The heat was not
helped by the tightened corset that was not only heavy but constricted Jess’s
ability to run. Jess scowled, she hated that infernal contraption; however,
being a lady of society, she would never go without one. Jess imagined the
faces of the society matrons with relish, imagining their thinly veiled remarks
that the moment she was away would turn into vicious gossip. Technically, she
supposed, it was inelegant for a woman of her stature to be running at all.
However, Jess had never really cared about propriety. Jess cared even less
about propriety when no one was around at all.
Jess stopped for
a moment to check behind her, it appeared that no one had been able to trace
her yet, and she relaxed. She breathed heavily, the brisk exercise bringing a
flush to her pale aristocratic cheeks. Instead of perfect porcelain now a
English Rose.
Jess turned off
the narrow alleyway onto a slightly busier lane. Walking now, Jess looked
around, she was far from the fashionable shops that lived upon the Northern
green side of Brighton and was into the alleyways that housed the undesirables.
Her surroundings showed no sign of elegance, but a fun and welcome measure of
danger.
Perfect, Jess
thought, I may now be mugged. Jess could
not have been more pleased, she had finally escaped the confines of her rigid
society life. It was the burly footmen that would no doubt be dispatched to
find her. However Jess suspected that they would start with the shops in the
affluent part of town. They would never dream she would run to where the
vagrants lived. ’In fact,’ she thought clapping her hand together excitedly, ‘they
may never figure it out.’
She smiled to
herself, they may never find me, and I may just run away. She imagined herself
on the high sea wearing a pair of breeches and a loose shirt letting the sea breeze
play over her face. She in her wildest fantasies would be the captain of a
worthy ship, no one in charge of her. She would be free to live a life of
danger and excitement, visiting the exotic places she had read about in books.
Jess sighed; she had been born into the wrong lot to think about becoming a
captain of a pirate ship. Even if they would take a woman, the ton would shun the notion.
Lady Jessica Wilmore was of course a member of
the exalted ton, as she was the
daughter of the aging Viscount of Bury. The Viscount was a tired soul, Jess’s
mother had died upon her birth, and he had never re-married, forever mourning
the loss of his soul mate. However he had hired a serving girl, Marianna, many
years ago that had raised Jess as her own, meting out equal shares of affection
and structure. Marianna now handled most of the affairs of the family, which
recently had become matchmaking for Jess.
It was precisely
that which had driven Jess out of their family’s seat, Marianna upon the
request of Bury had arranged for Jess to be presented to the Duke of York, who
had just announced his intention to come to Brighton despite the heat. Jess was
eligible for marriage, being nineteen, and she had come out in Brighton, but
had never had a real come out in a London Season.
Jess had of
course met many members of the peerage; however this encounter would be
noticeably different. Jess knew that her father usually had the best
intentions, but her father wanted her to marry, quickly.
Jess lamented
that Bury was in ill health but she could not abide by his matchmaking schemes.
Bury wanted his only daughter married off to a husband before he passed. Bury
had wanted a large family and was certainly intending to have one, until the
birth of Jess had been too much for her delicate mother. Jess would have gone
to have a season in London, if she were not afraid to leave her beloved father.
But a season would have meant suitors or worse-- a husband.
Jess started
gasping for air at the thought of marriage to the faceless and probably haughty
Duke of York. How horrible it would be to get married, without love without
being hopelessly entrenched in the other person’s soul. Jess knew the hurt that
could come from love not being returned. Jess would not allow herself to be in
that position again. Men were possessive and that was what she could not allow.
She was alone in the world; she had to be, to protect herself.
Jess was mindful
of her father’s wishes but she had no premonitions about marrying the Duke of
York.
The Duke of
York, Jess thought with a hint of spite, she had never met him; but his
reputation was widely known. He was known to be wonderfully handsome and
delightfully charming through the time he had his way, then he left the poor
wasted girl by the wayside. Jess shuddered; imagine marrying him, probably just
another arrogant and pompous man. He frequently flew in the face of society,
even now, coming to Brighton while the ton stayed in London. Jess remembered
the Dragons gossip, “He is a cad, a rake and a scoundrel! He is also the best
match for any girl in England!”
