Loving Lord Ash Page 12

  Her stomach clenched. “Perhaps we should go to the castle instead of Town, then. Your parents cannot be as bad as the London gossips.” And there were only two of them.

  “I’m not so certain. Father shouldn’t be a problem, but Mama . . .” He shook his head. “It might be better to face a city full of gossips than Mama’s focused interest. You know how she can be.”

  She didn’t know, at least not firsthand. As the head groom’s daughter, she hadn’t had much direct contact with the duchess. But she’d heard what everyone said. Kit’s mother was kind but devious when it came to matters of the heart.

  It seemed like a very bad idea to let the Duchess of Love anywhere near Jess’s confused heart.

  “Don’t worry,” Kit said, gripping her hand in a comforting way. “We won’t be at any social events.” He grinned. “The ton is mostly a nocturnal animal. Society will be fast asleep while we go about during the day.”

  “Oh.” All right, perhaps it wouldn’t be too terrible. And she’d dealt with gossips before. She could probably handle them better than she could handle the Duchess of Love.

  Just then a well-worn ball bounced off the side of a building and rolled down a narrow lane into their path. Fluff gave a joyous woof and picked it up in his mouth.

  Kit chuckled. “I suspect we’ll see a young lad show up in just a moment.”

  He was right, except it was two young lads. Kit and Jess heard them before they saw them.

  “Why didn’t you catch it?”

  “You threw it too high.”

  “I did not. You just can’t catch.”

  “Can too!”

  “Where’d it go?”

  “Down the hill. I’ll get it.”

  “No, I will.”

  The boys, who looked to be seven or eight years old, appeared from behind a large white building and started running down the lane. They came to a skidding stop when they saw Fluff. Their eyes widened.

  Now that they were closer, Jess could see one was an inch or two taller than the other, but beyond that they looked very much alike. They must be brothers.

  “Zeus, Clive, the pony’s got our ball.”

  “It ain’t a pony, Oliver. It’s a bear.”

  Fluff, sensing new people to play with, dropped the ball and barked—loudly as always—tail wagging furiously. The boys gasped and jumped back, so Fluff picked up the ball and tried to follow them. Kit brought him up short, holding the lead in an iron grip.

  “It must be a dog,” Oliver said, continuing to back away.

  Clive, the taller and likely older one, was made of sterner stuff. He held his ground and looked up at Kit. “Sir, your dog has our ball.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ll get it for you.” Kit turned away to murmur to Jess, “Is your pet good with children?”

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered back. “He’s never been around any.” Children did not come to Blackweith Manor. Likely they’d been warned to stay as far away from the disreputable Lady Ashton as possible. “But he’s never been vicious with anyone before.”

  Kit nodded and turned back to the boys. “He only wants to play. Would you like to meet him?” He stooped, moving his grip to hold the dog’s collar. “His name is Fluff.”

  “Fluff?” Clive laughed and stepped closer; Oliver edged closer, too, but kept Clive between him and Fluff. “What sort of a name is that for a dog, especially such a big one like yours, sir?”

  Kit grinned. He suddenly looked young and carefree, like a boy himself. “Actually, the dog belongs to the lady.”

  “Ah.” The children nodded. Apparently that explained matters.

  Fluff dropped the ball again, wriggling with delight, but Kit still kept a strong hold on him so he couldn’t jump or get closer to the boys than they wanted.

  Clive reached out to pat Fluff’s head, and Fluff managed to twist around to lick Clive’s wrist—the boy must have grown recently because his sleeves were too short.

  Clive laughed. “That tickles.”

  “Lick my hand, Fluff,” Oliver said, pushing his brother aside.

  And then they were both patting and hugging the dog, their ball momentarily forgotten, and Kit was petting Fluff, too, and talking to them.

  Jess had never seen Kit with children—they’d been hardly more than children when he’d left her at the manor—but he seemed very relaxed with these two. Not high in the instep at all, even though he was a marquis. Not stiff or standoffish or awkward.

  He’d make a good father.

