Chills (13 page)

“I am afraid I don’t understand you, Miss Scaling. Lord Ettington does not confide in me at all. Why would I know more than his dear sister?”

Constance could not believe the girl’s gall. She was directly challenging her presence in the house. She did not like Miss Scaling’s insinuations one bit, although she had feared assumptions like these could happen.

The chit smiled. “I did not think he would.” Miss Scaling reached up to pat her perfect blonde hair. When she reached for her teacup, her smile suggested she had heard the best news.

Constance looked between Virginia and Miss Scaling, and then saw it. Virginia was blonde. So was Miss Scaling. Constance’s hair was almost black when the preference amongst the ton was blonde locks. Could Miss Scaling be Jack’s intended? Would Jack choose a girl whose likeness resembled his sister’s so closely?

Constance almost gagged, but she made herself sip her tea until the unladylike urge passed.

Mr. Scaling stared at his daughter, and then shook his head in warning. Constance could not believe Jack would align himself to this family. There was no way it could be true.

Constance could not stand these people, but she had to refocus on appearing polite. She glanced at the large portrait of Jack’s father. The late marquess was dressed in the old style of wig and powder, making it impossible to see any resemblance between Jack and his father. Constance liked the painting—it drew her eyes. The late Lord Ettington had a kind face, and the portrait had been painted very well. Today, his eyes seemed different, almost alive. A shiver of excitement swept her skin.

“Miss Grange, it was you, in truth, we came to call on. I believe once you read this note you will understand my interest in seeing expedient attention to the matter.” Mr. Scaling spoke with business-like efficiency, and Constance’s heart considered stopping.

The voices around her grew muffled and eventually the Scaling’s went away. But the loud thump of the drawing room door closing made her jump.

Virginia surged forward. “What on earth is that?”

The thick wad of parchment in Constance’s hands dragged her spirits lower. “More trouble, I fear.”

Virginia wrapped her arm about her and addressed the room. “You can come out now, cowards, it is safe.”

Constance jumped again as the late marquess’ portrait issued a small clicking noise and creaked open to reveal Jack and a grinning Lord Hallam hiding behind it. Of all the sneaky ways to avoid meeting the Scaling’s, yet hear every word. At least Jack had the sense to appear embarrassed.

“Bravo, Virginia, you routed the toadies in no more than twenty-five words. Very impressive,” Hallam enthused.

Virginia rounded on him, leaving Constance to face the marquess alone.

He didn’t say a word, but he did take the paper. Desperate for something other than debt to think about, she peered past him and got a closer look at the tunnel.

“Where does this go?” she asked, curiosity spurring her on. Then she thought better of her question. Jack might not want her to know anything more about it.

“Back toward my study and to other parts of the house.”

Constance bit her lip. She wanted to ask if she could go in, if he would show it to her, but she did not want to risk rejection.

“Do you want to see?” Jack was watching her with an understanding smile.

“You would show me?” she asked him. Really, she should not be surprised. He knew of her love of strange and new experiences. Secret passages would be high on anyone’s list of adventures.

“Anything. Always remember that.”

Constance blushed. He wasn’t cruel, and an open doorway was an invitation, of sorts.

Jack showed her the location of the opening catch in the drawing room and on the inside of the tunnel. He held out his hand and led her into the gloomy passage, closing the door behind them. Constance could not see much at first and was a little wary of the musty smell.

“Don’t be afraid, Pixie. I’m here.” Jack pulled her to his side and she breathed deep, calming instantly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“The tunnel contains several flights of stairs. We go down, then up to my study. Another flight of steps goes upstairs to the family rooms, and then further on up to the top floor.”

Constance nervously clenched Jack’s hand tighter as he led her away from the pinpricks of light seeping around the now closed doorway. The passage walls were very close, and she was more than grateful for Jack’s presence.

When they stopped, Jack raised her hand to let her feel the latch, pulling her tight against his side and just in front of him. Constance’s face heated as her body brushed his. It was confusing how many times she blushed around Jack when she never had before.

“Only family knows about these passages, so be sure to check the spy holes carefully before opening. We try to keep them secret, but I think Parkes knows, and my valet might too. Make as little noise as you can, or you’ll sound like mice in the walls. We both know Cook goes into a tizzy about them.”

“I remember she ordered a search of Hazelmere that took three days.”

“Perhaps you won’t drop mice in my hat this visit.” Jack’s lips brushed her ear as he spoke.

She squirmed at the tickle of his breath. “I thought you might have liked to see them.” She turned her head an inch and his lips touched her cheek.

“A mouse is very nice, but why did you leave so many in my room?” he asked, still whispering against her skin.

“I can’t recall.”

The way his breath struck her skin sent her pulse racing greater than any fear ever had. They remained locked like that until Jack slid his hand to the side of her face. He cupped it and then directed her head to a peephole. She could see Jack’s study, and the room was empty.

She savored the feel of his warm hand on her face before depressing the latch. The door latch clicked open, and she stumbled out. She had not realized they had been plastered so tight together. Constance struggled to her feet without assistance, seeking to compose herself.

Jack stepped around her and locked his study door, granting them privacy. The bright room spread light into the tunnel, illuminating the beginnings of steps beyond the doorway.

“Where do they go?”

Jack’s face shone with perspiration. He swallowed before answering. “They lead to my chambers.”

“May I see?” Constance clamped her hand over her mouth in shock. She had just asked to go see a gentleman’s bedchamber. Any minute now she was going to die of mortification. He was sure to have heard Miss Scaling’s ugly insinuations earlier. She looked anywhere but at Jack.

