Chills (8 page)

Virginia gasped; her gaze bore holes into Hallam.

“Glad to see I have your complete attention. Have you enjoyed the season? Have you kept the London shopkeepers in wages with your extravagant purchases?”

Virginia’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, my lord, does it take long for you to remove the cobwebs and dust from your person before you leave Oxford? Do the half-wits you boast of do it for you as part of their tuition? If not, perhaps it is the clothes themselves. You are aging badly. The moths have been busy.”

~ * ~

Constance retreated along the gravel path, startled by the intense expression on Hallam’s face, a look that hinted he might just shake poor Virginia. Given that her person stood somewhat central to the conflict, Constance took that step in the hope of clearing the marquess’ path to rescue his sister, should rescue be required.

Hallam grinned. “Why Lady Orkney, I had no idea you took such an interest in my figure. I am flattered. Perhaps you should take care of these little matters for me, since I am clearly incapable. You can even help remove my boots later if you like. Such capable hands and such a generous heart.”

The swarthy Lord Hallam looked Virginia over quite wickedly, until Constance grew uncomfortable. Her friend’s face turned a fiery red, but she returned his appraisal, pivoted on her heel with a loud snort, and returned to the house.

Constance very much wanted to follow, but instead she took another discreet step toward Jack. At least Jack seemed in a happier frame of mind. The marquess’ grin reminded Constance of the man he used to be. A nicer man than he’d become.

Hallam’s gaze followed Virginia’s retreating form. When she disappeared from view, Hallam grinned triumphantly. “First skirmish and she quits the field. I could win this round, Jack.” The older man rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“That wasn’t a retreat. Surely you don’t believe she’s done yet,” Jack replied.

When Jack tipped his head in Constance’s direction, as if attempting to remind Hallam that he was rudely ignoring her, her skin heated.

“Now, where were we?” Hallam came forward and took her hand to bow over. “Ah, yes—the lovely, Miss Grange.”

“Lord Hallam, such a pleasure to see you again.”

Beside her, Jack stiffened. Hallam’s name was on the top of the list, but if Jack thought she could set her cap for a man like Lord Hallam then he was a bigger fool than she supposed.

“You are looking well and all that. Grown up as much as can be hoped for.”

“Thank you, milord,” Constance replied, still trying to decide if she was pleased to see him again. She thought not. She really didn’t care for his arrogant ways with Virginia, even if he enjoyed unsettling her friend.

Hallam linked Constance’s arm through his and led her toward the open doors of Jack’s study—a place she thought would be off-limits. Constance caught Jack’s eye and she raised an eyebrow in inquiry, curious if she should excuse herself.

Jack shrugged.

When they entered the study, Constance dropped Hallam’s arm and gazed about her. The masculine room, filled to the brim with curios and books, reeked of Jack’s cinnamon scent. She took a deep breath and her tension fell away as she took a seat.

Her gaze lifted to the marquess as he crossed the threshold. With the sunlight streaming in behind him, her breath caught. The man was too handsome for her peace of mind. He blinded her.

A sudden, half-smile twisted his lips. Her heart fluttered.

“I tell you, Jack, this latest lot of students are even more dim-witted than the last. Lord Muster’s son still believes the world is flat. Obviously the result of his upbringing. But his comments send the whole class into an uproar, and it takes an hour to settle the boys.”

Unnerved by Jack’s sudden smile, Constance wrenched her gaze away from him to Lord Hallam. He’d almost looked pleased with her.

“Yes, it is difficult to change a wrong opinion,” Jack replied. “I commend you for your patience and perseverance.”

“Oh, I gave up on changing his mind. The lad simply cannot fathom that things might not be the way he was told. The next time I cross his father’s path, remind me to congratulate him for having a genius for a son. He deserves to believe that lie for making a mess of the boy’s mind.”

Jack dropped into the empty seat beside Constance, laughing at Hallam. “That should be interesting to watch.”

