The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (10 page)

Her brother rose from his desk, walked around the edge, and sank down to his haunches before her. “Don’t be sorry, Pippa. Just listen to me. You know I only have your best interests at heart.”

And she did know that. Pippa threw her arms around Berks’s neck and hugged him. “I will listen to you, I promise.”

He squeezed her back. “That’s all I ask for.” Then he released her and rose back to his full height. “All right. It’s been a long night. Off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Pippa agreed with a nod, scrambled back to her feet and quickly departed her brother’s study.

Davis was waiting for her in the hallway with a large parcel. “This arrived for you not long ago, my lady. A servant in Stalbridge livery.”

“
Georgie?” Pippa took the parcel from the butler and couldn’t help the grin that lit her face. A book, a large one at that. Dear Georgie, so true to her word. “Thank you, Davis. Thank you very much.” Then she rushed up the steps towards her chambers.

Once alone, she dropped on to her bed, tucked her toes up under her gown and tore into the paper covering what she was certain was Georgie’s volume of Debrett’s. A note fluttered to the floor.

My dearest Pippa,

I did search the second volume, on the off chance I simply had forgotten the Colebrooke viscountcy, but it was not there. I was correct. Colebrooke is obviously a courtesy title of some sort. Therefore, you will need to search through the dukes, marquesses, and earls to find your Lord Colebrooke’s father or grandfather. I’m wishing you the best of luck!

Yours always,

Georgie

She felt a tiny bit like a spy as she opened the book’s cover. She supposed she could have asked Jason who his father was, or his grandfather for that matter, but he never gave her much time to think about anything.

The memory of his kiss, of his lips on her shoulder, his hands on her waist washed over her anew. “All right, my lord, now to find you.”

The volume of Debrett’s, still resting in her lap, had struck like a viper with no warning. The beeswax candle on Pippa’s bedside table flickered wildly with the last sputterings of life, as it had burned through most of the night while she’d flipped page after page looking for Jason. But, now, she barely noticed the light as numbness settled in her belly and spread like poison across her body.

She’d set out to find him. But now that she had, Pippa was fairly certain she was going to cry and never be able to stop.

JASON WILLIAM ALEXANDER YORK, Earl of St. Austell, Viscount Colebrooke, and Baron York of St. Austell; succeeded his father Matthew, the late earl, Mar. 15, 1792; born Nov. 20, 1785.

He’d toyed with her. Made sport of her. Made a fool of her.

A tear dropped onto the page just as the candle went out, leaving her in darkness. She closed the book, pushed it from her lap, and fell against her pillows. More tears trickled down her cheeks and onto her neck before trailing all the way to her counterpane.

Memory after memory replayed in her mind. Meeting him in Hyde Park. His offer to dispense with
himself
! Viscount Colebrooke’s newly-made calling card. Each kiss, each caress. That blasted bet in that blasted book in that blasted gentleman’s club.

Oh he must have laughed at her expense. He must have thought her the biggest fool ever born. And perhaps she was. Perhaps she had been. But not anymore. And not ever again. If only she could wipe the memory of his kiss from her mind…

She wasn’t certain how long she lay in her bed, but eventually sunlight peaked through the windows, then bathed her chamber fully in warmness. But Pippa didn’t feel it. She could toss herself into a blazing grate and she doubted the coldness of her bones, of her soul, would ever warm again.

A knock sounded at her door, but Pippa ignored it. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone.

“
Pip,” Harry called through the door. “Davis says you haven’t rung for Mary this morning. Don’t you need her to get you ready for services?”

Services? Because proper, innocent girls went to services, didn’t they? Well, Pippa wasn’t in the mood. She might not ever be again. “I’m not feeling well, Harry. Go without me.”

“
Not feeling well?” Harry echoed. “You didn’t get foxed again, did you?”

A mirthless laugh escaped Pippa. She wished she could forget last night as easily as she’d forgotten the Heathfields’ ball. She wished she could wipe Jason William Alexander York, Earl of St. Austell from her mind, from her heart, completely.

Her door handle rattled. “Let me in, Pippa.” He had a determination to his voice, and she knew he wouldn’t go away until he got his way.

Pippa tossed her legs over the side of the bed and found them a little shaky as she rose to her feet. She crossed the floor, turned the key in her lock and opened her door.

“
This is the second time this week.” Harry gaped at her. “Do you like sleeping in your clothes?”