Jess remembered
inwardly snorting, dismayed at the hypocrisy of the ton. Skating over the
Duke’s many indiscretions because he is of ducal blood.
Jess resumed her
leisurely walk down the lane letting all tension flow out of her. She took in the alternative lifestyle, gazing
upon the musty windows and bricks that she felt must hold something special, at
least something new. The sky had grown dark and the heat had suddenly left
Brighton, plunging the town into a surfeit of wind.
Jess spotted a cluster of men gathered a way
down the side of an alley. Jess walked toward them thinking nothing of it. She
knew a very many men, all exceedingly cordial and gentlemanly. However in the
faint illumination of the candles of the shops, they did look rather
frightening.
The men took
notice of her, they stopped talking and straightened and Jess truly began to
see the error of her decision. She knew no one and could see no one to ask for
assistance. She had heard the tales of
the young maidens walking alone to be viciously attacked, second hand of
course, no one would dare tell her such unsettling stories. Jess was no
innocent young miss, even if she hadn’t lost her maidenhead, she knew of the
advances, especially the unwanted advances that men took upon women.
The men drew nearer;
she only caught glimpses of their faces long, angular with wide grins that
looked mischievous. Their faces were pinched as if they were hungry. She
wrinkled her nose as they closed in, the odor was unbearable, Jess wondered if
the men had ever washed. Jess squashed
the insipid thought, shaking herself at the stupidity. But the frustration
passed quickly instead feeling a wave of genuine fear that made her tremble,
weak at the knees.
Jess stood her
ground, saying nothing, but inside she was screaming, ‘Good lord!’ and then in
a hoydenish thought, ‘Bloody Hell!’
“What are you doing out this late?” one of the
vagrants crooned at her, his hand reaching up tugging at one of her chestnut
tendrils that had come loose during her run. His face was blackened by soot and
dirt and he smelled of the hard life that befell him. Mostly though Jess
thought she could smell her own fear.
“Kind sir, I am
just on my way back from a shop with my husband, a pugilist. He should be along
shortly.” Jess said, voice shaking she fought with her knees to keep from
collapsing. She hoped that these men weren’t bright and would believe the
rather poor lie she had told.
Jess knew that
regardless if they believed her or not, she might need the self-defense skills
that her elder male cousins had taught her. Jess knew how to incapacitate a
man, with a sharp jab from her knee or a swift, hard step. Jess prepared
herself to attack.
“Weren’t you
told it was wrong to fib?” Jess could see at this close proximity that there
were four men. All were large, even though they had the unwashed, pinched look of
someone who often when without meals. Jess knew she only had one advantage;
they would not expect her to know how to defend herself. For the first time Jess
was thankful for Thomas Holt.
The obvious
leader with a gold tooth reached out and grabbed her arm possessively. Jess planted
her feet and curled her fist but recoiled into the sudden light that came from
behind her.
“What can I help
you fine gentlemen with this evening?” A tall, broad-shouldered man asked from
the doorway of a tavern. “Please unhand her. Darling, come along now.” The
vagrant hesitantly let Jess go as if weighing his chances against the giant in
the doorway. Jess walked determinedly through the door into the warmth and
brightness of the pub that she had not realized was there.
Jess relaxed
slightly, she would not need to test out her ministrations, though she knew
that she could have handled the men. The man waited until Jess was fully inside
before softly addressing the men with a voice that shook with danger, “Now
then, you should not be here when I get leave, or there will be dire
consequences.” He shut the door gently and turned around to face Jess.
He held up a
stalling hand to quell the words of gratitude about to come from Jess. “What
the bloody hell were you thinking? Are you mentally ill?! You didn’t fight back
at all! Or even scream, are you daft?”
