how far into my rooms did she go, do you think?”

“As far as the boudoir—that door was open, too.”

Parkes fled. Damn, she might already know about his wedding gifts. What else had Virginia said? Then Jack remembered the last part of Virginia’s gossip. “Whom am I supposed to be marrying?” Society should barely know his plans for Pixie yet.

Virginia threw her hands up. “The gossip for the last few months has been that you will wed Miss Birkenstock. I know, I know, you are just being kind, but you are rarely kind without reason. There was some gossip, initially, about Pixie’s presence, but it is generally thought that you have no time for her.”

“Like hell,” Jack exploded, pacing the room.

“Perhaps Pixie believed the gossip?”

Jack was stunned. Everything made sense. He really ought to go upstairs and paddle her little behind. “Damn her foolishness. No, damn mine. Virginia.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I have no intention of marrying Agatha. I have a fondness for her, but as far as it goes, I am not at home when she calls. Is that clear?”

Virginia’s answering smile lit the room.

“Oh, and one more matter. Make sure Pixie’s traveling cases have been misplaced. We need to have a discussion and I can’t do that if she runs away from me.”

“Brother, you are making a mess of this,” Virginia chided, but she rose, skirted the desk, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Remember, we are promised to attend the Jamison ball tonight. I will make Pixie attend, but you must put things right tonight. And be sure you get rid of the other woman too.”

Virginia hummed as she hurried out the door. He shook his head. No matter how many times he promised, Virginia didn’t believe he wasn’t already betrothed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“IF I DREW pleasure from inflicting pain, Miss Grange, I believe I would take you across my knee and give you the spanking you deserve,” Lord Daventry murmured with a smile totally at odds with his words.

His voice cut through Constance’s misery like a knife. “Lord Daventry?”

Shocked to a standstill on Lady Jamison’s ballroom floor, she glanced around, but no one appeared to have heard him.

“Take my arm, Miss Grange,” Daventry ordered, still smiling, but his tone was far from pleasant.

She did not understand what had changed. Daventry had never put himself out in either pleasure or vexation before. Yet he watched Constance closely and, judging by the postures of the society closest to them, they were garnering attention.

Constance placed her hand on his arm. Daventry covered her fingers and used firm pressure to keep her hand in place as he escorted her off the dance floor and away from her chaperone.

“Miss Grange, I believe I shall show you a little play. I know you enjoy the theatre, so you may find my little drama entertaining. I can assure you that from where I sit, it is all painfully real, and could be dealt with in a few simple words. Perhaps you have seen part of the play yourself, and not understood.”

Constance struggled to keep up. Had Daventry finally gone mad? Could an excess of pleasure disturb the mind?

Daventry stopped by the refreshment table and handed her a glass of freshly poured champagne. Constance sipped hers, still unable to move away. With Virginia out of sight, she longed for the dubious safety of Jack’s company across the room.

Daventry’s gaze flowed over her, lingering on her breasts and mouth. “Are you still untouched, Miss Grange?”

Constance skin flushed. “Of course, Lord Daventry,” she replied, attempting to step back. “Release me.”

“Not just yet. Our play is just beginning.”

“What play?” But he didn’t answer. Daventry deposited her half-full glass on the table, then strolled a few more steps. Yet his gaze swept her body almost as if he was undressing her where she stood.

Constance squirmed. She did not like this, but they were still in a crowded ballroom. She was reasonably safe for the moment.

“Take a look around you, Miss Grange. Take a good look at all the people you are acquainted with and watch what they do. You would be surprised what people reveal when they let their guard down.”

He steered her toward a large pillar and placed her in its shadow. “Take Lady Wallis, for example. Can you tell the man she has her eye on?”

Lord Daventry’s breath tickled her cheek, an unpleasant sensation. She shuddered but turned in Lady Wallis’ direction and watched her converse with her staid husband. Before long, the lady’s eyes did drift, in Jack’s direction.

The slender Lord Wade passed Lady Wallis, and her gaze stroked him.

“Yes, the lovely lady is not adverse to a man of more trim and muscled dimensions than her husband. Look again. What else can you see?”

He was determined to torment her. Of course, women looked at Jack. He was in no way bad looking. He stood in conversation with Agatha and Mr. Birkenstock across the dance floor. His gaze flittered around the ballroom continually, never resting on any one face for long. Not even Agatha. The girl watched her grandfather and Jack speaking, but her gaze flickered across the dance floor, but not quite at Constance and Lord Daventry though.

Constance turned her head to her right. Lord Carrington lingered nearby. He was gazing at Agatha from beside another pillar, a frown creasing his forehead. That was certainly a surprise. Agatha and Carrington were watching each other. When she thought about it, Carrington often joined in on her conversations when Agatha was near, but the girl usually excused herself soon after.

“Fascinating, is it not?” he supplied, reading her mind. Obviously, he saw much more than she usually did. “Keep looking.”

Daventry’s hand touched her upper arm and she jumped. When she turned her head, she found him closer than was comfortable. She was in trouble now. If she boxed his ears, it would draw attention. If she stayed here with him much longer, people would begin to whisper. The earl was playing her for the sake of his own twisted amusement. A prickle of anxiety swept her skin and she returned her gaze to the center of the ballroom.

Jack had left the Birkenstocks, but had halted a few feet from them, directly across the ballroom floor. He was staring at her and only at her. Constance gulped, suddenly nervous. Daventry’s finger dragged along her upper arm and he whispered into her ear, “Take my arm.”

Jack’s jaw clenched.

“Trust me, Pixie. I have no designs on your pretty self,” Daventry whispered when she hesitated. She should not trust him, yet she was curious as to what he was doing. She placed her hand on his arm and chose not to look at where Jack was standing again.

Daventry wound them through the throng, pausing to exchange flirtatious comments with several women. By the time they reached the ballroom entrance, Constance had overheard a great deal more flirtatious comments than she wanted to. The man was obsessed.

Once in the hallway, he pushed Constance against a wall. She yelped at the harsh treatment. But he stood beside her, arms loosely laced across his chest, waiting for something.

Jack barreled through the doorway a moment later, radiating aggression and panic.

Daventry smiled. “Ettington, old man, so good of you to join us.”

Jack pivoted, and his blue eyes were black. He saw Constance and relaxed a little, but his eyes returned to Daventry. She had never seen Jack so angry. Jack advanced a step, fists curled tight at his sides.

“Now, Ettington, no harm done,” Daventry assured him with a confident and pleased grin. “Such a pretty girl, you cannot wrap her up in silk and not expect her to attract admirers.”

Jack grasped Daventry by his cravat, slamming his back into the wall.

“Jack, stop.” Constance glanced around the hall. They were alone, but the hall would not stay that way for long.

“Ah, but you see, Miss Grange, our Jack is not quite himself.” Daventry struggled to speak around the tightened neck cloth. “You could almost think he was dealing with poachers on his land. Ettington, you’ve forgotten I stick to my rules.”

Red stained Lord Daventry’s cheeks before Jack let go of the earl.

“There’s always an exception.” Jack drew in a deep breath. “Leave, before I do something permanent.”

“Your servant, Miss Grange. Have a pleasurable evening, Ettington.”

As soon as he turned, Lord Daventry started whistling. The man was deranged. Constance glanced up at Jack and was surprised to find his eyes closed.

Thinking to return to the ballroom before her absence was noticed, she edged around the angry man. But his hand shot out and gripped her arm tight. She stared at it, then up at his face. Jack pulled her to him, placed Constance’s arm through his, and started walking.