Chapter Thirteen

Jack sank into his seat with a groan. As much as he usually enjoyed the theater, tonight he was restless. Perhaps the rainy weather outside had dampened his enthusiasm. Perhaps it was being stared at by most of the ton while they pondered his every action. Couldn’t they find something else to do?

But truthfully, his unease stemmed from the dark-haired Pixie sitting beside him, who had waved so happily to the box opposite. Had she waved to Viscount Carrington or Miss Ryall, his sister? Both had waved back.

Her excited smile forced Jack to bite back an oath. He liked Carrington. Truly he did. Only when he smiled at Pixie, danced with her, or talked to her, would Jack gladly strangle him. Carrington wasn’t on the list of suitors, but he appeared to be becoming her friend. Jack hated that. He scanned the room as he attempted to suppress the urge to slay his competition for Pixie’s affections and watched the musicians settling in to play.

Across the theater, he spotted Lord Blamey. There was very little to recommend Blamey. Plain, brown hair, round, unremarkable face, and clothing without a hint of ostentation. He was certainly not a compelling candidate for Pixie to tie herself to but he had enough money to meet her immediate needs.

If Jack was asked his opinion, and he doubted he would be consulted again, he would declare Pixie too good for Blamey.

Music echoed around the chamber and he turned back to the stage. He had no right to grumble about her pursuit of a husband. After all, it wasn’t as if he had decided to enter the running himself. He liked Pixie, but marriage? Again, he wasn’t sure he was ready.

Jack glanced around again. His friends, the Earls of Louth and Daventry, had made an appearance tonight, accompanied by two gaudily dressed light-skirts.

Daventry was in his element. He loved to shock. In front of the ton’s astonished eyes, he appeared to be making love to one of the women. He leaned over to whisper in her ear and when she bent her head to his neck she appeared to be feasting on him.

Louth’s companion was draped over his lap. When he slid his hand over her rump, the crowd’s whispers increased to a roar.

Jack envied his friends’ freedom to do as they pleased. Jack couldn’t embarrass his sister by behaving in the same manner. But the theater could be so much more enjoyable if he could dabble with a dark-haired Pixie perched on his knee.

Jack was in trouble. There were a million ways his imagination suggested to prove he could be a superior partner. However, all required Pixie’s cooperation. He didn’t like that she thought of him as old and crusty. He would have to prove to her that he could more than keep up.

A gagging sound broke into his thoughts and he dragged his gaze back to his companions. Virginia and Hallam sat at the front of the box and spoke only to each other. At least it appeared they had finally stopped fighting. He felt incredibly good as a result. Jack wasn’t subjected to Virginia’s random and often extreme emotions, and he could concentrate on analyzing his own for a change.

That contemplation was turning into a bigger puzzle every moment because Pixie’s future featured heavily in his thoughts.

That strange grating sound happened again and he turned farther to find Pixie choking.

Alarmed momentarily, he soon realized that she was struggling to hold in her amusement.

“Drop something,” he muttered out the side of his mouth.

She did. Her fan tumbled from limp fingers and, after fumbling around for it and laughing quite heartily, she raised a serene face once again.

She had such an animated way of living. Jack found her antics fascinating to watch. Yet he could only converse with her freely in his home, and then he was always conscious of hovering servants.

“How silly of me to drop my fan,” she apologized.

“I am glad to see you have found it.”

“It was just next to my foot. I do hope it isn’t ruined.”

“Miss Grange, if the poor fan is ruined for the benefit of hearing your unabashed laughter, I would be happy to arrange a dozen replacements,” Jack promised.

He knew an excellent place to purchase fans. Should he purchase a similar fan or find something more remarkable? He opted for the latter.

“I shall have to decline,” she whispered. “No more charity, my lord.”

Jack shook his head. He had not considered she might take his gifts as an act of charity. It was not that at all. He cursed himself for yet again underestimating the woman’s stubborn streak. Oh, but she could get under his skin and work him into a frenzy of confusion in moments.

Jack didn’t pity her. He gave her things because he liked to take care of her and wanted her to be happy. She had him wrapped around her pinky finger and the moment she realized his weakness, he feared he knew how it would go.

Marriage. God help him.

“My dear, you really shouldn’t think the worst of me all the time.” Jack turned, catching her embarrassed expression before she hid it. “I find great enjoyment in knowing that you wear or carry an item I purchased with your taste specifically in mind. If it was charity, I wouldn’t notice you wear my necklace every day.”

Frustrated, he dragged his eyes away from her pert nose and glanced across the theater. But his thoughts churned uncertainly. Could this feeling of lust and desire that plagued him when Pixie was near be more? He enjoyed taking care of her but did he want to do it for the rest of his life. Given their contentious past, would she even consider him as a suitor?