Jess was taken
aback, the man was beautiful, with rich dark hair that waved down far past his
ears and a strong jaw bone that held a sensuous mouth that currently pursed
indignantly at Jess. His tone was not a gentle rebuke but held real anger, she
was not accustomed to being spoken to that way, even if the man had saved her.
His anger marred the underlying elegance of his face, the effect startled Jess
for a moment she was unable to reply.
“I do believe,
Sir, that I was walking down the
street.” Jess said with answering anger. “I don’t think that it is such a
crime!” Jess took in his figure, his chest was built, strong and sinewy and it
flowed into a lean stomach and strong thighs. Jess flushed at her almost forensic
exploration of his body, how wanton!
“You are an
insolent child. Look at you, you’d tempt any man, but certainly those men
needed no tempting.” His eyes raked down her figure, he sighed. “Well, I could
use a drink.”
He turned away
and Jess was too shocked to move, he was breathtaking but he dressed plainly
and was obviously of a low class to think of talking so crassly. She felt a
moment of indignation that he didn’t seem to find her attractive.
“I need to be getting back. I don’t belong
here.” Jess believed it, she didn’t belong standing in a tavern talking to a
handsome gentleman, who spoke like a blackguard; she had too much experience
with that already.
He sighed but his face held humor, “Of course,
Ms.?”
“I do not
believe that is any of your concern.” She took one last look and walked away,
out of the door and onto the dark street. His eyes, she thought, were of the
deepest blue, but were like a stormy sky, with the anger that had filled them.
Jess checked out to make sure that there were no obstacles in her way and
making sure the vagrants had followed her savior’s direction. Seeing no dangers
she ran flat out to her manor. § §
§
Wesley Ketterick
sat down with his drink after watching the beautiful woman exit safely down a
side road. He murmured a low oath. Bravado, that was what the woman was. That
silly chit didn’t even think to scream, or fight back.
He didn’t need a
stellar imagination to know what would have happened without him there. Damnation!
She refused to back down to him; her bright cheeks on the otherwise alabaster
skin had stood out so brightly against her long gleaming sable hair.
She was obviously aristocratic with her ornate
dress, but he wondered how it was possible that she had gotten loose of her
guardians. Wesley hoped that whoever was responsible for the girl would
dissuade her from attempting something so reckless again.God knows she could have met a very different fate, many men around the docks of Brighton would have taken her and ravished her. Bloody Hell, Wesley thought, even I wanted to. And he did want to, intensely. Wesley covertly cupped himself making sure his bulge was covered.
Wesley cursed
himself, he had gotten distracted. He had previously thought himself
unshakable, but he wasn’t truly angry with himself, no red blooded man could
have resisted helping such a beautiful woman. Still, he shook himself, he had
work to do. Work that was the most important he had ever done.
Jess knocked
upon the manor’s doors she was immediately admitted and admonished by Marianna,
“Oh thank God, we were worried sick.” Her nurse and friend looked tired, and
Jess felt a pang of remorse, she had probably vexed her family. The search
party had been sent out, evident from the lack of footmen.
Jess took the
older woman’s hands warmly, “I am fine, just a little tired.”
Marianna looked
at her appraisingly, as if deciding whether to get angry or give in to Jess, a
common problem for the pair. “Fine, your maid will help you ready for bed, you
must be ready for tomorrow when we will travel over to York’s house.” Marianna
could always tell when Jess would be unable to stomach a lecture. But she could
always be counted on to be underhanded.
Jess grimaced as
she got ready for bed herself waving away her chambermaids, in all of the
excitement; she had forgotten about the Duke of York, It was unfortunate that
she had to remember. Such a rake was bad for girls looking to keep their
reputations. Rakes were unprecedentedly easy to fall in love with, but they
never returned the love.
Jess’s
maid woke her up early, though the visiting hours with the Duke would be in the
late afternoon. The entire morning was spent on an extensive toilette, painting
nails and brushing Jess’s hair into an elegant coiffure. By noon Jess was in light
blue sprigged muslin and though her hair and face were unusually elegant, her
face lacked its usual beauty and charm. Marianna noticed immediately, “Jess,
you must smile, it is the most attractive thing about you!”
