Chapter 3

3

W ith stoicism, Thomas shook hands with everyone at the reception. He stood by his mother, as he was now the head of this family, and he forced himself to keep tears and sadness at bay, not just for his mother, but also for his two sisters.

Their father, Crispin Jameson, the Earl of Ashford, had been a strict parent, with all due respect for authority and convention.

Thomas had been groomed since he was a small boy to take his place as the next earl.

He didn't expect that time to come so soon.

His father had been in robust health, and while the physicians weren't certain what had caused his demise, Thomas had witnessed the changes in his father over the last month. He'd seemed tired, and his strength seemed to be waning. Papa had told all of them that he was fine, and Thomas, having been trained early on never to question his father's words, went along with it.

Now he wished he hadn't. He should have stood more firmly. He should have insisted that his father see a doctor.

But he hadn't, and now his father was gone. His mother a widow.

And he was the new Earl of Ashford.

Death had been a frequent visitor to the Ashford estate of late. Only a few months before his father's demise, their beloved butler, Montague, had lost his wife as well. She had taken ill during one of the countess's frequent luncheons, and by the time a physician had been summoned, her spirit had departed.

As Thomas surveyed the lavish decorations and refreshments that were put in place for his father's funeral, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he thought back on how much less grand Eugenia Montague's memorial had been in contrast. But Papa had been an earl, after all, and there was a certain level of grandiosity that was expected by his peers. Putting on this event was Thomas's first official undertaking as the new Earl of Ashford.

He was ready for his other duties as well. Ready to take over the matters of the estate, to sponsor various cultural charities, and to act as a leading figure to his local community. His father had trained him well, and he had no doubt he could execute all of his duties with the utmost confidence and competence.

Though the late earl had been strict and not overly emotional, Thomas had loved him dearly. Looked up to him with the utmost respect. And now?

Now it was his word, Thomas's word, that would be the law at this estate.

And though he was ready for this responsibility, part of him didn't want it.

While he'd been involved with several young ladies, he'd never thought seriously about taking a wife. He could leave that alone for the next year at least, while he was in mourning. But thereafter, he would be expected to do his duty—to marry and produce a new heir.

Both of his sisters—seven and eight years younger than he, respectively—were already married and had produced children for their husbands.

All these thoughts were mingled in his head as he continued saying the words over and over again. "Thank you for being here. It would have meant a lot to my father. Thank you for your condolences. I appreciate your sentiment. Yes, he was a great man."

The words had become automatic, as Thomas's thoughts were elsewhere.

When the reception finally broke up hours later, he walked outside. The March air was brisk, but he didn't feel the cold. He felt only the loss.

He walked about the estate, coming to the burial ground where his grandparents, great-grandparents, and on and on up through the Ashford line were buried.

Then of course the newest gravesite.

His father's.

He stood, staring at the freshly padded dirt.

The tombstone would come later, as it was being prepared at the statuary.

But here his father lay.

Laid to rest with all of his ancestors.

"Papa," Thomas said, "I'll do my best to honor your legacy. I'm ready. But damn it, I miss you."

He jerked when he felt a light tap on his upper arm.

He turned to face his brother-in-law's sister, Lady Patricia Price-Adams.

Young and beautiful, she would no doubt be the belle of the season. The season he would not be attending.

He'd first met Patricia when she was but fifteen years old, and even then she was a beauty—coal-black hair, dark-blue eyes, skin like fresh milk with a rosy blush, and lips the color of sweet raspberries.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you, my lord."

"Is there something I can help you with, Lady Patricia?" he asked.

"No. I just…" Patricia gazed down at the mound of dirt under which Thomas's father was buried. "I want to tell you how sorry I am. I didn't get to speak to you at the party—er…reception, I mean. It's hardly a party after someone… Well, you know."

"Didn't we speak?" Thomas asked. "It seems I spoke to everyone else there."

But even in the mechanical state in which he received his condolences, Thomas knew that he would have remembered speaking to Patricia. It was impossible not to notice her.

Patricia silently shook her head.

Thomas looked around the cemetery. "You shouldn't be out here. It's much too chilly. You'll catch cold."