  Her heart twisted. If things had been different—if they’d been truly married eight years ago—they might have a son close to these boys’ ages. A son and a daughter and maybe more. They’d lost so much time. And she was getting older. Her chances for motherhood were slipping away. Would she have a child before she turned thirty?

  Certainly not if they didn’t manage to mend their marriage.

  “Does he give rides?” Oliver asked. “I bet he could.”

  Clive nodded. “Likely we’re too big, but I bet Fluff could carry babies.”

  “Like Annie and Meggie and Madge.”

  “Our little sisters,” Clive explained. “You could charge a few pence or maybe even a shilling a ride and make some money.”

  “Or Fluff could pull a cart,” Oliver offered.

  Clive punched him in the arm. “Where would you get a cart, silly? A pony cart would be too big. And what would you use as a harness?”

  Oliver frowned and rubbed his arm where Clive had hit him. “I bet Mr. Ludding, the blacksmith, could make something.”

  Heavens! She’d forgotten how Kit and his brothers had often greeted each other with a shove or a punch. It had seemed a natural form of affection and communication for them.

  Perhaps she should hope she had only daughters—but Kit would need a son—

  What was she thinking? First things first. She and Kit had to come to an understanding and then . . . Well, then they would see. She’d never given much thought to being a mother. She wasn’t at all certain she’d be a very good one.

  Not that her mothering aptitude was of any relevance. Kit needed an heir regardless. If she lacked the skill to raise his children, he would provide them with an army of nurses and governesses and tutors.

  Likely he’d provide the army anyway and send her back to the manor once she’d presented him with his heir and spare.

  She clenched her jaw. Let him try.

  Kit was laughing. “I don’t know Fluff’s opinion on the matter, but I must tell you we are only here briefly. We leave for London in the morning.”

  The boys looked horrified.

  “I doubt Fluff would like Lunnon, sir,” Clive said earnestly. “I’ve heard it’s very noisy and dirty and crowded.”

  Oliver nodded, wrapping his arms more tightly around Fluff’s neck. “He’d be much happier here.”

  “You are probably correct,” Kit said, scooping up the ball and handing it to Clive, “but I’m afraid we really must go on to Town. And now we need to be off to have our supper.”

  The boys sighed, recognizing defeat.

  “Yes, sir,” Clive said. “Good-bye, Fluff.”

  “Bye, Fluff.” Oliver gave the dog one last hug, and then he and Clive walked away, steps dragging for all of about a minute. Then Oliver snatched the ball from Clive and Clive yelled and the two of them went running up the hill, chasing each other and shouting.

  Jess suddenly wanted to cry. Tears welled up.

  Kit touched her arm. “What’s the matter?”

  Damnation, his eyes were far too sharp. “Nothing.” She searched for her handkerchief. “I must have got a bit of dust in my eye, that’s all.”

  “That must be it. I cannot imagine why you’d be sad to see those two rapscallions take off.” He laughed. “Can you imagine? They wanted to hook your dog up to a cart. That sounds like something Jack would have come up with as a boy.”

  “Yes.” Jack had always been the adventuresome brother, full of ideas and schemes. “And
he would have egged Ellie on to be the first one to ride in it.”

  “He would have.” They started walking back to the inn. “He was egging her on again at Mama’s party. I think it was his urging that finally got her to do something about Ned.” He grinned. “Ned can be a little thickheaded on occasion.”

  Kit seemed genuinely happy about Ned and Ellie. Perhaps those rumors had indeed been wrong. Or perhaps Kit and Ellie had simply parted ways. They might just have both been lonely and had found comfort in each other. She understood loneliness.

  She glanced up at Kit. Or perhaps she should simply believe Kit. But—

  She bit her lip. Had she really been using the rumors to feed her anger so she wouldn’t feel so terribly sad and lonely?

  “Jake!” They’d reached the Singing Maid, and Kit spotted the stable boy.

  “Yes, milord?” Jake came running over. “Yer horse is in the stables, and yer rooms are all ready. I took yer bags up myself.”

  “Excellent. Do you suppose you might be able to find something for our dog here to eat?”

