One Scandalous Kiss (11 page)

Lady Stamford seemed to compose herself. “Yes, my dear. Thank you. Actually, there is a new list. I’ve added one more guest to equal out our numbers. Lucius wished to see it.” She reached inside a pocket of her skirts and produced a folded piece of paper, handing it to Jessamin and nodding her head toward Lord Grimsby.

Jess took the paper, but the simple act of passing him the sheet seemed daunting. She stepped toward him, and an echo of the same trepidation she’d experienced in the gallery caused her hand to shake.

Lord Grimsby didn’t seem to share her discomfort. He reached out to retrieve the sheet with only the merest glance in her direction, oblivious to the tremor in her hands or any other part of her body.

An awkward moment of silence passed, and Jess became aware of her breath, too rapid and ragged for her short walk down the stairs.

The paper crackled as he smoothed it with his fingers, and she studied the breadth of his hands, the play of sinews as he moved them, before forcing her gaze away. He’d touched her with those hands every time they’d met. Until now. Now, inside the walls of Hartwell, inside the bounds of rules and propriety, he would never touch her again.

That is as it should be.
They should never have touched each other at all. She bit her lip and repeated the words in her mind, and again, until she suppressed the urge to look at him.

She forced herself to examine the room. The study was a masculine haven of dark wood, heavy drapes, and a desk larger than the bed she’d slept in over the shop. She darted her gaze from his brass desk implements to the details in the crimson wallpaper above the wainscoting, but as silent seconds passed she heard the quickened inhale and exhale of his breath, noticed the moment he lifted a hand to his mouth while examining the paper she’d handed him.

She focused on the ticking of a clock and examined the beautifully crafted device on the fireplace mantel. Fixing her gaze on the slowly moving hands, she watched the second hand slide across the clock face, any distraction to keep from looking in the viscount’s direction.

“Equal numbers for dining, and dancing, if we wish it.”

Lord Grimsby didn’t respond to his aunt’s words and continued to skim the paper in his hand.

“There’s one name I don’t recognize.”

“Oh?”

None of the names on the list had been familiar to Jess, except for Miss Sedgwick’s. She wasn’t even aware it was a social faux pas to invite an uneven number of guests to a house party and had no notion whom Lady Stamford might have added.

After another moment, Lord Grimsby’s deep rumble sounded. “Who is Lady Katherine Adderly?”

The room went hazy and Jess felt heat rush into her cheeks, flames crawling across her ears, and a trickle of moisture at the nape of her neck. Praying neither of them noticed how her legs trembled, she made her way to the chair next to Lady Stamford and sat.

“The Marchioness of Clayborne has been a friend for years. I met her during my first season. Kitty is her eldest daughter. A lovely young woman, though perhaps a bit too fond of frivolity. You met her at the Worthington ball.”

“Did I?”

You refused to dance with her. You snubbed her.
The words were just there, ready to burst out, along with her confession about taking money to carry out Kitty’s scheme. The prospect of releasing it, of finally explaining her behavior, held tantalizing appeal. The secret had been a burden, pressing down on her, like the stack of books Mother used to place on her head to instruct her in proper posture. She’d never been any good at balancing those books, and she was dreadful at keeping secrets. As an only child and veritable spinster, she’d had few to keep.

It would ease her mind to tell it. But what would they think of her? She’d taken money to kiss a man she had no right to touch, with whom she hadn’t even cause for a passing acquaintance, considering their difference in wealth and status. The names for a woman who accepted payment for kissing a man played through Jess’s mind. Such a woman certainly had no right to serve as paid companion to a dowager countess. Such a woman deserved to be turned out without tuppence, without even the funds for a train ticket back to London.

And what would she do in London? Who would employ her if the whole ugly truth were revealed? Even with Lady Stamford’s generous salary, one month’s wages wouldn’t sustain her long.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell them—to tell him.

Jess sensed Lord Grimsby watching her. Looking toward him, she found his searching inspection held a flicker of what she’d glimpsed the night she kissed him, a heat that warmed and soothed her. She felt for a moment as she had in the gallery, as if all else faded away and his gaze meeting hers was sacrosanct, a private moment, even if others watched.

Jess broke the spell and turned away, focusing on the benign face of the mantel clock.

Would he look at her the same way if Kitty Adderly divulged the part Jess played in her plan to humiliate him? Though Kitty’s plot reflected as poorly on the young woman herself as it did on Jess, it didn’t excuse her actions.

