Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (17 page)

Delighted by her haughty response, Jason could not resist asking, his voice low, “And if I refrained from all high-handed behaviour? Would you be suitably grateful, Lenore?”

Her heartbeat filling her ears as his eyes caressed her face, Lenore struggled to keep her feet on the ground. Her bones felt weak, a sensation that had afflicted her once before. Too concerned with keeping her senses under control, she made no effort to answer him.

The confusion in her eyes was answer enough for Jason.

The music stopped. Reluctantly, he freed her, tucking her hand into his arm, a subtle smile curving his lips.

Released from his gaze, Lenore dragged in a steadying breath.

“Great heavens! Lenore!” Spun about, Lenore felt her hand caught, then she was slowly twirled about. Jack came into view, studying her avidly. Coming to a halt in time to see him shoot a glance loaded with masculine meaning at her fiancé, Lenore tugged to get her brother's attention.

“How is Papa?”

Jack blinked, as if struggling to take her meaning. “Papa? Oh, he's fine. Couldn't be better. And his health will improve no end when he gets a look at you. What happened to your pinafores?”

“I left them at home,” Lenore stated with awful deliberation. “Along with my spectacles,” she added before he could ask. “Come and dance with me. I need the practice.”

Leaving Jason with the mildest of nods, she led the way to the floor.

While circling the floor with Jack, she prised his news from him. He had returned to Lester Hall on Wednesday, to set her father's mind at rest that all was well with her. Apparently all was likewise well at Lester Hall, although Harriet and her father both missed her. However, the arrangements for them to attend her wedding were well in hand; the prospect was the cause of considerable excitement in the household.

“God knows! Some of the servants have asked permission to make the journey, so you might catch sight of some familiar faces in the crowd outside the church.”

Lenore was touched, but, already, Lester Hall and its affairs were fading in her mind, overlaid by the more pressing demands of her new role.

Harry came up as Jack led her from the floor. After making comments sufficiently similar to Jack's to earn a stern warning from Lenore, he, too, commandeered her for a dance. At the end of it, however, he insisted on returning her to her fiancé's side, revealing that he had been so instructed by his future brother-in-law and was not about to queer his pitch in that direction.

Lenore did not quite know what to make of that but she was too relieved to be once more in Jason's protective presence to protest.

He was talking to Frederick Marshall when she joined him. Lenore could not miss the stunned look on Frederick's face when he saw her.

“My dear Miss Lester.” Coming to himself with a start, Frederick bowed gallantly over Lenore's hand. Straightening, he blinked. “Er…” Appalled by the words that had leapt to his tongue, Frederick struggled to find suitable replacements.

Reading his friend's mind with ease, Jason helpfully explained, “She left her pinafores at Lester Hall.”

Bending a glance both haughty and innocent upon him, Lenore asked, “I do hope, Your Grace, that you're not missing them? Perhaps I should send for them, if it would please you?”

Jason was too old a hand to be rolled up so easily. His lips curved appreciatively, his grey eyes gleamed. “I'd be only too pleased to discuss what you might do to please me, my dear. Naturally, I'm delighted that you seek to make my pleasure your paramount concern.”

Any possibility that his speech was uttered in innocence was rendered ineligible by the expression in his eyes. Caught in his web once more, Lenore turned hot, then cold, then hot once more. With an effort, she dragged her gaze from his, glancing at Frederick but with little hope of rescue.

She had, however, underestimated Frederick. More used to Jason's ways than she, he sent his friend a stern glance before enquiring, “Have you weathered the Montgomery clan, then? They're somewhat daunting, are they not?”

Lenore grasped the unexpected lifeline, applying herself to a discussion of her fiancé's huge family, thereby, she later realised, punishing him most effectively.

It was not long afterwards that Agatha caught up with them. “If you want my opinion, we should leave now. Best not to give them time to grow too accustomed—keeps their interest up, y'know?”

Jason, his eyes flicking over Lenore's radiant face and seeing the increasing weariness behind her polished mask, inclined his head. “I bow to your greater experience of such matters, dear aunt.”

The carriage was summoned; they took their leave of their hostess, Lenore and Agatha receiving an invitation to take tea the following Tuesday.

Ensconced in the carriage, wrapped up in her cloak once more, Lenore sighed as the flambeau lighting the Attlebridge House steps fell behind, her evening's hurdles successfully overcome.

Seated opposite, Jason watched the shadows wreath her face. He smiled. “Well, my dear. Was the ordeal as bad as you had feared?”

Lenore straightened. “Why, no, my lord.” She turned to face him fully, rearranging the folds of her cloak. Remembering his requirements of a bride, she added, “I don't believe I will find any real difficulty in either attending or hosting such entertainments.”

Jason inclined his head, a frown gathering in his eyes.

“Lady Mulhouse invited us to her rout next week.” Lenore turned to Agatha. “And Mrs. Scotridge asked us to tea.”

Agatha heaved a contented sigh. “Ah, me! I'd almost forgotten what it's like to be in the eye of the storm. Despite the fact that it's the tag-end of the Season, I dare say life will be hectic for the next few weeks.”

Eyes narrowing, Jason watched his aunt stifle a yawn. If nothing else had been achieved at his aunt Attlebridge's ball, the occasion had demonstrated that in her new incarnation Lenore held a potent attraction for the prowling males of the
ton
. No less than five fascinated acquaintances had stopped by his side to remark on her beauty. Placing an elbow on the carriage windowsill, Jason leant his chin on his fist and stared, unseeing, at the passing fa
des.

