Loving Lord Ash (25 page)

“However, I would advise against hinting any more about grandchildren.”

She flushed. “Yes, of course. I got a bit carried away at dinner.”

“And speaking of getting carried away . . .” He traced the rim of her ear. “I would like to get carried away with my wife.”

“Oh.” Ten minutes ago—even just five minutes ago—she would have sworn she had no interest at all in marital relations, but after thirty-one years, Drew knew exactly where and how to touch her to make her forget everything but him. She sighed with pleasure and let her worries go as she sank into the heat of her duke’s embrace.

Ash woke up slowly. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. Blech. He should not have drunk all that brandy last night. He’d brought the decanter up thinking another glass or two might help him sleep, and he’d planned to offer Jess a glass as well, but then she’d run for the bed as if she was afraid he’d ravish her.

Mmm. She
had
looked rather ravishing in that nightgown. It was as translucent as the shift she’d worn at the White Stag. In the fire’s glow, he could see all too clearly her delightful curves—her breasts, her waist, her hips, her long, lovely legs, and the darker shadows that were her nipples and the curls at the juncture of her—

Zeus! His damn cock jumped at the memory, tenting the coverlet.

He turned quickly on his side, but he needn’t have worried. The bed was empty. Jess must have woken and taken Fluff downstairs for a footman to walk. Ash had been so dead to the world, he hadn’t heard her leave.

Well, of course he’d been dead to the world. Once Jess—and Fluff—had gone to sleep, he’d donned his banyan and sat up drinking. When he’d finally lain down, he’d tossed and turned, listening to Jess’s soft breathing and Fluff’s snuffling and intermittent moaning—and shoving back against the damn dog when he tried to crowd him out of the bed. The animal was
not
sleeping with them again.

He pushed himself to sit. The room spun briefly, but then settled down . . . as did his stomach. No more brandy for him for a while. He’d drunk the whole bloody decanter.

He staggered over to the washbasin. The water was cold, but that was just as well. He splashed it on his face and began to feel marginally better.

Should he say something to Mama so she’d stop hinting about the state of Jess’s womb?

His stomach heaved, but he swallowed determinedly and regained control.

No, he couldn’t speak about it to Mama, at least not yet. It was all too complicated, and he owed it to Jess to keep things in confidence. Mama had always been far too skilled at getting him and his brothers to spill all their secrets, even when they’d firmly decided to remain mum.

But what if Mama’s questions goaded Jess into losing her temper? Jess was in an uncomfortable situation. Like a cornered animal, she might snap.

He let out a long breath. He would just have to stay close when she was around Mama.

One would hope the Duchess of Love would be sensitive to the nuances of such matters. Perhaps last night had been an aberration. Mama had probably been so happy to see him with Jess that she’d jumped to a very wrong conclusion. At least, that’s what he’d hope.

God, sometimes he hated being the heir. His brothers could give Mama and Father grandchildren, but only he could present them with the next little duke.

He dried his face on a towel. How long would it be until he could be certain Jess wasn’t carrying the footman’s child? He knew next to nothing about the matter. He remembered Cicely’s pregnancy, but he hadn’t paid attention to when her condition had become obvious.

Ellie knew she was in the family way, and she wasn’t yet showing. There must be signs that a woman noticed before anyone else guessed her condition. So perhaps Jess would know in another week or two....

Oh, God. He gripped his head to keep it from pounding. If she
was
increasing, Mama would notice and think the child was his. That would be beyond dreadful. Mama would be so happy—Father, too—and then he’d have to dash their hopes and go into all the awful, mortifying details.

His stomach rebelled again, but he mastered it, though only just.

The bloody footman. If the blackguard were here right now, he’d beat him senseless. No man of honor would consort with another man’s wife when she’d yet to give him his heir and spare.

And, worse, Jess was still pining for the fellow. She’d admitted the papers she’d been reading last night had come from the man. If they’d been completely unexceptional, she would have shown them to him.