What had Kitty called her? A freethinking woman? The kiss had been her act, her choice, and these were her consequences. And she would take them, come what may. She had to. If she didn’t claim the folly of her actions, she wouldn’t own any of the power of that kiss. And whatever kissing Lord Grimsby had cost her, it had given her something too—her own moment of passion, of being desired, the sort of desire she’d only read about in books. She’d never imagined a bit of it for herself, and now that she did possess it, and very little else, she was determined to keep it. Brazen woman, trollop, failed bookseller, unfit lady’s companion, whatever they called her in the end, whatever it had cost her, she would cherish that one sliver of passion. At six and twenty, she was keenly aware it might be her life’s portion.

“Jessamin?”

Lady Stamford’s voice made her jump, and Jess bowed her head, clenching her hands in the fabric of her skirt forcefully enough to tear it. Holding her breath, heart hammering, she waited for her dismissal from service, and lifted her head to stare at Lord Grimsby’s back. He seemed a pillar of calm, a soothing contrast to her tangled emotions. He’d turned his attention to the mantel, not to the clock she’d been watching, but to rearranging the knickknacks and framed photographs lining the space.

“Yes, my lady?”

“In other circumstances I would introduce you to my nephew, but I am well aware you have already met in a most . . . singular fashion.”

Lord Grimsby turned the moment Jess stifled a gasp.

“Aunt Augusta . . .” Jess detected a thread of the same discomfort in the viscount’s deep voice that she felt at his aunt’s reference to the moment in Mayfair.

Lady Stamford lifted a hand, her ivory handkerchief fluttering in her fingers, as if to forestall whatever objection he might have.

“Now I do not wish to make a feast of it, but do hear me out. I trust we’ll make this house party a success. That shall be our focus, and we’ll leave the rest behind us. Agreed?”

Though she spoke the words loudly enough both of them could hear, she directed her gaze at Lord Grimsby throughout.

He pressed his mouth into a grim line before offering her a curt nod of agreement.

Jess wasn’t certain if her agreement, or even her presence, was necessary, but when she opened her mouth to acknowledge Lady Stamford’s terms, the countess spoke again.

“Wonderful. Oh, isn’t it a relief to have a matter settled?”

Chapter Twelve

J
ESS TWISTED H
ER
hair into a loose chignon, pinned it, and then slid her hands over the velvet panels of her emerald green gown, one of three evening dresses Lady Stamford had commissioned for her. The velvet, cool against her fingertips, soothed her nerves.

Lady Stamford hadn’t dismissed her, but Lord Grimsby had stalked off, somber as ever, immediately after the odd agreement between the three of them in his study. She’d made a partial confession to Lady Stamford after his departure, acknowledging the money she’d taken and returned. But when she’d mentioned that a scorned young woman had put her up to kissing the viscount, Lady Stamford appeared more amused than shocked. The moment had reassured Jess regarding her employment with the countess, but it had done nothing to stem the dread of encountering Kitty Adderly at the house party. Her employer seemed oddly disinterested in Jess’s motives for taking money to kiss her nephew, and Lord Grimsby hadn’t pressed her on the matter, but the notion he’d learn she had done it for money and as part of a plan to embarrass him churned in her mind.

And the anxiety multiplied at the prospect of taking her first meal at Hartwell with Lord Grimsby. At Marleston, Lady Stamford had occasionally allowed Jess to dine alone in her room, especially if they weren’t hosting visitors, but the countess had insisted she attend the first evening meal at Hartwell and dress formally for the occasion. Jess considered it an oddity of nobility to make such a fuss over meals, but she could hardly refuse Lady Stamford.

As she took one last glance at herself in the looking glass, surprised as she always was to find what a difference a bit of effort made, a knock sounded at the door.

Tilly stuck her head around the door frame. “My lady sent me to assist you with dressing,” she said as she entered and closed the door behind her.

The maid stopped and placed a hand on each hip. “I see you’ve gone and done it on your own.” The girl’s tone was chastising, but then a satisfied gleam lit her face. “Ah, but you haven’t finished your hair. I can at least do that for you, miss.”

Jess crossed her eyes to focus on the strand of hair snaking down her forehead, already escaped from her inexpertly pinned arrangement. Perhaps she could use Tilly’s help after all.

“Thank you, Tilly. I’d be most grateful.”

“Sit yourself there, miss. Where’s your brush and pins?”

Jessamin showed her the collection of hairpins and the girl set to work. Tilly tugged and twisted and pinned with a speed and skill that caused Jess to wince only once. Whatever the result of Tilly’s efforts, it would be far more elaborate than anything she’d ever attempted on her own.