Indeed, Patricia's nose was already red in the brisk air.

"I'll be fine." Patricia took a handful of the elegant gown she was wearing and lifted it an inch. Thomas forced himself not to look at the small glimmer of flesh on her lower leg she exposed in her action. "This gown is dreadfully heavy. I was just underfoot inside anyway. I wish I knew what to say to Rose. I wish I knew what to say to you. I… You know I lost my own father when I was quite young. I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling, but I suppose I can be a little more empathetic than someone who hasn't been there."

Her frown betrayed a hint of discomfort. Was it due to something he said? He hadn't meant to upset her.

"I should probably head back now," she said. "And perhaps you should too, my lord. Your mother is wondering where you are."

Ah, that was the real reason she was here. His mother must have sent her. But why send a young lady out in the cold when a servant could have done the job?

"It's fine. I'll tell her I just needed a moment," Thomas replied. "She'll understand."

But would his mother really understand? With his father gone, all of her strength now rested on Thomas's shoulders. He had to be there for her.

Patricia curtsied politely. "If you'll excuse me then." She turned.

"Wait," Thomas said.

The scent of her perfume—a floral and citrus blend that brought to mind a sunlit garden—lingered in the air as she turned, her eyebrows raised. "Yes, my lord?"

"I'll walk back with you," he offered. "I need to check on my mother anyway."

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

Thomas held out his arm and she placed her delicate hand on his elbow. In that small touch, a mix of emotions stirred within him. Gratitude for her warmth in the brisk chill, guilt for involving her in his family matters, and an unexplainable third feeling that he couldn't quite place.

He froze when a primal urge surged through his body. Without hesitation, he lunged forward and grabbed her, crushing her against him with a fierce grip. His mouth crashed onto hers as he stole a kiss that was not his for the taking.

What was he doing? The question echoed in his mind, but he couldn't stop himself.

He moved his lips against hers, tasting her with eager hunger. With gentle insistence, he pressed the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips, urging them to part to allow him deeper access.

She resisted, keeping her lips tightly sealed, but he persisted with an unwavering determination to claim her.

When her soft lips parted, he dived in with his tongue. Their mouths collided in a fierce and all-consuming kiss as a blazing inferno of desire engulfed him. He couldn't resist the wild urge to pull her closer, their bodies melting into one another as they devoured each other with desperation. His body was on fire with need. Her soft curves pressed against him overwhelmed his senses.

The ache in his groin grew almost unbearable as he yearned for her touch. He wanted to lose himself in her, to forget the pain and sorrow of the day he had just endured—burying his father and taking on the weight of responsibility that now rested solely on his shoulders.

With her innocent beauty pressing against him, he could almost forget the trials of this day, of this last week.

Until—

She pushed at his chest, breaking the kiss. "My Lord… I…"

Thomas quickly looked around. Thank God they were alone at the grave. What if someone had seen them? If his brother-in-law had seen the embrace, he'd insist that they marry.

And he would be right.

Thomas swallowed, unable to make rational sense of what he had just done. "I beg your pardon, my lady. I'm so very sorry. I was out of line. Please accept my humblest apologies."

She touched her lips with her small delicate fingers. "I accept your apology, my lord." Then she turned, and she ran back toward the estate.

Let her go , he told himself.

But when he turned back toward his father's burial site?—

"Oh!"

Thomas swiftly turned back around. Lady Patricia had fallen, so he rushed toward her and offered her his arm.

"My lady, are you hurt?"

"No, of course not." She rose with his help, brushing off her skirt. "I'm only quite the clumsiest person alive. I'm sorry to trouble you."

"You're not any trouble at all, my lady. It is I who must apologize again for my?—"

She waved her hand to stop him. "You've experienced excruciating loss," she said. "There is no need to continue to apologize to me. I shall not hold you to anything. My brother will never hear of this."

A rush of warmth surged into Thomas's cheeks. "If I were a gentleman, I would go to your brother myself."

She shook her head. "Please don't. You're not yourself today, my lord, and neither is he. He's distraught because your sister is distraught."

"My father was against that marriage until he found out your brother was a titled gentleman."