His stomach finally won the battle, and he emptied its contents into the basin. Ugh. At least there wasn’t much. He would deposit the mess in the chamber pot and rinse out the basin once his head stopped spinning.

He looked over at the wardrobe. He should read the damn letters and see exactly how bad things were.

No, that would be dishonorable. Jess’s behavior was not an excuse for him to betray his principles. He would bring her up to the room instead and demand to read them in her presence. And once he’d read them . . .

He would decide then how best to proceed.

Yes. Now he had a course of action. Splendid. He would empty the disgusting contents of the basin and go in search of Jess.

He looked for the chamber pot in the bedside cabinet, but it wasn’t there. It must be under the bed. He peered into the shadowy space. Ah, yes, there it—

Wait a moment, there was a sheet of paper on the floor as well.

He stared at the white rectangle. It must be one of Jess’s letters. They’d fallen all higgledy-piggledy last night.

He should pick it up and, since he didn’t know for a fact what it was, he would have to glance at it. That would be enough to determine if it was personal correspondence, and of course if it was, he would read no further.

He pinched the offending paper gingerly between his index finger and thumb. Suddenly his heart was pounding, and his stomach threatened to misbehave again. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to face whatever he would find.

He turned the paper over.

Oh, God!

He was staring down—in horror—at a copy of
Venus’s Love Notes
.

Chapter Fourteen

Try not to kill the messenger.

—Venus’s Love Notes

“Lady Ashton, I would be happy to walk the dog for you,” William said for the fourth time. He was following a few steps behind her and Fluff as they made their way to Hyde Park. “Or, if the animal can wait, I’m certain Shakespeare will be up and ready for his walk shortly, and then Lord Jack and his lady can accompany you. They generally take him to the park at nine o’clock.”

Ah, yes. Jack and Frances, the newlyweds. They would love to have Kit’s estranged wife tag along with them, keeping them from their private conversations.

“As you can see, Fluff wishes to go out now, William, and I would like some fresh air”—hopefully the air would be fresher in the park—“and some exercise myself.” She came to a corner. “Which way should I go now?”

“Hyde Park is to your right, my lady.”

“Thank you.” She had to tug a bit on the lead to persuade Fluff to change direction, but he eventually acquiesced. “You know it might be easier if you just walked up with me. It’s a bit distracting to have to speak over my shoulder.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, my lady. That wouldn’t be at all proper.” He paused, and she could almost hear him wringing his hands. “Are you quite, quite certain Lord Ashton knows you’re taking the dog out? I would think he would wish to come with you, especially as it’s your first outing in Town.”

“I told you he’s still asleep, William. Of course he doesn’t know.”

She’d swear William moaned.

“But I brought you along, didn’t I? That should satisfy even the highest sticklers.” She would have preferred to take Fluff out alone; she’d walked miles with just her dog for company at Blackweith Manor. But even she would admit country manners were different than London ones. It was also true that she didn’t know her way around, and with all the new sights and smells, she didn’t trust Fluff to find their way back to Greycliffe House. She’d likely get completely lost without William.

Fluff lifted his head and gave a joyful woof. He must smell the park. He was certainly moving more quickly. She had to almost run to keep up.

And then she saw it, a great green swath of grass and trees and country.

“Mind the carriage!”

“What? Oh!” She pulled back on Fluff’s lead just in time. They had almost stepped in front of a curricle. The driver gave them a very nasty look as he bowled past.

“Idiot,” she muttered, looking cautiously both ways before allowing Fluff to cross. “He was driving far too fast.”

“Yes, my lady. That happens early in the morning when there isn’t much traffic.”

Fluff towed her through the park gate and then turned left. He seemed quite certain where he wanted to go. She glanced over her shoulder. William was mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Poor man. “What’s in this direction?”

“The Serpentine, my lady. And Rotten Row, where all the haute ton go to be seen, though not this early, of course.” He smiled weakly. “They are all still abed.”

“Splendid. I’m not especially anxious to encounter any of polite society.” Now that she considered the matter, anyone who saw them would probably assume she was some sort of servant, given her country clothes, and leave her alone. Excellent. It was better for everyone that she remain anonymous.

