Chapter 30

30

T ricia wasn't the slightest bit interested in Lord Wimbley, but she gave him her most dazzling smile. It wouldn't hurt to make Thomas a little bit jealous, would it?

She could dance with every man here—some even more handsome than Thomas—and her feelings wouldn't change one bit. Thomas had been her one and only for so long, and one day he would see it as well.

Had she made a mistake, letting him bed her? It had been the most wonderful experience of her life. It had been more than eye-opening. It had been a journey, a voyage into uncharted territories of pleasure and intimacy.

The ground had moved under her…or so it seemed, at least.

She wished only to experience it again and again.

But then…

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas striding toward Cameron.

No, he wouldn't.

Not when she told him?—

"Are you enjoying the ball, my lady?" Lord Wimbley asked.

How many more inane queries must she bat away? Are you enjoying the ball? Are you enjoying the meal? Are you enjoying the estate? Are you enjoying the weather?

She swiftly turned her head around and met Lord Wimbley's gaze, pasting a smile on her lips. "Yes, of course, my lord. It is quite lovely."

"You're a marvelous dancer," he said.

"Yes, and you are as well." It was a harmless lie. Wimbley was a bit clumsy, though that could be due to his lanky stature. His feet seemed too big for his body.

He was nice-looking enough, but nothing compared to Thomas.

When the dance finally ended, Tricia curtsied politely and thanked Lord Wimbley, but then she scurried off. She spied Cameron standing and drinking champagne with Rose at his side.

"Cam," Tricia said, hurrying toward them.

"Yes, Tricia?"

Tricia popped her head from side to side, looking frantically for Thomas. "Has…anyone spoken to you?"

Cameron raised his eyebrows. "Of course, sister. Many have spoken to me this evening."

"I mean did Thomas—Lord Ashford?—"

Cameron frowned. "No, he hasn't. I saw him coming toward me earlier, but he got waylaid by a countess who had her daughter on a silver platter."

"Goodness, Cam." Rose gave him a good-natured slap on his forearm. "You mustn't speak of such."

Cameron let out a short laugh. "This is still all new to me, sweetheart. I'm beginning to see what your sister meant when she called this a thinly-veiled meat market."

"And I'm sorry I ever told you that," Rose said.

"Was there something else you wanted, Tricia?" Cameron asked. "Where's Mummy? You shouldn't be walking around the ballroom alone."

Tricia rolled her eyes. If only they knew what she had done. Her walking around a ballroom alone would be the least of Cameron's worries.

"I'll find Mummy," Tricia said. "You're right. I should not be walking alone."

She spied her mother talking to the dowager countess, and she began to stride toward them, only to be stopped by another young lord. After she shared a dance with that one, another one asked for the honor, and she couldn't very well say no.

Five dances later, she finally got to her mother and the countess.

"Patricia, my dear, you look absolutely lovely," the dowager countess said. "Your mother and I were just talking about you."

Tricia raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes, the countess was admiring your frock," Lady Clementine said.

"Oh, thank you, my lady." Tricia did a quick curtsy.

"You are such a lovely creature," the countess said. "And I see you've been dancing with nearly every eligible gentleman this evening. I'm glad to see it. Your mother and I were just remarking about how you didn't dance much at the first ball."

"Oh." Tricia's cheeks burned. "It's just that… It's all so new to me, you know? I suppose I was a bit shy at first."

Lady Clementine let out a laugh. Then she covered her mouth. "I do beg pardon, my lady. But the thought of Tricia being shy…"

"Yes, she's much like my Lily, I think."

Tricia knew her cheeks were burning now. They must be crimson. She was more like Lily than either her mother or Thomas's knew…

"The duchess?" Tricia said innocently. "I can't think of any woman I would rather emulate."

"Yes, my daughter is beautiful. And intelligent." Lady Ashford smiled. "And she certainly met her match in the duke."

Tricia followed Lady Ashford's gaze onto the ballroom floor, where Lily and the duke were dancing. They looked splendid together as always. The duke, so tall and broad—his own unfashionably long hair tied back in a leather band. He wore green, the color of his eyes. And Lily was dazzling in a dark red ensemble, her beautiful sable hair pulled up with curls tumbling over her shoulders.

Tricia looked over in contrast to Lily's sister, Rose, Tricia's own sister-in-law. Just as beautiful, but in a much softer way. Blond beauty and blue eyes that she inherited from her mother, the dowager countess.

The dowager countess, indeed, was still a beautiful woman at her age. Her own blond hair masked the grays of maturity, and she had the same blue eyes as her younger daughter.

"My ladies," a deep voice said.

Tricia turned to see Lord Victor Polk.

"Lady Clementine, Lady Ashford, I do hope you will not be too upset if I take Lady Patricia for a twirl on the dance floor?"

