Every Time We Kiss (6 page)

“I apologize, Lady Cantwell.”

The older woman leaned on her cane and then scanned the room until her gaze landed on Matthew. “He is a—”

“Pompous, overbearing, arrogant—”

Lady Cantwell’s cackle interrupted her tirade. “I was about to say a handsome devil. Handsome not in a pretty way, but with an air of danger about him. He reminds me a little of my third husband. Now he was a man….”

“Lord Blackburn? Hardly. His hair is highly un-fashionable. He could almost put it in a queue. His clothes are wrinkled and at least two years out of date.”

“Lady Jennette,” Lady Cantwell started, “I do believe Lord Blackburn should escort you into the dining room.”

Jennette’s mouth gaped open. “I—I—”

“I am the hostess of this little gathering.”

“But, Lady Cantwell, he is the man who killed my betrothed,” she argued.

“Accidentally, if my old memory serves.” Lady Cantwell’s brown eyes flashed with something akin to humor. “It is far past time for that incident to be buried.”

How could Lady Cantwell find anything about this situation amusing? “Yes, it was an accident. Still, most people don’t understand that and—”

“And you shall do exactly as this old lady tells you, miss.” Lady Cantwell smiled and patted Jennette’s hand. “Stop worrying about what other people think of you. Life is far more enjoyable that way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jennette closed her eyes as Lady Cantwell slowly walked away.

“I was told in no uncertain terms that I am to escort you into dinner.”

She opened her eyes to see Matthew staring down at her with contempt in his eyes. “Yes. She informed me, too.”

“Shall we?” He held out his arm to her.

She nodded and linked her arm with his. Inhaling the tangy smell of sandalwood, she shivered.

“Are you cold?”

Unable to tell him that his nearness caused such tumultuous feelings in her belly, she nodded. “It is a chilly night.”

“Yes, it has been a dreadful year for weather.”

At least the weather was a safer topic of conversation than her shopping habits, or his overly long, chestnut hair. She had to get her traitorous desires under control. Why couldn’t she have felt this way about John? He at least had loved her. Matthew didn’t even like her. He thought she was nothing more than a spoiled brat. At least she hoped he’d been about to say brat and not the other “b” word.

“So I hear there is to be a literary salon at Lady Elizabeth’s home tomorrow night,” he said while they walked down the hall to the dining room.

“Yes.”

“Very good.”

“Is it?” Jennette asked with a strained tone to her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“You seemed quite pleased with Miss Sheldon last evening. Did you call on her today? Do you plan to court her?”

He glanced over at her with a strange little smile and her cheeks burned. She sounded like a jealous shrew.

“So many questions.”

“You could try to answer one of them,” she replied tightly.

“Then the answer is no.”

“No, you didn’t call on her? Or no, you don’t plan to court her?”

“No, to both questions.”

“You are the most frustrating man I have ever met,” she mumbled.

They reached the dining room and strolled around the table until they found their name cards. Right next to each other. Matthew pulled out her chair and waited for her to take her seat.

He moved to the chair on her right. She greeted the others near her, attempting to ignore his masculine scent. Several people glanced down the long table at them. Most of them had pity in their eyes at her plight.

She did her best to keep her conversation with Lady Caroline, who sat to Jennette’s left. But with every bite she took, her gaze slid to him. She couldn’t help but notice everything, from his long fingers gripping the fork to the smile he gave Miss Colbert.

A shiver raced down her arm when he accidentally brushed up against her shoulder. She hated these feelings she had for Matthew. Why couldn’t she control her reaction to him? No man before him had ever made her feel so off-centered.

Not even the man she was supposed to marry.

The invitation to Lady Elizabeth’s impromptu literary salon had been a pleasant surprise. He knew she was one of Jennette’s friends. He assumed either Jennette was holding something over her head or Lady Elizabeth knew of his problem.