“Well then, as I
have no plans to attract anyone today, I will keep the sour expression. I have
no intention to cause tendre.”
Marianna gave
Jess a reproachful look, “Now, Honey. This is very important to your father.”
And Jess did
know, as much as she didn’t want to marry someone she didn’t know or love, she
loved her father, “Where is he, I thought he was accompanying me today?”
Marianna looked
at her feet saying nothing and Jess turned and ran up the stairs, ignoring the
cries of warning from all the maids and footmen. She knocked on the grand
room’s doors but did not wait for the doors to open or to be bade admittance.
Bury looked
awful; consumption, Jess thought was not only a disease of the chest but of the
entire body, making the happy and excitable man that she once knew, have long
stretches in bed. “Father?” Jess asked in a tremulous voice not wishing to wake
him, if he were asleep.
“Yes, Dear I'm
still awake and I don’t suppose you remembered that consumption is contagious,”
he said it wryly but she heard the concerned note in her voice. The Viscount of
Bury would not even let people treat him, not wishing for the maids or footmen
to become afflicted. His generosity and compassion was heartbreaking, he went
through long stretches completely isolated.
“It’s alright
Father, I need to spend as much time with you as possible.” Jess felt herself
grow teary.
“No, my child
that is what you mussn't do. You cannot stay locked in here letting your own
life slip away whilst I die.” He broke off as Jess let out a sob, “Yes child, I
am dying. But I have lived a long life and I met the love of it early and had a
beautiful daughter. Now, no more tears, you could meet your husband today.”
With the gentle
prod back to his wishes, Jess moved closer to the bed, where he lay on his
side. Sweat pooled on his head, his skin under the cool sheen was pale, instead
of having the rich dark skin that he was so known for. She pressed a kiss into
his hair that was once brown but was now seeded with gray.
“I will do my
best Father.” And she would, she now would make all of the effort to love the
stranger that was the Duke of York, but she reasoned he had talked of love and
would certainly want his daughter to have the same ardor.
Marianna was
waiting at the foot of the stairs, her face tight with worry, “Is he well?”
Jess considered,
Marianna wanted good news, and shockingly it seemed that he was worse, “His
spirits are up.”
“Thank Heavens;” however Marianna’s face
remained taught, “Well we must get you into the carriage. By the way, Drake is
coming in tomorrow.”
The ride to the
exquisite vacation home of the Duke of York was reasonable and they did it in
style. The Atworth mansion was looming, oppressive and completely exquisite. The
grounds were groomed and sprawling; Jess felt out of sorts, worried now for the
first time, she was definitely of a lower class. Without her Father, only
Marianna and Jess made the trip. Marianna was beautiful, her coloring dark and
her muscles strong from years of lifting and work, but she remained slender and
young looking, though Jess supposed her age was 7 and 30, her voice was creamy
and lightly accented from her childhood in Portugal.
Their calling
card was met by a young butler, who swept them into a hall, where he brought tea
and told them that his Grace would arrive shortly.
Marianna stood
uncomfortably in the grand foyer, though Marianna had become more like family
in the last few years but she still seemed out of place at the sight of luxury.
“Marianna? You
know I do not require your assistance right? I would be fine to meet the duke
by myself.” Jess spoke without hope merely trying to calm her friend down,
there was no way that Marianna would leave and help Jess so willingly flaunt
propriety.
Marianna scowled
at her charge, “Certainly not!” She shook her head probably thinking, that this
man would take advantage of such a young and innocent girl. “You need to change attitudes; no man wants a
disobedient wife, a hoyden. Men don’t fall for spitfires.”
***
Wesley paused
outside his study hearing with resignation that no doubt a matching mama, was
going to try and hog-tie him to a wife today. He sighed then entered, he noted
with a smile that the speaker of the words was obviously not the mother of the
beauty with her back to Wesley. The girl was studying Wesley’s favorite
painting which was hanging on the wall.
