Loving Lord Ash (35 page)

Percy put his hand on Miss Wharton’s arm and stopped her. “She’s right, Isabelle. What I did wasn’t honorable.” He sighed and looked from Jess to Ash. “What I’ve done for the last eight years hasn’t been honorable. I’ve known that for a while, but I couldn’t stop myself.” He looked at Miss Wharton again. “Until you showed me the way, Isabelle.” He grimaced. “And Jess knocked some sense into me.”

“Oh, Percy.” Miss Wharton sank back down by his side and put her head on his shoulder.

Egad, was that a look of tenderness that flitted across Percy’s face?

“Well, I hope this means you will leave me and Ash alone from now on,” Jess said, “and busy yourself about your own affairs.”

Percy nodded as Miss Wharton took his bloody handkerchief and handed him her own.

“You know, I did love you, Jess. Desperately.” Percy glanced at Ash. “And I hated you.”

Jess drew in her breath as if she planned to give Percy another piece of her mind, but Ash tightened his grip on her, hoping she’d get the hint. She glared at him, but held her tongue. There really was no point in ravaging Percy further.

“Why the hell did you hate me?” He fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to Percy. Miss Wharton’s frilly bit of cloth was already soaked through.

Percy dabbed at his nose and winced. “My mother constantly dangled you in front of me as an example of perfection.”

“Good God. I’m sorry.” That
was
revolting.

Percy flushed. “And I suppose I was envious, too. You had everything—money, prestige, a happy family, Jess. And neither you nor your brothers ever liked me.”

Ash was tempted to point out that they hadn’t liked Percy because he’d always been a royal pain in the arse, but if Jess could restrain herself, he could, too.

“You’ve had a very hard time of it, Percy,” Miss Wharton said, patting him on the arm. “It’s no wonder you lost your way and did things you wish you hadn’t.”

Surely the woman was joking?

Apparently not. She looked completely serious—and completely enamored.

“I know you don’t want my advice, Percy,” Ash said, “but you really are a fool if you don’t ask Miss Wharton to marry you at once, before she regains her good sense.”

“Oh, Lord Ashton, how can you say that? Any woman would be happy to marry Percy.” Miss Wharton paused, likely realizing she’d overstated the case. “Well, any woman who understands him like I do.”

A miracle occurred: a sliver of good sense wormed its way into Percy’s brain box. His cravat covered in blood, Ash’s handkerchief pressed to his nose, Percy turned to Miss Wharton.

“Isabelle, Ash is correct. I know I’m not much of a prize, and obviously I’m the greatest cods-head in London, if not in all of Britain, but I do sincerely care for you. You are a pearl of great price and would be very wise to decline my offer, but”—he shifted position so he was on one knee—“will you make me the happiest of men?”

Miss Wharton burst into tears again. “Oh, of course I will, Percy.” She flung her arms around his neck.

“What in the world is going on here?”

Oh, blast. Ash turned to see Lady Palmerson standing in the doorway, Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell—and Mama—behind her.

“Good evening, ladies.” Clearly, he was in the best position to attempt to gloss over the situation. “I’m sorry to say Sir Percy got confused and stumbled into this room by accident.”

“Confused?” Lady Dunlee said, her sharp eyes examining every detail of the scene.

Ash cleared his throat. Percy deserved to suffer a bit; after all, the problem was mostly of his making. “I believe he might have had a few too many glasses of champagne.”

Percy moaned convincingly.

“Good heavens, is that blood?” Lady Palmerson’s eyes widened as she examined Percy more closely, and then she looked a little faint, but whether that was from the sight of Percy’s blood or the worry that he might have dripped some of it on her carpet, Ash couldn’t say.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. As you might imagine, Percy was quite taken aback when he realized his error. He beat a hasty retreat, but unfortunately in doing so he stumbled and hit his nose.” Ash smiled, hoping that would do.

Of course it wouldn’t.

“And what are you doing here, Lord Ashton?” Lady Dunlee sniffed as if she could smell a lie—or perhaps just a whiff of alcohol. “Have you also imbibed too freely?”

“No indeed. When Sir Percy was injured, Lady Ashton naturally sent Miss Wharton to get me while she helped Percy.”

Lady Dunlee raised a doubting eyebrow.

Mama smiled. “It looks more as if Miss Wharton is assisting Percy.”

