Chapter 11
When Nash strolled into the largest private parlor The Bull boasted, only a step behind Lady Georgina, he sensed someone immediately to his right, almost behind the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Lady Cavendish, looking like a vision this afternoon. Her straw bonnet with a jaunty feather on the side allowed only one shiny chestnut curl to escape, a ringlet that hung to the left side of her face. Her green- and white-striped gown, with a tight-fitting Spencer in matching green, accentuated her breasts.
Nash gave an inward groan. Why did the woman insist on torturing him like this? Thank God she wore no more provocative clothing or he’d be undone in the middle of The Bull. He fought the impulse, but in the end he gave in and glanced down at her feet. They were, of course, encased in sturdy half boots. Had he expected her barefoot in public?
He must get hold of himself.
With a deep breath, he slowed and turned toward his hostess. “Lady Cavendish. Such a wonderful surprise to see you all here. I trust you passed a pleasant morning?”
Her face paled, then flushed. “Lord Wrotham. I . . . I did, thank you.” The hectic color in her cheeks approached the hue of a ripe strawberry. Obviously she remembered their early morning meeting as well as he did. Nevertheless, she curtsied, her lips pursed. “Will you join us, my lord? We were about to take some refreshment before exploring the village.”
“I would be delighted, my lady. How fortunate for me to have come upon your party.”
“Indeed. Fortunate.” The lady fidgeted with her reticule. “Will you take a seat—?”
“Thank you.” He turned toward Brack and his sister. “May I wait upon you, Lady Georgina?” When she nodded, he moved to the nearest end of the table and assisted her with her seat. One irresistible glance back told him his lady had not expected that maneuver.
She stood staring at him, her brows dipped in a puzzled frown. After a moment she seemed to shake herself and took a seat halfway along the table beside Lady John.
So far, so good.
“You have a splendid day for your outing, Lady Georgina.” Nash nodded encouragingly, bringing a blush to the young widow’s cheeks and a small smile to her lips. She seemed too young to have had a husband, although he’d learned the tragic circumstances of her marriage from her brother over brandy last night. The lady deserved better from her father, and under other circumstances Nash might seriously have considered courting her. She seemed sweet and companionable. Excellent qualities in a wife.
But the Earl of Grafton’s grip tightened on him the closer they drew to November. And truth to tell, after last night’s amorous entanglement, he had set his heart on conquering Lady Cavendish. Her scandalous proposition had startled him. Not the offer most ladies would make, but he shouldn’t underestimate his “wicked widow.” The game was on between them, though she didn’t know it. How long before he could persuade her to accept him? His body prayed for sooner rather than later.
“It is indeed lovely, my lord.” Lady Georgina’s merry voice broke into his thoughts. “I am quite looking forward to seeing the sights of your village. I had heard of The Bull before. It has quite a history, does it not?” She gazed around, avidly taking in the rustic half-timbered, half-whitewashed walls hung with gleaming coats of arms and ancient weaponry.
“Indeed it does, my lady.” Nash spoke in a clear voice designed to carry down the table. Lady Cavendish glanced their way and he relaxed in his seat. “In the Middle Ages Wrotham acted as a stop on the Pilgrims’ Way.”
“The Pilgrims’ Way?” Georgina’s glass-green eyes sparkled. “I’ve heard of The Pilgrim’s Progress, my lord. Are they similar?”
He chuckled. “Not exactly, my lady.” Nash searched her face but couldn’t tell if she spoke truthfully or if the young minx had decided to flirt with him. “They both had to do with a religious journey, however. The Pilgrims’ Way was the route that stretched over a hundred miles from Winchester to Canterbury that many pilgrims took when traveling to the cathedral. A perilous journey, with many a soul lost on its way there.”
“As dangerous as that?” the lady whispered and inclined her head closer.
Definitely flirting. He might well enjoy this.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Nash leaned toward her, peering intently into her eyes, which sparkled with mischief. What had brought about this change in her? What the devil was she up to? Could he believe she had developed a tendre for him overnight? He pulled himself back into the conversation. “Although I daresay Wrotham provided a safe haven for them if they made it this far.”
“I am convinced your ancestors would have made sure of it, my lord.” Her smile broadened and she laid her hand on his arm. “If they were anything like you.”
Lord, what on earth had he started? Perhaps something a bit more gruesome would cool the chit’s interest a trifle.
“Did you know Wrotham has also been the haunt of kings? In fact, the story goes that King Henry VIII was in residence here when he received word that Anne Boleyn had been executed for treason.” He intoned solemnly. “The next day he betrothed himself to Jane Seymour.”