She nodded. "I'm well aware of the story. And of why they needed to get married in the first place."

Thomas regarded her sternly. A young lady of the ton should not speak of such things. But indeed, his sister had been with child when she and Cameron married. She was with child before Cameron received his title.

"We should not be conversing about such events," he said.

"For goodness' sake, my lord, what is wrong with a young lady knowing about how life works?" Patricia frowned. "My own parents were in the same situation at one time."

In spite of this day—in spite of his loss—his groin reacted again to this young lady. The last thing he needed was his groin reacting to anything. He was faced with a year of mourning—a year he'd give his father without hesitation—which meant no season, no dalliances with young ladies. And certainly no dalliance with this young lady—Cameron's sister and a young lady of the ton.

As he watched her with an intensity that bordered on obsession, Thomas tried in vain to push away the forbidden thoughts that crept into his mind. He couldn't help but wish she wasn't his sister-in-law, desiring instead that she were just a stranger he could freely want without consequence. Perhaps take to his bed for one simple night of all-consuming hedonism.

But as he stood there, mourning the loss of his beloved father and struggling against these forbidden desires, Patricia's stance changed. She whipped her hands to her hips in a gesture so reminiscent of his headstrong sister Lily that it made his heart ache.

The same defiance and free spirit radiated from Patricia, just like it had from Lily before she married the Duke of Lybrook—a man who had seen past convention and society's expectations to appreciate Lily's talents as an artist and writer. A man who allowed her to live the Bohemian life she craved while still being married to him.

And now Patricia embodied that same spirit, causing a turmoil within Thomas that he couldn't control. She was everything he shouldn't want yet everything he desired. She was wild, free, and beautiful beyond measure. And as he gazed upon her with longing and inner conflict, Thomas knew deep down that she could never truly be his, regardless of how much he wanted her to be.

He held up his arm to her again. "This time I'm going to have to insist on escorting you. I wouldn't want you taking another tumble."

She scoffed at him. "As you wish, my lord."

Together they walked back to the estate, and Thomas managed to get Patricia into the house without anyone seeing them together. Once she was safely with her mother and sister, he went to his own mother.

All the guests, except for Lily and the Duke and the duke's mother, Morgana, the dowager duchess, had left.

Lady Ashford was sitting on the davenport nursing a cup of tea. Her black veil had been removed from her face, and her usually rosy complexion was pale. Thomas walked swiftly toward her and offered his hand. "Mummy, I believe it's time for you to retire."

"Yes, Mummy," Lily agreed. "Listen to Thomas. Please. It's been quite a day for you."

Lady Ashford simply nodded. As Thomas helped her to her feet, she stumbled a bit and he steadied her.

"Are you feeling quite well?" Thomas asked, but then he shook his head at the absurdity of his words.

Of course she wasn't well.

She'd just lost her husband.

"I'll be all right, Thomas. But I believe I would like for you to see me to my chamber."

"Yes, of course."

Thomas helped her up the long winding staircase to the second story, where the earl's quarters were located. As he headed toward them, she nudged him.

"No, Thomas. That is now your chamber. You're the earl. Papa has been gone for over a week. I've instructed the maids to make up one of the large guestrooms for me."

"Mummy, I'm not going to take your chamber."

Lady Ashford held up a hand, her eyes stern. "It's yours. I have no right to it anymore."

"You have a right to it if I say you do."

She stopped him, cupped his cheek. "Thomas, you darling boy. Do as I say, now. This is what your father would want. Trust me on that."

"I'm not so sure, Mummy."

"Be sure. This is your legacy." She gestured down the grand hallway. "This is your estate now, Thomas. Everything on these lands is yours. Your responsibility. It's a lot to deal with, so take the fringe benefits that come along with it. Your father certainly did when his father passed."

Thomas opened his mouth to tell her it was a different situation. That his grandmother passed before his grandfather, so she didn't have to give up her chamber like his mother was feeling obligated to.

But then he stopped.

Because his mother was correct.

The suite of rooms—the biggest and grandest in this mansion—were now his.

He would be expected to fill them.

First with a wife, and then with an heir.

And he would do it.

Because it was his duty.