The Perfect Lady Worthe (7 page)

“You must be jesting.”

She dealt them each a card. “I’m not.”

Gareth placed his hand over hers. “Would you play for me?”

Jane pulled her hands from his and continued to deal out what appeared would be the entire deck. “Only if you wish to die of inhumane methods.”

He quirked a brow. “So then am I to surmise you like having me around?”

“Yes, of course,” she said with a swallow.

Gareth’s pulse quickened. Did she feel the same attraction for him that he felt for her?

“…husband to Charlotte.”

“
Pardon!”

Jane stopped dealing cards or whatever it was she was doing and lifted her head to meet his gaze. “You should know that I’m quite determined.”

“Determined to torture your sister for abandoning you with me?”

“No.” She gave her head a little shake, her eyes dancing with humor. “Determined to see both of you happy and married.”

Gareth wanted to groan.

“Which I think both of you will be,” she continued. Then as if there were a need for clarification of what she was saying, she added, “Together.”

Gareth groaned. That was the last thing he wanted. “I don’t think she and I would make a good match.”

“I’ll admit she’s been quieter and more reserved since coming to stay at Castlemoor, but she’s been distracted with the fun of finally having a Season. Give her time. She’ll change your mind.”

Gareth doubted that. “Jane—” he placed his hand on hers— “I will only say this once so get it through your head now. I will not be marrying your sister.
Ever.
”

~*~

From the corner of the salon crowded with country squires, cotton farmers, and a handful of baronets, knights, and other lower gentry, Charlotte Cavanaugh watched her sister talk and play cards with the most handsome and highest ranking gentleman in attendance.

Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat.

Jane deserved this. And more.

Charlotte had been a little leery the night before when Mrs. Fairchilde suggested they separate from Jane at the musicale tonight. For some odd reason, Mrs. Fairchilde had claimed Jane would have a better time that way and something about everything taking care of itself. Charlotte had had some serious doubts about that when Mrs. Fairchilde started hemming and hawing in front of Lord Worthe. But apparently that was all part of the older woman’s ploy.

“Now that we have that taken care of, we can move onto you,” came Mrs. Fairchilde’s sing-song voice.

“
That?
” A bitter taste filled Charlotte’s mouth at the way Mrs. Fairchilde had just spoken in regards to Jane. “And what do you mean
taken care of
?” Jane might be an invalid, but she still had feelings. Charlotte might not always be as protective of them as she should be, but right now she had an almost unstoppable urge to go wrap Jane in her arms and whisk her away. The only thing keeping her planted where she was was the brilliant smile on Jane’s face as she played cards with Lord Worthe.

“Exactly that.” She brushed a silken blonde curl over her shoulder. “Those two are well on their way to making a match and now we can start hunting for you.”

Charlotte choked on her cough. “They aren’t making a match. He…” She frowned. The words,
he felt pity for her
, were on the tip of her tongue. Bile surged up her throat and every muscle in her body went rigid. What had she done?

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Fairchilde asked, touching Charlotte’s arm just above the elbow.

Charlotte pulled her arm away. She hadn’t even noticed she’d started in a stride across the room. “We need to go home.”

“No.” Mrs. Fairchilde looped her arm around Charlotte’s. “We need to go to the retiring room.”

That was the last place she wanted to go. She needed to go rescue Jane. It wasn’t fair that she’d been abandoned in the other room so Charlotte could go make introductions. What had come over her to make her so unbelievably selfish? Shame and guilt swamped her.

“Your sister will be fine,” Mrs. Fairchilde assured her, steering Charlotte’s numb body toward the retiring room. “Gareth is the finest gentleman I know.”

Charlotte was led into the retiring room. “Yes, and that’s why he’s paying her court.”

“You mean because he wants to,” Mrs. Fairchilde said.

“I’m sure he doesn’t wish to embarrass her by making her sit alone.”

Mrs. Fairchilde snorted. “Gareth’s kind and charitable, but even he has his limits.” She walked over to the mirror mounted on the far wall and brushed the side of her tall upsweep with her fingers. “If he didn’t
want
to talk to her, he’d have offered to push her chair into the Yellow Salon.”

