Loving Lord Ash (31 page)

She’d grant that people enjoyed exaggerating and distorting things, but there was almost always some kernel of truth to the tales. Take the ugly rumors about her. She’d never done the things people said she had, but she had indeed behaved scandalously with Percy. Once, but once was enough.

And really, why wouldn’t Kit enjoy himself, especially since he believed his wife was little better than a doxy? He was only doing what the rest of his class did.

Well, enough was enough. She was determined. After the silly ball was over, she’d settle things with the Marquis of Ashton.

Chapter Seventeen

A woman’s feelings require careful handling.

—Venus’s Love Notes

“You look beautiful, Jess,” Ash said, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

Fluff had retreated to the hearth to sprawl in front of the fire, his head on his paws, his brows tented, watching them from a safe distance. Ash would like to remove himself as well, but his gut told him that would be a colossal mistake.

Jess had been snapping at him ever since they’d come up to get ready for the Palmerson ball. Mary, Mama’s maid, had just left after arranging Jess’s hair, and now Jess was standing stiffly in front of the cheval glass, scowling at her reflection.

Why the hell was she scowling? She took his breath away. Her dark blue gown hugged her small breasts, barely covering them, and her lovely black hair was swept up to expose her shoulders.

God, he wanted to run his hands over her, pull her back against him, and kiss his way along the exquisite curve of her neck to her delicate jaw and then turn her and—

And that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen. She’d likely jab her sharp elbow into his stomach. For some damn reason she was angry with him.

He took a deep calming breath. He’d read the handbook Mama had given him. It wasn’t a long or difficult text. Some of it was more than a little scandalous, so he sincerely hoped Mama hadn’t written it—though he was very much afraid that she had—but other parts had suggestions that could be implemented without blushing, such as:
Compliments, as long as they are sincere, will go a long way to warming your wife’s heart.

Well,
that
hadn’t worked, and he was sincere, very, very sincere. He had never seen Jess look more beautiful. She would have every man at the ball lusting after her—including Percy.

Bloody hell! If Percy stepped even a quarter of an inch over the line of proper behavior, Ash would rip his head off.

Unless Jess wanted Percy’s attentions. But she didn’t . . . did she?

The fear of that was why he’d forced himself to read every damn word of
How to Woo Your Wife
.

“You’re certain the neck isn’t too low?” Jess turned one way and then the other, studying herself in the mirror. “I really do think a fichu might be a good idea, no matter what Mary says.”

Sometimes a woman needs reassurance, not reasoned argument.

Right.

“I’m sure Mary must know what’s proper for a London ballroom. Mama certainly relies on her.”

Jess bit her lip, her eyes still studying her reflection. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

She did not look convinced.

“And Madame Celeste definitely must know. She wants everyone to admire your dress so they’ll come to her for their clothing, doesn’t she?”

Jess frowned. “Remember that popinjay we saw on the street when we first arrived in London? His tailor must have thought people would admire that outlandish outfit, too.”

Oh, for God’s sake! Now she was being ridiculous. But he swallowed his impatience.

“Jess, you look nothing like that man.” He stepped closer, but still not close enough to present a target for her elbow. “You really are beautiful.”

“Really?” She glanced up at him. He saw doubt and perhaps a flicker of hope in her eyes—and then a flash of anger again. “I suppose you should know, being such an accomplished rake.”

It was almost as if she was trying to pick a fight.

He would let it go. This was no time to get into that. It was just her nerves speaking.

“All I know is what I see. I’m telling you the truth, Jess.” Should he mention how she would draw all the male eyes? No. He would have sworn just a few weeks ago that she’d want to hear exactly that, but now he thought not.

What had the damn pamphlet said?
Ask her how she feels. Listen to her.

Why anyone would want to talk about feelings was beyond him. Frankly, the notion gave him shivers, like hearing fingernails scraping on slate. It must be a female quirk.

“Are you nervous?”

Her jaw hardened. “No.” And then she sighed and looked back at the mirror. “Well, maybe a little.”

