One More Kiss

CHAPTER Eighteen





“MY LORD, THE fishing expedition must have been very successful. The servants were quite weighed down with the catch.”

Beatrice Brent spoke to Destry as she came across the lawn from the summerhouse, a book in her hand. That mischievous smile always made him smile back. Beatrice at her most engaging was a delight. Why could he not be fascinated by her instead of her sister?

William dropped the ball he had been playing with and clapped his hands together. “It was an excellent outing all in all, capped by Jess falling into the river. The fish appreciated the entertainment as much as we did.”

“Really? He fell in the river?” Beatrice smiled, though he could see worry in her eyes. As if a man could catch a chill on a day this warm.

The marquis picked up the ball again and began tossing it into the air and catching it. Then he added a second.

“I see that you juggle,” Beatrice said.

“Yes, I do.” He did not care how classless she thought the talent. “It’s what I am going to demonstrate this evening.”

He picked up a third ball and added it to the other two. He managed an impressive string of tosses before he missed one, but made up for it by catching all three and pretending that the display was complete. “I always do better with an audience.”

“Do you use an assistant when you perform?”

“I’ve never performed before, but that’s not a bad idea. If she was pretty enough she would distract the audience from my lack of perfection.” He cocked his head, considering, and then had a brilliant idea. “Do you think your sister would be willing to help me?” It would be one way of getting Cecilia to talk to him. She had been as elusive as a butterfly these last few days.

Beatrice smiled in approval. Had that been what she was aiming for all along?

“I will go ask her now,” she said.

“Excellent.” It could only help to have Cecilia’s sister in his corner. “If I can have her attention for a few minutes before I perform, that would be adequate.”


BEATRICE DID HER best not to run from the lawn and upstairs to find Cecilia. She burst into their bedroom and immediately spotted Cecilia reading in a chair near the window.

“Put that book down, Ceci, and talk to me.” Beatrice waited while her sister complied. She had probably not been reading anyway. Pretending to read was just one more way Ceci had of avoiding conversation when she wanted to think through a problem. She should have been dressing for dinner. Now that was odd. Where was Darwell?

“The marquis was telling me today how nervous he is about demonstrating his skill this evening.” That was a total and complete lie, but if this worked Ceci would never know.

“What is he going to do?” Her sister’s eyes lit with interest.

“He is going to juggle.” She did her best to make it sound like a skill to be admired.

“You mean like a performer at a fair?”

“Yes, doesn’t it sound like fun?”

“Hmmm” was Ceci’s ambiguous response.

“Oh, do not be a snob and say that it sounds common.”

“No, never, but juggling is hardly an intellectual endeavor. I do wonder if the marquis was speaking the truth when he said that he had never read before he suggested we read Frankenstein.”

“His given name is William. Olivia told me.”

“His name is William? Very heroic sounding, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.” That’s better. “He said that he could use an assistant this evening and, Ceci, he asked me if I could talk you into helping him.”

“He did?” Her amazement was obvious.

“Yes, he said that having you in front of everyone with him would help distract the others from any mistakes he might make.”

“Any woman could do that.”

“But he asked for you, sister! Not me. Or Katherine. Or Mrs. Kendrick.” She could have gone on but felt her point was made. “And you thought he was avoiding you. He clearly is not.”

“But I cannot assist. I have excused myself from dinner tonight.” Cecilia began to twist her hands together. “I don’t feel well.”

“Nonsense, Ceci. You are never sick a day. You’re just making an excuse to avoid Lord Destry.” Beatrice looked around the room. “Where is Darwell?”

“Callan, Lord Jess’s valet, came to the door and asked for her assistance with something. She promised to be back in time to help you dress.”

“Then we had best start right away since you are going to dinner and you are assisting Lord Destry.”

Beatrice went into the dressing room and opened the clothes press. She hoped Cecilia would follow. Beatrice had no idea what would be the best sort of dress to wear for such a performance.

Cecilia did join her, but she closed the lid on the dresses. “I cannot do it, Bitsy. I hate being the center of attention. You know that.”

“They will all be watching him juggle.”

“Then why does he need me?”

Ceci did have a point. “I told you, to hand him his various props and look approving.” Hoping, praying that what she was about to say would not ruin everything, Beatrice took the risk. “Consider this, Ceci. He is asking for your help. To refuse would be so unkind, would tell him once and for all that you think he is not worthy of your attention.” Beatrice lifted the lid of the press again.

“But that’s not true at all,” her sister said with some urgency. She eyed the dresses. “I’ll be terrified the entire time. But you do have a point. I would never want him to think I find him lacking.”

With a resigned sigh, Ceci lifted a dress out. “I think this pale pink. It will not call attention to me the way a bolder color would, and it is a fabric that does not wrinkle much so we can manage without Darwell having to iron it.”

Beatrice’s dress was already hanging. A blue that was more marine than true blue, it was one of her favorites of the new gowns.

Before they could do more than don clean shifts and tie each other’s stays, Darwell was back. She looked as composed as usual, so Beatrice had to rethink the idea that she and Callan were having their own love affair.

She had love on the brain. Not everyone here was falling in love. She was the perfect example of that and so was Mrs. Wilson, though one presumed she was in love with her husband.

Darwell accepted that Cecilia had changed her mind, but did comment to Beatrice as she did her hair. “I knew it was all a hum, but did not even try to convince her. You seem to be the only one who can do that, miss.”

Cecilia wanted to wear her hair as simply as possible and, though she did raise her eyebrows at the idea, Darwell did not argue. She just gave Beatrice an arch look, hoping she would work her magic again.