Charlotte stared at the addled woman. “It’s too crowded.”

Mrs. Fairchild cast her a dubious look. “Room could have been made.” She turned her gaze back to her own image in the mirror and leaned in closer to examine her left eye.

“Then why didn’t he—”

“Because he wanted to spend time with her,” Mrs. Fairchild cut in easy as could be. She sighed then straightened. “What is so hard to understand about that?”

Everything.
Why on earth would an earl want to spend time with an invalid? She inwardly flinched, but that didn’t change anything. Men,
gentlemen
, particularly those with titles, had standards for when it came time to choose a wife. Family, wealth, beauty, and fertility were all on those lists. Gentlemen of rank sought ladies as close to perfect as they could find them. It wasn’t meant to be a strike against Jane that she was unable to use her legs, but that changed nothing. She couldn’t. Therefore, she couldn’t marry. At least not well. It just wasn’t possible and it wasn’t suitable for her to marry someone who didn’t have the means to take care of her needs. So why then would a handsome earl be so interested in her?

Panic built in her chest. “Why?”

“Why, what?” Mrs. Fairchilde asked, knitting her brow.

“Why is he so blasted interested in spending time with my sister?” And why was she still in the retiring room and not saving Jane from his evil, depraved clutches?

“Because he’s smitten.”

Charlotte didn’t know whether to laugh or be dumbfounded by such a ridiculous statement. “I assure you, he is not.”

“I assure you that he is.”

“I don’t believe it.” Charlotte shook her head for emphasis.

“Then shall we ask him?”

“No.” Charlotte’s mind raced. Was what Mrs. Fairchilde suggested even possible? He was an earl. Jane had spent the majority of her life inside confined to a chair. They were worlds apart.

“Now that your eyes have been opened, shall we go back out there and you can see for yourself?”

Numbly, Charlotte nodded and followed Mrs. Fairchilde. It was all she could do.

Without a single word, Mrs. Fairchilde led Charlotte to a potted plant near the opened door of the Yellow Salon and gave a pointed look in the direction of where Lord Worthe and Jane sat, grinning at one another about who-knew-what.

Her heart warmed. “Jane has a suitor.”

“A rather serious one, I’d say,” Mrs. Fairchilde commented.

“Michael will never agree.” A sadness she couldn’t help filled her tone. “He thinks—”

“Never mind, what he thinks, we shall have to convince him otherwise.”

“We?” Charlotte squeaked.

“Mainly you, of course,” Mrs. Fairchilde said with a wink. She turned her attention back to where Jane and Lord Worthe sat chatting and playing cards as if the rest of the world failed to exist.

Chapter Nine

Gareth made a mental note to get his affairs in order to prepare for his impending death on a dueling field. For surely that would be happening in the immediate future. If not because Gareth had held court privately with Jane in the drawing room at the musicale after everyone left, then because of what happened after their game of cards…

“Aha!” she said, flipping her card over to reveal a queen, which was higher than his lowly ten. “I won this war and that’s the game, Lord Worthe.” Jane smiled triumphantly and swept up the remainder of his cards into her pile.

“Gareth,” he murmured. At her queer look, he said, “You may call me Gareth.”

Jane nodded slowly and straightened his deck of cards. “Thank you for playing cards with me, Gareth.”

Gareth frowned. “You don’t have to thank me for playing cards with you.”

Jane blushed and had it been for any other reason, he’d have enjoyed it immensely. “You don’t suppose they’re ready to go, do you?”

Her words brought Gareth up short. “Is my company that unbearable?”

Jane started, then offered him a slow smile. “Are you fishing for compliments again?”

“No,” Gareth said slowly, genuinely confused and slightly annoyed. Did she only tolerate him because she had no other choice?

“Well then, I suppose since I told you honesty was my tack, I should have some now.” She placed her hands on her armrests and shifted her position in her chair. “I very much enjoyed your company this evening, but I don’t want you to expire from tedium.”