He actually hoped it was the former and not the latter. The last thing he needed was all of Jennette’s friends knowing his business. Clenching his fists in frustration, he felt the carriage roll to a stop. Someday this would all be over, his name returned to its proper position, his debts paid and his tenants safe. Then he could rebuild his wealth.

The image of Jennette with all those boxes almost teetering out of her arms refused to leave his mind. He couldn’t imagine how much money she must have spent yesterday. Far more than he could ever afford, he ruefully thought.

So the last thing he needed or wanted was a frivolous woman to spend money he didn’t have. He would ignore the rush of desire that overcame him every time she neared him. Overlooking her shouldn’t be a huge problem.

Except, he couldn’t take his gaze off her at Lady Cantwell’s dinner. She’d entertained all the people around them, drawing them into polite conversation. At times, he even thought he saw her glance toward him.

Inhaling deeply, he walked up the steps, pushed Jennette out of his mind, and wondered what type of reception he would receive tonight. An aging butler answered the door and held out his hand for a card. Matthew handed him the newly embossed card with his title.

“Come in, my lord. Lady Elizabeth is expecting you.” The wizened man opened the door and waved him in. “They are in the conservatory.”

Matthew followed the servant, admiring the white marble floor and paintings on the wall. Once his finances were in order he could restore his homes to their formal glory. One particular oil landscape was so alluring he halted his stride to take a better look at it. The scene of a river flowing through a hamlet was skillfully painted. He looked for the artist’s signature but only the initials “JMT” marked it.

Hearing conversation ahead, he knew they had reached the room. He stopped as the butler announced him at the threshold.

“The Earl of Blackburn.”

No matter how many times he heard it, he would never get accustomed to hearing that esteemed name used to announce him. The scoundrel, the black sheep of the family, and the man who had ruined the family name.

Lady Elizabeth turned and smiled at him.

“Lord Blackburn, welcome to my salon.”

“Thank you, my lady. I am very pleased to be here.” He bowed over her hand.

He scanned the room until he found Jennette sitting near a large orange tree. Her maroon gown accented her pale skin and dark hair, but it was her hair that held his attention. Tonight her raven tresses piled high on her head had white pearls woven throughout. His fingers itched to remove every hairpin and every pearl until her hair flowed down her back. He shook his head to clear his maddening thoughts.

Damn.
He was attracted to the frivolous woman and every time he saw her, the draw worsened. This insane desire had to stop.

Sophie Reynard sat beside her, holding her hand and whispering. Could Miss Reynard be the woman he was supposed to meet tonight? While of times she was seen in the company of Lady Elizabeth, Lady Selby, and Jennette, as the rumored bastard daughter of some unknown earl she would hardly set his reputation straight.

He tore his gaze off the two women and looked around the room. Only about twenty people attended and he was acquainted with most of them. While no one had approached him yet, at least here he didn’t feel as if all were talking about him behind their fans.

His gaze fell upon Lord Somerton, who stood leaning against the wall, watching him. A smirk formed on Somerton’s lips as Matthew ambled toward him.

“Now, I’m quite certain I have seen it all,” Matthew said with a grin. “A literary salon? There is no gaming here.”

“I only attended as a favor to a friend,” Somerton replied in a quiet tone.

“That must be some favor,” Matthew said.

“You have no idea,” Somerton muttered.

Before Matthew could reply, a soft cough from behind him stopped him.

“Lord Blackburn, may I introduce Mrs. Whitmore and her daughter, Susan.”

Matthew turned to see Lady Elizabeth with two other women in tow. He sketched a bow over each of the ladies’ hands. “It is my pleasure to meet you both.”

“Perhaps you would do us the honor of escorting us to our seats,” Susan said, only to receive a slight elbow nudge from her mother.

“I would be honored indeed.” He held out his arm and Mrs. Whitmore clutched it like a lifeline. After leading them the short distance to their chairs, he bowed.

“Would you do us the honor of sitting with us, my lord?” Mrs. Whitmore asked.

