Nine

NINE

Templetons’ card room

Twenty minutes later

After waiting fifteen minutes for two places to open up at an existing hazard table and realizing that no one seemed inclined to leave, Jack requested a pair of dice from a footman. The fellow cheerfully complied, and Jack pocketed the pieces. Since the wager was between him and Aubriella, they needn’t play in the card room.

Any small table—preferably in a quiet nook in a public room—would suffice.

More unsettled by their kiss than he cared to admit, Jack couldn’t risk being alone with her again. He’d never intended to kiss her, but something had unfurled inside him once he had. Something dormant had awakened and bludgeoned him with untenable desire.

Emmet might kill him for overstepping, and rightly so.

Aubriella had Jack at sixes and sevens. That was ironic since the expression came from hazard, the very game they intended to engage in shortly.

Kissing Aubriella was a mistake that mustn’t happen again.

Nevertheless, he wouldn’t embarrass them both by telling her so.

Unfortunately and unpreventably, he suspected she’d assume his reluctance to kiss her again stemmed from him not finding her desirable when the opposite was true. He was at a loss to explain the powerful, potent reaction after all these years they’d known each other.

Jack had kissed women before—one didn’t get to be thirty and never kissed a woman. Many ladies of all stations had wanted to join with him. However, even as a randy youth, he’d held an old-fashioned belief that coupling should involve more than mere physical satisfaction. That notion wasn’t popular among any social class, so he kept the belief to himself.

He, a successful business owner and considered a man about town, would be a laughingstock should his secret become known.

That Aubriella should be the woman who tempted him to put aside the stricture guiding his sexual conduct these many years was a monumental conundrum. He’d only intended to prove that she was a desirable woman. Now, he’d become entangled in the web of his own making, and he had no idea how to escape except to avoid her, which he could not do.

Not after he’d vowed to stay by her side.

The next fortnight might prove to be the most troublesome and perplexing of his life, and he suspected his self-control was about to be tested mightily. He grasped her elbow, and she glanced up at him. A freckle to the right of her mouth taunted Jack, begging him to kiss the speck, and the one below her right ear beseeched him to nuzzle her slender neck.

Lord, he was in trouble.

Monumental, colossal, overwhelming trouble.

Mayhap he should reconsider his celibate state.

Except the plain, bitter truth was, no woman but Aubriella would do. At some point, he’d have to examine that peculiarity, but not now. At this moment, he had a wager to win and to discover how she knew of Francine Willoughby’s delicate condition when scandalous secrets like that were well guarded.

“Jack?” A cute frown puckered Aubriella’s forehead and wrinkled her nose. “Are you well? You look as if you are not feeling quite the thing.”

“Yes, quite well.” Clearing his throat, Jack cast a hasty glance around the noisy room. Several of his friends, including Shelby Tellinger and Robyn Fitzlloyd, were engaged in games of whist, piquet, or loo. He vowed that tonight’s guests had swelled to well over forty—likely closer to fifty.

Given the Templetons often invited their neighbors for the evening events during the house party, that was a distinct possibility. Duncan had yet to reappear unless he was in the drawing room from whence a male-female duet, accompanied by a pianoforte, filtered forth.

Of the Willoughbys, there was no sign, and hopefully, that portended their unexpected and rapid departure from Stockworth Manor.

“Offhand, do you know where we might play our game that affords us privacy but is within the bounds of propriety?” Jack steered Aubriella toward the paneled door to the corridor.

She nodded. “The library if we leave the door open? If I recall, there’s a table in the center we could pull chairs near.”

Aubriella smiled as her younger sister in virginal white—flushed with pleasure and seated at a nearby table surrounded by swains—fluttered her fingers toward her before flipping over her card and letting out a delighted squeal.

Dutiful mother and chaperone, Mrs. Penford, sat chatting along the wall with two other matrons. No doubt exchanging motherly boasts about their offspring. She gave her youngest an indulgent smile before angling her head to listen to the lady on her left.

Had Mrs. Penford even noticed Aubriella’s entrance and now pending exit?

Something very much like exasperation kicked Jack’s ribs at her oblivious neglect of her middle daughter. Granted, at four and twenty, Aubriella didn’t require constant supervision as Jessamine did, but having observed the family for several years, the Penford’s indifference toward their second daughter bordered on neglect.

No wonder Aubriella had found hobbies to occupy herself. Inappropriate hobbies, to be sure. But then, what did her negligent parents care?

Aubriella might have hidden shocking drawings of nudes in her wardrobe, and the Penfords would’ve remained blissfully unaware. As long as she didn’t cause them any inconvenience or embarrassment, she was all but invisible.

A chorus of congratulations erupted at Miss Jessamine’s table.

At once, three chaps rose and began strutting around the room, flapping their arms, bobbing their heads, and crowing. Easy to discern what that forfeit had been. Jack knew from experience that the forfeitures would become increasingly daring and naughty as the house party progressed.

“The library it is.” The hubbub faded as he and Aubriella strolled toward the back of the house. On his arm, Aubriella relaxed and breathed a little easier with each passing step.

These assemblies truly taxed her.

He’d noticed her distress before but never thought to ask why. He’d always assumed social ineptness kept her to herself. Most of the time, she was nowhere to be found. She disappeared for most of the event and reappeared as it drew to an end.

“Why do you dislike gatherings so much, Aubriella?”

Jack slowed his pace as he glanced down at her. The crown of her head just reached his shoulder, and tonight, someone had woven white silk ribbons through her shiny, coiffed tresses.

The flickering candles in the brass wall sconces cast shadows across her face when she turned to look up at him.

His breath stalled for a heartbeat.

Why couldn’t others see her beauty?

Wide eyes in an oval face, full pink lips, and a slightly upturned nose. The freckles smattering Aubriella’s porcelain skin merely added to her allure—particularly that beauty mark near her mouth which would drive him crazy with want from now until forever.

“I don’t dislike them, per se. I simply do not fit in. I feel rather like a goat asked to participate in the Ascot horse race. Of course, I can run the track, but my gait is awkward. I’m not a sleek beauty, and I have no chance of winning. My gaucheness causes unintentional amusement, and no one appreciates being laughed at.”

“I told you not to belittle yourself.” Jack turned her toward him and raised her chin with his forefinger instead of pulling her into his protective embrace and kissing her forehead as he yearned to do.

No more kisses , he reminded himself sternly.

Aubriella had disdained herself for so long that she couldn’t see her own appeal.

“I shall have to demand a forfeit each time you do.” He winked to soften the words.

A kiss would do nicely.

No. No more kisses.

Twice in as many seconds, Jack had to remind himself of his vow, and that spelled eventual failure.

Perhaps unexpected urgent business required his attention in London.

Which was worse?

Breaking his word or kissing her?

She pulled a face and poked him in the chest. Hard. “You asked, you dolt. I explained the best way I knew how. And if you ever tease me about it, I’ll… well, I’ll draw you with three nipples.”