One More Kiss

CHAPTER Ten





CECILIA DID NOT give him a chance to ask about the new member of their group, but launched immediately into conversation without her usual blush of embarrassment. “There is the loveliest night-blooming jasmine on the patio.”

“Flowers are not my forte, Miss Brent. Exactly what is lovely about it? Are not all flowers lovely?”

“Yes, but what I thought was—” She paused and then started again. “What I meant was that it is unusually thriving and lush.” She turned and looked at him for the first time. “It has found the perfect spot to bloom. Do you know the scent of the jasmine?”

“Only from perfumes.”

“Let’s go outside and you can experience it. I would love a closer look.”

With a glance at the party behind them, Jess opened the door and they stepped out onto the patio. The night was still warm and the air carried the scent of the profusely blooming plant’s hundreds of small star-shaped flowers.

Miss Brent turned to him. “The fragrance of the jasmine reminds me of summer nights and secrets, mysteries even.”

“Exquisite,” Jess said. The same could be said of the woman before him. While her sister was the one who captivated him, he had to acknowledge that Cecilia Brent had the kind of beauty that made one look again. At the moment she was especially lovely, and the flowers that surrounded her paled by comparison.

She smiled. Ignoring the intimacy of the moment, indeed unaware of it, she walked over and stooped down to touch the soil of the plant.

Jess stayed within sight of the window and as far away from the young woman as courtesy would allow. This was no attempt at flirtation for Cecilia. Who would have known that she had such a profound interest in flowers? So serious was her interest that the possible impropriety of their situation had not ever occurred to her.

Though he was certain that she was not interested in anything but the plants, he still wished they were not alone, and he breathed a sigh of relief when her sister, Destry, and the stranger came through a door farther along the patio.

“I see, they are out here so Ceci can look at some plant.” There was relief in Beatrice’s voice as she made the announcement.

Jess sauntered over to them. “Your sister wished to see the night-blooming jasmine and have me experience its unique scent.”

As he finished speaking, Cecilia confirmed his statement by announcing to no one in particular, “Aha! I thought so. It’s planted in some special potting mix and fertilized, too. And the urn can be transported into the greenhouse on cool nights or for the winter. How perfect.”

“My lord, plants are her passion,” Beatrice began, but Jess would not let her continue. The code she was using could be easily translated: My sister did not lure you out here for a flirtation.

“Yes, that is quite evident, Miss Brent. I have learned a great deal in just these few minutes.”

The little Venus narrowed her eyes. Good, she found his response as opaque as he’d intended.

Recalling her manners, she stepped back and announced, “Lord Jessup, this is a friend of the family, Roger Tremaine. Roger, this is Lord Jessup Pennistan. Roger works on machine design for Papa. He came to say good-bye to us since he leaves for London in the morning.”

Each took the measure of the other before exchanging bows. Cecilia turned to Tremaine and wished him well with an absentminded affection. It was clearly Beatrice whom the man was most intent on seeing, or perhaps it was Beatrice who was intent on seeing him.

Nothing there but friendship on Tremaine’s side, Jess decided. As for Beatrice’s interest, why did he have the feeling she was using her friend as protection?

Destry rescued them from continued conversation. “So, Miss Brent,” he said, speaking to Cecilia, “why are you so fond of this particular flower?” Destry shepherded them over to the flowering shrub, which was fully as tall as he was.

“It blooms at night, which makes it unique and somewhat mysterious. It seduces one with its fragrance as surely as the moon and stars do with their distant light. It is from a tropical clime but flourishes here if it is well tended.”

It was the longest speech the beautiful Miss Brent had given before them. Jess was struck by how much more her intelligence appealed to him than her classic blond loveliness. But despite both, he still found Beatrice’s curiosity and liveliness far more appealing.

“And it was Mama’s favorite scent,” Beatrice Brent added.

“Yes,” Roger said. “You could always tell when she had been to visit Mr. Brent—that lovely scent would stay in the air for hours.”

Beatrice nodded, as her smile grew a little strained.

“Is it not a wonder how scent plays with our memory?” Jess said, doing his best to turn the conversation from dead mothers, though he did recall that his mother had favored a fragrance laced with violets. To this day he found the flower’s scent both melancholy and comforting. “I walk into a card room and the very smell of the place reminds me of the thrill of a wager and the absurd importance of a turn of the card.”

“Do you enjoy gaming, Miss Cecilia?” Destry asked, all eager interest.

“Gaming? I suppose it could be entertaining,” she began, and then hesitated. “I am, however, not quick with numbers so I would do better not to consider it.”

“There are all sorts of games that do not involve counting. I would be delighted to teach you some of the simpler ones.”

Jess could see, as Destry did, that Miss Cecilia Brent was going to say no.

“Why not include Miss Beatrice, too?” Roger suggested.

“And I will add my counsel as well,” Jess said.

Destry so clearly needed his help that Jess could not resist offering it, even though he was supposed to be avoiding the Brents.