Matthew glanced around the room until he found Jennette. She frowned but gave him a quick nod in confirmation that Miss Whitmore was indeed the woman. Obviously, Matthew thought,
Jennette must not know of Miss Whitmore’s reputation with certain men.

“That would be lovely, Mrs. Whitmore.”

He took the chair next to Susan and blew out a breath. While he never minded a good musicale, literary salons tended to bore him to tears. Sitting there, his attention followed Jennette as she took her seat near the front. Not once did she glance at him.

Why did he care?

He did not.

He should be lavishing his interest on Miss Susan Whitmore. But Miss Whitmore, with her light brown hair and amber eyes, didn’t appeal to him. It wasn’t her looks. He’d heard three men boast about how she fell directly into their arms with very little encouragement. When he married, he wanted a woman who would remain faithful.

As the first author rose to speak about a poem, he felt Miss Whitmore’s leg brush against his. The cloying scent of her perfume circled around him like a vise, choking the breath out of him. He desperately wanted to move to a different seat. Instead, he sat trapped with her for the evening. While he couldn’t be choosy about who would be his wife, he and Miss Whitmore would never suit.

The program dragged through the evening and as each author spoke, Miss Whitmore’s advances bordered on scandalous. She
accidentally
skimmed her hand up the side of his thigh. Luckily, no one noticed as her skirts blocked their sight.

When the program finally came to end, he rose to excuse himself.

“Lord Blackburn, would you like to take a turn on the terrace with me?” Miss Whitmore asked with a flirtatious smile. “Several other couples will be doing the same.”

“I’m sorry, but I must speak with someone.” He bowed and walked away. He had no need to talk with anyone, but he did desire a moment alone with no nauseating perfume.

He slipped out of the room and found the billiard room just down the hall. Closing the door behind him, he breathed in the clean scent of the room. A seat by the lit fireplace beckoned him. He leaned back into the soft leather and let his eyes shut. He really shouldn’t be alone in this room. Miss Whitmore didn’t seem the type of woman who would have any qualms about coming in here.

The sound of the door opening slowly forced his lids upward. Expecting to see Miss Whitmore, he released a frustrated sigh.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Well, this is a surprise,” he replied.

“I had to warn you before…” She hadn’t moved from her position against the door.

“Warn me about what?”

“Miss Whitmore.” She took two steps closer. “I fear I made a huge error with her.”

“Oh? And why is that, Jennette?”

She gnawed at her bottom lip. “I can’t tell you for certain. But I think she was a little too eager to meet you.”

He raised a brow in question. “So you don’t believe a woman might actually
want
to meet me?”

“It’s not like that,” she protested, wringing her hands. “I—I do not trust her. I followed you in here because I thought she might attempt to find you alone and try to compromise herself with you.”

Which had already crossed his mind. “And why would that be so dreadful? It would get me off your hands rather nicely, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No.”

He rose and strode across the room until only a billiard table stood between them. Leaning over the table, he whispered, “Why do you care whom I marry as long as it isn’t you?”

She closed her beautiful blue eyes. “You deserve better,” she answered softly.

No one had cared about him in so long that he had no idea how to react. “Pardon?”

“I promised to find you a bride. But I do believe you at least should have a decent woman. A woman who isn’t already with child.”

So the rumors of Miss Whitmore were true. Another reason he needed to tread more carefully when searching for a bride. The most eager of women likely had a cause for a rushed wedding.

He strolled along the edge of the billiard table, slowly coming closer to her. In her distracted state, she apparently hadn’t taken notice of his position. After the cloying odor of Miss Whitmore’s perfume, the slight scent of jasmine that Jennette wore smelled like a breath of summer air.

“Precisely how did you determine Miss Whitmore is with child?” he asked. “I doubt she volunteered the news.”

“As I told you, she acted extremely eager to meet you. She and her mother kept giving each other odd looks when I spoke with them.”