After some moments, he shifted his gaze to the object of his thoughts, sitting serene and content only feet away, her face intermittently lit by the street-lamps as she watched the houses slip past. The wheels rang on the cobblestones as he pondered his problem, his gaze fixed, unwaveringly, on the face of his bride-to-be.

As the carriage slowed for the turn into Green Street, Jason stirred. “If tomorrow is fine, perhaps you'd care to drive to Merton with me? My great-aunt Elmira lives there; she's an invalid and will be unable to attend our wedding but she's an avid gossip and will be livid not to have met you.”

He ignored Agatha's stunned stare, his attention on Lenore.

Lenore brightened, her spirits lifting at the thought of a drive in the country. Fresh country air was something she was already missing, although she had no intentions of admitting to such weakness. “I'd be delighted to accompany you, my lord.” She smiled, feeling as if the final cachet had been added to her evening. “I would not have it thought that we were in any way backward with our attentions to your family.”

“You need have no fear of that,” Jason returned somewhat ascerbically. “My family, as you will learn, would never permit it.”

As the carriage slowed before his aunt's house, Jason allowed himself a small, self-deprecatory smile. The course he had just set his feet upon was not one he would, of his own volition, have followed. However, given that his peace for the rest of his life might depend on the outcome, three weeks of his time seemed a small price to pay.

 

F
OR
L
ENORE
, the weeks following the announcement of their betrothal passed in a constant whirl. Visits were crammed between engagements of every conceivable sort—balls, parties, routs, drums. The obligatory appearance at Almack's was accomplished; she was greatly disappointed by the bare rooms and the refreshments she had no hesitation in stigmatising as meagre. Also wedged between
ton
-ish dissipations was a reunion with Amelia; her cousin agreed to act as matron of honour and was duly introduced to Lafarge to be fitted for her gown. Lenore had two fittings of her wedding-gown and the severely cut maroon velvet carriage dress she would wear on her departure from the wedding breakfast, all squeezed into her last hectic week. The only periods of calm in her disordered world were those she spent with Eversleigh.

She had initially been surprised to find him assiduous in his attendance upon her, dutifully escorting his aunt and herself to every evening engagement, frequently taking her driving in the Park, arranging an evening at the theatre to see Keane, always by her side whenever the occasion permitted. He also organised outings which took her out of the bustle of the
ton
, for which she was more grateful than she felt it wise to reveal. They drove in Richmond Park and visited numerous beauty spots. He took her for a tour around London in his curricle, pointing out the sights the guide-books acclaimed, walking with her in St Paul's and along the leafy avenues by the river.

When, however, unnerved by her response to his continuing thoughtfulness, to the sense of protection she felt when he was by her side, she had hesitantly commented to Agatha on the unexpectedness of his constancy, her mentor had dismissed the point with an airy wave. “Hardly surprising. Never a fool, Jason.”

The cryptic comment did nothing to ease Lenore's inner wariness; as the days passed, it grew, along with a suspicion that her fears of marriage were well on the way to being realised.

And then, before she had time to come to grips with her affliction, her wedding eve was upon her.

 

I
T WAS PRECISELY
three weeks after Lady Attlebridge's ball. In the dim light of a crescent moon, Jason strolled the balcony of the Bishop of Salisbury's palace, looking back over the days of his betrothal, very thankful they were about to end. He would be glad to leave behind the unexpected uncertainty which had prompted him to keep Lenore close, spending as much time with her as propriety allowed. The endeavour had stretched his talents to the full. He had even sent Moggs out for a guide-book.

His admiration for his betrothed had increased dramatically. He was reasonably sure she did not enjoy life in London—she had been right in predicting her dislike. Her transparent enjoyment of the days they had spent out of the capital or in pursuits outside the
ton
had contrasted with her considered appreciation of their evenings' entertainments. However, not even his sharp eyes had detected the slightest crack in the smoothly serene fa
de she showed to the world. Her performance had been faultless. The subtle change when, alone with him, she laid aside her social mask, was one he had learned to savour.

Smiling, Jason looked up at the stars, diamonds scattered in the black velvet sky. He owed Agatha a debt, not least for refraining from comment on his unfashionable predilection for his fiancée's company. Needless to say, Frederick thought he had run daft.

The end of the balcony rose out of the dark. Jason leaned on the railing and breathed deeply. Away to the left, beyond the glow of the town's street-lamps, he could see the pinpricks of light that marked Ashby Lodge, the home of his cousin Cyril. The Lester Hall household had been quartered here; Lenore had returned to spend the last night before her wedding under the same roof as her father.

Tomorrow, they would wed amid the pomp and ceremony traditional in his family. The town was crammed with members of the
ton
who, as Agatha had predicted, had returned from all corners of the land to attend. The wedding breakfast would be held here, under Henry's auspices, after which he and Lenore would depart for the Abbey.

Straightening, his lips curving, Jason considered the future, conscious of nothing more than keen anticipation. No sense of mourning for his hedonistic freedom, no last-minute hesitations. Casting one last look across the treetops to where his betrothed was no doubt sound asleep in a high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown, quite unlike the one she would wear tomorrow night, he grinned and turned back towards the house.