It took Kevin until the next afternoon to build up the courage to face Jenny again. He couldn’t quite understand how he could have been so precipitous. He wasn’t exactly known for placing a wager before he had seen his cards. Yet, he had seized Jenny as if she were a royal flush, and he was a hundred pounds down. He was lucky she hadn’t slapped his face!

Then there was his own reaction. He’d kissed any number of women, had always found it rather enjoyable. But he had been amazed to find that kissing Jenny was something else entirely. Her lips grew more tender the longer he tasted them; just the touch of them made his heart start beating faster. If a kiss could so affect him, what would making love to her be like? If she had asked him for the moon just then, he would have done anything to fetch it for her.

The glow on her face, the tremble of her against him, told him she had been similarly affected. It boded well for their future together. All he knew was that he was more determined than ever to win her hand. He only hoped he had gauged her feelings correctly.

 

–

 

As for Jenny, it was some time before she could think clearly. When Martha returned shortly after Kevin left, Jenny barely noticed. Her companion had to bend down in front of her and look directly in her eyes before Jenny stirred.

“What happened?” Martha demanded. “I knew I shouldn’t leave you alone with that man! What did he do to you?”

Jenny blinked, gazing up at Martha as her companion straightened. “Oh, hello, Martha. I didn’t see you come in. Did you manage to find the Egan articles?”

“Yes, as if you care,” Martha replied, shoving the papers at her. “And you may as well tell me all. Is Mr. Whattling still welcome in this house?”

Jenny clutched the clippings closer. “Very welcome. I want you to know, Martha, that if I marry him, I will expect you to stay on. You like children, don’t you?”

Martha sank onto the sofa, her skin nearly matching the white satin. “You’ve accepted him?”

“No, but I am sorely tempted. He kissed me, Martha.”

“The bounder,” Martha whispered in obvious awe. “What was it like?”

Jenny shivered, closing her eyes. “It was beyond anything I ever imagined.” She opened her eyes. “And I think it affected him as well. Could that means he truly cares for me, Martha?”

Her narrow face tightened. “Oh, my dear, I do hope so. I suppose only time will tell. Has Mr. Carstairs provided you with his report yet?”

A chill shot through Jenny, and logic pulled itself firmly back into place. “No, and we should request that he do so.” She sighed, rising. “It really is too much to ask to live a fairy tale, isn’t it, Martha?”

“I’m afraid so,” Martha replied, mirroring her sigh. “Give me back those clippings. I’ll return them to Fiching. Then I’ll go collect those boxing books and send them with Stevens to the booksellers. Perhaps you can still get your money back.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Jenny asked with a frown. “We have a great deal more work to do before I am satisfied we have a comprehensive understanding of the sport.”

Martha gaped at her. “But you heard Mr. Whattling. He asked you not to view the sport, and you said yourself you could not study it without doing so.”

“It is a setback,” Jenny agreed. “However, even though I cannot play the harp does not mean I cannot develop an appreciation for its music.”

“Now you sound like those musicians you sponsor,” Martha complained.

Jenny stared at her. “Martha, you are brilliant. Fetch the quill and stationery if you will. I have a letter I’d like you to compose.”

Martha rose to comply but she frowned. “What now?”

Jenny smiled. “It is only to Mr. Carstairs. I wish him to inquire about the price of an item I’d like to purchase. I wonder how much it costs to sponsor a fighter.”

 

–

 

Kevin wasn’t sure what to expect of his meeting with Jenny when he called the next day. She’d had time to think, and she could well berate him for his behavior the previous day. Perhaps her butler would refuse him entrance. But Fiching greeted him warmly and led him to the sitting room, where Jenny waited in a high-necked navy kerseymere gown that somehow reminded him of the way her curves had nestled against him. Miss Tindale narrowed her eyes at him and stabbed her needle into her embroidery as if she wished it were his heart she attacked.

He was careful to choose the chair across from Jenny even though the seat next to her on the sofa beckoned. No need to push his advantage, not when just the sight of him seemed to have set her hazel eyes to sparkling, her delectable cheeks to reddening. He leaned back and prepared himself to spend the next quarter hour prosing on about boxing.

But she didn’t ask about boxing. Indeed, she seemed rather distracted, plucking at her skirts, rubbing her fingers along the nub of the white sofa.

“And how go your studies?” he ventured when the silence stretched.

Miss Tindale snorted, but Jenny managed a smile. “They are progressing, thank you.”

“She’s reading the books,” her companion informed him with a quelling frown to her mistress. “Isn’t that right?”

Jenny started. “Yes, of course, Martha.”

Kevin smiled at her. “I never appreciated what one can learn from books until I met you, Miss Welch.”

Her eyes widened, color fleeing. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t read?”

Kevin gave her his most charming smile, realizing he would have to go carefully on what was obviously a sacred subject to her. “Of course I can read. I simply find other pursuits more entertaining.”

She peered at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second nose. “Really? How very odd. When was the last time you read a book?”

“An entire book?” he hedged, trying to think. He was sure he’d better remember accurately, for she’d surely ask him title and text next.

“Yes, an entire book.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it hasn’t been since Eton. I don’t actually read much, not even The Times.”

She stared at him, eyes wide. “Didn’t you even read The Corsair?”

He chuckled. “I never particularly liked Byron as a person. I can’t imagine I’d like anything he chose to write.”

“Then you do have preferences,” she persisted. “Do you enjoy poetry, novels, plays, essays, or treaties more?”