Beatrice shook her head and did not try to discourage her sister. Cecilia thought that the simple style would dim her beauty, which made Beatrice want to laugh out loud. If anything, it made her look even more alluring.

“I hope you know what you are doing, miss,” Darwell said to her as they left the room.

Beatrice nodded, trying to look confident but not at all sure she was succeeding.


JESS WATCHED THE performance with more fascination than amusement. The performer he was watching was not Destry, who was doing a creditable job juggling everything from oranges to plates, and even some candleholders that must have been difficult to balance, much less catch.

No, it was Beatrice who had most of his attention. She was as nervous as a mother hen with a new chick out from under her wing. That was an understatement, Jess decided. She was acting as if her entire fate rested on the turn of a single card. She would be the world’s worst card player if she could not control her expressions better.

Cecilia, chick to Beatrice’s mother hen, was managing quite well as Des’s assistant. She concentrated all her attention on the performance, as though Des were dependent on her for good luck.

Cecilia seemed awed by the juggling, but Jess suspected that the audience was as bemused by the vision in pink as they were by the man’s dexterity.

Occasionally Cecilia would glance at her sister. Beatrice’s worry must have communicated itself because those glances did nothing to bolster her confidence. Someone needed to distract Beatrice if only to save the performance. Nominating himself, ignoring the fact that it was just an excuse to be closer to her, Jess left his spot by the door and joined her where she stood at the back of the group.

“Dinner was a unique experience, was it not?”

“Yes,” Beatrice answered absently, as she gave a bright nod to Cecilia.

“To eat the very fish one has caught has a very basic feel to it.”

“Yes,” Beatrice said again, applauding lightly at a particularly deft catch by Des.

“It made me feel very primitive.” He closed the space between them even more.

“Indeed,” Beatrice said, ignoring his nearness, but he could feel her heat and she did not move away.

“It made me long to throw you over my shoulder, take you to my cave, and ravish you with kisses until you begged for mercy.”

That did draw her attention. She still did not look away from Cecilia but straightened her shoulders. “Begged? I would never beg, my lord. Though I must admit I am curious as to how it feels to be ravished with kisses.” She glanced at him. “Now stop trying to shock me and leave me alone until Lord Destry and Cecilia have finished.”

Despite the set-down, he had to laugh. Her reaction made him want to kiss her all the more. Not wise. Not wise at all. But then wisdom was not a trait particular to any of the Pennistans. They left that to Olivia’s husband, Michael Garrett, who had enough for five men.

“She is not the only one who must have confidence in her. You need to as well. Now is a good time to start.”

She stared straight ahead and he could feel her brain working. “You are right,” she said, as if a man with insight were the oddest thing in the world. “How did you know that?”

“I’ve spent my life watching people.” Usually at the gaming table but it paid off in other areas as well.

She followed his advice and gave him her full attention. “I’m curious, my lord, where does one go to be ravished with kisses?”

He could tell her, but it would be even more fun to show her.

A hearty round of applause startled her. The other guests moved to the front of the room, giving him an irresistible opportunity.

His rational mind made one loud protest but his impulse won out and he grabbed Beatrice’s hand, pulling her into the corridor, which was empty of guests and servants.

He could see surprise but not shock in her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. He could feel her smile, taste her sweetness, the gift of youth and innocence she presented to him without guile. Pulling her closer still, he found he wanted to protect and ravish her both at the same time.

Pleasure spiraled between them, ensnaring him with longing if not pure lust, and what began as a teasing kiss became something he could not control. He showed her what a kiss could be, how it promised and teased and tempted.

When he could finally command himself to draw back he was prepared for outrage, but she surprised him. She did look stunned, which was gratifying in a purely masculine way, but raising her hand to her lips, she smiled. A secret smile this time.

“How can it be everything and not enough, both at once?”

Like the urge to protect and ravish, he thought.

She seemed to think better of waiting for an answer and dashed away from him, back into the salon to join the others.


“IT WAS THE most exciting experience of my entire life.”

“Bitsy, you actually let him kiss you?” Cecilia was not at all sure she had heard correctly. Beatrice was given to impulse, but not wildness.

“He was irresistible.” The accompanying shrug was the most nominal apology.

“You barely know him.”

“It’s not about the length of an acquaintance. There is some kind of magnetism between us. The truth is, Cecilia, kissing him is the least of what I would like to do.”

Cecilia shook her head and covered her ears. She did not want to hear any more of this. She had to, though. She had to exhibit some of the sense that her sister had lost.

“He is the only man Papa insisted we have nothing to do with. I fear you are just being difficult.”

“No,” Beatrice said. “At least I don’t think so.”

Cecilia could not think of what else to do or say to reach her sister. So she opted for the cold truth, even if she would sound like a prude. “Kissing Lord Jess was wrong and I am heartily disappointed in you, sister. You are behaving like a woman of easy virtue and if the countess finds out she will be very upset. I have no more to say to you right now.” She folded her arms and did not try to hide her anger at what felt like a betrayal.

“Ceci!” Beatrice stepped back as if the attack had been physical.

Cecilia wished that Darwell would come in and they could end this discussion. She felt like crying and could see tears in Beatrice’s eyes as well.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Beatrice spoke in a voice stiffened by the effort of holding on to control. “I am going to the art gallery and will leave you to count my sins in peace.”

With that, Beatrice left the room. But the hurt lingered in the air and Ceci sat on the edge of the sofa with a graceless thump, letting the tears fall. The sisters never argued and it was small comfort that Beatrice was as upset as she was. The idea that Beatrice might seek out Lord Jess for consolation made the tears disappear, and she was out the door a moment later to make sure that did not happen.