“It’s a Manet,
Lady…?” His words made the girl swing around, long hair swinging around her
face in a blaze of sable copper. His eyes narrowed in recognition and he saw
the slight widening of her eyes in return.
Jess walked up
to the Duke of York, but was shocked; it was him from yesterday, the man who
saved her from the vagrants. “Lady Wilmore, your grace.” She spoke with a sharp
accusation as if daring him to tell her why the deception.
He answered with
a smile and raised her hand to his lips, actually letting his lips run over her
knuckles; she let loose a small gasp as warmth spread through her body. “Lady
Wilmore, it is my pleasure,” he looked up into her eyes and saw a devilish
glint that reminded her of the rake that he was rumored to be. “And who might
you be?” He asked, his eyes never leaving Jess.
“I am Ms.
Marianna Whitlock.” Marianna swelled indignantly; she was worried about the way
Jess was looking at the duke.
“Well, Madam I could offer you tea, but I
am sure we can find something more interesting to do then stand in a hall.”
Jess smiled,
wishing for a way to talk to the supposed Duke of York, “Why don’t we go for a
walk in the gardens, I noticed that they are flourishing.”
After York nodded
his consent, he offered his arm to Jess and she took it lightly, marveling at
his strength. He lead them through the maze of opulent rooms that bespoke the
wealth of a man who had more money than style.
The air was hot
and sultry, making the Jess no more pleased; she needed to speak to this
beautiful, liar of a man, nay a Duke. She was reminded that they were not alone
when York called for the Gardner. “Mr. Thomas, if you could entertain Ms.
Whitlock about the nature of the flowers and their growth.” Jess left her chaperone’s watchful eye
willingly needing many answers and allowed for him to escort her down the rows
of blooms.
“How can you
explain yourself?” Jess exclaimed, pulling her hand from his arm that was sinfully
strong and muscular, when they were out of hearing distance.
“I could ask you
the same thing, Lady Wilmore.” His eyes glinted steely again reminiscent of
their first meeting, and he sneered at her title.
“I am not on
trial. But do you make a habit of skulking around in commoner’s pubs waiting to
prey on young girls?” Jess’s face went red;
she had never let herself show her insolent side in front of a man.
He smiled
mirthlessly, “If you would remember, I saved you from a certain fate last
night. And yes, I can see why those men might have wanted to prey on you.”
Jess had heard a
similar speech two years ago, when Thomas Holt had tried to ravish her, saying
that it had been her fault for tempting him. Jess had been wary of Thomas. She
had loved him so much, but had wanted to marry before making love. He had
scoffed at her, not wanting a future with her. Jess hated anyone who blamed
her, and wanted to possess her, she was going to be free of everyone.
“Heavens! I have
not given you permission to talk to me in such a way.” She was surprisingly
bold, in direct opposition to her body that wanted him to prey on her.
“Besides, I am perfectly able to go for a walk whenever I feel like it, I am
not in prison.”
“Really? You are
allowed to walk around un-chaperoned in the middle of the most dangerous part
of Brighton but you are under lock and key here?”
“I am not under
lock and key anywhere,” Her voice shaking only a little.
His eyes were a
taunt and his lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Really?” He swung her up and
turned deliberately into a copse of trees.
“What are you
do-” Her question was quelled by his lips coming down upon hers in a wave of
heat. His lips held anger but were soft upon her mouth. For a moment he seemed
content to possess her, his insistent lips molding to her own. Then his tongue laved
against her closed mouth and she gasped. He took advantage of her shock and
slipped his tongue inside making her open wider for him. His tongue stole her
reason. She arched into him wanting to feel him everywhere and fisted her
fingers into his hair trying to pull him closer.
His hands became
brands, burning as his hands moved from her waist up to her soft curves. She
gasped against his mouth as his hands covered her lush breasts. His hands were
ruthless, pinching and curving her sensitive nipples until they were taut and
straining, he moved one of his arms and moved it over her pert buttock. He pulled her closer Jess felt the alien
hardness, evidence of his awesome arousal, shocked, Jess came back to her
senses and pulled away. “Your Grace!”