“Novels, I would say,” he replied, though in truth he wasn’t sure there was much of a difference. “But nothing overly melodramatic.”

“Certainly not,” she agreed.

Miss Tindale sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Fanny Burney wrote such wonderful stories.”

Jenny scowled at her. “Stuff and nonsense. Those works being published anonymously by a ‘lady of quality’ are far more entertaining. Do you know Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Whattling?”

This time he did not hesitate to smile. “I haven’t had the pleasure of reading it, Miss Welch, but I can tell you who the author is.”

“Really?” Color and sparkle returned. Even Miss Tindale leaned forward.

Kevin crossed his legs at the ankles, enjoying his moment of notoriety. “Indeed. She has charmed Society. Even the Prince Regent is a most devoted reader, I understand.”

“It’s not that shocking Caro Lamb, is it?” Miss Tindale guessed. “I don’t think I could abide it if it were, although she’s always threatening to write something dreadful about Society, I hear.”

“No, Miss Tindale, not Caro Lamb. She is a Miss Jane Austen, whose father was a clergyman in Hampshire.”

Jenny nodded. “That makes sense. She has an innate understanding of country life that makes her characters seem so real. One would almost think she knew them.”

“So I have heard,” Kevin replied.

Jenny eyed him. “My friends and I are currently reading Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps you would care to join us in discussing its merits and demerits.”

Nothing would have pleased him less, but the way she made the offer sounded suspiciously like a challenge, and he was still too much the Corinthian to let any challenge go unaccepted. “That would be delightful, Miss Welch. Just tell me the day and time.”

Miss Tindale rolled her eyes and mumbled something as she renewed her attack on the embroidery on her lap.

“It is short notice, I’m afraid,” Jenny told him. “We are discussing it tomorrow at two.”

“That should not be a problem,” Kevin replied, wondering how long it could take to read a story written by the daughter of a country clergyman.

“Excellent,” she said. The gleam in her eye told him he had been right to accept the challenge. He only wondered whether he would be able to live up to it.

He met his first obstacle that very afternoon when he found he hadn’t enough money in his pocket to so much as purchase the book from a bookseller. And the nearest lending library to his apartments somehow didn’t believe his tale of being a long-time patron. Annoyed and shamefaced, he was forced to track down Giles and Nigel at White’s and beg for the fee. When he admitted the reason, they both stared at him.

“A—a book?” Nigel sputtered. “Have you gone mad?”

“You aren’t actually going to read it, are you, Kev?” Giles pleaded. “You’re just going to carry it under one arm, as a sort of prop. She is a bluestocking, after all, Nigel.”

“I don’t care if she’s the heir apparent,” Nigel said. “No man should have to stoop so low. What does she expect you to read, some female track against gambling?”

“Nothing so horrendous, old man,” Kevin assured him. “Just the latest novel by that Austen woman Prinny was so set on. You may have the book when I’m finished with it if you’d like.”

“What do you take me for?” Nigel demanded. “I wouldn’t have the thing in my house, no matter what the Regent thinks of it.”

“He isn’t exactly known for his taste,” Giles put in “if you’ll pardon my lack of tact.”

“You needn’t look so horrified, gentlemen,” Kevin repeated. “It’s only one book, and it’s only to make a good impression. We are agreed that that should still be my plan, are we not?”

Nigel mumbled something, but Giles nodded.

“Very well, then,” Kevin continued. “If you can stand to loan me a bit more, I think we shall contrive.”

“If you ask me,” Nigel grumbled, fishing in the pocket of his waistcoat for a yellow boy, which he tossed to Kevin, “you should be taking a stronger tone with her from the first. You can’t wait until after the wedding to let a woman know where you stand on issues. Gives them an advantage.”

“I think that’s a bit strong, Nigel,” Giles chided. “Kevin is trying to make a good impression, as he said. I’ve known many a man to do things while courting he’d never do once he’s leg-shackled.”

“Well, I suppose,” Nigel allowed. “Still, sponsoring boxers and now making Whattling read a book—”

“What?” Kevin interrupted him. “What do you mean, sponsoring boxers?”

Nigel and Giles exchanged glances.

“You didn’t know?” Giles asked with a worried frown.

Kevin was almost afraid to ask. “Didn’t know what?”

“It’s all about town,” Nigel told him. “Her solicitor has been seen at the boxing establishments. The talk is she’s going to choose a fellow and sponsor his fights. He tried to get a name out of Gentleman Jackson, and Jackson refused. I naturally assumed you’d been involved somehow.”

“No,” Kevin replied, jaw tensing. “I wasn’t.”

Nigel and Giles exchanged glances again.

“Is there more?” Kevin snapped.

Giles jumped. “No, Kev, honestly. It’s just that it is rather odd behavior. I mean, what lady involves herself with pugilists, of all things?”

“I certainly hope, Giles,” Kevin replied, watching his friend shrink under his steely gaze, “that you’re not implying that Miss Welch is anything less than a lady.”

“No, no,” Giles gasped. “Never! Nigel, tell him.”

“Cut line, Whattling,” Nigel growled. “If you mean to take on everyone who implies Miss Welch has no business with boxers, you’ll have to fight every gossip in town.”

“As bad as that?” Kevin asked.

“Afraid so, old man,” Nigel told him.

“I don’t know where you stand in your pursuit of the lady,” Giles put in. “But you may want to have a word with her on her behavior, for her own good, you know.”

“I have had a word with her, Giles,” Kevin replied, rising. “Several words to be exact. But I have a feeling it will take a great deal more to dissuade Eugennia Welch from her studies.”