A disturbance caught his eye and he turned his head toward the movement. Another box was filling up with new arrivals—including Miss Scaling and her parents.

Somehow they had managed to follow him again.

Jack clenched his fist. He had wanted just one evening with Pixie without having to be on guard. Miss Scaling was intent on throwing herself into his path. He had hoped he’d misread the signs of pursuit but it was clear the woman was seeking to claim his affections. Well, perhaps not his affections, but she did have her eye on his title. Her ambition was preposterous.

The woman he married had better care more for him than his consequence.

The theater darkened and the performance began, keeping Jack free from further inspection. Miss Scaling’s constant appraisals made him feel like the last piece of meat at the market. But all thoughts of the enterprising chit faded from his mind when a feather-light touch ghosted over his clenched fist. He forced himself to stretch his fingers.

~ * ~

Society was blind as well as stupid. Tonight’s performance confirmed it. But not the performers on stage—it was the audience itself Constance found fascinating.

The entrances of Lords Daventry and Louth were great acting designed to repulse the puritanical sector of society, but the courtesan glued to Louth’s side appeared uneasy and uninvolved with his apparent groping. The girl kept her face turned away from the crowd, and Louth’s hand, while appearing firm on her rear, never moved. Was she a servant dressed up for the role? When the lights dimmed, they put distance between themselves to watch the performance on stage.

Lord Daventry had his hands full of a tiny blonde woman and was oblivious to the action around him. Constance hoped he would take his form of entertainment elsewhere before he got too carried away. Given what she’d learned of him, she could not believe she had left his name on the list as long as she had. He might be a nice enough fellow, but she did not want to be pawed at like that.

Lord Carrington had waved to her earlier and was now speaking to a pretty redhead beside him. She couldn’t help but think he was acting too. He was entirely pleasant and he waved at a great many ladies. Constance had noticed him nodding in Louth’s direction before turning to speak to his sister. Miss Ryall ignored whatever he said and kept her eyes fixed on the stage.

With Virginia and Hallam in the front row, it was difficult to see into the pit. She could only see small portions of those below, though once, she thought she spied the ginger-headed Mr. Abernathy in the crowd. But the next time she risked a glance he was nowhere to be found. The spectacle of the theater was interesting, there was no doubt about that, but she could not bear to live in this world for long.

More than ever, she wished she didn’t have to choose a husband who had buckets of money to cover her family debt. Constance scrubbed her gloved hand over her knee, wishing she could marry for love. Marry someone who didn’t care that she occasionally made a fool of herself, as she had with Jack’s cane.

Jack should be embarrassed to be in her company, but since she often erred in his presence, he appeared to have grown reconciled to her blunders. The marquess was remarkably tolerant, and for that, she couldn’t help but be grateful.

When Miss Scaling made her grand entrance, Constance bristled. The girl stared at Jack far too long. The foolish girl had no notion of subtlety. Jack stiffened, obviously very aware of the girl’s scrutiny and, no doubt mortified by such bold behavior, his fist curled. Constance would like nothing better than to let her know she had no chance of winning Jack with those kinds of tactics. Miss Scaling would never be the kind of woman Jack needed.

He needed someone who adored him. Someone who could make him smile or, better still, laugh. Miss Scaling didn’t stand a chance. Constance fervently hoped that his future wife had that ability.

Constance glanced to the side and smiled at the marquess, but he sat rigid and unsmiling. Hoping that no one could see, she carefully slid her hand over Jack’s clenched fist and brushed her fingers across his knuckles. She would not like him to miss the performance because of Miss Scaling.

His long, slow breath brushed her ear as she diverted his attention. With the light gone, darkness covered them in seductive intimacy. Surrounded by thousands, yet only aware of the people close, she sighed as Jack pressed his shoulder against hers. She didn’t restrain the grin that crossed her face as she pressed her own shoulder into his. She settled back into her chair, content.

The players moved on the stage and she watched, impressed by an art she had never mastered. She had barely mastered being the respectable Miss Constance Grange. Attempting to be anything or anyone else more was beyond her ability.

Jack’s arm moved, and a bare hand pressed over hers. Constance relaxed as his warmth seeped into her, but instead of withdrawing, as he should, he turned her hand, laced their fingers tight together, and settled their joined hands between their chairs.

~ * ~

Constance strolled along beside Virginia and tried not to wonder why Jack had held her hand through the first act of the play. It wasn’t that she found his touch unwelcome, but it wasn’t right. He had a woman ready to become his wife, and she had allowed him to take liberties belonging to her future husband.

Even worse, she was wicked enough to have enjoyed it.

As she’d followed Hallam and Virginia from the box, Jack’s hand had settled briefly at her waist, his thumb stroking firmly over the small of her back. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her character, so she’d hurried to catch up with Virginia and put more distance between them.

