Chills (22 page)

Careful not to frighten her, he took the glass and crouched over her. He sat her up, then slid behind her back. Limp from the effect of the brew, she allowed him to nestle her tight in his arms.

She raised her hands and they fluttered above his arms as restless as a little wren until he wove them into his embrace. When her head nodded, he pulled her onto his lap, then took her to bed.

Since she was still dressed, Bernard loosened her gown and let it slide to the floor, ignoring the impulse to run his hands over her curves. Bernard found her nightdress, and then stripped Virginia of her remaining clothes, putting her into the linen before she panicked.

Virginia’s long hair splashed over his wrists as he found the pins that held it as confined as she had kept her grief. When he pulled back the covers and urged her to lie down, she resisted. This was the difficult part. Despite the cold gripping the chamber, she had always fought against the bedding slipping over her. It was why Bernard had kept the room hot as she recovered.

“Hush, love,” he whispered. “I promise you, you’re safe with me.”

Virginia stilled and her gaze rose. In the firelight, her brow puckered. “I remember that.”

“I am not surprised. I told you as much every night.”

She let him cover her, and Bernard tucked the blankets tight around her. Slowly, with great care, he lowered his lips and kissed her brow. She didn’t turn away so he breathed out his anxiety and collected the decanter and glasses, removing all traces of his presence.

“Bernard?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thank you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE CARRIAGE WHEEL hit a rut, tossing Constance sideways into Jack’s shoulder. Blushing, she apologized and struggled to her side of the carriage bench.

“Nothing to forgive.” Jack rapped on the wall of the carriage. “Mr. Whisker, a little more care if you please.”

The coachman grumbled and Constance hid a smile. The state of the road wasn’t the driver’s fault, but Jack always hated his passengers getting thrown about.

Across from her, Virginia appeared serene, but Hallam’s face was one constant scowl. Just like Jack’s. Neither man was happy to traipse about in inclement weather, and certainly not to a garden party. But Virginia had been adamant and so here they were, hoping the rain would hold off long enough for the event.

Jack folded his arms across his chest. “Are you certain we need to attend?”

“Pixie must be seen about Town if she wishes to be successful in her search,” Virginia assured him.

Jack’s expression grew pained. “I’m sure there are other events.”

“A garden party is perfect, and you know it. So much less formal than a ball. Pixie will impress Mr. Abernathy and Lord Bridges, and have ample opportunity to sweep them off their feet. Leave everything to me.”

Jack clenched his fists, but he didn’t respond. Had he rethought his commitment to helping Constance find a husband? Given her behavior of the past days, she couldn’t blame him. She had not comported herself very well at all.

Constance’s glance skated across the carriage to where Lord Hallam sprawled. The man’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he watched Jack. That couldn’t be good for anyone. She fidgeted, turning her fan over in her fingers, desperate for the nightmare of her search for a husband to end.

Could debtor’s prison be all that bad?

Today was another opportunity to meet and impress the remaining gentlemen. She had two chances left before ruin. She had to do her best to impress. The carriage drew to a stop before the house so that passengers could disembark without suffering from the damp too greatly. Hallam struggled out first, holding out his hand for Virginia.

The minute Virginia faced away from them, Jack gripped Constance’s hand tight. Since he rarely touched her in public, she looked up in surprise. His blue eyes were unreadable and she waited for him to speak. She thought he might, but he released her hand without a word and climbed out.

Constance had to take his hand again to alight from the carriage, yet there was no eager pressure in his grip, nothing to indicate feelings of any kind. Virginia linked arms with her, and they swept into the party before the men.

“Lady Beckwith, such a pleasure to see you today.”

“Lady Orkney, and this must be the Miss Grange I’ve heard so much about. Welcome, my dear.”

Constance did her best curtsey, but had to wonder what the lady had heard so much about. Had Jack told more tales? She glanced at him, yet he seemed less interested in the woman than Hallam was. His greeting was little more than a grunt.

Constance was growing accustomed to Hallam’s brusque ways. He was devoted to her friend, and that was all the recommendation she needed to forgive him his odd habits.

The damp lawns soaked her slippers though after two steps, but guests mingled in little clusters, appearing oblivious to the discomfort. If not for Virginia at her side, Constance would have turned back. She didn’t want to mix with these people. She didn’t belong. It was one thing to visit with Virginia and Jack—she’d known them before they became the elegant toast of society, but it was quite another to frolic among them as if she were their equal.

When they stopped at the edge of the terrace, Jack paused too but turned away to join Lord Daventry. Although disappointed to lose his company, Constance brought her mind back to the task at hand. Husband hunting. She shuddered.

Virginia cleverly placed them within Lord Bridges’ orbit very soon.

“So, you are Greedy Grange’s daughter,” Lord Bridges exclaimed. “I thought your name was familiar and now that I think on it, you luckily resemble your mother more.”

Constance had never heard that nickname before. Even though she did not like it, it did suit her late father.

“I beg your pardon.” Constance glanced at Virginia, but she looked just as puzzled. “Do you have an acquaintance with mother?”

The lanky man looked down on her from a great height. Constance had to lift her chin painfully to meet his gaze. Discreetly, she inched her body backward so it didn’t hurt her neck so much.

“Your late father more than your mother. We often played against each other,” Bridges admitted. “I’ve never met a man more prone to a bad hand than Greedy Grange. Never knew when to call it quits. Once, he even bet his horse, carriage, and the servants that went with it. Lost, of course, and had to walk home. Do you play?”

She remembered that particular carriage, and the servants that left with it. “No,” Constance admitted, “not at all.”

The lord’s gaze held hers a moment then dipped. Appalled that he was obviously ogling her breasts, Constance took a whole step back.

His smile faltered. “Some people have luck and some don’t. Lady luck shines brightly on my family. There’s something in our blood that must be preserved.”