Perhaps Mama’s handbook had some value. He thought he could sense her softening toward him. He might—

No, he might not. He clasped his hands behind his back.
Listen means listening,
not
touching. Keep your hands to yourself.

That was his advice, not the pamphlet’s.

“I’ll stay by your side if you wish.”

“Would you?” Her lips wavered in and out of a smile.

“Of course.” He wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. Their connection was so fragile, anger might come rushing back at the first wrong word to sever it.

Her eyes flared with warmth, and then she flushed and dropped her gaze.

He felt quite hot himself. And he’d almost forgotten. “I have something for you.”

Mama’s handbook had said women liked gifts as long as they were really gifts and not bribes.

He’d never given Jess a gift. He should have given her something when they’d wed, but he’d been too . . . upset at the time. Perhaps this could be a new beginning—a courtship. The handbook said women liked to be courted.

“You do?” She smiled. “Some paints? I haven’t painted since I left Blackweith Manor.”

Should he remind her who she’d said would be her next subject? No. From the color flooding her cheeks, she’d just remembered. If they weren’t going to the ball . . .

But they were going. Mama and Father were correct. Now that society knew they were in Town, the gossip would only become more outrageous if they didn’t attend at least some events and give everyone a chance to stare at them.

And he must remember, the way Jess was acting, she might skewer rather than paint him if he armed her with a sharp-handled paintbrush.

“I’m afraid not paints. We can get those later.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jeweler’s bag. He’d dashed over to Rundell and Bridge this afternoon and found something he liked. He hoped Jess liked it, too. He spilled the pearl necklace onto his palm.

“Oh!” Jess sucked in her breath. “Is that for me?”

He laughed. “Well, it’s certainly not for me.”

She laughed, too. “No, I suppose it would look odd with your cravat.”

“Most definitely. Here, let me put it on you.” He dropped the bag on her dressing table and stepped close behind her. Mmm. She smelled of lavender.

He draped the pearls over the creamy expanse of her chest. The blue dress was barely modest; if his hands slipped, they could easily reach below the scrap of fabric and lift her lovely, soft breasts free—

His body had the predictable response. He pushed his hips back so the bulge that had suddenly appeared in his pantaloons would not startle her.

Blast it, all the bloody men at the ball would have the same reaction. Jess would have her pick of the damn scoundrels.

“Is something the matter?”

He met her gaze in the mirror. Worry and uncertainty clouded her eyes.

Kill suspicion before it kills your marriage.

Those had been the hardest words to read in Mama’s handbook. He knew what Jess had done with Percy; he’d seen that with his own eyes. But it had happened eight years ago. All the other tales of Jess’s infidelities were hearsay, and some of the rumors had her consorting with the Blackweith staff. After meeting the footman—no,
Lord Trendal
—in the park, and hearing what Jess said was the truth of Blackweith Manor, he was willing to concede that those stories were false.

He would try to trust her. He wouldn’t trust blindly—he’d keep a close eye on her—but he would try to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“No, nothing’s the matter.” He fastened the clasp and rested his hands on her bare shoulders. Her skin was so soft. He swept his thumbs back and forth over it.

He’d swear the wide expanse of her chest turned pink, making the white of the pearls more pronounced.

“The n-necklace is beautiful,” she said, raising a hand to touch it. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

He rather enjoyed seeing his independent, strong-willed wife at a loss for words.

“Just say thank you.” He desperately wanted to kiss the curve of her neck, but that would be rushing his fences. She might interpret the pearls as a bribe to get into her good graces. He stepped back.

“Thank you.” She looked at her reflection again. “It fills in the bare space quite nicely.” She smiled at him. “I feel less naked.” And then she blushed.

He would like to see her naked, to sketch her wearing only the pearls....

There was no point in following that line of thought.

He pulled another, smaller jeweler’s bag out of his pocket. “And here are the matching earrings.”

“Oh!” She took the bag and opened it. “They are beautiful, too.” She looked up at him. “But what is the occasion?”