"Of course not," the countess said. "But I do think that's up to Patricia, is it not?"

Lord Polk laughed. "Or her mother." He glanced at Lady Clementine.

"Far be it from me to make any decisions for my daughter," her mother said. "Patricia, this is up to you."

Tricia turned and curtsied to Lord Polk. "I would be honored, my lord."

More dancing. After Lord Polk was finished with her, Mr. Jameson took his turn. The two of them cut in on each other a decent amount, and by the time they were done, Tricia's feet were sore.

"I do believe I'm due for a respite, gentlemen," she said. "Do please excuse me."

They both bowed.

"Of course, my lady," Mr. Jameson said politely.

Tricia worked hard to keep from limping out of the ballroom as she walked toward the ladies' retiring area.

Finding it empty, she sighed in relief, sitting down on one of the velvet stools and taking a glance in the looking glass. Her hair was holding up nicely, though there was a sheen of sweat on her décolleté. She took a powder puff to it, assessed everything else, and rose.

She left the ladies' retiring area but wasn't quite ready to go back to the ballroom.

She knew better than to go up to the fourth floor again, though she was curious. She wandered along aimlessly, nodding to any servant she passed and acting like she knew exactly where she was going, although she did not.

She walked into a wing of the house unfamiliar to her and found herself in front of a large oak door. She turned the knob and?—

She dropped her jaw. This was Thomas's study. The one that used to belong to his father, Crispin Jameson.

Oh, she should leave at once. But she could not help herself. She inhaled. The distinct aroma of parchment and leather coupled with Thomas's own scent of spice and outdoors…

She inhaled again, closing her eyes.

What a lovely, lovely space.

It was here that Thomas did his work. Where he pored over the ledgers from the tenants living on his land, the bills and invoices that had to be paid, servants' wages, legal documents. Everything.

The Ashford estate was a large one, though not as large as the Lybrook Estate, Laurel Ridge, where Tricia had grown up tending a portion of the land. But Thomas was an earl, not a duke. Still, the Ashford estate was known as one of the richest earldoms in Britain.

Oh, if only Tricia could be the lady of this estate.

Indeed, she could be. Thomas would marry her in an instant. Why was she resisting?

She knew damned well why. She wanted to know for certain that he loved her. She wanted his fidelity. She didn't want him running off to mistresses or whores. She knew how marriages of convenience ended up. She'd heard enough from Lady Sarah about how her parents lived. They rarely saw one another. Her father spent most of his time in London, keeping Sarah and her mother in a different townhome while they were in the city or on their estate.

Sarah knew that her father kept mistresses, that he frequented brothels. Her own mother had grown old before her time, her hair gray, her figure stout.

That was not what Tricia wanted.

Both of Thomas's sisters had found love matches, as had Tricia's own mother. That was what she wanted.

Tricia walked farther into the office, again inhaling the fragrant aroma. She sat behind Thomas's large wooden desk, in his leather chair, where his scent was even more profound. She closed her eyes, inhaling, inhaling, inhaling…

Until she heard the doorknob turning.

Oh no! What if Thomas found her here?

Worse, what if someone else found her here?

But that was a silly worry. Who else would enter Thomas's office?

Perhaps a servant, coming in to clean. But would they be doing that at this time of night?

Still, she could not take a chance. She quickly moved from the chair and under the desk, hoping she wouldn't be found.

Then the creak of the door opening.

She held her breath.

"Let's get on with it, quickly," a masculine voice said.

It was low, nearly a whisper, though it seemed familiar. Had Tricia heard the voice before?

"I don't feel right about this," another voice, this one even more familiar than the first, replied.

"We don't have a choice. We're in too far. See if he left it in here."

"How do you know it's even in here?"

"Where else would it be? You think he's keeping it on his person, where anyone could look at it?"

"If I know my cousin, yes?—"

Tricia clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp.

It was Jonathan Jameson. She did know the voice. She couldn't quite place the other though.

What was going on? And why were they in Thomas's study?

"It's probably in his desk."

Tricia's heart stopped. She would be discovered if they crossed to the other side of Thomas's desk.

"Don't be a fool. He would hide it somewhere less obvious. He's suspicious."

"Right." The cousin paused. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this."

"You're in over your head now. It's happening. And we'll all be the richer for it."

Tricia gulped, hoping it wasn't audible.

There was a scrape of furniture moving near the door and then the sound of a cushion falling to the floor.

"Here it is."

"Good. You know what to do."

And then silence.

They'd stopped talking.

Tricia heard the rustle of papers, and then…

Was it a strike of a match?

She couldn't leave, couldn't risk being seen.

What were these people going to do to Thomas?

Then the click of the door, and the smell…

The smell of fire.