One More Kiss

CHAPTER Fourteen





TONIGHT BEATRICE WAS again seated next to Lord Jess. Was that an answer to her unspoken wish to know him better? Lord Crenshaw was on her other side for the first time since they had all dined together.

Dinner was served in the French style and they began to help themselves from the platters arrayed around the table. Beatrice was relieved that the salmon was not near and considered the haricots verts enough of a penance. Did they never go out of season?

“Have you heard of this novel, my lord?” Beatrice asked Lord Crenshaw, earning a smile of approval from the countess.

“Yes, and I do not think Frankenstein an appropriate book for a young woman to read.”

His comment made Beatrice all the more glad that she had not admitted to any familiarity with it. “You have read it then?”

“No,” he said. He ate some trout and went on. “A woman’s sensibilities are too delicate to deal with monsters of any kind.”

“Yes, I can see that you would like to protect those you care about from all the horrors of the world.”

“Indeed, I would protect anyone I cared for and I have.”

Beatrice heard something in his voice she could not quite identify, but went on anyway.

“How noble of you, my lord, but surely you know that is impossible. Childbirth is a monster all its own and one women have been forced to face alone since Adam and Eve.”

“That is not a subject to be discussed at dinner, or ever between a man and a woman who are not married.” Lord Crenshaw’s tone would have made ice shiver. Beatrice flinched.

Now she recognized the edge in his voice. Anger. He was incensed about something. Was it what she had said? She looked up, desperately wishing for someone to rescue her from her mistake.

Lord Jess was watching them with an intensity that was as unsettling as Lord Crenshaw’s anger.

“How many think it is possible for monsters to exist?” Lord Jess’s raised voice drew everyone’s attention.

Relief overwhelmed Beatrice’s anxiety, and she felt even more charitable toward Lord Jess. She smiled at him, meaning only gratitude, but she could read Cecilia’s expression. Stop grinning at him like a lovesick milkmaid.

Milkmaid. Surely not. But she tamed her smile. Her relief was short-lived.

“The idea of monsters is nonsense,” Lord Crenshaw responded, with unnecessary vehemence. The two men stared at each other as though they would prefer to be dueling with swords and not just words. And Beatrice was in the middle.

“Not necessarily.” Belmont’s calm voice added a much-needed dose of reason. “Let’s start with ghosts. How many here accept them as possible?”

The countess spoke up promptly.

“I went through the attics here when the earl and I were first married,” the countess began, “and in one of the larger closets I walked in on a man reading near a window. He looked most annoyed with me and I hurried out of the room apologizing profusely. As I walked back down the passage I realized that I could see through him. Yes, I believe in ghosts.”

Beatrice could tell that Mrs. Wilson was not convinced, but was polite enough not to cast aspersions on her hostess’s story.

“I have heard compelling stories of monsters deep in the coal mines in Wales, and even one in a loch in Scotland.” The earl sipped his wine and smiled, waiting for the other guests to react.

“Told by illiterate men who drink too much blue ruin.” Crenshaw waved his hand as though to dismiss the conversation and added, “There are more worthwhile subjects to discuss.”

“This is a party, my lord,” the countess chided with a charming smile. “We can leave those ‘worthwhile subjects’ to you gentlemen over your brandy.”

“I saw something odd once,” Miss Wilson began, rather tentatively. “At my grandfather’s house, a week or so after he died.”

“A ghost?” Beatrice encouraged.

“No, it was something in the night sky. It resembled a star but was the size of a cricket ball. It moved with amazing speed.”

“It was a falling star.” Crenshaw spoke as though he had been there.

“No, my lord, it was not.” Her voice was filled with such urgency that the man started in surprise. “It moved in an uneven pattern, up and down and east to west, then west to east. It grew larger as it came closer to the field in which I stood. Finally, it chose a spot and settled to the ground.”

She had the complete attention of everyone at the table. Beatrice half smiled at the footmen standing at service. They had lost their usual air of indifference. Indeed they were more wide-eyed than the dinner guests.

“What happened next?” Destry prompted.

“I don’t know. I ran away.” She covered her mouth for a moment. “You see, I did not want to know.”

“Every time you tell that story it grows more strange.” Mrs. Wilson was trying to look amused but was not very successful, her eyes darting from one guest to the next to see what they thought.

“But I have only told this story once before, Mama, and that was to you and Papa,” Miss Wilson whispered, her discomfort growing.

“I think it was no more than a very vivid dream.” Mrs. Wilson ignored her daughter’s comment and spoke to the others.

“Undoubtedly a dream, and women have such vivid imaginations.” Lord Crenshaw made it sound like imagination was a terrible weakness. Beatrice was seeing a new side to him this evening—one that had little appeal for her.

“If it was a dream, Miss Wilson, then you have the beginnings of a fine novel yourself.” Lord Belmont looked thoughtful. “But there have been other such reports in different parts of the country and even the world.”