“Yes.” Jess nodded. “And the good news is—” She put her hand over her mouth. Ash could see the wicked gleam in her eyes as she looked at Percy. “Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t say.”

“Say what?” Mrs. Fallwell pushed past Lady Dunlee, bumping into Lady Palmerson in her eagerness to hear a new bit of gossip.

Lady Palmerson gave her an annoyed look and then turned to Percy. “Yes, Sir Percy, what
is
this good news?”

Percy had by this time managed to get to his feet, though he still had Ash’s handkerchief pressed to his nose. He took Miss Wharton’s hand and pulled her up to stand beside him. “The news is that Miss Wharton has graciously accepted my offer of marriage, pending her father’s consent, of course.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Fallwell looked at Lady Dunlee. Clearly the two ladies had been hoping for something more exciting.

“That’s wonderful.” Mama clapped her hands and brushed past the other ladies to hug Miss Wharton. “I knew you two would be perfect for each other.”

Of course Mama was delighted. She’d just been responsible for another society match.

She put her hand on Percy’s arm. “I think it would be best if you spoke to Miss Wharton’s father tomorrow, don’t you, Percy? Once you have, er, cleaned up a bit.”

Percy bowed. “You are correct as always, Your Grace.” He lifted Miss Wharton’s hand and kissed it—and all the women in the room sighed, except Jess, of course. “I shall call upon your father in the morning, if that will suit?”

“Oh, yes,” Miss Wharton said. “Papa will be delighted. He wants to get rid of me as soon as may be.”

Mama cringed slightly and then smiled. “Percy, I imagine it would be best if you avoided the other guests. Lady Palmerson, could you show Sir Percy how he might depart unobtrusively?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Come right this way, Sir Percy.”

Percy nodded farewell to Miss Wharton and then meekly followed Lady Palmerson out of the room.

“And now, Miss Wharton,” Mama said, turning back to her, “perhaps you and I should go have a word with your mother.”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace, that would be splendid.” Miss Wharton was so happy her face almost glowed. “My mother will be so dazzled by your attention, you could tell her I was going to swim to the Colonies and she would agree it was an excellent notion.”

Mama laughed. “Well, I do hope being married to Percy will be somewhat less arduous than paddling across the ocean.” She took Miss Wharton’s arm and raised her brows at Ash.

“I think Lady Ashton and I have had enough excitement for one evening, Your Grace. I believe we’ll return to Greycliffe House.” He turned to Jess. “Does that meet with your approval, my dear?”

Jess nodded, suddenly looking tired and a little nervous. “Yes, I would like to go home.” She looked at Mama. “That is, if you don’t object, Your Grace.”

“Of course I don’t object.” Mama grinned, a bit too broadly in his opinion. “There will be many more balls for you to attend. I’ll see you in the morning.” She chuckled. “And we should definitely be off so poor Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell can put this room to the use Lady Palmerson intended.”

Lady Dunlee blushed.

Lady Fallwell started inching toward the door. “I think perhaps I’ll just return to the ballro—oh!”

Lady Dunlee’s gloved fingers had wrapped themselves around Mrs. Fallwell’s wrist in what looked to be an unbreakable grip.

“Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Fallwell. I must insist you keep me company.”

“Ah, er . . .”

Mama smiled and ushered Miss Wharton out of the room. Ash followed closely behind with Jess; he had absolutely no desire to spend another minute with those two gossips.

Once they were out of the ladies’ earshot, Mama chuckled. “Lady Dunlee is not about to let Melinda Fallwell get before her with a juicy bit of gossip.”

She frowned slightly and touched Miss Wharton’s arm. “A word of advice, my dear. I’m quite certain both ladies suspect that something more interesting than just your betrothal happened in that room. If anything did, it would be best not to mention it.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Wharton looked anxiously at Jess.

“I have nothing to say, except to give you my best wishes on your betrothal, Miss Wharton.”

“Yes, indeed.” Ash bowed. “Let me add my very sincere felicitations. I do hope Percy turns out to be an adequate husband.”

Miss Wharton grinned. “Oh, I think he will, Lord Ashton. And he will certainly be leagues better than old Mr. Wattles.”

Hell, she’d done it again—dropped an embarrassing mess in Kit’s lap.

“It would help if you’d smile,” Kit murmured as they reentered the ballroom, his hand warm on Jess’s where it rested on his sleeve.

