Chapter 5

5

"T homas, darling, please ask a young lady to dance," Flora Jameson, the dowager Countess of Ashford, said to her son. "You're two-and-thirty years old. It's high time to take a wife."

Thomas forced the stony countenance he had adopted for the evening to remain unchanged. "Mummy, please. I'm the host this evening. I can't spend my time gallivanting around with young ladies."

A year ago, before Papa died so suddenly, Thomas would have been dancing with a string of lovelies and possibly leading one of them up to his favorite parapet for a clandestine tryst. Those days were gone, and as much as Thomas hated to admit it, his mother was in the right.

He was the earl now, and he must do his duty and produce an heir. He could easily marry any debutante in attendance this evening. Who or what she was didn't matter. Every young lady here was from impeccable lineage and would make a fine breeder for Thomas's seed.

His lip twitched slightly upward. His sister Lily would choke the life out of him if she could hear the thought he'd just had.

But only one woman in this ballroom came close to striking his fancy, and she was far too young.

Lady Patricia Price-Adams, nineteen years old and sister to Cameron Price-Adams, Earl of Thornton, Rose's husband.

Patricia's beauty wasn't even slightly subtle. It had hit Thomas between the eyes the first time he saw her, with her hair black as onyx and her eyes the dark sapphire color of the summer sky before the moon rises.

Her skin was creamy with a rosy blush that made her high cheeks glow, and her lips so full and red. And oh, how silky they had been under his own during that one forbidden kiss.

How he wished to kiss her again.

Had anyone witnessed his indiscretion the day of his father's burial, he'd most likely be wed to her by now. Even one kiss was enough to ruin a young lady in the eyes of the ton.

He should have offered for her then. It would have been the honorable thing to do.

But he'd been distraught. Fraught with grief.

He was not himself.

"Thomas, please," his mother said. "Ask a young lady to dance. What about Tricia's friend? Lady Sarah?"

Lady Sarah Keating was lovely. Flaming red hair and skin so pale and freckled it was nearly translucent. Eyes that were big and light blue, but it was mostly her personality that was attractive about her. She was lively and free, not even slightly shy or timid.

But she was nothing compared to Lady Tricia. Sadly, no one was.

"All right, Mummy, if it will get you off my back." Thomas adjusted his gloves and walked forward to where Lady Sarah stood with Tricia near one of the champagne fountains.

"Ladies." He bowed politely.

"My lord," they said in unison, both curtsying.

He turned to Sarah. "Lady Sarah, might you honor me with a dance?"

"I'd be delighted, my lord." Sarah took his outstretched arm.

He led her onto the dance floor only to see Tricia leave the ballroom quickly.

Did she expect him to ask her for a dance? Perhaps he should have, but after the indiscretion…

Those lips…

Her delicate scent…

The way she felt in his arms…

Lady Sarah was lovely, but Tricia…

But he must focus on the woman who was actually in his arms. "Are you enjoying the ball, my lady?" he asked.

"Immensely, my lord." Sarah's eyes were wide as she surveyed the ballroom's lavish decorations. "Your staff did a wonderful job with the preparations."

"I'm glad it is to your liking."

There. Now he had nothing more to say. He could ask her favorite color or some other such triviality. But he didn't care what her favorite color was. She was a perfectly beautiful young woman of decent lineage, but he'd much rather be waltzing with Tricia.

And why not? Lady Sarah was only one year older than Tricia. Most of the ladies here were around twenty years old, but some were nineteen like Tricia and still a few others only eighteen. Of perfectly good marriageable age.

The waltz finally ended. He bowed politely. "Thank you, my lady."

"You're quite welcome, my lord."

He escorted her off the dance floor. "If you'll excuse me, I must see how my mother is faring."

"Of course."

That would be his excuse all night. He was now responsible for his widowed mother, and he wanted to make sure she was doing well. All the young ladies would understand that he needed to check in with her from time to time.

He approached his mother, who was speaking to Lord Victor Polk, the third son of Viscount Hawthorne Polk, whose estate was adjacent to the Ashfords'.

"Mummy, is Polk taking good care of you?"

"Of course, darling," Lady Ashford said. "You needn't hover."

She was right, of course. His mother was still quite sad over Papa's passing, but she was back in society now and was doing well, all things considered.

"Don't you think you'd like to retire to the drawing room for a bit?" Thomas asked. "I don't want you to get fatigued."

"Really, darling boy," the countess said, "I'm quite well. Though I'd love a refreshment. Some champagne, perhaps."

"Allow me." Polk bowed and walked toward one of the champagne fountains.

"You told him to check up on me, didn't you?" the countess asked.

"I just want to make sure you're taken care of, Mum," Thomas replied. "I'd prefer to stay with you this evening rather than dance the night away."