He smiled
unashamedly, “What is your name dear?”
She looked at
him for a moment judging, “I don’t think that is any of your concern,” echoing
her statement from the previous night, She pushed fully away from him.
He sighed and
stepped away as well, “I was merely proving a point, you are under lock and
key, and for good reason. To protect you from yourself.”
“I beg your
pardon? Your grace, the fault lies entirely with you, you attacked me.” But Jess
was more preoccupied with keeping her heart rate level and making sure she
didn’t throw herself back into his arms, she didn’t want to fight, not if the
alternative was being in his arms surrounded and encased.
“I am not ‘Your
Grace’,” he said with a grimace and he pulled her back into the sunshine where
they could see Marianna. “While I am The Duke of York, my Christian name is Wesley
Ketterick, and you are welcome back any time you like, and I think I might call
upon you, see if we can continue what we started.”
“We will do no
such thing, your Grace.” She was conflicted, half of her wanted him to make
good on his promise and half of her wanted to tell him to go to the devil, she
couldn’t decide so she chose to say nothing more.
“Madam, my name
is Wesley.” He reminded Jess as Marianna hurried over to them.
“Your Grace.”
Jess added petulantly.
“Your Grace, thank
you for your hospitality, we must take our leave,” Marianna said looking at her charges
face.
“The pleasure
was all mine.” The Duke smiled and kissed Marianna’s hand chastely and then
Jess’s with more ardor.
As he walked the
ladies out of his house, Wesley was uncomfortably aware of his passion. He was
widely considered a rake, but the innocence of Lady Wilmore caused him more
pleasure then he could have imagined. He had never enjoyed chasing the
unlearned skirts of schoolgirls.
He smiled
ruefully, she was so mad at him, and she didn’t cover up her emotions well, as
he had found out. He wondered if she was so expressive at all times, an
unbidden image rose of Lady Wilmore naked and writhing in heat in his bed, his
loins throbbed painfully at the enticing thought.
He was confused
though as to what his feelings about the girl were, he wanted to possess her,
intensely. But more than anything he desired her, and knew that if he were to
possess her, she would not be able to run about recklessly.
He was barely
back in his study about to begin his correspondence as his valet; Kendal opened
the door and announced his next guest. The announcement was hardly necessary,
as before the words were spoken, the Marquis of Kent ran in.
“Thank you
Kendal, that will be all for now” Wesley dismissed his faithful valet. “Good
God, why must you follow me everywhere? Is your own life so empty?”
“Is that anyway
to greet your favorite brother? Well, fine Wesley, I missed you too.” The
Marquis resembled Wesley, the same dark hair and lean build from years of
fencing and riding, the main difference was in spirit, Wesley knew that his
brother was a much happier man.
“Hello, Cohen.”
He waited knowing his brother would soon explode in a vivacious load of words,
holding back his comment about he being Wesley’s only brother.
“You should damn
well know why I came here. You just left, vanished. All of the other gents are
coming too and should be here soon. We were all worried that something had
happened.” Cohen was pouting but his face curved back into the
characteristically cheerful smile. “So what are we doing in Brighton?”
Wesley cursed
inwardly, of course they all came, “Well go send a note, tell them not to come.
I wanted a vacation, especially from all of you.”
“Are we so
unwelcome then?” Wesley looked up only briefly. The entire crew was here, it
seemed as they had just walked into his house without any announcement. Wesley,
though irritated, could not stop from being happy to see all of his friends.
The group of men, called the Assembly of Cads, contained some of the most
notorious blackguards of the English Aristocracy. Wesley was the official
leader, and had been since its inception while they had studied at Cambridge. The
purpose originally being to help manage gambling costs, and calling hackneys
when others were three sheets.
