Loving Lord Ash (6 page)

She’d been young. She’d allowed her anger to carry her down the stairs in the morning and back out to the carriage. When Kit had deposited her at the manor that afternoon, she’d not said a word.

Nor had he.

She’d thought he’d come back the next day.

The next week.

The next month.

He hadn’t.

Well, this time things would be different. They had to be. This was her last chance. If Kit didn’t listen to her now, he never would.

Her feet felt like lead, but she kept her chin up. She couldn’t retreat even if she wanted to; she would not give Winthrop that satisfaction.

And, in any event, her dog was behind her, blocking her escape.

She reached the landing and turned right. Number ten was at the end of the longest corridor she’d ever encountered, but she forced herself to keep walking.

What if Kit was with a whore?

Perhaps that would be a good thing. It should cure her of this infatuation with Kit, and she would be able to tell Roger tomorrow that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was ready—anxious!—to be done with the marquis. They could begin to make plans. It would be a while before she was free to actually marry, of course, but it would be best for Dennis and the other men to know that they would eventually have a place to live.

She stopped in front of number ten. “This is it, Kit.” She was talking to her dog—and perhaps her husband. She raised her hand to knock.

Chapter Four

Sometimes opportunity’s knock
sounds most unpleasant.

—Venus’s Love Notes

Ash was halfway through the brandy bottle when some idiot knocked on his door.

Maybe if he ignored the nodcock, he’d go away. Or
she’d
go away. Surely that barmaid hadn’t been so bold as to come to his room? He took another swallow of brandy.

The cabbage-head knocked again.

Damnation, was the fellow—or female—going to keep at it all night? Clearly there was only one way to deal with the fool. He lurched to his feet—and steadied himself on his chair as the room spun round.

Perhaps he should have eaten something after all.

Too late for that now. He lurched over to the door and flung it open.

Good God!

He felt his jaw drop, but he was powerless to stop it. His eyes were likely starting from their sockets as well.

Jess stood in the corridor with her valise and her bearlike dog.

“Good evening, Lord Ashton. May I come in?”

Jess wanted to come into his bedchamber? His cock leapt with joy.

He should
never
have drunk so much brandy. “No.”

She looked momentarily nonplussed, but then her expression hardened as it had so many times when they were children and Percy or Jack had told her she couldn’t do something.

“Nonsense. We have things to discuss.” She brushed past him.

He should have blocked her way, but surprise delayed him and then her dog stepped on his foot.

Pain paralyzed him. Black specks danced before his eyes; he couldn’t even find the breath to curse.

“I suggest you close the door, my lord, unless you wish to treat the entire inn to our discussion.”

Yes. Close the door. He pushed it shut and leaned his forehead against it, striving for control. He’d never done a woman injury, but Jess’s pert tone made him want to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze. As soon as he got over the pain of having his foot mashed, that is. Her dog must weigh over ten stone.

He heard the soft rustle of cloth behind him as Jess removed her coat and bonnet, and his cock throbbed.

No, he didn’t want to throttle her. He wanted to strip her out of her dress and stays and shift, lay her on that bed that was just a few steps away, and bury himself deep inside her.

If only he’d opened the door eight years ago when they’d stopped at the inn on the way to the manor. He’d heard the latch rattle. It had taken all his control—well, and the bottle of brandy he’d consumed—to keep him sprawled in his chair. If he’d let her in, hauled her into his bed...

No. She’d been with Percy. She might have had Percy’s get growing in her womb.

She was his wife. He had the right to her body. She’d come here and bade him close the door so they could be alone. She was asking him to take her.

He pressed his forehead harder against the door. No, she wasn’t. He didn’t know why she was here, but it wasn’t for that. And even if it
were
for that, he couldn’t give in to his urges. Just like the last time they were in an inn together, she might be carrying another man’s child.

“Are you ever going to come away from the door?”

Control. He needed control. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I do not see the need for discussion, madam.” He turned to face her. Zeus, why the hell did she have to be so beautiful? “There is nothing to say.”