But even now, she shuddered at the pleasure that small intimacy had brought her. In time, she would grow used to a man touching her. Her husband would have that right. What she needed to do now was focus on the three men on her list and gain their attention—not the unavailable marquess’.

In the halls, she met Viscount Carrington and his sister, Miss Ryall. Carrington was all that she remembered him to be, charming and witty, with a ready smile for his acquaintances. Miss Ryall enthused about the play, but her eyes darted around the crowd.

“Miss Grange, I trust I may call on you tomorrow at three. I would like to make my future wife known to you.”

Behind him, Miss Ryall made a face.

Constance struggled not to laugh. “Oh, no, I am so sorry, but I have a prior appointment tomorrow. Lord Blamey is calling to take me for a drive in the park. Perhaps another time?”

Constance spied Miss Scaling across the room. The girl craned her neck, trying to catch Jack’s eye again, but Jack kept his attention on the viscount.

“I shall gladly delay my call until a later time if you will promise to tell me the news of your interlude with Blamey,” the viscount pressed. “I am starved for interesting adventures.”

Constance didn’t like the sound of that. “I make it a point never to gossip, my lord. If you will excuse me, I think it must be time to return to the box.”

Across the room, the gentleman Virginia had pointed out as Lord Bridges smiled a greeting. She couldn’t think of a way to speed up the process of meeting him, so she smiled back and turned to Virginia. Except Virginia wasn’t there.

Alarmed, Constance tried to find her, until Jack’s hand brushed her lower back.

“Hallam has already taken my sister back,” Jack whispered close to her ear.

Oh, the way he smelled was remarkable. Needing more, she twined her arm through his and let him control the speed of their return, more than gratified he wasn’t swift about it.

Halfway to their destination, she caught a glimpse of pink skirts caught between the folds of a curtain. Someone was hiding ahead of them. If she had to bet, Miss Scaling lay in wait. The woman had a peculiar fondness for the color. She seemed to wear nothing but that exact shade everywhere she went.

Unwilling to contemplate Miss Scaling’s frantic handling of the marquess again, she pulled Jack aside and slipped them into what she hoped was a storeroom.

“Do you possess the power to read my mind?” Jack growled close to her ear. “I was just considering this very thing.”

Startled by the deep husk of his voice, Constance glanced up. “You saw her too?”

“Who?”

“Why Miss Scaling of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Jack tugged her into his arms and pressed her firmly against the door so that it couldn’t be opened. “Lets stay like this until she gives up and returns to her own box.”

Alone in the heavy darkness, she pressed her hands against his chest and tried to think of a reasonable explanation for what they were doing if someone discovered her in his arm. They could not of course admit the marquess was hiding from another lady. How terrible would that sound?

Constance brushed her hands upward and the rapid pounding of his heart drew a smile to her lips. This was wrong but it felt wonderful.

Suddenly lightheaded, she rested her cheek against his chest and held onto him a little tighter.

She deserved to go to Bedlam.

~ * ~

“Damn,” Jack whispered. “You’re not making this easy. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Constance whispered.

Jack laid his cheek against her hair and sighed. The dark mass was soft and his mind imagined the strands draped across his pillow. Desire surged instantly.

Definitely a problem he didn’t need right now.

When Pixie clutched the lapels of his coat, Jack lifted his head and looked down at her face. He could not see much beyond her ear, so he raised one hand to her face. He lifted her chin. Unfortunately, darkness hid her green eyes and he had no idea of her mood. But he was determined to seize any opportunity to unravel his feelings for her.

Her grip on his coat tightened. Jack eased himself away from temptation and opened the door a crack. The hallway was clear as far as he could see, and there was no sign of Miss Scaling in her pink gown. They needed to return before the gossips noticed their absence. Thinking to whisper into her ear, Jack bent a little, but before he could speak, Pixie pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips.

Jack froze.

Then she was gone. Through the door and hurrying for his box before he could fully appreciate her soft lips on his.

Damn. Jack shut the door and counted to one hundred.

Shock was a wondrous thing.

Every secret wish, every stored-up hope collided in a rush of pure exhilaration. Pixie had kissed him.

Kisses did not signify a sisterly affection. He had a sister, and she had only ever kissed his cheek. Lips were something else entirely.

To be sure he was in control again, Jack counted another hundred before he stepped into the corridor.

Luckily, he encountered no one and slipped into his box and his chair without drawing much attention. Pixie had turned her face to the stage and took no notice of his arrival, but her hands wrapped tight around her fan.

Jack did not trust himself to touch her again, so he sat and concentrated on the remainder of the play. He tried very hard to suppress his body’s reaction to that gentle kiss. And especially, he tried to keep from grinning like a lovesick fool.