“No, it seems
that I am to be plagued by you all.” Wesley’s words were pointless, as his
friends filled the room. Amongst them was Drake Horn the Viscount of Edmonton,
the Marquis of Denham, Damon Segal, Sir James Amandine and William Drahcastle
the Duke of Rowell.
“Get off it, Wesley.
We were worried about you, believe me, we won’t be in the future” said Damon.
“Yes, we thought
you may have gotten soft, not been able to fight being kidnapped and taken to
Brighton.” William laughed the only other ducal power in the group.
Wesley became
gruff, “I had my reasons for coming here, and oh, they didn’t and do not require
any help from any of you children.”
“Is that
correct? Then you came here for money or women; I would lay money on the idea
that you came here to find an assignation.” Sir James chuckled.
Wesley raised
his quizzing glass to his eye, and his friends saw the haughty Duke emerge, the
one that people spoke about in hushed tones, for fear that this side of
Wesley’s personality would up and kill them. “If that were indeed the case, why
would you come? Unless you think I might be lacking in that department.”
Wesley’s friends
were shocked into silence; the only person not looking rebuffed was Cohen. “I
think we may have hurt his very delicate feelings, if you wish to issue a
challenge brother, take out a glove.”
Wesley laughed
amusedly and dropped his monocle, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Cohen smiled,
“Well, where are we going tonight? I don’t know Brighton well.”
The Assembly of
Cads took several private carriages out into the heart Brighton, all of the men
stopping at Cohen’s house and changing into common clothing, as was their
custom, not wishing to attract the unfortunate attention lavished on the gentry
at bars.
They entered the
same pub that Wesley had frequented the day before, O’Malley’s. The barkeep
yelled out a welcome, “Welcome back! It’s our own Prince Charming.”
The entire
assembly turned to Wesley, questions and accusations in their eyes. It was
Damon who asked the question, his sharp features and white blond hair twisted
into a wide smile, “Well who is she, and where is her brothel?”
“She is no one.”
Wesley answered tersely. The group looked at him unconvinced. “I met a woman, just
as feisty as they come, but she is a gentlewoman.”
“Wait, what was
she doing here?” Cohen asked
“I told you, she
was feisty, and I met her today as well. I halfway wanted to throttle her and
the other half was in a different vein.”
“Well, what happened?”
James asked
“Well it would
be past indelicate for me to tell you. But you know my past, have some
imagination.”
They laughed,
they did know about Wesley’s sordid past.
“And who is
she?” James asked.
Wesley looked
around at his friends; there could be harm in telling her name. Anyone of these
Blackguards could try for her as well, “None of your damned business.”
They lapsed into
silence for a moment, before Wesley asked, “So if you all came here, can I
expect that the rest of the ton has followed?”
Drake answered,
“Of course, the ten most eligible bachelors and their friends leave and they
all come running, every matchmaking mama and every wallflower. Of course season
must start here then, I suppose I will throw together a ball, and I will find
someone local to host, as it was our fault.”
The group though
they saw the necessity, if not that season would continue but to find willing women,
hated all drudgery. Wesley ordered brandy for the group and they quickly were
three sheets to the wind, and stumbled home.
Wesley found his
way home with his brother in tow, frequently his brother would be the
instigator to an event but Wesley always stuck by Cohen.
The brothers
each found their apartments and slept long into the next day. Wesley emerged
from his bed to find Cohen eating a late breakfast and looking at an
invitation, “It is from Drake. It is a ball being held tonight. That man works
well with a hangover.”
Across town,
Jess looked down at a similar invitation and then smiled fondly across to her
favorite cousin, “Well Drake, you certainly surprised us all. We didn’t know
you were coming until yesterday and then a ball being thrown tonight, you certainly
are coming for something.
Drake smiled,
his blonde streaked hair glinting, “Yes, I suppose, but I have brought a large
group of friends and it will be a fun night.”
Jess thought for
a moment about telling Drake about the Duke of York, but decided against it,
there was no need to stir the rumor mill, a rumor mill that would flare over
the night, whether Jess liked it or not.