“Oh, my!” Lady Georgina jerked upright, her eyes growing big and round. She clutched his arm. “How horrible.”
“King Henry wasted no time, apparently. He wanted an heir and one disappointed him at their peril.” Nash chuckled at Georgina’s shudder and patted her hand. “Fortunately, today men are not quite so driven, although it is their ultimate duty to their family to secure its succession.”
“Hah!” Lady Cavendish tossed a glance at him, then continued her quiet conversation with Lady John.
Had his statement drawn her disdain or something else entirely? Did she not want children? Dangerous woman indeed.
“I had no idea the village’s history was so colorful.” Georgina withdrew her hand and sat back in her chair, her face a trifle paler.
Nash shot a glance once more toward Lady Cavendish, whose ears had now turned a bright shade of pink. He’d wager she’d been listening. Good. He hoped she had also noted their earlier flirtation.
“Still, Wrotham Village is quite charming, Lady Georgina.” He smiled and settled in his seat. “What sights are you planning to visit today?”
Her fresh face lit up again. “I think after here we are to walk to St. George’s Church, which is ever so old.”
“Thirteenth century, I believe. There is a magnificent view of the village from the clock tower.”
Georgina leaned toward her hostess. “Charlotte! May we actually go up in the clock tower? Lord Wrotham says there is a lovely view of the village from there.” Her wheedling tone was not lost on Nash, although he assumed Lady Cavendish had already planned that particular excursion. That view alone often drew people to the village.
The lady in question, however, turned toward them and raised her eyebrows. “Is it indeed, Lord Wrotham? Then I suppose we should avail ourselves of that prospect.”
“Have you not climbed the clock tower, Lady Cavendish?” Given her current tone, Nash doubted it.
“No, my lord. I must confess I have only visited the village once before today.” One end of her pursed mouth turned up in a charming smile, making Nash stifle a gasp. The lady could be unpredictably enchanting.
“Therefore, may I be so bold,” Charlotte leaned toward him, deepening the décolletage of her gown, “as to impose upon you to act as guide to us? You obviously have more experience in the area than I.”
The winsome look of a maiden in distress became her very well.
Nash licked his lips. Damn. How must that look with his eyes fastened on her cleavage?
“And you will, of course, be in attendance at Lyttlefield tonight?” Lady John interrupted the conversation as she poked her head over the table, beaming seductively at Nash.
Another delightfully bold woman.
“You are part of the party, you know.”
“I will be delighted to attend, Lady John.”
“Thank you, my lord. We are devilishly short of men now that Mr. Garrett has been called away.” Lady John turned liquid blue eyes on him, half-closing them like a cat satisfied with the cream it has stolen.
He would have agreed to anything the woman asked. As she had intended. Lady John knew how to get her way, that was for certain. Had she also deliberately dropped the information that Garrett had gone? Lady Cavendish had not disclosed their encounter, then. Did that bode ill or well?
“How wonderful that we may count on you.” Lady John gestured to the party members. “I believe we are to have dancing again and cards. Men are useful in so many delightful ways.”
“Indeed we are, my lady.” A fascinating woman. But too audacious for him by half. He turned to Lady Cavendish, vividly reminded of several ways he longed to be useful to her.
“But we must not trespass too much on Lord Wrotham’s time, cousin.” Lady Cavendish smiled at him, setting off a small riot in his chest. “I have just beseeched him to show us the village. How can we expect him to donate so much of his valuable time when he may have other pressing engagements?”
“But I will be honored to escort your guests around the town. And as I am not engaged this evening, nothing would give me more pleasure than to attend your gathering.” Nash couldn’t resist one more taunt. “Or almost nothing. Pleasure can be had in so many ways, don’t you agree?”
Lady Cavendish’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Her cheeks reddened as if by magic. “Yes, my lord, I do. I will remember that. Thank you.”
If looks could kill he’d be in the Wrotham kirkyard this minute. He chuckled, then glanced around the room, bent on putting his words into deeds immediately. The first thing to strike him as odd was the lack of beverages on the table. “Have you ordered some of The Bull’s famous ale for your guests, Lady Cavendish? It’s quite the local specialty.”
After a fleeting look of annoyance, the lady shook her head and shrugged. “I had no idea of such a thing.” For a moment her face shadowed with embarrassment. “I suppose I should have made better arrangements for the party.”
How had she learned so little of the place in the time she’s been here? Well, he would fill the breach.