She forced her lips to curve up, but judging by the startled look the woman in the pink turban gave them, the expression didn’t look particularly pleasant.

Jess didn’t feel pleasant. It didn’t matter that Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell might not be able to guess exactly what had happened in the ladies’ retiring room. If they just recounted what they’d seen, the ton would be in alt. Society loved to speculate about her and Kit and Percy. By the end of the ball, there might be a hundred stories circulating, one more salacious than the next.

At least she wouldn’t be around to hear them. She and Kit were making their way to the front door and freedom.

Freedom . . . ha! Tomorrow Kit would take her back to exile at the manor—or, worse, send her with a servant—and begin divorce proceedings.

“Jess, you do an excellent impression of a thundercloud, but it really would help matters if you could stop. I believe you’ve just given poor Lady Cartley heart palpitations.”

She looked in the direction he indicated. A plump woman in a blindingly yellow gown was pressing her hand to her breast—and whispering behind her fan to a sour-looking little man.

“You are also tilling society’s soil so that any seeds of gossip Lady Dunlee and Mrs. Fallwell sow will flourish.”

Jess wouldn’t be in London to suffer the harvest, but that didn’t mean she relished the idea of people spreading tales about her. However, it was deuced difficult to smile when one was contemplating a long life of loveless solitude, especially as she didn’t have the acting skills honed by years of exposure to the ton. . . .

Wait a minute—what was she thinking? She’d just faced down Percy, something she’d wanted to do for eight years. She’d bloodied his damn nose. She wasn’t about to creep and crawl across the ballroom like a frightened mouse.

“Let the blasted gossips say what they will. I don’t care. If I wish to look like a thundercloud, I shall.”

She wasn’t about to creep and crawl around Kit, either. She’d promised herself even before she’d done battle with Percy that she would settle a few issues with him tonight.

He laughed. “Yes, my lady. Whatever you say.”

“Don’t try to act meek, my lord.”

His brows shot up, but his eyes were smiling. “I assure you, my dear wife, I am not acting. If poor Percy is any indication, you have a punishing right.”

She grinned at him. “Oh, I suspect it was my first blow that really did the trick.” Hopefully she hadn’t done any permanent damage. Miss Wharton might like to have children.

“I suspect so, too.” His eyes were still laughing, but there was an odd warmth in them as well. “I beg you not to resort to such tactics with me. A simple word will suffice to get my attention if you wish me to stop whatever I’m doing.”

Ah . . . and what was he expecting to be doing that would require her to ask him to stop—or that would bring him in range of her knee, for that matter?

A little shiver of anticipation snaked up her spine—

No. They had much to discuss before she could allow anything of that nature to occur, if that was indeed the sort of activity he was hinting at.

“Lady Ashton, how pleasant to see you.”

She turned to find Roger at her elbow. “Roge—”

Roger’s eyebrows rose in warning at the same time Kit’s fingers tightened on her hand. She wasn’t a complete dunderhead—she got the message. “
Lord Trendal
. Lord Ashton and I are on the point of leaving. I’m sorry we didn’t have the opportunity to speak earlier.” Frankly, she’d thought Roger had been avoiding her.

“I won’t keep you. I just wished to say I had the opportunity to chat with Lord Ashton earlier. He tells me you haven’t shown him your sketchbook.” Roger smiled. “You should share it with him, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She’d never shown that book to anyone. It included a few sketches of the Blackweith servants and the local shopkeepers and farm laborers and even the local gentry. She’d never been that interested in drawing landscapes. But most of the sketches were of Kit. “The drawings are very rough.”

“I thought they conveyed uncommon emotion.”

Kit stiffened. “And I thought you said just earlier this evening that Lady Ashton hadn’t shown you those drawings, Trendal.”

“I didn’t show them to him.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve never seen those sketches.”

Roger grinned. “Actually I have. I went to fetch you one day from the studio a year or so ago. You weren’t there, but the sketchbook was.”

“And you opened it?” God! She felt betrayed.

“Oh, no. I never touched it. You’d left it open on your easel. I only looked at what was in plain sight.”

All right, yes. It was possible she’d done that.

Roger turned his attention to Kit. “You
must
see these drawings, Lord Ashton. I believe they are some of your wife’s best work.”

“I’d like to see them.” Kit looked down at her. “Perhaps you will show them to me tonight, Lady Ashton?”