Chills (30 page)

Virginia twisted in her saddle.

"Pixie, what's keeping you?"

How to answer that without sounding pathetic? Constance didn’t know and had no wish to explain in front of strangers. Miss Scaling, perhaps sensing that Virginia was planning an escape, backed her mount so its grey flanks butted Falentine's head. At the touch, Falentine shied and the grey lashed out with its hind legs, grazing Falentine’s foreleg and narrowly missing Constance's riding habit.

It was all too much for her mare. Pushed and bullied by unfamiliar horses, Falentine bolted. Constance cursed as the mare took the bit between her teeth and left the well-ridden path, heading for the green parkland beyond.

Virginia cried out, but Constance could not answer. She was too busy ducking low branches. All her concentration focused on her panicked mare as she plunged on, abruptly turning for the Serpentine.

Constance tightened her grip on the reins and tried to regain control. No matter the trick she used, she made little progress beyond a slight turn. With the Serpentine on her right, trees dotted everywhere else, Constance started to panic. She was unfamiliar with the park, but a stand of trees came into view directly ahead. Constance used all her weight on the reins, but she was unsuccessful.

The foolish horse was going to get them killed.

A shout reached her ears and then the pounding of hooves drew closer, but could not risk a look. The mare was not tired and those trees were not getting any smaller. A snort at her side told her another horse had caught up.

Jack’s stallion, Lucarno, drew level and advanced on the mare’s head. He and his horse bumped, attempting to control Falentine's wild flight. The mare turned, but found another horse caging her in.

~ * ~

Jack cursed the mare. Trust Pixie’s mount to grow into a contrary beast. Jack pushed his horse slightly ahead of Pixie and reached for the halter. Using Lucarno’s bulk and his hands on the bridle, Jack got control of the horse by pulling Falentine into a long, slow circle, careful not to cause Pixie to slip from the saddle by a sharper turn. Both horses were blowing at the change, no doubt disappointed to stop their flight.

When they had slowed to a walk and finally stopped, Hallam walked his ugly grey in to take Falentine’s reins. Jack dismounted, swept Pixie from her saddle, and crushed her against his chest.

She could have been injured—he could have lost her. His heart pounded so hard he thought he heard double. “What the devil happened? You could have been hurt.”

He squeezed her again, and then worried for her ribs. Jack let Pixie go, pushing her to arms length to peer into her face. Her eyes were closed, but her hands gripped his forearms tightly.

After a moment's tense wait, listening to her settle into long deep breaths, she opened her eyes. "I'm all right."

Although relief coursed through him, Jack turned away to examine the horse before anyone noticed him showing Pixie too much attention. Even in the midst of a near tragedy, desire turned parts of his body rigid.

The mare was heavily sweated and blowing hard. Jack soothed her with his gloved hands and started to check her over. As he ran his fingers along her front leg, Falentine flinched away from him.

Jack soothed the horse. “What happened, sweet girl?”

“She was kicked.”

Jack whipped his head around in Pixie’s direction. “And who was so ill-mannered as to kick at you, my love?”

As the last words left his lips, riders approached and he turned as his sister, the groom, and calmly following some distance away, the Scaling ladies joined them.

Jack swore. By the time he had finished expressing his irritation, Pixie’s eyebrows were almost to her hairline. Now he understood. He could guess the
who
quite easily. Perfume, a pond, and now a bolting horse.

Despite his best intentions, Pixie was not safe gadding about London without him anymore. Her very life was in danger because he had failed to act—to prove to society that she was more than a mere house-guest.

She was his future, and if that meant publicly claiming her before she'd given up on the list, then he would. He would take steps today to show London that he did not possess a heart of ice.

Jack looked at Pixie.

A light sheen of perspiration marred her skin, her hair had lost most of its moorings, tumbling about her shoulders in chaotic waves. Yet he didn’t think she’d ever looked lovelier.

