Lords of Scandal: The Beleaguered Lord Bourne / The Enterprising Lord Edward. Кейси Майклс
the shop, Jennie departed, her head still buzzing with the Frenchwoman’s ridiculous compliments and fervent expressions of gratitude (the latter being more readily believed if Jennie had but known the total of the bill). She changed her mind about shopping for shoes, bonnets, gloves, and other accessories, putting off that errand for another day even if it meant she must listen to Bundy’s prudish criticisms of her every choice. She had a headache of her very own now, the result of the modiste’s incessant chatter and a growing hunger for her lunch, which may have accounted for her almost violent reaction to seeing her husband strolling down the opposite side of the street, a soft, clinging bit of frailty hanging from each elbow.
It was ridiculous. Why should she feel this almost overpowering urge to dash across the street and plummet the two slyly simpering creatures about the head and shoulders with her reticule? And when she had done with them she would deliver a bash or five on the noggin of the stupidly grinning ignoramus who was acting less like a married man than Prinny himself!
She stood stock-still on the flagway, rooted to the spot by her anger and her inability to do more than mentally mangle the cause of her upset.
“O-oo-o, lookee, miss,” Goldie piped up loudly at exactly the wrong moment. “There’s his lordship himself, out for a breath of air. Yoo-hoo! Your lordship!” she trilled in a high, carrying soprano, her voice succeeding in reaching the earl above the noisy street sounds and the animated chattering of his companions.
“Oh, my God!” Kit breathed in exasperation as he spied Goldie and his wife—his oddly erect wife—on the opposite side of the street. What a coil! He couldn’t abandon the two females on the crowded flagway, and he wasn’t such a gapeseed as to drag them with him and introduce them to his wife of seven days. Yet to ignore his wife entirely was courting disaster. Besides, that dratted maid would probably keep bellowing like a sick calf until he acknowledged their presence. He was damned no matter what he did!
And the Lady Luck, in the form of one Oswald Norwood, came sauntering toward him, and Kit began to believe in good fairies. “Ozzy, my dearest friend,” he intoned bravely, “would you be so kind as to escort these ladies to a hackney? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten an urgent appointment.”
Ozzy was delighted, a fact Kit did not linger to learn, hurrying instead across the street, neatly dodging horses and vehicles that dared to get in his path, to stand smartly, and just a bit breathlessly, in a direct line between his wife and his too recent companions. “I did not know you had planned to visit the shops, my dear,” he said with studied nonchalance.
Jennie leaned a bit to the left and peered over his shoulder at the females, who still stood where Kit had left them. “Obviously,” she drawled sweetly, “else you would have asked me to join your party. Wouldn’t you?”
Wretched chit! he swore silently, acting just as if we had vowed fidelity or some such rot. Which they had! he remembered with a jolt. “Party?” he improvised rapidly. “Oh, pet, you mistake the facts entirely. Those young ladies are—er—cousins of my friend Ozzy, the man with them now. I was just lending them my company while he dashed off a moment to speak with an acquaintance he hadn’t seen for some time. Merely holding the fort, as it were,” he ended with a limp laugh.
“Really?” Jennie’s voice conveyed her disbelief. “It’s a shame they had to rush off without so much as an introduction. But perhaps we can have them to dinner one evening. We know so few people in London, you know.” It was amazing how calm her voice sounded, considering she was still seriously contemplating homicide.
“Yes, well, er, you shouldn’t let the horses stand too much longer, Jennie,” Kit said in a sudden inspiration. “Allow me to escort you home, and, er, we can take luncheon together. I’ve been so busy establishing my bona fides at the banks and seeking out friends from my army days that I’m guilty of neglecting you, aren’t I, puss? I confess to feeling ashamed.”
You could charm the pennies off a dead man’s eyes, Jennie decided nastily, hating herself for feeling her outrage slowly melting under Kit’s engagingly open grin. Now her anger was somehow redirecting itself, turning away from her husband and centering on her own overreaction to seeing him in the company of two, she reluctantly acknowledged, beautiful females, when she herself didn’t care two sticks for the man personally. In fact, had Kit only promptly shepherded his wife into the coach he might have come out of the whole episode with nary a scratch, so angry was Jennie with herself. But Lady Luck had deserted him too soon this sunny spring day and the storm clouds were gathering, soon to rain all over his victory.
“Kit,” came the voice of Ozzy Norwood as he joined his friend after sending two very disgruntled ladies on their way back to Drury Lane. “I demand you return my favor and introduce me to your beautiful companion. Two for one may not be a fair exchange, but then a simple mister cannot command the same privileges as an earl, what? By the by,” he added, securing his friend’s coffin with a few finishing nails, “this one makes those two warblers look like yesterday’s kippers, stap me if they don’t. Can’t blame you for dumping them in my lap and loping off like that.”
A large rock—possibly Gibraltar itself—was lodged in Lord Bourne’s throat, making coherent speech impossible, although he did try a time or two, gasping and choking badly before subsiding into silence and glaring at his grinning friend.
Just as Ozzy’s eyes were belatedly taking in Jennie’s simple but well-cut gown and the presence of a female much resembling a lady’s maid standing in front of what looked suspiciously like Bourne’s town carriage—a small glimmer of light beginning to grow in his pleasantly vacant face—Jennie stepped into the breach and took charge.
Extending a small gloved hand in his direction, she said brightly, “You must be one of my husband’s good friends—one of those selfish creatures who so monopolize his time in lengthy sessions reminiscing about your shared youths. But I’ll forgive your interruption of our honeymoon, as I know how greatly Kit enjoys reliving his childish exploits. He must, mustn’t he, as I have not seen him above a moment or two since we arrived in town.”
“It’s all my fault!” Ozzy sacrificed bravely. “He didn’t want to be with us, you know. We fairly begged for his company. Don’t blame him, my lady, I implore you—”
Jennie pretended to pout, throwing out her full bottom lip, thereby nearly inciting her husband to violence, then brightened visibly as she said, “I have it! You must come to dine. Just as soon as our French chef is in residence—say, a week from today? And bring your two cousins, as I do so pine for some female companionship. After all, sir, any friend of Kit’s cannot help but find welcome in Berkeley Square. Isn’t that so, dear?” she asked the mute earl. Was that smoke she saw coming out of her husband’s ears? she thought, feeling rather full of herself.
“You’re kind, ma’am,” Ozzy blustered, his overtaxed intellect reeling under the barrage his faux pas had unleashed and powerless to maneuver out of range of attack. “Too—too—kind. Indeed,” he said, attempting an air of worldliness, “Kit is undeserving of such a fine lady as yourself.”
“Why thank you, sir,” Jennie responded. “I quite agree. But then we so seldom get what we deserve, don’t we?”
At last Kit found his tongue. “Oh, I don’t know about that, my love,” he put in, leading her toward the open door of the coach. “Some of us get exactly what we deserve. In fact, one of us might just get it this very night if she continues asking for it so blatantly.”
“Really?” Jennie exclaimed, bravado masking the fact that her knees were beginning to experience a decided tendency to quiver. In a much lower voice heard only by her husband she added, “My papa always warned me that people who choose to live in glass houses should beware of tossing rocks. Look to yourself, my love, before casting any stones at my behavior. Retribution can be demanded on both sides.”
After delivering this stunning coup de grace, Jennie turned, inclined her head to her husband’s friend and incidental tattletale, and allowed herself to be assisted into the carriage. Blond head held high, she concentrated on her