“Of course,” she replied. Constance considered Lord Bridges. Too tall, too obviously interested in her body, and far too happy to gamble. Jack had been wrong to consider him as a candidate. She’d prefer debtor’s prison than to marry him. She didn’t want a gambler for a husband, especially a man who believed luck lingered in the blood. What a ridiculous notion. One day he would learn that luck would abandon him and his family without mercy.

Constance nudged Virginia’s arm gently. Without a word, they left Lord Bridges.

“I’d never forgive you if you liked him,” Virginia whispered urgently.

Constance suppressed a smile. “One left.”

She turned to scan the gathering and saw Jack moving away. He paused beside a pillar and leaned against it. As she studied him, his gaze rose and raked her with such intensity that her cheeks heated. Somehow, she managed a small smile but his stare turned her legs to jelly. When she risked another glance, he’d disappeared into the crowd again.

She didn’t know what to say to him. In retrospect, she should be ashamed of asking him to stay with her until she fell asleep last night, but it had been heavenly lying snug in his arms. When she married, she hoped her husband would be agreeable.

If she married.

Given her dismissal of Lord Bridges, she had one gentleman left to encourage. Mr. Abernathy had seemed an agreeable man when they met at the Huntley Ball. And although he had witnessed her mistake with Jack’s cane, he had appeared amused. Constance lifted up onto the balls of her feet to look about. A recently wealthy gentleman with hair the color of carrots should stand out in the crowd. But with her height so limited, she hadn’t spotted him yet.

Virginia nudged her side. “I see an old friend. Do excuse me for a moment.”

Constance pulled her thoughts and gaze back to her circle with a start. Left standing with Miss Scaling and Lord Wade, she smiled nervously.

Both smiled in returned.

She spotted a tall redheaded man in the crowd. Mr. Abernathy? Success. He was handsome. His pale skin contrasted starkly with the red locks on his head and thick arched eyebrows framed green eyes that twinkled in conversation. The crowd shifted and familiar blue eyes observed her. Constance blushed. Jack was speaking with Abernathy. She could only hope that he was saying good things about her, not relating more childhood pranks.

Constance’s foot slipped on the slick grass. For one horrifying moment, she teetered on the edge of Lady Beckwith’s garden pond. She swung her arms and Lord Wade did make a grab for her, but instead of securing her, as she hoped, he fumbled and ended up pushing her away.

It could have taken only a moment to fall. It felt like an eternity.

Cold pond water surged over her face, muffling the sounds of horrified astonishment from the guests closest to her.

Miss Scaling and Lord Wade gazed down at her and did nothing.

Constance spluttered up to the surface and sank again, but strong hands caught hers and tugged. Dirty pond water splashed over Jack’s pristine boots and legs. Gasps of shock echoed around them, and Jack even cursed. But then he removed his coat, slipped her arms in the sleeves, and wrapped her in it, unmindful of the damage she was sure to cause.

Around her, the sound of laughter drowned out the meaning of any whispered words. She wanted to die, to crawl away into obscurity, and see no one ever again. She lifted her gaze reluctantly at the repetition of her name on so many lips and found Miss Scaling standing very close. Not close to her, but close to Jack, a small smile playing on her lips as she gazed at Jack’s profile.

Constance met Jack’s gaze.

He was furious. His eyes flicked over those gathered and lingered on each laughing guest. He held their gaze a moment longer than might be comfortable, then reached for Constance’s soggy, gloved hand. He wrapped it around his shirtsleeve and pulled.

Miss Scaling’s face lost its smirk as Jack hurried Constance determinedly from the garden.

Constance stumbled as her wet dress tangled about her legs, denying her any dignity or grace in her exit. She kept her gaze lowered. She would not glance back again, but instead concentrated on her steps. Silence grew behind them, but the heavy thwack of her skirts sounded a counterpoint to her miserable exit.

Her trip to London was an abysmal failure and she wanted nothing more than to go home to Sunderland and wait for her jailors.

Virginia caught her other arm. Constance was grateful. As they made their way around the side of the house, a servant rushed ahead, hopefully seeking Jack’s coach.

 
When they reached the front drive, Constance lifted her chin and glanced about miserably. Lord Daventry winked slyly. Beyond him, a dozen of the most notable and wealthy members of the ton summoned their carriages too.

Constance was stunned at the degree of loyalty it conveyed. Somehow, she had made friends with important members of the ton. She wanted to giggle, but she feared she might become hysterical. Jack nudged her through the door and she sat gingerly on the velvet seats, skirts squelching horribly as she ruined his carriage.

Virginia threw a carriage rug over Constance’s knees and then tugged off her wet, clinging gloves. “Did I see Lord Wade push you in, dearest?”

“He did not mean to,” Constance replied, but she was not quite sure why she said it. He had crowded her as much as Miss Scaling.

Her teeth chattered as the carriage lurched forward.

“No, not Wade, but do you mean to tell us that Miss Scaling did not mean to hook your right foot with her left?” Jack asked, with some heat. “For God’s sake, woman, do not make excuses for vulgar people. I saw what happened—all of it. I am sorry I could not get to you before you fell.” Jack cursed and thumped the side of the carriage with his fist. He dropped his hand to his knee, tapped his fingers against it, and then stilled.

“I believe I shall have some fun,” he said with a grin.

But Constance did not think that anyone else would enjoy it. Even slumped in her wet gown—miserable and embarrassed—the anger in Jack’s voice concerned her. He would get revenge for her if she said nothing to stop him.

“Jack, it is not necessary. I lost my footing and fell. Please do not make me feel worse. I am not harmed in any way, just a bit more damp than I usually like.” She tried to make light of it, tried to laugh at her predicament. Judging from the look on his face, Jack was aware of what she was trying to do.