“Not a’tall. But you are all in for a treat. And ladies, although I know it is highly unusual for you to drink ale, you really must indulge just this once.” He rose and went in search of the innkeeper. In moments, they were all sampling the light, nutty ale for which The Bull had gained quite a reputation.
Nash sipped his fourth pint, glad he had insisted the ladies try the beverage before moving on to the tea, which he had also ordered. Several of them seemed quite taken with the ale. Lady John and, surprisingly, little Georgina were making headway with their half-pints. Lady Cavendish too seemed to enjoy it. The others were less enthusiastic.
Mrs. Easton took one sip, sputtered, and pushed hers toward Lord Brack.
He laughed and said, “Much obliged,” before downing his own and pulling her glass toward him. He fixed his eyes on the lovely blond woman as he sipped. A conquest in the making?
Nash returned his attention to Lady Georgina, still sipping her ale. “I see you like the Wrotham ale. ’Tis said those ladies who esteem it find a true husband.” Against his will, his gaze strayed to Lady Cavendish to find her staring back at him.
“Indeed, my lord?” Georgie shook with mirth. “I suppose if they both liked the ale sufficiently, the wife wouldn’t care if the husband was true or not.”
“I take your point, my lady.” Nash grinned, pleased at the way she had put herself forward today. Dash it, she was a winning little thing. Not at all like the prickly Lady Cavendish.
Well, not always prickly of course. She had been soft enough last night. He shook his head and finished his ale. Enough of that. He needed to keep his wits about him. Perhaps some fresh air would be agreeable.
With a small inclination of his head to Lady Georgina, he rose and turned to his hostess. Had she been staring at him the whole time? Her dusky green eyes, tip-tilted up at him, said she had indeed noted his conversation with Georgie.
Splendid.
“If you will have the party meet in front of the inn, we can start toward the church.”
Lady Cavendish nodded and rose to stand beside him. A weariness in her face spoke of their late night, the strain of which lay at his door. Had she tossed and turned as he had, consumed with unfulfilled passion? He shook the thought from his mind.
“There are several places of interest in the village in addition to St. George’s. I will be honored to act as guide for the afternoon. I’m certain I can keep the party sufficiently entertained.”
The look of appreciation she sent him spoke volumes. “You are very kind, my lord.” Her soft voice sounded warmer than before. “If you will not be too inconvenienced? I am sure you did not come here with the expectation of leading our party.”
“I am delighted to be able to show off our village to your friends.”
“Our village?”
He cocked his head. “Both our properties adjoin Wrotham Village. It is as much yours as mine.”
She shook her head. “I am only just come into the neighborhood, my lord. It is your home, not mine.”
He grinned. “Not as much as you might think, Lady Cavendish. But if you will excuse me?”
Nash made his way toward the convenience at the back of the inn and in five minutes time stood in front of The Bull, talking to Brack as the rest of the party assembled around him.
The little knot of women off to his right on the grass beneath a shady oak had their heads together like the witches from Macbeth. Perhaps deciding which gentleman they would like to escort them, for when Lady Cavendish emerged from the inn they broke apart en masse. Each one then engaged one of the men who stood in a staggered line in the dusty road.
Lady John claimed Sinclair with a determined arm through his. Lady Stephen slipped her hand through the crook of Sinclair’s other arm. Mrs. Wickley sidled up beside Lord Fernley and began to speak animatedly to him.
Nash wasn’t greatly surprised when Lady Georgina attached herself to his right arm.
“Shall we be off now, Lord Wrotham? I am so excited to see the church tower.”
Before he could answer her, to his amazement, Mrs. Easton appeared on his left.
“We truly have a lovely day to see the village, don’t you think, Lord Wrotham?” she asked, her voice musical and low-pitched. “The weather has been so unseasonably cool.”
Nash swallowed to moisten a suddenly dry throat. Two ladies at his side? Well, with Garrett gone, the party lacked more than one man.
He shot an innocent look toward Lady Cavendish.
She had stopped next to Lord Brack to stare back at him. Her shoulders squared as though pierced with a ramrod and after one wintry flash from those devastating eyes, she fell into conversation with her escort, as though she had taken no notice of Nash’s companions.
With difficulty, he repressed a grin and turned to Mrs. Easton. “I quite agree, ma’am. A beautiful day for a walk with two lovely ladies.” His voice carried just far enough on the windless air.
His lady twitched her shoulders, then continued to nod at a comment from Brack.
Nash glanced at first one, then the other woman beside him, sighed, and started down the road toward St. George’s. This could prove to be an exceedingly interesting afternoon.