Beatrice rescued Destry’s proposal by answering for her sister. “That’s a wonderful idea, Roger.” Then she turned to him. “And it would be great fun to learn from an expert.”

Jess was not sure if that was an insult or a compliment.

Beatrice went on without giving him a clue. “We should wait until Papa leaves as he does not approve of gaming.” She turned to her sister. “Ceci, I do think it is one of those aspects of London social life that we should understand, if not actively pursue.”

Despite the reasonable tone of her voice there was that mischievous twinkle again. It gave Jess an itch between his shoulder blades. Usually that itch meant trouble.

“Excellent,” Destry exclaimed. “How long is Mr. Brent staying?”

Beatrice glanced into the room at her father, but it was Roger who answered. “He was planning to leave this afternoon but the countess convinced him to stay for the opening dinner.” He looked at Beatrice. “It gave me an extra few hours to work.”

She nodded. “And you ate at your desk.”

As they all watched, Mr. Brent whispered something to the countess and she nodded in return. Then she took up a pose in the center of the room and the four of them reentered the salon.

“It has been a long travel day for most of you,” the countess began, “so I did not plan any entertainment for this evening beyond Finch’s wonderful performance. Mr. Brent tells me that a storm is brewing but if you would like some exercise before you retire to your bedchambers, I have had the Long Gallery lit. You are welcome to stroll through it and admire the art collection housed there.”

“Yes, let’s go to the gallery.” Beatrice made to take Tremaine’s arm. “I cannot wait to see the Rembrandts, the drawings especially.”

Tremaine took a step away from Beatrice and shook his head. “I am to leave at first light, Beatrice. So I will say good-bye now.”

“And I am much too tired, Bitsy.”

Beatrice would have argued but Nora Kendrick, who was standing next to them, said, “I will be delighted to meet you in the gallery after I hand Finch off to my maid.”

“Wonderful and thank you, Mrs. Kendrick.” Beatrice gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Darwell that I will not be late.”

“Roger,” she said, turning to him. “Good-bye, and come back for a day or two when you are finished in town, will you? I know the countess would love to have you stay awhile.”

“I’ll try, but your father wants the plans for the new threading machine as soon as possible, so I think I will be immersed in the plans for at least ten days.”

“Which should put you here just in time for the last few days of the house party and a holiday you have more than earned.”

Much like brother and sister, Jess decided as he watched the two of them bicker over his duties and her wishes. Finally Tremaine broke away, promising to return as soon as work permitted. Beatrice appeared to be pleased with that, so Jess decided the man must be the sort who was true to his word.


BEATRICE ALL BUT skipped to the Long Gallery. The countess had hurried her through it the day before but that had been like teasing a child with a toy, then withholding it.

She made her way to the room that ran the length of the house, so long that she could not see the other end. Of course the clerestory windows that gave extra light during the day were dark now and the chandeliers could only provide so much light.

One of the Rembrandt drawings was in a well-lit spot and she pulled her ugly spectacles from her reticule to set about examining it, delighted to be within breathing distance of a work by the great master. The small landscape featured cottages, meadows and, if you looked carefully, a distant windmill. The brown wash over the paper was as much a part of the drawing as the lines and shadows.

At the sounds of footsteps she wheeled around to see Lord Jess and the marquis approaching.

“Have you come to see the Rembrandt drawing, too?”


DESTRY HAD INSISTED this was a shortcut to the card room. Now it wasn’t. There was no way they could graciously ignore Venus’s longing to share her favorite subject with someone, anyone, even two philistines who would rather be playing cards.

“You are a student of art?” Destry asked.

“Yes,” Jess answered for her, “and particularly of Rembrandt.” He could tell by her expression that she was not sure if his comment was a tease or a compliment. He just smiled.

“I enjoy his work, my lord, though I am hardly an expert.”

“Excellent,” Destry said with unfeigned enthusiasm. “We have two of his paintings at our house in the north. Perhaps you and your sister could visit sometime and see them.”

“Thank you, my lord. That would be wonderful.”

Jess had no idea if there were any Rembrandt drawings at Pennford. One of his paintings, yes, but he had never paid that much attention to the art collection. What did it say about his life that the last drawings he had studied had been in his mistress’s bedchamber? They were drawings of her in poses that were designed to arouse his body more than his artistic appreciation.

Being with someone as young and eager as Miss Brent made him feel jaded beyond redemption.

“I will grant you, Miss Brent,” Lord Jess said, this time minding his manners, “Rembrandt is a wonderful artist. He draws quite beautifully. But what makes him great? Indeed, a ‘great master’?”

“Are you truly interested, my lord? Or are you teasing me?”

“You had best grow used to it, Miss Brent,” Lord Destry said, rising up and down on the balls of his feet. “Most of the time it is impossible to tell. I am not sure he even knows.”

Jess waved away the caveat with a half laugh. “I am truly interested, and wish to hear your explanation.” He expected it would include words more educated than “pretty” and “romantic.”

“I will take you at your word, my lord, and give you an art lesson whether you truly want one or not.” She pointed to the lower left corner of the small drawing. “Tell me what you see there.”