The maid didn’t speak while she worked and Jess was grateful. Her nervousness ratcheted up with every passing moment. She imagined the awkward dinner table conversation and vowed to remain as mum as possible throughout the ordeal. What did she have to say to a viscount, and to that inscrutable one in particular? What topic might she broach with any of them? Perhaps if she drew no attention to herself and refrained from conversing any more than necessary, the whole thing would pass by quickly.

She wasn’t certain when Kitty would arrive at the house party, but Lady Stamford had indicated they would have a smaller group for this first dinner.

“Not bad if I do say so meself. Not bad at all.” Tilly turned the looking glass toward Jessamin. “You do have the prettiest hair, Miss Wright.”

“Th-thank you.” Tongue-tied with shock, Jess examined herself in the mirror. She looked . . . elegant. Tilly had wrapped certain strands of her hair into curls and woven them to create an elaborate style while allowing a few wavy locks to fall down over her left shoulder.

She’d never had cause to look elegant in her life, and there had been a freedom in it. There’d been no need to fuss over ladies’ magazines or keep up with the latest style of gown. Fiction had always interested Jess far more than fashion. But now, it was gratifying to find that she could pull it off, that with expertly arranged hair, a fine dress made to fit, Father’s green eyes and Mother’s high cheekbones and strong chin, she might just pass as pretty.

It was a bit like acquiring a new skill, and she wasn’t certain how to practice. Like the time she’d set herself to learning French, only to find she’d never have reason to use a word of it. But even if no one else noticed, and she had no idea how to wield her modest share of feminine beauty, she was grateful to know she could achieve it at all.

“You’re so talented, Tilly. Thank you.”

The maid looked abashed. “Nonsense, miss. Downstairs with you now, or you’ll be the last in the dining room.”

That thought was enough to make Jess scurry toward the hall as quickly as she could with petticoats and the heavy skirt of her gown threatening to trip her. Following on the heels of a footman carrying a steaming of tray of foodstuffs, Jess found the dining room, only to discover there’d been no need for haste. The chairs were empty and the footman looked at her as if she might be lost.

“I believe His Lordship is in the drawing room with Lady Stamford and his guests. Through that door and down the hall, miss.”

“Thank you,” Jess said, already heading for the door.

The hallway toward the drawing room led back to Hartwell’s grand front doors. Some rooms along the hall had doors that stood open and she looked in on one, just next to Lord Grimsby’s study, that appeared to be an impressive library. Bookshelves reaching to the ceiling held volumes of books all neatly arranged, the gilt on their spines forming perfect lines across each shelf. Jess longed to explore the room, to find out what titles the Dunthorpes had collected, and pressed a hand against her chest to stifle a pang of longing for the little bookshop in London. Would anyone notice if she disappeared for a few hours in the library rather than take her place at the dinner table?

She forced her feet to keep moving and drew near the drawing room. In Hartwell’s entryway, Jess saw a collection of trunks, portmanteaus, and hatboxes. A flurry of maids and footmen were attacking the collection piece by piece.

“Have any guests arrived?”

A harried maid glanced at Jess, swiping stray hairs back under her mobcap.

“Aye, miss, His Lordship’s sister and her husband.”

Upon hearing the girl’s answer, Jess released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. No Kitty Adderly. At least not yet.

“Thank you.” Jess nodded her thanks and continued on toward the drawing room.

She heard voices and laughter carrying through the half-open door. Lord Grimsby’s tone roared out above them all.

“Give the chin wags a week. Then it will all be forgotten.”

Jess cringed, fearing the discussion had already turned to her encounter with Lord Grimsby. No, surely not. A gaggle of aristocrats would have better subjects to discuss.

The maid from the foyer passed behind her carrying three large boxes balanced with precision in her slim arms.

“The drawing room’s just in there, miss.”

Everyone else seemed to know where Jess belonged. If only she felt as certain.

She slanted a grin back at the maid. “Thank you. Working up my courage.”

The girl stopped in her tracks a moment. She looked Jess up and down, assessing her. “You look as much the fine lady as any I ever saw, miss.”

Jess leaned toward the maid and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid you can’t always judge a book by its cover.”

The young maid stared at her for a moment, as if pondering Jess’s platitude, and then hefted the boxes up an inch in her arms before continuing on her way.

Jess turned back to the drawing room door, took a breath so deep it made her dizzy, and stepped into the room. Perhaps if the discussion was lively enough, they wouldn’t notice her at all.

A gasp followed by a shattered teacup reminded Jess of one of her father’s favorite sayings.

If it weren’t for bad luck, my girl, we wouldn’t have any luck at all.

Every head turned her way, and the woman who’d dropped her cup of tea was fanning herself and being assisted to a chair by a man Jess found vaguely familiar.