A light breeze stirred the ribbons on her old bonnet, and she tilted her face up to the warmth of the sun. She felt free for the first time since Kit had appeared at her studio door. It was only an illusion of freedom, of course, just like this large, lovely park set in the midst of England’s largest city was only an illusion of the country. But she would believe it for a little while and enjoy it. Too soon she’d have to go back to Greycliffe House and Kit’s parents and brothers. And Kit.

Oh, God, what was she going to do about Kit? She definitely wanted him, but did she love him?

Did it really matter?

She was so confused. Yes, she’d loved him as a girl, but in an ethereal sort of way. He was her friend; he was handsome and honorable. She’d thought him male perfection. And she’d dreamed of him for years while exiled at the manor. But she’d never experienced this breathless, churning desire before.

She’d watched the men at the manor pant after each other, and she’d thought them very silly.

Ha! Now she began to understand. Kit didn’t know how thankful he should have been for Fluff’s large, furry presence in the middle of the bed last night.

If she’d loved Kit as a girl, she wanted him now as a woman. His brief kiss had shaken her to her soul—and had shaken other, much less spiritual places. She’d
never
wanted to see a man naked except as a model, her paintbrush in her hand, and now she wanted to strip Kit bare, inch by inch, and run her fingers . . . and her tongue—

She waved her hand in front of her face. It was rather warm in the sun.

She must remember lust was not love, and her image of Kit might be as much an illusion as this park.

All right, she’d
seen
his chest and shoulders.

She dodged a low hanging tree limb.

Oh, who the hell cared? She was Kit’s wife. He could give her pleasure and children. Wasn’t that enough?

They had come to a group of trees; beyond them, down a broad expanse of lawn, was the Serpentine. Fluff barked and tugged on his lead. She was tempted to let him go, but she saw there were swans by the water. She didn’t want him worrying the birds.

“We’re going down to the lake, William,” she said, turning to look for the footman. He’d fallen behind and was clutching his side as if he had a stitch. He must not be used to walking so quickly. “Come along at your own pace. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see us.”

“Yes. My. Lady,” he panted.

She let Fluff pull her down the slope. They were almost at the water when she heard a man call her name. Her heart leapt in response, but she quickly realized it wasn’t Kit’s voice. Who could it be?

“Jess!” he called again.

She looked around and saw a stylish fellow in a beaver hat, blue coat, tan riding breeches, and glossy boots coming toward her on a beautiful brown horse. She would swear she’d never seen him before, but Fluff gave his friendly woof and changed direction.

The man swung down and scratched the dog’s ears. “How do you like Hyde Park, Kit?”

The voice was definitely familiar. She studied his face. Good God! “Roger?”

He gave her an exaggerated bow. “The same, though you should more properly address me as Lord Trendal now, you know.”

She threw her arms around him. She was so happy to see a familiar face—a
friendly
familiar face.

He laughed, hugged her briefly, and then set her away. “I think you’re scandalizing that fellow up on the top of the rise, Jess.”

She turned and looked. “Oh. That’s William, one of the Greycliffe servants. He insisted on accompanying me and Fluff.”

He frowned. “Fluff?”

“Kit—my husband—thought it was too confusing having a dog with the same name. And I did sometimes call him Fluff, you’ll remember.” She grinned. “The dog, that is, not the husband.” She took his arm, and they started walking toward the water, he leading his horse, she being led by Fluff. “When did you get to London?”

“The day before yesterday. I left the morning after I dropped you at the White Stag.”

“You made much better time than we did, then.” Fortunately. She would not have wanted to run into Roger on the road. Kit would not have taken it well.

“I was on horseback, and you were in that dreadful wagon.”

She laughed. “It is dreadful, isn’t it? We rented a coach at the Singing Maid.” If Roger was here in Town and going about as Baron Trendal, he must have reconnected with his family. That was good. She’d been after him to go home. “Was your mother happy to see you?”