Matthew suppressed a chuckle. “And from that you decided the only logical explanation had to be pregnancy?”

“No,” she answered in a hesitant tone. “I asked Sophie to attend tonight because she can usually sense these things. She spoke with Miss Whitmore and held her hand. From that she determined her condition.”

Matthew groaned out of frustration with her illogical thoughts. But there was also the possibility that she was correct about Miss Whitmore. Perhaps the only women who would have anything to do with him all had something to hide. Except Jennette. She had the most to keep secret…and
she
didn’t want him either.

“So far you have made me dance with a woman so disgusted with me she could scarcely move. Another woman, barely out of the nursery, who was in love with another man—”

“Miss Sheldon?” she gasped. “I had no idea.”

“And now you set me up with a woman who might be carrying another man’s child.” He stepped closer to her as his anger surged until he had her trapped between his body and the billiard table. He leaned in closer, inhaling the tempting scent of her perfume.
Ignore the clawing desire,
he told himself.

“You had best have a care, Jennette,” he whispered near her ear.

“Wh—Why?” she stammered.

“You’re starting to look like my only hope.”

“You’re mad!”

“Hardly,” he said with a small grin. “You have yet to protest my close contact, either.”

Deliberately, he traced the delicate line of her jaw with his finger. God, he was a fool to want her as he did. She was everything he didn’t need in a woman. The last thing he should do was bait her. Or stand so close that her breasts almost scraped against his jacket.

He should back away…but his feet wouldn’t move. The urge to retreat flew out of his mind only to be replaced by a much stronger yearning.

No. He looked away from her. He should do what he intended and ignore her.

Jennette shoved at his chest, embarrassed by the accuracy of his statement. Three times, he’d pinned her body between him and another object and not once had she protested. Instead, she only savored the scent of him and the strength of his hard, lean body all but touching her. God help her.

“I believe you are quite wrong on that matter,” she said resolutely.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked with a grin.

“You are the most annoying man I have ever met.”

He leaned nonchalantly against the billiard table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me, Jennette, would it be so horrid if we had to marry? Would you be unable to tolerate my kisses?”

She turned toward him as embarrassed heat crossed her cheeks. “How dare you insult me with such a question?”

“I apologize,” he said softly.

“I would find it unbearable,” she lied. She could never let him know how much he affected her senses.

“Unbearable?” he said with a low chuckle. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

Jennette stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest as he had. “Utterly unbearable.”

Anger flared in his gray eyes. “Liar,” he bit out. “You have done nothing to find me a
proper
bride, thus allowing you to absolve your conscience when you find yourself married to me.”

“That makes no sense at all,” she replied, throwing her arms up in frustration.

“Indeed?” He moved closer to her again. “You can tell yourself that you did your duty—you found me several eligible young ladies. Only you will never admit the truth, that you deliberately interfered with the process so you could marry me without guilt.”

“You have completely lost your mind!” She’d never thought that intriguing idea.

“Do you think I don’t feel the same guilt?” he asked.

“You have nothing to feel guilty for. I am the one who impaled my betrothed.”

“Prove it to me,” he whispered. “To
yourself
.”

“What do you mean? Prove what?”

“Kiss me, Jennette.” He stepped directly in front of her. “Show me how repulsive it would be if you were forced to kiss me.”

“Never. We have kissed before and it meant nothing,” she lied frantically to avoid his proposition.

“That kiss could only be considered a peck on the lips. I am speaking of a real kiss, Jennette.”

“I have nothing to prove to you.” And she had nothing to prove to herself either. She’d dreamed of exactly what his kisses would really feel like—repulsive and unbearable were not even close. But she had no need to experience it firsthand. She had the memory of that one kiss no matter how brief the contact.

She turned to storm out of the room before this ridiculous conversation became more intimate than it already had. As she stepped past him, his arm reached out and caught her. Dragging her closer to him, his feral grin suddenly had her quivering.