Pippa shook her head. “I never went to sleep.”

“
Well, that explains the circles under your eyes then.” He gently brushed his hand across her cheek. “Berks read you the riot act, did he? I am sorry. If I’d been here…”

Pippa shrugged. None of this was Berks’s fault. She was the fool, not their brother. “I just don’t think I’m cut out for London. I think Mary should pack my things and I should return to Warwickshire post haste.”

Harry frowned as though trying to sort her out. “But you were so excited for your first Season.”

“
And now I’m not. Will you talk to Berks for me? I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

“
Did something happen?” Harry’s frown darkened.

But she couldn’t tell Harry. She couldn’t tell anyone about what an enormous fool she was. And she couldn’t stay in London. What if she saw Jas…
St. Austell
somewhere about Town? It would be like a dagger to her heart. She couldn’t bear it. “I just can’t stay here any longer.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, but he nodded his head. “You know you can tell me anything?”

But not this. Still she forced a smile to her face. “I know.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “In the very least, ring for Mary. Wash, put on new clothes and I’ll see what I can do.”

I couldn’t have lived knowing she was married to another man, that she would have shared another man’s bed, borne some other man’s children.

Jason glared into his empty coffee cup and cursed Heathfield with every breath he took. Those same damned words had echoed in his mind ever since his friend had muttered them last night. What an awful thought to put into his mind.

“
Coffee!” he barked, smacking the table with his palm. “I want some goddamned coffee!”

A moment later, a footman, coffee pot in hand, bustled into the breakfast room. “Coffee, milord?”

Jason gestured to his empty cup. “And I don’t want it to go empty. From now on, you’ll stand right there and you’ll to refill it before it can go dry. Do you understand?”

“
Y-yes, milord,” the man mumbled, pouring the coffee into the cup and splashing extra into the saucer for good measure.

Jason narrowed his eyes on the servant who sucked in an anguished breath.

“
Beg your pardon, milord.”

Jason waved him away.
I couldn’t have lived knowing she was married to another man, that she would have shared another man’s bed, borne some other man’s children.

Damn, damn, damn.

Damn it to hell.

Pippa wasn’t about to marry some other man. No one else was courting her, were they? Other than that oaf Potsdon, anyway. Potsdon. Just the image of the man made Jason grind his teeth. Potsdon. What a fool. As though she would want to be known as Pippa Potsdon all of her life. Utterly ridiculous.

But what if it wasn’t ridiculous?

What if…

Well, eventually she would marry
someone
. Maybe not this Season, perhaps not the next. But eventually she would. And then what…?

And then she’d want to know everything about some other fellow. Some other man would get to kiss her. Some other man would get to make love to her. Some other man would get to bask in her sweetness.

Jason remembered the feel of her skin against his lips, of the way her heart beat faster at his touch, the way her sweet rosewater scent had enveloped him. Had Heath not stumbled upon them when he did, Jason might very well have succeeded in seducing her.

How would you tell her that she’ll be Lady St. Austell and
not
Lady Colebrooke?

How indeed?

Damn Heathfield straight to hell for planting such ideas in Jason’s mind. Marriage, for God’s sakes.

Jason scowled. Was he seriously entertaining thoughts of offering for her? Him? Jason York, the wicked, debauched Earl of St. Austell?

When she learned who he was, she’d never speak to him again, not if her panic in Hyde Park was any indication. And he couldn’t marry her as Colebrooke and tell her the whole truth later. No clergyman would go along with that plan. Besides, both the Marquess of Berkswell and Lord Harrison Casemore
did
know who Jason really was. They weren’t likely to keep their mouths closed, let alone agree to such a union.

But…

Gretna. The answer came to him in a flash.

What if he convinced her to run away with him to Gretna? He could marry her as Jason York. She wouldn’t have to learn the truth about him until after she loved him…

But then she’d hate him and she’d never forgive him.

No, no. It was best not to consider marriage at all. There was no easy way around it.

I couldn’t have lived knowing she was married to another man, that she would have shared another man’s bed, borne some other man’s children.

“
Damn you!” Jason growled.

“
I am sorry, sir,” the footman said hastily.

Jason glanced at the servant. “Not you. Go away.”

“
But you said…” The man gestured to Jason’s coffee cup.

“
I said ‘go away’.”

The footman scrambled from the room at the exact moment Jason realized his future was doomed.