Although he had wanted to avoid acting precipitously, but he could no longer avoid it. Miss Scaling had better get it into her thick head that he had a very great interest in Pixie's welfare. If she were a man, he’d call her out.

Lucarno’s head swung over Pixie’s shoulder, docile and adoring, and she hung on his neck. Jack held his breath. With any other person, Lucarno would have tried to bite them long before this point. When Pixie let go, Jack pulled the stallion’s head to him and tugged down. The horse obediently knelt.

“Oh, he will still do it.” Pixie cried happily, startled out of her frightened state by his horse's little known trick.

Pleased, Jack mounted the stallion then held out a hand for her. This was going to be a very public rescue. Pixie walked to him with a little hesitation in her step, but he lifted her to his lap and waited while she arranged her skirts.

Jack tightened his grip on her waist. "Ready?"

Lucarno struggled to his feet, prancing about foolishly.

“Thank you, Lucarno,” Pixie whispered, and then settled against Jack’s chest.

As a tremor raced through her body, Jack tugged her tight against him, gave her a little time to settle her breathing, and then turned his horse toward the closing riders.

“Mistress, are you all right? I am so sorry, my lord. I don’t understand how she got away so fast,” her groom blathered, fittingly embarrassed that something should have happened on his watch. Jack had employed him to keep Pixie out of trouble. Obviously, his years buried in Sunderland had impaired his vigilance.

“I am perfectly all right, Mr. Whisker. Would you be so kind as to relieve Lord Hallam of Falentine’s reins and return her to the stable? Have Brown go over her forelegs,” she requested, but a faint tremor betrayed her fright.

“Yes, both of you return home, Whisker. Once Falentine has been cared for, I want to see you in my study,” Jack snapped, unconsciously tightening his grip at Pixie's waist.

The servant paled. “Yes, my lord.”

“Jack,” Constance warned, digging her fingers under his to loosen his grip, “he is my groom.”

“He has gone soft in your employ, Pixie. He was a tougher man when he worked for me. You have spoiled him.” Jack smoothed his thumb over her belly and her body lost some of its rigidity. A pity he couldn’t say the same. With every jolt of horse's hooves to the ground, Pixie's hip nudged his groin. He was going to be in agony before they even left the park.

“Your man? When did he work for you?” Pixie turned, trying to look at him, but her hat bumped his nose.

“Get rid of the hat, Pixie, I want to keep my eyes.”

When she removed it, he stuffed it between them. “I sent Whisker to you along with a list of instructions explaining how to keep you out of trouble, all of which he seems to have modified or ignored.” Jack spoke loud enough that his voice carried to the groom, and the man had the grace to color. “But enough of that now—we have unwanted company.”

“Oh, my lord. Such splendid riding, such elegant horsemanship,” Mrs. Scaling gushed, sickeningly eager, as always, to get into his good graces.

Jack spared her no attention and kicked his mount toward his sister. Miss Scaling flanked Virginia and it annoyed the hell out of him. The young blonde smiled with a pretty mix of innocence and calculated flirtation, but her eyes eventually registered Pixie’s presence in his arms. Her eyes soon turned cold and Pixie pressed into his chest, recoiling from the venom in her stare.

Jack dropped his chin to rest on Pixie’s head. "Do you think she could try anything else to make her appearance closer to Virginia's?"

Pixie coughed into her hand to hide her giggle. “You do your sister a disservice. She is much prettier, and so much nicer.”

“Well, perhaps when Virginia’s happy, she is.” He really liked confiding his thoughts to her.

Virginia's eyes widened, taking in Pixie’s position atop Jack's lap, his hand curled over her belly, trapping Pixie hard against him.

Virginia beamed.

~ * ~

Unsure what to make of Virginia's sudden happiness, Constance kept her eyes on the Scalings’ party. She didn’t trust them.

“Come along, sister. We’ll be late.”

Virginia soon joined them but glanced around the gathering crowd.