He’d always loved how her dark hair contrasted with her pale skin and how her eyebrows tilted up at the ends. And she had such lovely cheekbones and a straight nose that was perhaps too strong for beauty but which fit her face perfectly....

Blast it, she
was
a Siren. He’d caught her twice in the arms of a naked man, and yet he still wanted her.

Her jaw flexed. “There is much to say.” She glanced down to pat her dog and then met his eyes again. “You arrived at a very awkward moment.”

God give him strength. “At least this time your legs weren’t spread for the fellow. I count myself fortunate to have missed that sight.”

He thought she flushed, though it was hard to know for certain in the flickering candlelight.

“Roger is a friend. He poses for me when I wish to paint the male form.”

Ah, yes. Painting the male form, just as she’d been supposedly painting Percy. “He’s your friend, is he? Your
very special
friend, no doubt.”

Her dog did not care for his tone. The animal growled.

“Hush, Kit. Lord Ashton is just barking; he won’t bite. Go lie down by the fire.”

He half wished she was wrong about that, but she wasn’t. Even her extreme provocation could not move him to violence. If only the damn footman were here. He’d very much enjoy beating
him
to a pulp.

He watched the dog amble over to stretch out on the hearth. “Why the hell did you name him after me?” And to use his Christian name . . . Jess had been the only one ever to call him Kit. Even his parents used his title. Hearing her say it now, and to an animal—

He’d thought she couldn’t hurt him any more, but she kept finding new ways to turn the knife in his gut.

She ignored his question. “Yes, Roger is a very special friend, Lord Ashton. I love him . . . as a
brother
.”

Zeus!
“It is a very good thing you have no brothers then, madam. He was
naked,
for God’s sake.”

“Of course he was naked. I was painting him.”

“You were embracing him.” Did she think him a complete dolt? Perhaps she did. He’d married her after he’d caught her with her skirts around her ears and Percy between her thighs. She likely thought he would forgive her any sin. Well, she was very much mistaken.

“No.
He
was embracing
me
.”

“Oh, really? It looked to me as if you were an enthusiastic participant. Your arms were around the man.”

“Yes, but that was only so I wouldn’t—” She bit her lip, grasped her hands in front of her, and actually glared at him. “Roger was only hugging me because I’d agreed to finally seek you out to discuss the state of our marriage. There was nothing at all salacious about it.”

Their marriage. Yes. Their nonexistent marriage that he was going to put an end to. She was trying to distract him, pretending she’d been thinking of seeing him. Hell, her constant lies were as bad as her whoring.

He forced down his rage. He would
not
lose control. He would treat her to an icy silence.

His mouth had other ideas. “Just as there was nothing salacious about your encounter with Percy?”

He most definitely should not have drunk so much brandy on an empty stomach.

“Yes. No.” At least she had the grace to look guilty. “Nothing actually happened with Percy.”

A red haze bloomed in front of his eyes. He clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his flesh. “Forgive me for doubting you on that, madam. I was there, if you will remember. I
saw
him swiving you.”

His stomach twisted, threatening to rid itself of the brandy he’d drunk. He swallowed determinedly. He would not so embarrass himself before this jade.

The jade had the gall to scowl at him. “No, you didn’t. I stopped him before it came to that.”

“He said he’d had you.” Percy had got up and offered them—him and Morton, one of Mama’s guests, and Alfred, a footman—their turn with her since he was done.

Oh, God. His stomach rebelled again. That had been the worst few minutes of his life. He’d wanted to think it was rape, but Jess had not been struggling, and when he’d accused Percy of violence, she hadn’t disputed the man’s assertion that she’d been a willing participant.

He shoved the memory away.

“He was lying. I . . . he . . .” Jess was definitely flushing now, as well she might. “I stopped him.”

How stupid did she think he was? He might be a virgin, completely inexperienced with women, but he knew copulation when he saw it. He’d grown up in the country. He’d observed enough animals busy about the business.