  Jake grinned and patted Fluff’s head. “Aye, milord. I’ll see he’s fed and walked again, if ye like, and then bring him up to yer room later.”

  “That would be splendid.” Kit looked at Jess. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Lady Ashton?”

  “Yes, of course.” She should not let Kit take care of such details, but she’d admit it was nice not having to tend to everything herself.

  Kit handed the lead to Jake along with a coin. “Oh, and could you tell me if Lord Hallington and his companions are still here?”

  “No, milord. They left right after ye went off with yer dog. They were in a hurry—didn’t even go inside.”

  “Thank you.” He slipped the boy another coin and looked at Jess. “It seems we’ll be able to eat downstairs after all. I assume the inn has a private room available, Jake?”

  “Yes, milord. I’ll tell Mr. Belmont ye’ll be needing it on my way to the kitchen with yer dog.” Jake scratched Fluff’s ears. “What’s his name, milord?”

  “Fluff.”

  Jake gawped. “F-Fluff?”

  “He’s really Lady Ashton’s dog.”

  “Oh.” Jake gave Fluff a commiserating look. “That explains it then. Mr. Belmont’s daughter named her cat Snuggles.” The look of disgust on the boy’s face left no doubt as to his feelings on that matter. “I’ll show ye to yer rooms. Come on, Fluff.”

  “Perhaps we should come up with a different name for my dog,” she murmured to Kit as they followed Jake and Fluff upstairs.

  “Oh, no. I think one name change is enough for the poor animal. At least he’s familiar with Fluff and seems willing to answer to it.”

  “Here ye be,” Jake said, opening a door. “As ye asked—two rooms.” He pointed to the wall. “There’s even a connecting door.”

  With a sturdy lock, Jess hoped—and swallowed a somewhat hysterical giggle. Kit might need it to keep her from attacking him in his sleep. Though now, seeing her valise on the bed, she felt more tired and sore than amorous.

  “Do you want a moment before we go down to eat?” Kit asked as Jake and Fluff left. “I think an early night would be a good idea.”

  “Yes.” Suddenly all she wanted to do was crawl into bed, but she knew she should have dinner first.

  He opened the connecting door. “I’m right here if you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kit went into his room, and she turned to her bed, opening her valise. There was no point in unpacking as they would be leaving in the morning, but at least tonight she could sleep in her nightgown. And perhaps she’d do a little sketching when she got back from dinner. She’d like to capture the images of those two boys and Jake and Kit with Fluff. She reached into her valise....

  What was this? Oh, right. That packet of papers. It must be the advice sheets Roger had said he’d put in her bag. How ridiculous.

  She picked it up and read the first page—

  “Eek!” She dropped the packet as if burned. Perhaps it had burned her. Her eyes certainly felt as if they were burning. She—

  “What is it, Jess?”

  She whirled around. Oh, God. Kit was standing in the doorway.

  “Is something wrong?” He started walking toward her.

  “No!” She whirled back to her valise, stuffed the copies of Venus’s Love Notes inside, and slammed it shut. Then she turned to face Kit again.

  “Let’s go down to eat,” she said. “I’m famished.”

  Chapter Nine

  Embrace your beloved’s family,

  especially his mother.

  —Venus’s Love Notes

  Ash sat up on the coach box with the grizzled coachman and Fluff. It was a tight squeeze.

  “Ye can go inside with yer lady, milord,” Darby, the coachman, said for the fourth time. “I don’t mind the dog, and now that he’s out in the open, he seems fine.”

  “Thank you, but I feel better keeping an eye on him myself.” And keeping an eye on Darby. He’d swear the fellow would not see his seventieth year, but Belmont, the innkeeper, had assured him the old man would get them to Town safely. And Ash hadn’t had a choice. Darby was the only coachman for hire. Darby’s son, the Singing Maid’s main coachman, was laid up with the ague.

  “Lady Ashton would be very unhappy if something happened to her pet.” Ash smiled. “And you need to keep your full attention on your horses.” Though there was little danger those poor creatures would bolt. They were rather elderly themselves, older even than the horse he’d driven from the manor.