“By spending time with you?” he blurted in a tone laced with shock.

“You don’t have to pretend to enjoy…” She plucked at her blue skirt. “I know I’m not the most enchanting creature in attendance.”

“I think that depends on who you ask.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but once it was out, he had no regrets. “Would you like a change of scenery?”

“If you’d like to go, please don’t feel obligated to stay with me.”

“Obligated?” Gareth shook his head. She was just as thickheaded as the rest of her family. He’d have to rectify that immediately. “The only thing I feel obligated to do is to ask you to lift the hem of your skirt about two inches.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’d be a pity to drag it through the ashes some of the men have left on the balcony from their cheroots.”

“Oh.”

“Is that consent?”

Jane didn’t say anything, she simply lifted her skirt just enough to keep it from touching the floor.

Excitement shot through Gareth. He pushed her out onto the balcony. Finding a stone bench near the northern end, he maneuvered Jane to be right next to it then took a seat.

“The stars are so bright and beautiful tonight,” Jane said.

Gareth murmured something he hoped she’d take as agreement, but didn’t bother to look at the stars. He was enjoying the sight of her far more. Her profile face, tipped toward the sky, was a sight to behold. Big hazel eyes, parted pink lips, a delicate chin all washed in moonlight. Her hair had been styled to perfection, hours with curling tongs and hundreds of pricks with hairpins, no doubt.

Jane swallowed then, the column of her throat working. Gareth resisted the urge to trace it with his fingertips.

“Is something the matter?”

Jane sighed. “When Charlotte goes to London we’ll still be under the same stars, but likely she won’t be able to see them.”

“Does that worry you?”

“It shouldn’t.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “It’s for the best. Charlotte needs to go to London and have her Season. Coming here was just nonsense.”

“That might depend on who you ask,” Gareth said again.

Jane gave him an unreadable look. “Do you fancy her, then?”

“No.”

“Then I suppose I should make better use of what little time I might have left at Castlemoor to make the two of you—”

Gareth cut off the string of nonsense that was spilling out of her mouth with a kiss. It might be considered less-than-proper by those living in polite society, but to Gareth, it was the only way to put a final stop to her plans to marry him off to Charlotte and tell her just how much he thought of
her
.

***

Jane could no more pull her lips away from Gareth’s than she could pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She shouldn’t be kissing him, but she couldn’t make herself stop, either.

His kiss was soft. Sweet. Gentle. Perfect.

“Do you understand now?” he rasped.

Jane’s gloved hand flew to her lips. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” His dark green eyes searched her face. “Jane, don’t you understand that I want you,” he said hoarsely. “Not Charlotte. You.”

“But why?” Hot, bitter tears welled in her eyes. This could not be. She was… she was…
unsuitable
for a wife and most assuredly for one who’d be a countess.

“Why not?” he questioned.

“Must I say it?” she cried, clenching her hands into two tight fists. “I’m unsuit—”

He cut her off with another kiss. This time it was harder and more demanding. His lips were soft yet firm as they pressed against hers—then parted to interlock with hers.

Instinctively, she reached for the lapels on his coat, never wanting the moment to end. His hands covered hers and he drew back, his breathing heavy and labored. He squeezed her hands. “See? You feel the same way.”

Shame and embarrassment should have come over her at his words, but neither did. “Yes, I do,” she breathed. Her heart clenched painfully and she tried to pull her hands from him. “But it can never be.”

He tightened his hold on her hands, but not painfully. “Yes, it can.” Without allowing her time to argue, he pressed his lips to hers again, stealing every ounce of reservation and resolve she had left.

The quiet, unmistakable
ahem
from behind Jane pulled them both from their fog.

Gareth slowly pulled away from her to look at their intruder. Jane kept her eyes trained on Gareth, too mortified to see who’d just happened upon them.

Silence—the kind full of enough tension to make one have the need to gasp for air—engulfed them all for what felt like hours but could have only been ten seconds.

Then, Gareth broke the silence. “Would you like to offer your felicitations to my betrothed and me now or back at Castlemoor?”