One More Kiss, page 22
Miss Wilson protested when Destry nudged Nameless Number Two toward the finish line and away from an apparently appealing insect hidden in the grass.
Lord Crenshaw wagered a guinea that none of the ladies would be willing to pick up either Molly or Roxie after the race ended. Where had he been when Beatrice had turned Molly around, Jess wondered.
Beatrice promptly accepted as did Cecilia and Nora Kendrick. Then Beatrice spent a hilarious minute chasing the elusive Molly. Finally, breathless, her hair tumbling down her back, she nabbed the hen and returned her to the cage. They both received a reward. Molly’s was edible.
Jess had no idea why such a wave of longing washed through him as he watched her. There was something about her that drew him in, and he was just as charmed by her laughter as he was by the way she sobered and quietly handed her guinea to the keeper. All the while she seemed completely unconcerned about her mussed hair and blotchy cheeks.
The last wager was from Lord Belmont. He insisted that Roxie would make it back to the cage in record time to try to claim her part of the prize. Several accepted and Belmont had to pay up when Roxie fell off the edge of the ha-ha, tumbling three feet down, stunned but apparently unharmed.
Roxie’s indignant squawks left everyone laughing. The keeper fetched her and Jess hoped that the fall would not mean Roxie went to the stewing pot while still so young.
Jess watched Beatrice as she tried juggling her coins according to Des’s instructions. She pressed her lips together and concentrated with a determination that made him aware of exactly how intense this woman could be. Before he could censor his thoughts, he imagined that same intensity in bed and groaned as his body responded to the fantasy.
Roxie’s state of health was the least of his worries.
Slowly the group made its way back to the house. Jess did not wait for Beatrice, but at some point she abandoned her attempts to juggle and walk at the same time and caught up with him.
When she reached his side, she stopped and put her hand on a giant beech, as though she still needed to catch her breath.
“Do not even mention this to Lord Destry, or Cecilia, come to think of it, but that was much more fun than last night’s experience. Does that mean I would prefer wagering on horse races to games at table?”
“I think you make the most of any opportunity life puts before you. Your curiosity is one of your greatest gifts.” He did not mean to sound as serious as he did.
“How kind of you to say so.” Her expression showed some surprise. “Mama said it was one of my greatest faults. She did not see it as curiosity but called it my inability to accept life as it is without questioning everything.”
Her cheeks were pink now; the blotchy look had faded. She had smoothed her hair at some point but it still spilled down her back, making him wonder why women felt compelled to pin it up. Ah, he realized, women didn’t, but ladies did.
And he knew why. He knew. Right now she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman and completely irresistible.
“Mothers surely see things differently than gentlemen.” Lovers was what he wanted to say and stopped the word just in time. “Mothers want to protect their chicks, do they not? Gentlemen love the idea of a curious young lady, which I do believe we proved earlier today.”
“I suppose we did, but you see, the problem with a kiss like that is it only makes me more curious.”
“It cannot happen again, you do understand that?” he insisted.
She nodded, a hand on her mouth as though holding something back. What did it say about how little he understood her that he did not know if it was laughter, tears, or curses?
When Beatrice did not move, he did, heading toward the river with the aim of spending some time in, or at least very near, cold water, because he knew exactly what she had not said. She might understand but it did not mean she would obey.
BEATRICE WALKED SLOWLY back to the house. Her heart was pounding as though the kiss against the tree had just happened. Yes, his kisses had been her first but she could not imagine any other man’s kiss inciting more passion. Her body was awakened in ways that were unfamiliar and shocking.
She wished Jess had not stopped, but was relieved that he had. Still, she wondered when they could find a quiet spot and kiss again.
It might not be the wisest thing to wish for but they were both adult enough to stop before it went too far. Hadn’t Jess proved that?
She ignored the truth that it had taken her all of five minutes to walk on steady legs after their encounter. Beatrice tried to bury the longing for more in the back of her mind and hurried to the house.
As she reached the patio Beatrice could see Lord Destry and Cecilia coming across the lawn together, deep in conversation. The marquis walked with his hands behind his back and listened to whatever Cecilia was saying with much waving of her hands. Beatrice wondered what they could be talking about, but was thrilled that they were talking.
The house party had settled into a lovely rhythm of entertainments, meals, and the occasional outing. The countess knew exactly what was needed to keep her guests from boredom. Was that a natural skill or something she had learned? Beatrice decided that experience helped, but that it could be learned through observation.
Was it not interesting that the same did not apply to every skill? She was sure that making love came from experience and that observation had very little to do with it. And she was sure that Lord Jess had a great deal of experience. She did not, she thought with sudden chagrin.
The kiss to end all kisses was back in her head again and her body reacted with the same shivering want that had enveloped her when she was in Jess’s arms. She tried to ignore the restlessness and quickened her pace as if she could outrun the longing.
As she drew close enough to hail her sister and Destry, Beatrice could see it was the marquis’s turn to speak. Whatever he was saying was making Cecilia look at him with surprise.
