One More Kiss

CHAPTER Twenty-nine





JESS FOUND KATHERINE Wilson in the passage, some way down from the entrance to the banquet hall, crying quietly but without restraint.

“I am sorry to have caused you to run from me, Miss Wilson. Please.” He handed her his handkerchief and prayed that no one would come upon them.

“It’s just that I do not want to be the subject of gossip or speculation.”

That makes two of us, Jess thought. Crying here was only minimally more private than crying on the dance floor.

“Now I will have to talk to Crenshaw about your story,” she complained between hiccoughs, “and he will tell me his version and I will not know whom to believe.”

Jess saw an opening for one more caution. “If you do not trust him completely, I would suggest that you think a long time before you allow him more than a passing acquaintance.”

“He is going to ask for permission to court me.” She sniffed and gave him a miserable smile. “He has spoken with Mama and he is going to see Papa tomorrow.”

Before she could continue Crenshaw himself came into the passageway.

“Stop accosting her, right now!”

“I am not accosting her,” Jess said wearily. “I am trying to comfort her.”

Crenshaw pushed past him and took Katherine’s arm. “Stop those waterworks.”

His command worked.

“Yes, my lord,” Miss Wilson said. With one unladylike sniffle and a deep breath the tears ended.

“Now go back into the dining room and find your mama. Seat yourself for the next course and I will join you shortly.”

“I think I should excuse myself and put a cold cloth on my face so I do not look as if I have been crying.”

“You may do that, but do not absent yourself for too long.”

She nodded and left, eyes downcast.

“You are a pig, Crenshaw, and the sooner she knows it the better. You cannot imagine I would let her marry you without at least trying to warn her family.”

Crenshaw grabbed Jess by the cravat and pushed him against the wall. “Listen to me, Pennistan. I hold the upper hand here. You are a disgrace to your name and your family. My name is gold and yours is dross. No one will listen to you.”

“Take your hands off me.”

Crenshaw ignored him. With the skill he’d learned in the boxing ring from his brothers, Jess used his hands to force Crenshaw’s grip from his cravat and then punched him with a thoroughness that sent the big man staggering back.

“Crenshaw, the only thing that is saving you from a thrashing now is the number of people who would be shocked by violence at such a gathering.”

Crenshaw stood up, swayed, but raised his arms, ready to continue. Jess heard the sound of running footsteps and swore. This was not an exchange he wanted anyone else to witness.

Apparently Crenshaw felt the same way. He seemed to think better of continuing the fight.

“This is far from over, Pennistan.” The baron made an attempt to straighten his cravat and coat as he walked away from the banquet room. Jess did not care where he was headed as long as it was out of his sight.

Destry emerged from the banquet room, moving quickly. “What happened? Where is Crenshaw?”

“Crenshaw is down the hall wiping his bloody nose. He pushed me one more time and once too far.”

“I wish I’d been here. I would have liked to take a swing at him myself.”

“Thank you, Des.” Jess appreciated the support, even if he was relieved that there had been no witnesses but the footman.

“Des, would you go tell Mrs. Wilson that Lord Crenshaw and her daughter will return shortly, or some other lie? I should kill the bastard and be done with him. It’s what he deserves, but I am going to bed. The last thing I need now is a dance with Beatrice Brent.”

Destry cleared his throat and nodded toward a shadowed part of the corridor.

“Beatrice?” Jess closed his eyes and hoped she had not heard him.

She marched toward the two of them, her hands fisted at her sides, her expression angry and hurt at the same time. Damn it, she had heard every word.

“I will take your message to Mrs. Wilson.” Destry hurried away as though he could not move fast enough. Smart man.

“I heard what you said, that you cannot bear the thought of waltzing with me. Are you determined to make every woman you see tonight cry?”

Jess had no answer for her. He’d used up all his words and most of his civility. He could blame what he did on the anger still roiling through him, or the opposite, his need for something sweet and good, but neither was an excuse.

Jess pushed on a door across the passage from the banquet hall and pulled her through it with him.

Punching the door closed with his foot, he pressed her against it. “You want to know why I dread the thought of dancing with you?”

