One More Kiss

CHAPTER Four





“I KNOW FATHER disapproves of Lord Jess,” Beatrice said to the countess after she was sure Lord Jess was out of hearing. “But don’t you think Lord Jessup did entirely right in insisting that Ellis return home before he lost more than money? He even escorted him.”

“Yes, my dear, I am sure that is how it appears to you,” the countess said. “However, Lord Jess was equally responsible for introducing Ellis to all manner of debauchery.”

“My lady godmother, we both know that Ellis had discovered those sins well before he left Birmingham.”

“Do not champion Jess, Beatrice. He can handle his own defense,” the countess said.

“He was such a gentleman just now,” Beatrice insisted. “Yet Papa says we are to have nothing to do with him. But you invited him, so he must be socially acceptable. And you did make a point of introducing him to me.” It made no sense at all. If this was what ton life would be like she was not sure she could manage its peculiarities.

“I allowed him to attend so that you could learn a lesson. An important one. You will meet any number of men like him when you go to London. Full of charm, but little else. Socially acceptable, but not at all desirable.”

“Why not?” she persisted, willing to risk a snub for an honest answer.

“Because your papa and I say so.”

Which was no answer at all. This was a pointless conversation. “I wish Mama were here. She would never keep me in the dark like this.” Beatrice was appalled at the hint of tears in her voice.

“Beatrice, sweetheart.” The countess paused. “I know you still miss her and no one can take her place. But in this case even she would insist that ignoring Lord Jess is the wisest course of action.”

“Then why is he here?” Beatrice asked again, this time with a vehemence that demanded an answer.

The countess laughed. “You are the most stubborn chit. I will not say any more. Go dress for dinner while I settle the new arrivals into their rooms. And promise me you will avoid Lord Jess Pennistan.”

Miss Beatrice Brent stood on tiptoe and kissed her godmother’s cheek. “If it will make you happy. I promise to ignore him as best as I can at such a small house party.”

She dashed up the steps. She was inexperienced and a little too curious but not stupid. She rubbed her hand against her skirt, remembering the amazing way his touch had made her feel, as though she were being awakened from a sleep with the promise of something wonderful. But once she had released his hand, her normal sensibilities had returned. It was that easy.


THE COUNTESS CORNERED Jess before he could join the other guests in the salon.

“Jessup,” she began in the most dampening tone. “I am having serious second thoughts about allowing you to stay. Did I not make it perfectly clear that this house party is being held to introduce my goddaughters to respected and influential members of the ton?” She paused and gave him a withering look. “You are neither respected nor influential.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jess absorbed the snub, the downright insult, with a mental shrug. The countess was only telling the truth. “And as I told you, the only reason I am here is to win my land back from Crenshaw. This gathering seems an ideal opportunity.”

“It had best be that simple,” the countess replied, “because I do not like being used.”

“I am being honest with you.” Jess tried to keep the desperation from his voice. “It is that simple. If you are not willing to allow me to stay, then it will be after Easter in London before I have another opportunity to best him, and by then he will have added it to his entail or made the land otherwise impossible to win back.”

The countess pursed her lips, which did not become her. Small lines around her mouth hinted at her age, something he knew she never told anyone. Forty or fifty or somewhere in between, he guessed.

“I did not ask before, but now I’m wondering why this land is so important to you.”

Honesty was all that would serve. “My mother left me the land and made me promise never to sell it. I was caught up in a game where one could wager anything but money. It seemed amusing at the time.”

“Until you lost it.”

“And Crenshaw would not accept my word that I would pay him the cash.”

The countess nodded as though she had heard of such games. “I assume there was a lady involved.”

“Yes, a woman. Not a lady.”

The countess shook her head. “So you were coveting yet another woman of Crenshaw’s. At least this one was not married to him, was she?”

“No, my lady.” Jess tamped down the spurt of anger, sorely tempted to tell the countess the truth of what had happened.

“One would think that experience would have taught you that those efforts never end well, at least not for you.”

“Yes.” He kept his true opinion to himself. He hated everything that Crenshaw represented, and removing Sadie from his influence had given Jess some satisfaction. A lot of satisfaction.

“So, young man, this visit is not about winning the hand of a wealthy heiress?”

“No, it is most definitely not, my lady. God spare me that complication. I prefer to stay unmarried.”

She moved away from him. “Then what was that interlude I just witnessed?”

Jess smiled. “Miss Brent is an artless, charming little bit of a thing. But now that I have the measure of her I will be on my guard.”

The countess laughed. “Artless and charming, but with a fine brain that is endlessly curious. Be careful.”

“Yes, my lady.” It seemed a wiser answer than what he was really thinking. Was his pocket Venus going to try to seduce him? He was still doing his best to forget the surge of lust that had swept through him at the mere touch of her hand.

He knew better than to think that lust was something either one of them could control. He would regard it as the warning it was and keep his distance.

The countess sighed heavily. “All right, you are welcome to stay. You heartless rogue,” she added with a smile that was both resignation and anticipation.

“Thank you, my lady.” He nodded his appreciation and bowed soberly.

“However did you convince Jane Wilson to allow you to accompany her?” the countess asked.

Jess smiled and the countess held up her hand.

“Say no more. That smile has been the undoing of more women than I can name.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “I will be on my best behavior. The land is all I wish to claim.”

“Yes, well, tell your valet to unpack and dress you for dinner. Do not be late!”


BEATRICE HURRIED ALONG the passage, trying to puzzle out how she could give the appearance of ignoring Lord Jess while still finding out all she wanted to know about him.

What was the scandal no one would talk about? How much did it have to do with Ell’s behavior while in London? And what exactly did “debauchery” entail? Was it something worse than going to a brothel? For the love of God, that was quite bad enough.