Beatrice decided to walk in a different direction and allow the two some time to finish their conversation, whether it was a beginning of something or the end.
After a week she had some sense of the house. Examining the art had taken her all the way to the attics, where she had discovered some truly terrible examples of sixteenth-century art and some lovely floral sketches, which she had admired so much that the countess had made her a gift of them.
Now she made her way from the main floor to the second and then up to the third, ignoring the statue of a couple in an intimate embrace and the painting of a man and woman who had eyes only for each other.
Where was a landscape when you needed one? Not a wild chaotic sea scene, but a meadow in the afternoon sun with animals grazing. Even in a painting like that there would probably be some dairymaid and shepherd dallying in the woods.
Beatrice found herself in one of the bedroom wings, one that was facing east. It was a section favored by the gentlemen who rose early to ride, or those who welcomed the sun. As she hurried down the corridor looking for a footman to show her the way out, she heard someone crying.
She froze. It was a woman, surely. But what would a woman, other than one of the serving maids, be doing in this wing? Crenshaw popped into her head and she moved more purposefully toward the sound. She came around a corner and saw a couple standing in a doorway.
“What am I to do?”
For the love of God, it was Darwell. Darwell crying was as hard to accept as her father laughing uncontrollably.
“Crenshaw has not actually set his sights on the Wilson girl. This is a house party, Leonie. He is entertaining himself with what is available.”
Beatrice had no idea who Darwell was talking to but clearly it was someone she knew well, who called her by her Christian name. Beatrice thought a moment. It was Daniel Callan, Lord Jess’s valet, she was almost sure of it. Darwell had mentioned him more than once. They seemed very close, much as she and Cecilia had suspected.
“He may be only flirting now, but he will soon realize that Miss Wilson is the perfect match. Miss Beatrice would have realized how poorly suited they were eventually. Miss Wilson”—Darwell sighed—“she is too eager to please, too easily led.” She lowered her head to Callan’s shoulder and his arm came around her. “I watched him ruin one woman’s life. I cannot let that happen again.”
Beatrice backed up and retraced her steps. She did not need to hear any more to know what had upset Darwell.
Beatrice wondered how she could help, what she could do.
She was so lost in thought that she finally had to ask a footman for help in finding her room.
Chapter Twenty-six
CECILIA WAS WAITING for her. Perfect, Beatrice thought. She could tell her about Darwell, then hear what Ceci and Lord Destry had been talking about.
With effort Beatrice decided she was not going to tell her sister about the kiss to end all kisses. It was the wisest thing to do, considering how Cecilia had reacted last time. Firm in her resolve, she gave Cecilia her complete attention.
“Beatrice, Lord Destry and I are going to have a race.” Ceci grinned; that was the only way to describe her smile. She looked as though she had just been given the most wonderful present.
“A race? That’s what you’re so excited about?”
“What I mean is, Destry and I, we are going to have a cross-country race on horses.”
“Really? A horse race?” Beatrice could not control her dismay. “For the love of God, why in the world would you want to do that? He will run rings around you.”
“Why are you so sure of that? You’re the one who hates to ride. I can handle a horse and they don’t scare me.” Ceci took a half step away from her sister, her smile vanished.
“I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings but I’m only telling the truth.” Beatrice stood her ground.
Cecilia put her hands together and the smile came back, not a grin but a hint of one. “He did agree to give me an advantage.”
“I don’t care if he gives you a five-minute head start, he will win. And you will not be able to jump or go particularly fast.”
“That isn’t true.” Cecilia looked away from her sister.
“You will not jump. You cannot control a horse properly going over a fence riding sidesaddle the way ladies must. I will never speak to you again if you do.” She stood before Cecilia, her arms crossed, trying to look resolute rather than afraid.
“Oh, all right, we will avoid all jumps.”
That was too easy, Beatrice thought.
“We already agreed there would be no jumps.”
“Good,” Beatrice said, her fear easing. “But he can ride astride and you cannot, at least not in company such as this.”
“That is just the thing.” Ceci clapped her hands. “I cannot ride astride so he has agreed to ride sidesaddle.”
“How in the world did you convince him to do that?” Beatrice asked, amazed at what Destry was willing to do to win Cecilia’s approval.
Cecilia looked so smug that Beatrice almost did not care how she had convinced the marquis. Her sister so rarely acted as though she were the one in charge.
“We were having a discussion.” She paused. “Well, to be honest, it was more like the beginning of an argument, over the fact that I am beautiful and he is short. I told him that his height does not matter to me at all and he insisted that, while my beauty is a joy to behold—”
“Ceci,” Beatrice interrupted, “that is such a poetic way to put it. Romantic even.”
“Oh, believe me, there was nothing romantic about his tone of voice. The point was that he knows there is more to me than looks, just as I know he is more than his size.”
Darwell came in then. She gave a brief curtsy to the ladies, and went through the sitting room and into the bedchamber without speaking. Beatrice knew why Darwell was upset, but she had her hands full with Ceci right now. Poor Darwell would have to wait.