Now she had no answer for him. Her eyes were big with surprise, and was that a little fear he saw? Good, he thought. Now she was beginning to understand.

Pushing his fingers through the coil of her hair, he felt the luxury of it spill over his hands, the silken length of it one more caress that he took with greedy pleasure.

She closed her eyes. Standing this close he could see the lashes dark against her cheeks. He bent to kiss them and then her mouth, her lips slightly parted and, God help him, welcoming.

No wager he’d ever won had made him feel this powerful. No race he’d ever won had made him feel so elated. No woman he’d ever won had made him feel this complete. All that with no more than a kiss.

Her arms around his neck captured him, torturing him with an urgency that was mutual. Reaching up to take her hands he entwined his fingers with hers and then moved them behind her back so he could kiss her neck, trail his mouth down to the swell of her breasts.

Her heart was pounding, her breath came in short gasps of arousal. He felt his own arousal pressing against the softness of her and knew he was a moment away from taking her.

No, it was more than that. He was a breath away from making love to her and never letting her go, of waltzing with her for the rest of his life, the rest of her life.

The rest of her life? She deserved better. That his brain was still working was a miracle, and he did not ignore the gift. He lifted his head, putting some very small distance between them. Beatrice still had her eyes closed. She waited, her flushed cheeks and breathlessness making him feel like a cad for leaving her in such a state. But he needed to—for her own sake.

“We stop here, Beatrice.”

When she opened her eyes, he saw confusion. “What?”

He wanted to explain that this was all they could share. That a marriage between someone with his reputation and someone with her background would guarantee the ton’s rejection. She would say she didn’t care, but it would never work. He’d thought all week about ways to make her avoid him. Make her hate him. He knew how, and now was the time.

It might be the hardest thing he would ever have to do.

“You are too easy, Beatrice. I could have had you any time these last few days. But sex with a girl like you is much too complicated. A kiss in the dark is the only proof I needed. You would have let me take whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you? I’m not falling into that trap, my dear. I have been at this game for far too long.”

As his words sank in, her face took on that mottled cast that meant anger. Good. Good, that was what he wanted, even if it made him feel sick.

She pushed him away, straightened her clothes, and felt for her hair, now a mess better suited to the bedroom than the ballroom. Then she slapped him with a strength he had not anticipated.

It barely stung his cheek but it crushed his heart.

With some presence of mind, she avoided the company by crossing the twilit room to a communicating door and disappearing into the next room.

Jess watched her. Beatrice did not look back. She was long gone before he’d regained his sanity and walked back to the ball.


BEATRICE REACHED HER bedchamber just in time. She could not hold the tears back any longer and crashed through the sitting room door, slamming it behind her. Bent double with sobs, she staggered into the bedchamber, slamming that door as well. She held on to one of the bedposts, trying desperately to control herself.

“Miss Beatrice!”

For the love of God, Darwell was here. Why could she not be off with Callan? Beatrice knew she could barely form a coherent sentence and Darwell would want to know why she was upset.

“Miss, let me undo your dress and stays or you will faint.”

Beatrice began to move to the dressing room but Darwell stopped her. “Stay here, miss, and turn around.”

She obeyed. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. It was too much to hope she would be asleep before Cecilia came to bed.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Beatrice shook her head, but tried. “Lord Jess and I had an argument.” Beatrice stopped. She didn’t have the energy to tell the whole story. “Really, Darwell, it was all my fault. Jess made that perfectly clear. Now I just want to go to bed.”

Darwell made soothing sounds, asking no more questions. She did insist on brushing the snarls out of Beatrice’s hair, putting it into a quick braid, before letting Beatrice slide under the covers. Beatrice heard doors opening and closing and a few minutes later Darwell brought a cool cloth for her eyes.

“Go to sleep, Miss Beatrice. It will all be better by the light of day.”

If only that were true, Beatrice thought. The cool cloth did help calm her, but she still wished she could curl into the tiniest ball and disappear. It would be so much better than ever having to see Jess Pennistan again.

* * *

“I KNOW YOU weren’t asleep when I came up.” Cecilia watched her sister with an intensity she hoped would make Beatrice tell the truth. “Darwell told me that you were upset, that Lord Crenshaw had something to do with it, and I should leave you alone until this morning. So I did. Bitsy, it was very hard. Now tell me what happened.”