“Percy was naked and between your thighs. I think we both know how the thing is done.”

“But it
wasn’t
done. I said I stopped him before he”—she looked away—“before it came to that.”

She’d said that at the time. He hadn’t believed her then, and he didn’t believe her now. There was no way in hell a man in Percy’s position would stop. And that wasn’t all.

“Jesus, Jess. Your poor father wasn’t even cold in his grave.” O’Brien, her father and their head groom, the best horseman in the county, had broken his neck going over a jump just days before.

She narrowed her eyes. “I know that. Why do you think I—” She pressed her lips tightly together.

Zeus, had she been holding on to her virginity so as not to embarrass her father? He’d heard she was a bit of a flirt and that some of the footmen and male guests had stolen kisses, but he’d never completely believed the whisperings—she’d certainly never flirted with him—and even so, he’d never thought she’d go beyond kisses.

He was a naive idiot.

“I’m surprised you knew about my father,” she said now.

Did she sound hurt? “Of course I knew. My father told me as soon as I got home.”

“Oh? I thought—” She bit her lip again. “Never mind.”

“You thought what?”

“That you would have come to see me.” Her voice was a bit shrill; her dog lifted his head at the sound and gave a muted woof. “Though of course you were much too busy, and I was only a groom’s daughter.”

He felt a twinge of guilt. He’d wanted to seek her out. He’d been shocked by her father’s death, and he knew—or he’d thought—she’d be distraught. Her mother had died when she was very young, before she’d come to the castle, and she’d always been very close to her father.

But Mama had been having one of her matchmaking house parties, and Lady Charlotte, the daughter of the Duke of Delton, had stuck to him like a burr. It hadn’t been until the next afternoon that he’d been able to free himself of her dogged pursuit and slip off to the cottage he and Jess used as a studio, and then Morton, who fancied himself an artist, had invited himself along. To make matters even worse, Alfred happened upon them just as Ash was opening the cottage door. Jess and Percy had had quite the audience.

Oh,
God
. Every time he remembered that scene, his stomach twisted.

There’d been no hope of hushing up the scandal. Morton might not have mentioned it—Jess
was
only a groom’s daughter—but Alfred would have spread the tale far and wide. The footman was as bad as the worst London gossip. Ash had made it clear he was not to breathe a word of what he’d seen, but he wasn’t certain the man could hold his tongue for long.

Not that he should have cared. Jess deserved everything she got. But . . .

If word had got round, she would not have been able to find a husband or get a position, even if Mama would give her a reference, which he hadn’t been entirely sure she would. Jess would have been alone and unprotected.

Which had been no reason for him to sacrifice himself to save her, damn it.

“I did come see you—and look what I saw you doing.”

She flinched as if he’d hit her—and then her jaw hardened.

“It was more than a day after you arrived home.” She looked over at her dog again. “Not that it mattered.”

“I had responsibilities.” He didn’t need to explain himself to her.

“Yes. Of course. Your mother’s guests.”

Good God, was she trying to make him think that her spreading her legs for Percy was somehow his fault?

He should have washed his hands of her, but she was his friend and, yes, he’d loved her. She’d looked defiant and angry that day, but also lost, standing there with her hair falling out of its pins and her clothes awry. And he’d seen something he’d never seen before in her eyes—fear and despair. He’d offered for her without thinking.

And see where it had got him? Married to a woman who was no better than a whore. Was there a man within a ten-mile radius of the manor that she hadn’t graced with her favors?

“Why did you do it, Jess? Why did you let Percy touch you?”

She flushed. “I thought Percy loved me.”

“Percy?” He laughed. “Come, madam, you must know Percy loves no one but himself.”

She did know it.

No, that wasn’t true. She’d thought Percy cared for her. It might not have been love, but she would have sworn it was more than lust, though he did lust after her as well. He’d been pursuing her since she’d turned fifteen and grown breasts.