Pausing outside the door to her suite, Beatrice calmed herself. She knew that if Ceci saw her, she would instantly guess that something had roused her twin’s curiosity and would plague her with questions. And it was nothing, really.

When she pushed through the door she found Ceci seated at the dressing table, while Darwell tried several different hairstyles on her.

“Beatrice, you will never guess what the countess has given us.” Cecilia did not move her head so much as an inch, but her excitement was obvious.

“Then you had better tell me.” Beatrice smiled at her sister’s reflection in the mirror and then moved out of sight, settling into a nearby chair. Cecilia could not see her, but Darwell stopped her work for a moment as if she sensed something was afoot.

“When the countess was in London …” Cecilia paused and started again. “She ordered a signature fragrance for each of us. Darwell just gave me mine. It’s perfect. A mix of floral, mostly. Come test it. Darwell has yours in the dressing room and will not let me sample it before you do.”

The countess is a genius, Beatrice thought, as she went toward the dressing room. It was the kind of gift that would give Cecilia a boost of confidence when it was most needed.

“Come smell mine first, Bitsy,” Cecilia insisted.

“I already can. It’s in the air and it is a wonderful scent. It reminds me of you in the garden, moving among the flowers, stirring their scent so it fills the air. I do wish I could paint. It would make an exquisite picture.” It announces there is more to you than beauty, Beatrice thought.

Cecilia read her expression. Thank you, dearest, she answered in the wordless way they had communicated since earliest childhood. Then she laughed with delight.

In the dressing room, on the tall, narrow chest that held their stays and stockings, Beatrice found an amethyst-colored bottle. Her name was written on it with more curves and swoops than she had ever seen.

Doing her best to still her expectations, Beatrice pulled out the delicate glass stopper and sniffed at the fragrance. There was a floral element here, too, but a spicy jasmine and cinnamon scent dominated. It was beautiful but much too sophisticated for her.

She took the bottle into the bedchamber and let Cecilia smell it. “Why, Bitsy, it is exactly right.”

“Really? Do you think so? You know I count on you to always be honest with me.”

“It’s perfect. Truly.”

“Ladies.” Darwell interrupted them with the one word. “We are to keep country hours, so you will not have much time to rest. Come here, Miss Beatrice. Let me undo your buttons and stays so you can put on a dressing gown.”

Darwell put down the pins and comb, spun Beatrice around, and made short work of the task. Beatrice went into the dressing room and sat down on the chaise. The scent, her scent, filled the little room. She could only wish she was as intriguing as the fragrance hinted.

Pulling off her chemise, Beatrice reached for the fresh one that Darwell had set out for her.

The chemise was still in her hand when Darwell came through the door. “Do you like the dress, Miss Brent?” she asked in a loud voice and then added sotto voce, “What are you up to, miss? You have the devil in your eyes.”

“Not the devil, surely.” Beatrice did not have to pretend insult. “I am only curious about the guests we will be meeting this evening.”

“I have worked as a lady’s maid for longer than you have been alive, and I will go immediately to your father if you do anything to upset your sister or behave in a way that would endanger her Season.”

“I never would, Darwell. Never.” She was angry now, and offended by Darwell’s harsh criticism.

“Very well, miss. Perhaps I have overreacted.”

Her contrition lasted a mere second. “Sit and let me do your hair.” The brusque Darwell was back. “What do you think of the dress I put out for you?”

“It’s quite nice, thank you,” Beatrice said dutifully, as though the maid had a direct link to the countess and her seamstress.

“Flounces would not suit you at all.”

“Really?” How had the woman guessed that she wanted flounces?

“No, miss. You do not have the height for them. The simple braid trim is all you need. You may be short, miss, but you are beautifully proportioned.”

“Thank you,” she said, surprised at the compliment. She wondered if Lord Jess had noticed her proportions.

Darwell left but came back momentarily with a wet cloth.

“Lie down on this chaise and put this compress on your face, not just your eyes, and try to rest. Forget all about the intrigues here.”

Beatrice nodded and lay back on the chaise, as directed, touched by Darwell’s remorse. The cloth was dampened with more than water. It smelled of lavender and perhaps chamomile and was almost as comforting as Mama’s hand on her brow. She did doze but she had a strange dream. In it, Artemis walked through a hallway, her nose buried in a book. She was surrounded by amazing Greek statues, one of a man and the rest of women. The man’s face echoed Lord Jess’s and all of the women’s marble faces were turned toward him, some with longing expressions and others with satisfied ones. Artemis remained, engrossed in her book until the male statue stopped her progress. With an elaborate bow he spoke, “Which group do you wish to join? It is your choice, Artemis.”

Before she could decide, Beatrice woke up. She knew the answer, could feel it in her heart and lower, but was relieved that no one else could guess. She liked the idea that she was Artemis in the dream, for the goddess was strong-willed and powerful even though she had never married.

An hour and a half later Darwell pronounced them “dressed to perfection.” Hair done up, modest jewelry donned, cheeks pinched until they were pink, they were ready to make their first bow among the ton. “You are glowing, Beatrice,” her sister gushed. “Isn’t this exciting?” She paused, then added, “And terrifying at the same time.”

“Concentrate on the idea that this is but practice for the Season with a group of the countess’s friends. How can they be anything but lovely?”

The countess herself came to collect them, fussing over their gowns and general appearance amid their thanks for the perfumes.

While the countess adjusted one of the flowers in Ceci’s hair, Darwell whispered, “Hold your head up, Miss Beatrice, and watch out for your sister. That will keep you out of mischief.”

Beatrice took the chivvying with a firm nod and descended the steps to join the party for the second time that day.