Beatrice sighed and Cecilia knew her firmness had worked. “It was not Lord Crenshaw. But he upset Jess and then Jess and I had a huge, ugly argument.”

Beatrice’s eyes filled and she stopped speaking, staring at the ceiling until she was able to will the tears not to fall. Cecilia waited. She could feel her twin’s pain and her own happiness dimmed a little.

“So,” Beatrice went on, “I had to leave the party because my skin was all red and blotchy. You know how it is when I’m angry.”

Cecilia nodded. Darwell said Beatrice had been crying, too. There was no doubt that she really had been upset, very upset.

“I’m not sure I feel that much better this morning, but my complexion is back to normal and we have so much to look forward to.”

“That’s all you’re going to say? What did you argue about?”

“Lord Jess was in a foul mood. He’d argued with Crenshaw. They were both so angry at each other. Then Lord Jess said that the last thing he wanted was to dance with me.”

“Oh, Bitsy. How awful for you.” Cecilia rubbed her sister’s back, hoping her sympathy was some comfort.

“That was not the worst.” Beatrice looked away, her lips pressed together, and Cecilia was certain she was going to be given only an edited version of the true story.

“Oh, it really does not matter what he said. I understand why Lord Jess was flirting with me and it is not because he found me particularly appealing.”

Beatrice pressed her lips together as if the next words were hard to say.

“Lord Jess made it clear that I was a convenient distraction and nothing more.”

Tears puddled in her eyes and Beatrice brushed them away with an impatient hand.

“It’s stupid for me to cry because I only wanted to practice flirting, not fall in love. Which I haven’t,” she added urgently. “But I fear it’s what Lord Jess thinks.”

It was then that Cecilia noted that her sister was calling him Lord Jess again. He had been Jess for the last few days. “Then perhaps Papa was right to warn us away from him.” She spoke cautiously, not sure of her sister’s true feelings.

“But you know why Papa did that and what a lie that whole story is.” Beatrice paused, obviously thinking. “I liked him until last night.” She bit her lip and stopped the confidence. “I’m tired of talking about this. Let’s dress and find the curator we met last night. Maybe he can tell us about any treasures we have not found ourselves.”

“All right,” Cecilia agreed, though it sounded like a rather boring way to spend the morning. “Lord Destry will be practicing riding sidesaddle most of the day so I decided not to ride myself. I think if I was in the field it might make him too nervous.”

Beatrice smiled, just a little. “Admit it, Ceci, you are the one who would be nervous watching him.”

“If I acted nervous in front of him, he would think I do not believe he can do it.” She considered her next words. “Only to you would I admit that while I know he can learn to handle Jupiter with a sidesaddle I am still concerned for his safety.”

“I know what you mean,” Beatrice said. “It’s just like the way I worry about you when I think you are taking too many risks on horseback, or riding too fast for safety. I know you are the best rider I have ever met, but I still worry.”

Cecilia hoped that Beatrice did not feel as sick as she did at the thought of Destry suffering an injury.

“Ceci, I think that’s what love does to us.”

“Do not use that word, Beatrice. I am not in love with Destry. I am not.”

“But why will you not allow yourself to even entertain the idea? There isn’t anything truly keeping you apart.”

“My birth. His title. His family would never allow him to marry someone so far outside his social circle.”

“Ceci, you do not know that for sure.”

“And I do not want to. I am not made for confrontation like you are. Did you know that the old duke, the one who died last year, disinherited his daughter because she would not do what he said? Mrs. Wilson told me about it.”

That did give Beatrice pause, but only for a moment. “The old duke was crazed and beyond demanding. And besides, he is dead now. Why would Mrs. Wilson upset you with that story?”

“It was a warning, Beatrice. A warning that the ton is more demanding than the countess, who is, after all, our godmother.”

“So you are going to let one person, a woman neither one of us particularly likes, dictate whom you fall in love with?”

“I am not in love with him!” Cecilia shouted and then put her hands over her ears.

“Try telling that to your heart.” Beatrice spoke very quietly and her eyes filled once again.