“Your entry into society.”
Sometimes honesty really is the best policy.
“And to mark our first public appearance as husband and wife.”

She stared at him. “It is, isn’t it? Our first appearance as a married couple”—she pulled a face—“even though we’ve been married eight years.”

“Yes. We didn’t start off well, did we?”

She shook her head. “No, we didn’t. And it was my fault.”

“It was my fault, too.”

She was frowning again. “Percy—”

He put his finger on her lips. “Let’s not talk about Percy now.” There was a limit to the subjects he could listen to. “Not before your first ball.”

She nodded. “I do hope Percy’s not there tonight.”

He hoped so, too, but he wouldn’t wager any money on Percy’s absence. “You can’t avoid meeting him at these things. He must go to them all, if just for the free food. He’s always short of blunt.”

“But I wish I could avoid him.” She turned to put on the earrings. “I hate him.”

Mama’s handbook said there was often a very fine line between love and hate, that passion of any sort begat passion. That had been true for him, though the love and hate he’d felt for Jess had existed together in a tight, messy knot.

Would Jess’s hatred of Percy turn to love? Zeus, he hoped not, but it would be best to find out now before he let her back into his life.

Hell, it was far too late for that. She’d been part of his life since she’d first arrived at the castle as a girl.

He’d thought he could keep his feelings for her locked away, that he could keep their interactions superficial and physical. He’d thought the use of her body would be enough.

He’d been a fool.

And he was a fool now. He couldn’t allow himself to wallow in these maudlin thoughts. He needed an heir. He was married to Jess. If she would swear to be faithful to him until his second son was born, then that would
have
to be enough. It was the practical, sensible thing to do.

Even if it felt like it would kill him.

Jess waited to climb the stairs to Lord Palmerson’s town house while a battalion of servants carried an elderly couple in bath chairs up the steps. She had her hand on Kit’s arm, but it felt as if Kit himself was miles away. He’d been like this since just after he’d given her the pearl earrings. What had happened?

Yes, she’d still been angry with him when they were in their bedroom getting ready for the ball. She’d spent the day reminding herself of what the duchess had said at breakfast—that she was as guilty of listening to rumors as Kit was. But the bed was right there, a silent reminder of his absence the night before.

And then he’d been so kind. He’d complimented her and given her the beautiful pearls—she’d never had a gift so fine. He’d been friendly—more than friendly. He’d looked at her with what she would have sworn was desire—

Of course! How stupid could she be? He’d given her jewelry, hadn’t he? That was the bribe men used to lure silly women into their beds.

But Kit’s gift hadn’t felt like a bribe, and he hadn’t tried to seduce her, even though he’d made her want to be seduced. He hadn’t even kissed her.

She was so confused. She hated feeling off balance and out of control.

She looked up at him. His eyes were on the commotion with the bath chairs—the elderly man must be rather deaf, because he was shouting directions so loudly Dennis could probably hear him back at Blackweith Manor—but she doubted Kit actually heard or saw anything. His profile was set, his jaw hard. He looked angry and sullen, a man forced to offer her his escort.

Damn it. Couldn’t he pull himself out of his funk? He knew she was nervous. She’d told him so.

She welcomed the spurt of anger. She’d much rather feel angry than awkward.

The duchess glanced at them and frowned. “Smile, Ash. You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“Your own,” Jack said. Frances, standing by his side, quickly muffled a surprised giggle. He tilted his head and looked Kit up and down, while Kit glared at him. “No, on second thought, not a funeral. A murder.”

“You’re a blo—” Kit pressed his lips together.

Jack laughed. “You’re here to calm the old cats, Ash, not stir them into a gossiping frenzy. If you walk into the ballroom looking like that, they’ll think you’re planning to poison Jess and drop her body in the Thames.”

Jack’s eyes moved to regard her. “And frankly, Jess looks like she might do the same to you.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Kit’s expression darkened even more.

“Oh? I wouldn’t say I’m being absurd. What do you think, Jess? Doesn’t my brother’s scowling face make you shudder?”