Jess peered closely, looking for a trick, and then shrugged. “I see a walking path defined by plants growing on either side.”

“Yes, that is what it looks like but in fact it is just a series of vertical lines and a darkened swipe of brown wash. Not a trail or plants at all.”

Lord Jess looked again and nodded slowly, impressed when he had been prepared to be sarcastic.

“An economy of style is an important part of Rembrandt’s genius in drawing,” she said, not trying to contain her excitement. “He draws a series of lines, a very few lines, and we see crops ripening in the field.”

Lord Jess stepped back.

“And do you see those four diagonal lines and the small rectangle in the distance?”

“A series of carefully spaced lines that is the veriest hint of a windmill,” Lord Jess said, hoping that she found his awe gratifying.

“Amazing, Miss Brent. Will your lecture be on Rembrandt?” the marquis asked.

“Yes, hopefully not a prosy, boring lecture. I am trying to find a way to make it interesting.”

“Your own enthusiasm will be contagious, I’m sure.” Jess meant that as sincerely as he ever meant anything but he hoped that neither she nor Destry realized it.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Brent.” Mrs. Kendrick arrived breathless. “Finch would not cooperate at all.”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Kendrick. I could study Rembrandt’s drawing for hours without boredom. And I had Lord Jess and the marquis for company.” Beatrice’s smile beamed with pleasure and a healthy dose of invitation. The woman was either a natural teacher or had the makings of an outrageous flirt.

Jess and Destry bade good evening to the two ladies and headed back to the game room.

“She certainly is enthusiastic about art,” Jess said as he turned to watch the two ladies progress down the hall. They chatted together, stopping periodically when Beatrice called Mrs. Kendrick’s attention to another work of art.

“Jess, I know that expression. Do not tell me that you are going to seduce her.”

“Never. Nothing has changed.”

“She is not in your usual style.”

“What is my usual style?” It was a warning and he saw that Destry recognized it.

“No insult intended, Jess, but you have always preferred more sophisticated ladies.” Destry stopped short, thunderstruck. “Are you planning a courtship?”

“God, no. Are you mad? Neither one of us planned that meeting. You suggested the route to the game room. We talked to her for less than ten minutes and now you have me walking down the aisle. There is a world of intent between being impressed with her knowledge and a flirtation, much less a courtship.”

“I like her sister,” Destry said, which would have been a non sequitur if Jess was not used to the way Destry’s mind jumped around. “I suppose it cannot hurt if you and Beatrice are on amiable terms, in case the four of us should like to have a picnic together or some such outing.”

“An outing? That would be carrying friendship too far.”

So Destry was planning a courtship. Jess glanced at him again to gauge his sincerity and found his friend watching him as though waiting for a verdict.

No, the new marquis wasn’t joking.

“Stop thinking that I have already failed,” Destry admonished and then clapped Jess on the back. “Now let’s find Belmont and set up play for the evening.”

All they could interest anyone in was billiards. Mr. Brent and Belmont agreed, both insisting on modest stakes, for what Jess suspected to be completely different reasons. Brent only played to be sociable. Hadn’t his daughter said he disliked gambling? And Belmont could barely afford even modest stakes.

Abel Brent played with an intensity and focus that explained his success in business, though it did not carry over to the billiards table. He lost completely, not helped at all by Destry’s brilliant play.

Jess thought, more than once, that the marquis’s short stature was the key to his success, though he was not stupid enough to share the thought with anyone else.

As they collected the balls to ready them for the next round, Brent came over to where Jess was standing at the drinks table.

“The countess tells me that you invited yourself to this gathering.”

That was blunt, if true. Brent spoke softly but there was an edge of steel in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Jess said, feeling as though he’d been called before a tribunal of one. He could hear Destry and Belmont laughing over something and wished he were with them.

“If you are hoping to ensnare one of my daughters, I will tell you right now that I will have none of it. They are well-brought-up young ladies and know nothing of wastrels like you.”

Jess pursed his lips. He straightened but did not bow to this man, who was, after all, his social inferior. “The countess knows why I am here and she also knows that I would do nothing to annoy her, which includes dangling after any young woman not yet out.”

Brent gave him a curt nod and, without another word, shoved his cue into the rack and left the room.

“Poor loser, eh?” Destry asked as he rose up and down on the balls of his feet.

“I think he has another appointment,” Belmont said, saluting the two with his glass.

“An appointment?” Destry asked, then smiled. “Ah, with a lady.” He thought a moment more. “With the countess.”

Even though Belmont did not confirm it, he did not deny it, either. Jess became even more certain that Brent and the countess must be having an affair.

It was bad enough to have a corner on Brent’s ill will, but now he was sure that the countess would be watching his every move. Not that it mattered, Jess reminded himself. He was here to win the land from Crenshaw. No other reason.

As for distracting Beatrice Brent from Crenshaw, he would have to tread carefully there. It might be a mistake to flirt with a woman who was too young to understand the game.