After having looked at the feathered bonnet for several irresolute minutes, Jessica finally placed it on her head and fastened the ribbons beneath her chin. What if he did think it too grand? What if she must observe him make mental calculations of how much it had cost his grandmother? What if he thought it inappropriate for an afternoon at the amphitheater? She did not owe any explanation whatsoever to the Earl of Rutherford. She did not care what he thought. Indeed, she hoped that he would disapprove.
Jessica had had a dreadful suspicion since the previous afternoon that the dowager duchess was trying to promote a match between her and Lord Rutherford. The realization had taken her completely by surprise. She would not have thought that she would be deemed worthy of the old lady's grandson, despite the fact that her grandfather was a marquess. After all, her father had been a clergyman, and she had been brought up in a country parsonage. And she had been employed for the last two years as a governess.
But incredible as it seemed, the dowager was deliberately throwing the two of them together. Jessica could not believe that Lord Rutherford had voluntarily come back into the drawing room the afternoon before. It would have been quite easy for him to send for Lady Hope without coming to fetch her. And how could his grandmother have known about his luncheon appointment-that obviously mythical engagement-when he had not even mentioned the name of his host? She had wanted him to accompany Jessica to Astley's.
Should she talk to her hostess about the matter? Jessica asked herself for surely the twentieth time in as many hours. Should she explain to her that she did not wish any but the most unavoidable contact with Lord Rutherford? But how could she? She was living on the charity of the duchess. How could she so insult her?
Jessica picked up her reticule and opened it once more to check its contents. And would it be the plain truth anyway? Did she truly wish never to see him again? It was certainly true that she felt great discomfort at the idea of meeting him, and great embarrassment too. She could not behave naturally in his presence. Every faculty was aware of him so that she always found that she could not look at him and yet could not
And always, always there was awareness of the intimacies she had shared with him on two occasions. The greatest liberty of which he should be able to boast was a kiss on her gloved hand. But he had kissed her with shocking familiarity, had touched and explored every part of her with his hands, had lain in a bed with her. And she had allowed a certain repetition of those intimacies only two evenings before. Indeed, she had participated with an eagerness that made her cheeks feel uncomfortably hot as she stood inside the door of her room trying to persuade herself that she must go downstairs. She had wanted him quite desperately for a few mad minutes there at Lord Chalmers' ball.
So she could tell herself that she did not ever wish to see him again, that she disliked and despised him. But she would probably never convince herself. She had ordered him never to touch her again and was in despair lest he take her at her word. She dreaded seeing him again in perhaps just a few minutes' time. Yet she had a terror that he would after all have found an excuse not to come. She was horrified at the notion that his grandmother was trying to promote a match between them. Yet her insides performed churning leaps of excitement at the very thought of being Lord Rutherford's bride, his life's companion, his lover.
She would concentrate her attentions all on Sir Godfrey Hall, Jessica decided, opening her door resolutely and striding to the staircase. She would talk to him. She would ask him about Russia and Greece and Constantinople. She would sit by him and look only at him. She would ignore the Earl of Rutherford. She would forget he was even there.
Liar! an unbidden part of her brain commented.
She was choosing to ignore him, Rutherford thought. Apart from a stiff nod of the head and a look that alighted on about the third cape down on his greatcoat, she had cast neither a glance nor a word in his direction. It was really quite a feat of concentration, he decided, since she was sitting directly opposite him in a small carriage, their knees almost touching.
She really was incredibly lovely. Her beauty had been evident even when she was wearing the Barrie disguise and even for that matter when she wore nothing but that shapeless linen nightgown. Dressed fashionably as she had been on the three occasions he had seen her in
London, she was quite breathtaking. He would not have expected a plum-colored outfit to look becoming on a young woman, but on Jess it was perfect. That absurd pink feather curling around from the brim to her chin helped, of course.
She was talking with some animation to Godfrey and Hope. He was scarcely aware of the topic since she had chosen not to involve him in her conversation. She had clearly set out to entrance Godfrey and was just as clearly succeeding. Godfrey usually remained amiable but aloof with ladies, preferring to take his private pleasures with the mistress he had had under his protection for all of two years now. It would be ironic indeed if he should marry Jess when he had never even considered marriage with the other female. If there seemed any great chance of such an outcome, he must warn his friend.
Marriage to Godfrey would be a great coup for her, though, Rutherford thought, his eyes resting broodingly on her profile with its straight little nose, flushed cheek, and arched eyebrow. Fewer than two weeks ago she had been hoping desperately that it would still be possible to gain employment somewhere as a governess. Marriage would have been a possibility only in her wildest dreams. Now she was living in one of the grand houses of Berkeley Square, wearing expensive and fashionable clothes, socializing at this very moment with an earl, the daughter of a duke, and a baronet. And having every chance, it seemed, of making their world her own. If she could but snare herself a distinguished husband, the matter would be a
And it was his grandmother's wish that he become the bridegroom who would so elevate her. Her wits must really have gone begging. And she would be a nuisance. She would be constantly throwing them together here in London, and there was no knowing what she might try when they were all together in the cozy atmosphere of Hendon Park.
He knew what he would want to do with Jess, or to her, at Hendon Park, Rutherford thought with a flash of the anger that had consumed him for all of the previous evening. And it had nothing to do with marriage or with acting the courteous host, either. Marry her! Make her the Countess of Rutherford, the future Duchess of Middleburgh. Fill her with his children!
Rutherford's jaw tightened. He wanted her. God, he wanted her.
She was looking into his eyes suddenly, appearing rather as if she were thoroughly trapped, as if she had caught herself by surprise. Her eyes widened, drawing him into their dark blue depths.
'Do you not think so, my lord?' she asked somewhat lamely.
'I beg your pardon,' he said abruptly. 'I confess I must have been daydreaming. I do not know to what you refer.'
Sir Godfrey laughed. 'Miss Moore agrees with me that I should consider making the usual Grand Tour now that the Continent is safe for travel again,' he said. 'Italy in particular should not be missed.'
'To my certain knowledge, Godfrey,' Rutherford said dryly, 'you have been considering just such a journey since long before Boney was safely shut away on St. Helena. All you need is for someone to assure you that such an undertaking would not be self-indulgent. It sounds as if you have all the champions you need in Hope and Miss Moore.'
'I have always felt it a dreadful injustice that ladies are not encouraged to the same extent as gentlemen to travel,' said Lady Hope. 'I for one would like nothing better than to see Rome and Florence. Oh, and Naples. We ladies seem to travel beyond our own shores only when we have husbands to take us. Is that not right, Miss Moore?'
'It is because most ladies are such delicate creatures and would suffer from the hardships of the journey,' Rutherford said. 'You hear only about the beauty of the Sistine Chapel in Rome and the pleasure of the gondolas in Venice and the wonder of the leaning tower in Pisa, Hope, and nothing about the discomfort of the lodgings in France and the vile smell of the canals in Italy and the endless vermin everywhere.'
'I think that is a myth put about by gentlemen in order to persuade us to resign ourselves to our lot,' Jessica said. 'I am sure that Lady Hope and I could endure the odors and the itching with as much philosophy as you, my lord, if we only had the works of Michelangelo to gaze upon while we scratched.'
Her eyes, looking directly into his own, danced with merriment for one unguarded moment, Rutherford