“So how did this ‘almost argument’ lead to a cross-country horse race?” Beatrice shook her head. “With Lord Destry riding sidesaddle?”
“We agreed that we are most equal on a horse. His height and my looks have nothing to do with our ability to ride.”
“So you are going to race to prove that you are in fact not equal even when it comes to riding?”
“Oh, Beatrice, you are such a spoilsport. We are going to race because it is a way for me to demonstrate something very important without saying it again and again.”
“And that is?” Beatrice prompted, completely at a loss.
“I am going to let Lord Destry win,” Cecilia announced. “And this is why.” She recounted the story of his grandfather’s plot exactly as she had heard it earlier in the day from Lord Jess.
When Cecilia finished, her sister’s reaction was all she could have wished. “That is one of the cruelest stories I have ever heard, and our grandfather was not the kindly sort himself.”
“But the Duke of Bendas was ten times worse. To actually wish your grandson dead? That was hideous.” Cecilia shook her head. “But the good part of the story is that Destry became a truly skilled horseman. It’s one place where he knows he excels and does not have to continually prove himself.”
“That’s true enough. Lord Jess says he has won a small fortune wagering with people who do not know of his skill.”
Distracted, Cecilia held up a finger. “You will wager on me, Beatrice. It is your duty as a sister.”
“Yes, of course.” They were going to invite everyone to wager? That was just one more element added to the most nonsensical plan Beatrice had ever heard. “But, Ceci, riding is one thing he does take pride in. He does not need to win the race to improve the way he sees himself.”
“Of course not, but I need to prove to him that his height and wealth are not important and that his ability to ride is. And I will be so gracious in defeat that it will be all the proof he needs.”
Beatrice tried without success to recall another time when her sister had been so inclined to stage-manage an event. Which was a good thing as this event made so little sense. “Cecilia, playing a game like that is not a good way to start a courtship.”
“Who has said anything about a courtship?” She looked surprised.
“He has. At least a dozen times to whoever will listen.” That was an exaggeration but it was obvious to anyone with eyes.
“This is no more than a flirtation and it is very important for me to leave here on good terms with anyone that I will meet in London.”
“So his height and his wealth are not important to you but his title is. And his influence and whoever he can introduce you to.”
“You make me sound mercenary.” Ceci looked genuinely offended.
“Not so much mercenary as like every other girl in society who is trying to make a match.”
“Beatrice, take that back.” Annoyance pushed aside hurt feelings. “I am trying not to ruin our chances at having a successful Season and finding a match that suits us perfectly. Someone like Lord Destry but without a title.”
That’s revealing, Beatrice thought. Cecilia just as much as admitted she would want Destry if it were not for his title. The horse race made a tad more sense now. “For one thing, Ceci, I do not need to find a match.” Beatrice walked around the room. I am doing this for you. “And for another, what do you think the chances are that we will be in the same social circle as the daughters of dukes or a marquis? It’s not as though we will be presented at court or be given vouchers to Almack’s.”
“I think there is a very good chance we will be at some of the same outings as Destry and Lord Crenshaw and Katherine Wilson. They are friends of ours now and surely we will be included.”
Their conversation had moved a long way away from the horse race. Beatrice wanted to change the subject—talking about their Season would only upset her sister. It was an event that was still months away and very much an unknown.
“When we are in London and the invitations arrive we will know the truth of the matter, Ceci, but for now I think we should talk to Darwell and see what has upset her.”
“Darwell is upset? Oh, I hadn’t noticed. But yes, we must see what’s wrong,” Cecilia agreed. She closed the space between them. “Beatrice, I am sorry you think the race is a stupid idea, but I am sure it will be just the thing Destry and I need to be comfortable with each other.”
So that was what Cecilia thought this was about. Feeling comfortable with Destry. Ending the tension that had her feeling so uncomfortable when she was with him. All right, she could meet her sister halfway on this. “So you think racing with him will make you two friends so that when you meet in London all will be fine between you?”
“Exactly,” Cecilia said with a smile that showed she and her sister shared a perfect understanding.
Yes, it was an incredibly stupid plan, Beatrice thought, but kept it to herself. She wondered what had prompted Destry to agree and then decided his reasons were probably just as half-witted.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“I WILL HAVE time to practice, Jess. The race is not for two days.”
“You are insane, Des. I used to think you were adventurous but you have crossed the line.”
They were in the stable walking around Jupiter, who was obviously uncomfortable with the strange saddle strapped to his back.
“What I am is a pragmatist.” He gave Jupiter a piece of apple and stroked his mane, which went a long way toward making the horse more agreeable. “Listen. Once Cecilia wins this race, she will realize that she is indeed more than her lovely face. That she is my equal no matter what my title is. She will see that I want to make her my wife for all the right reasons.”
“You’re saddling yourself, pun intended,” Jess added, “with unrealistic expectations. It is one race. A race in which you will look like a fool.”
“Excellent! She will see that I am a man before I am a marquis and Cecilia Brent will look like a duchess. Definitely worth looking a fool.” Destry moved the mounting block closer and made his way to the different saddle.