Word of Jack’s behavior would spread, and Constance shuddered at how society would perceive her current situation. Jack’s betrothed would certainly hear of it.

“We look forward to seeing you at the Frampton soiree tonight,” Mrs. Scaling called after them. A ripple of interest passed through the crowd, but neither Virginia nor Jack acknowledged her words. Hallam’s horse fell into step beside them, but Jack kicked his stallion and headed for the park exit.

Even amid the bustle and noise of London's chaotic streets, Constance felt very safe. But she wasn’t fool enough to forget her ease had a lot to do with the strong arm wrapped tight around her middle. She could breathe now and when she did, she drew Jack's cinnamon scent deep into her lungs, hopeful this last breath would sustain her.

Jack's arm tightened on her middle, tension evident in how close he held her against his chest and how fast his breath struck the exposed skin of her neck. He was not relaxed at all.

“You frightened me very badly today, Pixie,” Jack admitted as they turned up Park Street, taking a detour to avoid the more congested route toward his home.

“Well, I did not do it on purpose, so I don’t see how you can be angry about it. It wasn’t my fault.”

She raised a hand to rub her brow. Her morning had not gone as planned. She’d wanted one last pleasant day before she left. Miss Scaling had ruined it.

Jack’s arm tightened into a possessive squeeze and then he relaxed. “Have you not learned a new excuse yet, love? That has been your reply for any misadventure for the past few years,” he cautioned. “It’s time to find a new one.”

His breath tickled the back of her neck and she struggled to maintain some decorum. “Well, I've always thought the old excuses were the best. It is important to have your own traditions.”

“Speaking of old, you frightened me out of ten years of my life today. A decade I could not afford to lose since I am almost a relic to begin with.”

Constance frowned, surprised by Jack’s attitude to his age. She hadn’t thought he would pay attention to her hasty words. Privately, she thought he was the perfect age—old enough to understand the world, but young enough to still laugh at it. Except he hadn’t done a great deal of laughing lately. His situation with Virginia has sobered him quite a bit.

“You’re not old, Jack. You may be eight years my senior, but you're a long way from needing spectacles and a nursemaid to bring you gruel for every meal.” She laughed at a sudden thought. “And besides, a sword cane is hardly an affectation of an old man. Have you had a great need of it in Town?”

“Husband-hunting debutantes,” Jack admitted sadly, but amusement laced his tone. “You can never be too careful with your virtue.”

A great pity Jack hadn’t taken it to the Malvey masquerade. “At least you don’t have to use your fists too often these days.”

“I know you feared I was becoming too much of a hot head, but believe me, I find very little reason to thrash my fellow man,” Jack promised. “Except perhaps where you are concerned.”

Constance turned. Jack looked rather guilty. That was a very odd confession. She had been very ready to wash her hands of him four years ago. Virginia’s long lettered protests had persuaded her that, while not cruelly intended, Cullen had provoked Jack with his over-familiarity. But all of that discussion had taken place within private letters.

Constance gulped. “Has Virginia shown you my letters?”

“Not exactly.”

She had written very harshly of Jack and wished to slide from the saddle and disappear.

 
“I am very glad I wrote nothing shockingly private in them.” Another lie. She had poured out her hurt in those letters, strongly protesting against Jack's high-handed ways. Neither Cullen nor Jack had fully explained what had started their confrontation.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to pry. I was concerned about how you were getting on up there. I took my role as your guardian very seriously, despite your mother’s protests.”

Constance faced forward again as she considered those letters carefully. A small thing had been puzzling her for years and she meant to find out now. “Did Virginia develop an interest in farming and agriculture in the last year or have you been dictating to her?”

Jack’s lengthy silence behind her back unnerved her. Now that she thought about it, the tone of the letters had changed too. She had thought that marriage might have accounted for the formality, but a shocking idea was forming, and it had some merit. “Have I been corresponding with Virginia at all?”