Conversation exploded among the group, as the company considered Belmont’s words.

“What do you think of that, Miss Brent?” Lord Jess asked, leaning close, which she appreciated, for she did not wish Lord Crenshaw to hear her answer.

She could see the brown streaks in his blond hair, his surprisingly long eyelashes and blue eyes that were almost always lit with a smile. What was his question? She could not quite recall.

“I’m fascinated,” she said finally, hoping it was an adequate answer.

“Do you think Miss Wilson’s night visitor could have been from another world?” He did not move closer but his serviette slipped and his effort to grab it brought his face next to hers.

“Are you implying that there are worlds we have yet to discover here on earth?” She moved a little away from him, trying to decide if he was flirting, then reminded herself that she and Roger had proved that a man and woman could carry on an intelligent conversation without it being called a flirtation. “Or do you just wish to prove that women are subject to absurd conjecture?”

“Never. That is Crenshaw’s area of expertise.” He spoke without looking up, settling his serviette on his lap and taking up his fork.

Yes, she thought. There was a difference between his testing, or was it teasing, behavior and Lord Crenshaw’s imperious statements.

Beatrice nibbled on some chicken, while she watched Lord Jess handle his fork. His fingers were long and elegant, with short and brutally clean nails. It was only in contrast to the white of his shirt cuffs that she noticed how bronzed his skin was, as though he spent more time than most in the saddle or not wearing gloves.

“Miss Brent,” he began again, “I think we have discovered all intelligent life on this planet. But what about the other planets in our solar system? Or in our universe? My brother David is a man of science and the thought of life from beyond our world fascinates him.”

“I have never heard that idea before.” She still wondered if he was teasing her. “Dealing with this world is enough of a challenge. Look at the damage Napoleon caused, and even at peace there is enough dissent here in England to demand all our attention. No, we do not need visitors from beyond our world.”

“Perhaps Miss Wilson’s visitors feel the same way, for they have not made themselves known in a general way, have they?”

“Do you think Miss Wilson truly saw something from another planet?”

“No, I do not. I think it was some comet or meteor. I think she was upset by the death of her grandfather. There are any number of explanations much more sensible than a visitor from the stars.”

Beatrice could not have said why she felt relieved by Lord Jess’s certainty but she did. Or maybe it was only because she recognized his kindness in not making his thoughts known the way Lord Crenshaw had.

“Shall we take a walk one night, when the moon is new?” he suggested. “We can search the sky for another such visitor. It would go some way toward convincing Miss Wilson that we believe her.”

That would be fun, she thought, but kept it to herself since it would be terribly inappropriate.

“We would invite the others, naturally.”

Lord Jess sounded as though he felt his reputation would be threatened if he was alone with her.

“Any guests that you think might be sympathetic.”

She gave him a searching look and found only polite suggestion in his expression.

“Which would mean neither Lord Crenshaw nor Mrs. Wilson.”

“Exactly, I see we are like-minded in that.”

She looked away from him and he laughed.

“Now why should the suggestion that we think alike make your color rise?”

“Because I cannot think of anything further from the truth. Not that I mean that as an insult. But our experience of life could not be more different.” And I am curious about you. Too curious for my own good.

“Don’t you think that the countess intended for this party to give you some familiarity with people whose lives have been very different from your own? Mrs. Kendrick, Lord Belmont.”

“Practice. I told Cecilia this is practice.”

“Life in a city like London will be filled with new adventures every day.”

She could not restrain a smile. “It will be so much fun.”

He smiled into her eyes. “I wish I could see it through your eyes. It’s been too many years since any of it was new to me.”

Lord Jess served himself from a platter on his right, and Beatrice found herself relieved that he had looked away. For a minute she had thought she could read his mind. He seemed to feel regretful, to wish that life could be different.

“You will have to make a decision quickly on a gentleman’s suitability. Your advisers will not always be readily available.”

Now he sounded like a tutor. It was patronizing and she would have none of that. “And I suppose you are the type I should avoid, my lord?”

“Only in London, Miss Brent. Here I am as safe as your maiden aunt or the countess would not have invited me.”

“Then, yes, my lord. I should love to scan the night sky for unusual stars. It would be fun.” Her enthusiasm was tempered to a ladylike timbre, but she really did want to do it. And she did not want company when they did. Just the two of them, the night sky, and a million stars.

“I do not think your sister would be inclined to go,” Lord Jess said in a considering tone, “but I am sure Lord Destry would, and Mrs. Kendrick and Lord Belmont.”

“Mrs. Kendrick and Lord Belmont would be perfect company.”

Lord Jess speared a bite of duck with his fork. “It will have to be late in the evening when it will not interfere with any plans the countess might have.”