Actually, both the fainting woman and her husband were familiar. Jess recalled with a jolt where she’d seen them before. They’d been at the gallery. They’d witnessed the incident with Lord Grimsby. The man was the one who’d tried to draw him away afterward, and it seemed he knew the viscount well enough to be invited to this intimate house party.

Jess’s head began to throb. The maid said the viscount’s sister and brother-in-law had arrived. Had she really kissed the man in front of his own sister?

Breathily, the woman whispered, “You can’t have brought her here, Lucius. Tell me you did not.”

Lady Stamford bustled over to the woman and patted her on the head as one would a fussing child.

“I brought her, my dear.” Augusta turned to Jessamin. “Miss Wright, this is Lady Julia, my niece. Lucius’s sister. And this is her husband, Mr. Darnley.” Augusta leaned toward Lady Julia and then gestured toward Jessamin. “Julia, my dear, this is Miss Wright, my companion. She is a most invaluable young woman. I can’t tell you how she has assisted me in the short time I’ve known her. I simply cannot do without her now.”

Lady Stamford’s praise was always effusive, and Jess feared her cheeks would soon be as red as the geraniums in Marleston’s conservatory.

Lady Julia seemed unimpressed by Augusta’s recommendation and continued to stare at Jess skeptically. Then Mr. Darnley approached and whispered something in the woman’s ear. Whatever it was, his words seemed to have a beneficial effect on Lord Grimsby’s sister. She stood up, straightened her skirts, and approached Jess.

She forced an expression Jess imagined was meant to be pleasant, but looked more as if someone twisted something very sharp in the woman’s side. She gave up and offered Jess the slightest of nods.

“How do you do, Miss Wright? I am pleased to make the acquaintance of anyone my aunt regards so highly.”

Jess opened her mouth to reply, but Lady Julia’s voice quivered as she said, “Tell me, wherever did she find you?”

Truth seemed best, at least what she could tell of it.

“In a bookshop, my lady. Lady Stamford offered me employment when I was sorely in need of it. I will always be grateful to her.”

Lady Julia glanced at her brother before offering Jess another upturned grimace.

“How fortuitous for you.”

“Yes.”

She wasn’t certain how she’d done it, but with the single word, Jess sensed some of the tension in the room ease. Augusta and Lady Julia began speaking quietly to each other, while Mr. Darnley joined Lord Grimsby and a tall, handsome man Jess had yet to meet.

Her breathing steadied and the throbbing in her head began to ease, a slight tapping now rather than thunder. She selected a place on the settee where she hoped to be out of the way and yet available to converse if called upon to do so. She focused on remembering to breathe, attempting to project a bit of the elegance she’d seen in the looking glass, and never glancing in Lord Grimsby’s direction.

Lady Stamford gave her an encouraging smile from across the room now and then, and Jess grinned back before forcing herself to examine the room’s lovely furnishings while plotting ways to escape and explore the library. The gentlemen gathered behind her chattering about horses and an upcoming hunt. She tried not to fidget, even when she caught a bit of the viscount’s spice scent on the air around her. Reminding herself not to glance at him, to turn her attention elsewhere, she noticed the tight press of her corset and bodice and couldn’t resist rearranging her skirts and smoothing her hands across the luxurious fabric to settle her nerves.

“Do you always fret over your frocks like that?”

There was no mistaking his voice, especially when he spoke low and set off gooseflesh on her skin. Lord Grimsby stood beside the settee, staring down his aristocratic Roman nose at her.

She whispered back, hoping the viscount’s sister, who still speared her with an occasional curious glare, wouldn’t hear their exchange.

“I’ve never worn this dress before. I’m not used to it.” She wasn’t used to any of the finery of her new life. “Perhaps I’m not suited to it.” Her comment encompassed the dress, the company she found herself in, even the distracting man looming over her.

He had to know she didn’t belong just as surely as she did. For several heartbeats, he said nothing, just watched her, raking her with his gaze as he’d done when she met him near the copse of trees.

She itched to say something cheeky, to distract him from his harsh judgments and save her pride, whatever was left of it.

Then he laid his hand on the back of the settee, his long fingers gripping the damask.

“It suits you perfectly. The fit, the cut, the color.” Then more quietly, just for her. “You suit the dress, Miss Wright.”

Jess allowed herself a glance at him. He wasn’t even looking at her, but she noticed a twitch of movement along his jaw.

He turned then, his gaze tangling with hers, searing her with an intense spike of heat in her chest, down her spine, lower into her center.

“Do I?”

A curt nod of his head was his only reply. It was such a small, quick movement, she almost missed it.

But then he spoke again. One word, husky, deep.

“Spectacularly.”