“Some other time, perhaps? When you’re ready and don’t have young men expected.” His voice sounded aggrieved. “Let us see what this is,” Jack muttered, pulling the thick papers from his pocket to spread them across his desk.

With his back to her, she let her eyes linger on his silhouette. He might be all muscle beneath that coat. He certainly didn’t pad the shoulders. Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch. Flushing at the memory of his breath against her skin, she was reminded of another puzzle. If Jack didn’t hate her, then why did he argue with her so much?

Dismissing the moodiness of the man, she stepped up beside him and glanced down at three neat pages with a precise column of numbers marching beside each description.

“He’s gone and bought up your mother’s remaining debts,” Jack muttered angrily. “Now why the devil did he do that?”

Constance didn’t care for the why. She only cared about how much it would cost her. “Please tell me how much I owe now? I cannot bear not knowing.”

Jack surprised her by slinging an arm around her shoulders. “The total now stands closer to thirty thousand pounds.”

If not for the tight grip he had on her shoulders, Constance would have landed on the floor. This was beyond bad. It was hopeless. She fought the instinct to cry and allowed him to lead her to the lounge.

Once she sat down, he pulled her head tight to his shoulder. “This debt crosses more names off the list, Pixie. There would only be three gentlemen who could repay the debts without creating more financial difficulties for themselves.”

It took Constance a couple of tries to speak. “I understand. Who are they?”

“Blamey, Bridges, and Abernathy.”

“Do you know them?”

“Not well. They are a good deal younger than I, and obtained their fortunes through trade.”

Constance nodded, her cheek rubbing against the soft wool of his coat. Was it wrong to want to stay here, hidden from the world? She very much wanted to. Constance could stand to inhale the calming cinnamon of the Marquess of Ettington for the rest of her life.

A large hand settled on her hair and reminded her she was being inconsiderate. She had taken up enough of Jack’s time. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate everything you have done for me.” She stood, not daring to glance at his face.

She jumped as Jack settled his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t do that. I will still help you.”

Shaking her head, she didn’t bother looking at him. It was better not to voice the doubts she had. There were only three men who could afford to pay her debts. That meant she had only three chances to stay out of debtor’s prison.

If none of them liked her enough to marry her, she was doomed. “I should return to Virginia.”

“Of course.”

Despair ebbed as the darkness swallowed her and Jack inside the tunnel. When Jack shut the door, he reached for her hand and pulled her toward the drawing room. Constance resisted. Panic over her situation gripped her.

He pulled her into a loose embrace. When she clutched at his coat, he tightened his arms about her. “Shh, Pixie. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

It was nice of him to be so optimistic, but Constance couldn’t believe him. His arms loosened and when he caught her hand again, she allowed him to lead her back to Virginia.

She stepped down the passage carefully, conscious of her hand in Jack’s, the strength of his grip never faltering. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, and she blushed in the dark. When Jack stopped, she bumped into him. His hot breath struck her face and neck, forcing another blush to race over her skin. She fought it.

At the portal, she looked through the peek holes carefully, checking for new guests before releasing the catch and stepping through the gap behind the painting. Virginia and Hallam were speaking by a rear window in low tones, so she turned and shut the doorway, trapping Jack in the room with them. She studied his bent head as he checked her long skirts for cobwebs and hard to explain dust on the dark material. Again, the irrational urge to lay her hands upon him surfaced. Blushing, she turned away.

“Do you ever wonder what it might be like?” Jack asked, standing directly behind her. She jumped as his fingers brushed across the back of her neck.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If only.” He backed away. “Forgive me.”

A knock sounded on the doors and she turned to face the next set of guests.

After exploring the secrets of Ettington house, the afternoon grew tedious. The strain of appearing cheerful in the face of ruin was very hard to do.

Today, Constance had seven gentlemen callers, each sure she would be pleased to drive in the park, attend the theatre, or some other thing. Her answer depended on the shake of Jack’s head. Most often, it was negative. Unfortunately, not one of the callers was one the three she needed to meet.

Jack stayed with them for the afternoon but later excused himself to attend to a caller of his own. She was half-glad to have him leave. Her callers invariably brought their sisters, who gazed at Jack in a manner that made her feel ill. Did all of London view him as a walking pastry? They flattered, they simpered, and on more than one occasion Jack caught her eye in an accusing manner, as if saying, ‘Look at what you are putting me through.’

It puzzled her that no one else appeared to realize he was betrothed. It was not a new event. He had been betrothed for an age. And what had he meant by ‘if only.’ If only what?

Lord Carrington called, bringing his sister, Miss Ryall, with him. At least she hadn’t stared at Jack. She was an intelligent, witty girl, and Constance quite liked her. The Earl of Louth arrived as they were leaving, and the tension in Miss Ryall’s manner during their conversation intrigued her. Constance knew almost nothing about Louth, but she wondered how he could be so blind to the girl’s agitation. Louth spoke earnestly to Carrington about a horse before they departed, but he did watch them leave. Perhaps Louth was not blind after all.

Lord Wade brought his aunt, a stern faced matron, who inspected them and the room through a lorgnette before grunting in what Constance assumed was disapproval. Lord Wade, a narrow fellow a little older than Constance, seemed a pleasant enough visitor at first.

“Can’t imagine why Ettington allows Louth near his sister, given his reputation,” Wade sniggered next to her, low enough for his voice not to carry.

“Why should Lord Ettington not receive him?” Constance asked, puzzled.

“Well, since you are not long in Town, I daresay you’ve not heard his nickname. Believe me, when you hear it. I can promise you it most certainly is true. Oh, but then again, a country lass like yourself is probably more earthy than most. Let us say, in the farming of beef, it is important to have one to continue the herd.”