“But that’s ideal as well. I noticed last night that there is a new moon and it will have set by then.” Beatrice thought the plan perfect, but then realized that one element was not in their control. “The weather must cooperate and that is always a challenge.”

“You think visitors from beyond earth are discouraged by a little summer rain? We can search from the protection of the summer house if the night is wet. Or are you afraid that it might be boring?”

The smile that tilted his lips was a silent dare. She decided he was teasing. And she was not up to his weight in that arena. It was best to change the subject. “Why do we even need to consider visitors from another existence when our own writers can conjure up the fantastical for us? Have you read Frankenstein?”

“Never heard of it,” he admitted blithely. “Is that terribly crass of me?”

“Not at all, my lord.” He was still teasing her. She was sure of it. His tone made it sound like being crass was something he would love to be accused of. “There were only five hundred copies printed. In three volumes.”

“You are a bibliophile and a student of art?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, making her eyes go wide. Then she leaned closer to him. “Now you will be convinced I am a bluestocking?”

She did not wait for an answer but straightened in her chair and went on. “My sister and I have read the first volume, but when I tried to order the other two they were no longer available. Even the subscription library was unable to buy a copy.”

“What a disappointment.” His tone implied it was anything but.

“Be serious, my lord,” she scolded. “How would you feel if you were in the midst of a compelling game of cards and you were made to stop before you knew who would win?”

“It would be frustrating, to say the least. Especially if there was a wager involved. I do see your point.”

How could he be so absolutely intriguing when they had nothing in common? Or was that why he fascinated her? But then what was she to him? Just another flirt. Not his usual style but all that was available to him now. That hurt a little, since it was probably the truth. She began to turn away.

Once again, Lord Jess leaned toward her, whispering, “I should like to learn more about Rembrandt.”

She turned back to him, their faces close, much too close. “I’m sure there are some excellent books in the library on that very subject.”

“Well done. You are mastering the set-down.”

Without giving him a chance for further comment, she turned to Lord Crenshaw, suggesting he sample some of the chicken in cream sauce that was at her right hand, determined to ignore Lord Jess for the rest of the meal.

At the end of the service the countess announced that the ladies would withdraw,” and when the gentlemen join us we will hear highlighted portions of Frankenstein with musical accompaniment by Miss Wilson, who is sharing her talent with us this evening.”

Lord Jess moved Beatrice’s chair back for her, and when she thanked him with barely a glance he laughed and whispered, “It is the least of the ways I would like to serve you.”

The way he said “serve” gave the word a whole different meaning. One that involved kissing. Beatrice faced him. Now that she had determined why he was interested in her, she no longer wanted to play. “I’ve had quite enough practice at flirtation for one evening, my lord.”

“You wound me,” he said, clearly amused and not at all annoyed. He raised her hand and kissed it. “I will have to keep practicing.”

She pulled her hand from his, wiped the back of it on her skirt—though there was nothing to remove other than the feel of his lips—and gave up besting him at his own game. She could feel her face growing red and blotchy and hated him for it.


THE GENTLEMEN MOVED about the dining room, Belmont apparently still searching for the hiding place of the unexpected dinner guest. Crenshaw went behind the screen. Before the footmen brought in the brandy, Destry cornered Jess.

“Tell me what you were about with Miss Brent. Her sister could not concentrate on her food, or worse, give me her undivided attention, she was so distracted by the intimate conversation you two were having.”

“Intimate conversation?” Jess repeated. “We were whispering so that damn Crenshaw would not give us his unwanted opinion on everything we said. We were discussing Miss Wilson’s story.”

“You’re trying to tell me you were not flirting with her?”

“Is it possible for a man and woman to have a conversation without flirting?” Especially with someone as engaging as Beatrice Brent, he added to himself. “A smile and a look, yes, but we were not discussing how to have an affair in the midst of such a close party.”

“As long as she knows the difference between a flirtation and a courtship.” His voice trailed off. “Jess, were you serious about dangling after her because Crenshaw is interested?”

“No, of course not,” Jess lied. The truth was she did need to be distracted from even the idea of so disastrous an alliance.

“Well, there is a difference between flirting and forming an attachment,” Destry reminded him, apparently unconvinced.

“And the countess trusts that I know the difference.”

“Then you had better hope that Miss Brent does as well.”

Jess thought back to the little Venus’s parting shot. “I have no doubt that she does.”

A footman came in with a large tray loaded with decanters and glasses. Lord Crenshaw came from behind the screen still buttoning his fall, and Belmont joined them.

“I found the space where the speaker hid,” Belmont announced, “but there are no clues about his identity except for a cone made of stiff paper that would have served to amplify his voice.” The others joined him in speculation.


DESTRY APPRECIATED THE neutral subject. Crenshaw and Jess were in too small a company to avoid each other for long. He had a feeling they would be joining the ladies quickly, which suited him. Jess might not have seduction on his mind, but he did.