  No, the real reason Ash was sitting out in the chilly March air was to keep his attention off Jess, though that was proving to be well-nigh impossible. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on other matters—like Darby’s plodding driving—his thoughts kept circling back to her.

  What were those papers she’d thrust back into her valise last night—love letters from the naked footman? He’d wanted to grab them out of her hands, but he’d restrained himself.

  Just barely.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He was always in strict control of himself—except around Jess. All during supper and as he was escorting her back to her room, he’d had to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning those damn papers. If he’d had to ride the whole way to London in the carriage, he’d have severed that organ from his mouth. As it was, the first few miles had been passed in uncomfortable silence.

  Frankly, he’d been delighted when Fluff had shown signs of carriage sickness.

  He frowned at the passing scenery. What the hell did it matter if Jess was in love with the footman? The man was back at Blackweith Manor, too far away to get into her bed. And while the fellow might be in Jess’s heart, it wasn’t her heart Ash needed: it was the temporary use of another of her organs. Once she gave him two sons, she could take her heart and her . . .

  She could take herself back to her footman with Ash’s blessing.

  Well, with his grudging acquiescence.

  Whom was he kidding? He’d want to fight tooth and nail to keep her, but he wouldn’t hold her against her will.

  He shifted on the hard coach box. He simply didn’t like uncertainty and emotionally messy situations. Not that his emotions were involved. Oh no. His heart was completely whole. All would be well once this untidy detail from his past was resolved.

  A young London buck in a curricle, pulling alongside them to pass, made the mistake of glancing over. His hands dropped with his jaw—he was clearly not expecting to see an enormous dog sitting on the box—and his equipage shot forward.

  “Damn idiot,” Darby muttered as he and Ash watched the fellow fly down the road in front of them, struggling to get his horses back under control. “Good thing nobody was coming the other way.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Ash watched the curricle disappear into the distance, conscious of a faint touch of envy. Their progress could most charitably be described as lumbering.

  “At l
east the dog didn’t bark at ’im.” Darby wheezed in apparent laughter. “That would have sent the fool’s horses running all the way to the sea.”

  “Quite likely.” Fluff had greeted Darby with some enthusiastic barking, and the poor old man had turned white as a ghost. Ash had expected him to flee back into the Singing Maid, but now he was smiling at Fluff as if Fluff were his own dog.

  “Look at ’im, milord. Can ye see how much ’e likes the view from up ’ere? ’e’s a regular coachman’s dog, ’e is.”

  Fluff was indeed surveying the countryside with what looked like great satisfaction.

  “Well, he’d best not get too attached to the position. He’ll be walking once we’re settled in Town.”

  Fluff gave him a reproachful look.

  Darby laughed. “Has yer lady brought the dog to Lunnon afore, milord?”

  “No. This will be his first visit to Town.”

  The coachman frowned. “Ye know a dog that size is going to need a lot of walking.”

  “Yes, I suspect you are right.” With luck there’d be a sturdy footman at Greycliffe House who liked dogs....

  Damn it, the footman had better not like women as well—or at least not Jess. Surely any man his father had in his employ would value his position too much to dally with the heir’s wife.

  But would Jess refrain from dallying with the footman? His hand balled into a fist.

  He forced his fingers to uncurl. Zeus, he had to rein in this blasted jealousy if he hoped to have an . . . arrangement with Jess. She had, rightly, objected to his calling her a whore, and she had signed the paper he now carried in his pocket. She’d agreed again yesterday to honor it. If he watched her constantly, questioned her interactions with every male who crossed her path . . . She wasn’t stupid. She’d know he thought her a light-skirt without his saying the words, and that would put paid to their truce.

  He shifted on the box again and looked out over the passing scenery. The snow had all melted here, and the trees were beginning to bud. Spring was coming. He’d always liked spring, even with the mud and the rain. He liked the warmer weather and the longer days. It made him feel hopeful. He’d like to feel hopeful about his marriage—or at least his chances of getting an heir.