"Stay shackled to your mother when this sea of beauties awaits you?" She laughed softly. "Thomas, dear, you are the catch of the season. All the ladies are watching you. All of their mothers are watching you. And they're watching you hover over me . Please, darling, try to have a nice time."

Polk returned with a flute of champagne for the countess. She took it from him and offered her thanks before taking a small sip.

"Do you have your eye on anyone, Ashford?" Polk asked.

Thomas's cheeks warmed. Why was Polk asking him that in front of his mother? And it still felt all wrong being called Ashford. His father was Ashford.

But he'd known from the time he could form a thought that he would one day inherit his father's title. It always seemed so far into the future.

"Not yet," Thomas said.

"Really? There are quite a few lovelies in the ballroom this evening," Polk said.

Lady Ashford touched Thomas's sleeve. "Perhaps I shall retire for a few moments. That way the two of you can talk about the lovely ladies without your mother listening in."

"Let me escort you, Mummy," Thomas said.

"Goodness, no. Try to enjoy yourself for my sake, Thomas. I shall return when I've rested a bit." She floated away gently toward the exit.

"All right," Polk said, "now you can tell me the truth. Whom do you have your eye on?"

"No one," Thomas lied.

"No one at all?" Polk raised an eyebrow. "Not even the lovely Lady Patricia? Your sister-in-law?"

Interesting that Polk would bring up Tricia. "She's not technically my sister-in-law. She's the sister of my brother-in-law."

"For the love of God, Ashford, who cares?" He chuckled. "You have no blood ties to her, and she's a lovely specimen. So is her friend, Lady Sarah, but Patricia is by far the more worthy of the two."

"I'm not interested in either of them."

The lie tasted bitter on Thomas's tongue. He didn't want to marry, but he was extremely attracted to Lady Patricia. She was so young, though.

He'd had dreams of her supple body, of running his hands over her naked flesh. Her breasts were so round and pert, and the slight cleavage showing beneath her gown...

"I'm going to ask her to dance again," Polk said.

"Lady Sarah?"

"No, Lady Patricia."

He was asking her to dance again ? Before Thomas could protest, Polk had walked off, and he was approaching Tricia. A moment later, the two of them were on the dance floor. Polk was one of his brother-in-law's closest friends. They had gone to secondary school and university together and had spent many of their bachelor years traveling together. Thomas had gotten to know Polk during his stays at the bachelor houses during house parties and balls like this one. They'd become friendly over the years, especially after Polk's closest friend, the Duke of Lybrook, had married Thomas's sister Lily.

But Thomas certainly didn't want Polk dancing with Tricia. Also eyeing Tricia was none other than his cousin, Jonathan Jameson.

It was all too much.

When Polk finally deposited Tricia back near one of the refreshment tables, Thomas glanced over at them. They were deep in conversation as Polk grabbed two flutes of champagne and handed one to Tricia. She took a dainty sip.

She looked perfect with a flute of champagne in her hand. She wasn't raised in riches as Thomas was, but now that she was living the luxury life, she looked as if she'd been born into it. Thomas could not take his eyes off her.

Until his cousin Jonathan walked toward him. "I say, Ashford, this is a damned fine party you've thrown. Uncle Crispin would be proud."

"Would he have been?" Thomas cocked his head. "You and your father—may he rest in peace—had been over on the American continent for so long, I doubt that either of you would know what would have made my father proud."

Jonathan took a step back. "Good God, Ashford?—"

"Good God yourself, Jonathan. Call me Thomas. That's what you've always called me."

"But now you are the mighty Earl of Ashford. You know I am always wanting to stand on ceremony." Jonathan offered a sarcastic bow.

It was a shame, really, that he and Jonathan weren't closer. They had played as little boys, but Lily and Rose probably hardly remembered him. Thomas had been twelve when Uncle Pembroke was widowed and took Jonathan, his only offspring, to the Americas.

Before then, though, the two little boys had been great playmates. They looked so much alike that they were often mistaken for brothers.

Jonathan took another sip of his champagne. "Well, if you aren't going to dance with any of these delectable young ladies, I certainly shall."

"Off with you then," Thomas said. He glanced around the ballroom. Where was Tricia?

Lady Sarah was engaged in conversation with several other young ladies and their mothers, but Polk—and Tricia—were nowhere to be found.

Thomas's heart fell to his stomach.

Not a good thing.

He trusted Polk, of course, as one trusts someone in a foxhole. But with a young lady? No. Not even slightly. Polk had once had designs on Lily, and Thomas stopped that in its tracks before it started.

He was known to steal kisses from unsuspecting young ladies, and the thought…

No.

Polk's lips would not touch Tricia's.

Not while Thomas was around to stop it.