Despite her earlier confusing thoughts, she relaxed. With Jack so close, she would not worry about appearing foolish in front of the far more intelligent baron. Hallam would center his remarks on Jack, leaving her free from the burden to make polite conversation.

“Taverham left London last week to scour Kent again,” Jack remarked.

“Is he still searching for his wife? I do hope Miranda has a good excuse for her disappearance,” Hallam grumbled.

The Marquess of Taverham’s wife had disappeared on the night they had wed, eight or so years ago. According to Virginia, Taverham had been searching for Miranda ever since. To Constance, the tale sounded wildly romantic and scandalous in equal parts. She, too, had wondered why the new bride had run away.

“I have always believed she must. It was just so damn odd where the fire started,” Jack said, but cast a surreptitious glance sideways. “She could have easily slipped away in the chaos.”

Their gazes held and a strange warmth raced across Constance’s skin. Flustered, she glanced down at her lap.

“Yes, you’ve said as much before. The more important question is why disappear at all?” Hallam scoffed. “She is a marchioness, not a scullery maid. She has a responsibility to produce his heir.”

“That wasn’t the only reason Taverham married her. He seemed to truly care for her.”

Hallam laughed. “God, you’ve turned into a romantic popinjay behind my back. Next minute you’ll be spouting poetry. Who is she?”

Jack sighed. “Never mind. What brings you to London?”

The conversation swiftly turned to other matters, and both men appeared to forget Constance sat among them. Or so she thought. Jack stood to pour drinks, brandy for himself and Hallam, Madeira for her. Their bare fingers brushed as the offering changed hands. Lightning rippled up her arm and she had to concentrate on the fine glass in her grip. When Jack reseated himself, his shoulder was a scant inch from her own.

“Has Virginia wearied you of Town life yet, Pixie?” Hallam asked abruptly.

Constance smiled, setting her untouched drink to an elegant side table. “Not yet. She hasn’t wanted to venture out much at all.”

Hallam pursed his lips but kept his opinions to himself.

Beside her, Jack stirred, shifting position until he sat with one arm draped across the back of the lounge. Her unease returned. That cinnamon scent he wore was really becoming a distraction. It made her hungry.

“You shouldn’t coddle the woman,” Hallam said suddenly.

Jack leaned forward, his arm dropping across Constance’s back. She stiffened, but Jack didn’t appear to notice where his limb had fallen. “I won’t have her rushed.”

Clearly, the men were discussing Virginia’s fragile emotional state, but what could Hallam know of it. Why would he know more than she?

Hallam lurched to his feet and strode to the window, the angry movement forcing Constance back into her seat and further into Jack’s embrace.

Jack’s arm curled about her shoulder. She blushed, thinking how scandalous a simple, comforting embrace between them was now. As a younger woman, she’d never given his occasional affection another thought. He was Virginia’s brother. She trusted him.

Constance wriggled her shoulders, hoping to dislodge him. But Jack failed to notice. He slipped his fingers onto her skin at the base of her neck, the rough pads chilling her. Her heart sped up a notch.

While his breath stirred across her ear, he drew burning, hot lines on her skin, down to the top of her gown, and then back up again.

What was he doing?

Her gaze flickered toward Lord Hallam, but the baron appeared lost in his own contemplations. He did not notice Jack’s actions. Constance struggled to find a way to reorder her senses, but the marquess’ questing fingers blocked her every attempt. He was intent on teasing her, knowing she wouldn’t react for fear of appearing loose in front of Hallam.

Jack drew sweeping circles on her skin, his touch so light she yearned to end the tickling. She twitched her shoulders again and his fingers stopped moving. But they lingered a long moment, then slid downward to the top of her gown. The marquess slipped the tip of his finger under the muslin and tugged.

Apparently, the marquess had decided upon another way to torment her. She had never known him to be so improper. He must be trying to cause a scene that would embarrass her in Hallam’s eyes. Tears gathered at how hard the process of finding a husband she could live with could be if Jack spent every waking moment tormenting her.

Did he truly dislike her that much?

Despairing and more than a little upset, Constance was glad Hallam all but ignored her. She emptied her glass, but decided to stay a few minutes beyond that. She couldn’t live with a man like Hallam and she was determined to scratch his name from the list today. She excused herself, but was sure that Jack’s gaze burned into her back all the way to the door.

CHAPTER SIX

A PROCESSION OF burdened servants entered Constance’s bedchamber the next morning. Horrified, she raised her hands to her cheeks as the gowns piled up on her bed, and then more and more wrapped packages appeared, growing to an alarming level over the chaise. With all that had happened in the last few days, she could not believe she had failed to cancel an order that would send her further into debt.

“Oh, wonderful, your dresses are here too,” Virginia exclaimed, rushing through the door and looking around her with far more enthusiasm than Constance felt.

“Yes, they certainly are.” This was dreadful. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stand to be in debt to someone her friend patronized.

“Come along, let us have a look. I cannot wait until you can wear them out. I’m ashamed to say I am heartily sick of that yellow muslin you’re wearing.” Virginia approached the bed and picked up a ball gown in soft, green silk. “Oh, this is divine. I should like to see you wear this to the Huntley Ball. The color and style are perfect for you.”

Constance held her tongue as Virginia rushed over and held the ball gown against her body. She wished she could agree with her, but her mouth had grown dry. Constance tried swallowing to loosen her tongue, but it didn’t help. There were more dresses on the bed than she had ordered, and she hadn’t ordered anything that needed to be wrapped in a small parcel. Obviously, the modiste had made a mistake and sent another lady’s order instead.

“Are you not pleased?”

Constance summoned a happy smile. “Virginia, this isn’t my order. There are twenty gowns on the bed. I just counted them.”

“Of course it is your order. Madame would not make a mistake.” Virginia shrugged aside Constance’s fears as she pulled another gown from the pile. “See, I remember this one. I specifically asked for the little capped sleeves to be an inch longer. I must say, the fine lace edging was a good choice.”

It couldn’t be her order. She couldn’t afford all this. Constance closed her eyes and sank back into the chair behind her, trusting that it was where she remembered. “But what about the parcels, Virginia? I didn’t order anything that required wrapping.”

“They are a puzzle. Let us open one and find out what they contain.”

By the sound of rustling paper, Virginia had snatched one up.

A deep throat cleared behind her. “Virginia, before you start squealing over Miss Grange’s bounty, perhaps you should organize tea. I’m sure Miss Grange would appreciate it.”

Finally, the voice of reason. Constance turned her head toward the balcony doors and glimpsed the marquess leaning against the far railing, watching her latest disaster unfold.

“You think of everything, don’t you? I shall be back in a trice,” Virginia promised, almost skipping out the door.

Jack would help her return what she could—and hopefully suggest a way to pay for the rest. Constance dragged herself upright and out of the chair. “This is terrible. I forgot to send a note to cancel the order. Help me fix this.”

“There is nothing to do except to store the gowns until you wear them.”

Constance stepped out onto the balcony, stopping a few paces from the marquess. Freshly scrubbed, pristine in the early morning light, he didn’t look as concerned as she expected. In fact, he looked smugly satisfied again.

“But I didn’t order this many. Certainly none of those parcels. I dread to think of the disappointment suffered by the lady waiting to receive her purchases. How shall I proceed?”

“You cannot return them. They have been paid for.”

“By whom?”

He sighed and glanced up. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters. I cannot slide further into debt. Who knows when payment will be demanded? Virginia did not pay for these, did she?”

He glanced down again. “No. It was not my sister.”

Constance’s pulse raced. If he was certain Virginia hadn’t paid, then that would mean he knew who had. And if he knew, then Jack had paid the bill.