“I came in here to save her,” he said, not unlike a child caught stealing a cake.
Susana shot him a disbelieving look.
“She was kissing Hisdick,” he insisted.
Meg snorted. “I was not kissing Hisdick.”
Susana sighed. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss Hisdick.”
Neither could he, but that was entirely beside the point. “The point is, she was in here, alone with Hisdick. I came in to save her.”
“And somehow she ended up kissing you?” Susana tipped her head to the side.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he sputtered.
“It’s not?” Meg’s voice was wobbly, wan.
Dear God, were those tears in her eyes?
Blast. Women were confounding. “That’s not what I meant, darling—”
“Darling?” Susana tsked. She took Meg by the arm. “We are going back to the party. There are still several men who wanted to talk to you, dear. And you.” She speared Jonathan with a fierce glower. “Get yourself together. You’re supposed to be looking for a wife.”
He was. He’d found her.
But before he could say as much, both Meg and Susana were gone.
He knew he should follow them, knew he should go back to the party, but he just couldn’t. Instead he poured himself a whisky and dropped into the chair by the fire—though the hearth was cold—and glared at the logs.
CHAPTER 7
“WHERE ON EARTH IS JONATHAN?” the dowager asked as Meg and Susana came back into the salon.
“He’s pouting,” Susana said.
“What?” Her tone led one to believe a duke had no business pouting whatsoever. “He has a party to host.”
“Perhaps it’s too much for him.” Susana again.
Meg was glad her friend was on her side, because she wouldn’t want her as a rival.
“Perhaps,” the dowager said. “I’ll have a chat with him. Where is he?”
“The library.”
As the dowager stalked down the hall to find her errant son, Susana pulled Meg aside and checked her hair and dress for rumples. “What was that, dear?” she asked in an undertone, lest anyone else hear.
Meg shook her head. Her body was still quivering to the thrill of Jonathan’s touch, that feral kiss. It was too much to expect her to think. “I don’t know.”
Susana shot her a sideways look. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t know why he kissed me.”
In response, Susana turned her to the glass. “Don’t you? Can’t you see how lovely you are?”
She stared at her reflection. Oh, she looked fine. “I’ll never be as pretty as Tessa.”
“Oh dear. Is that it?” Susana sighed. “I do know how you feel, though. I was certain Christian would fall for her once he met her. She was so beautiful. But darling, Tessa is gone. Jonathan’s not even mourning anymore.”
“I know.” It hardly signified. Tessa has always been the pretty one. Meg had always been the one who tromped through the mud with the boys.
“But that is all beside the point. You are here and you shall have a wonderful time. Come now. Let’s go speak with Everton. Have you met him yet?”
Meg made a face. “He spits when he talks.”
“Oh dear. How about Mattingly?”
Mattingly was nice. Funny. Clever. He just wasn’t Jonathan.
Meg shrugged.
“Surely there is someone you would like to talk to.”
“I enjoyed conversing with Hisdick…” He was extraordinarily well-read and had an excellent grasp of subtext.
“All right.” Susana linked their arms once more and they made their way over to the corner, where Hisdick had once again positioned himself and they had a lovely conversation about authors such as Sarah Burnley, Elizabeth Thomas, and Jane West, though Susana didn’t contribute much. She simply stood guard.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?”
Jonathan winced as he heard his mother enter the room. For a second, he thought to hide his whisky, then reminded himself he was a duke and he could drink whenever he damned well pleased. So he lifted his glass. “I needed a break.”
She sniffed. “Susana suggested perhaps you weren’t up to hosting.”
Susana had the right of it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was host. He wanted to go into the salon, sweep Meg off her feet, and carry her bodily to his chambers.
But he couldn’t. Damn it all anyway.
“You must go back. The card games are about to start.”
He forbore rolling his eyes, but just barely. He might be seated with one of them. “I don’t like to play cards.”
Her snort echoed the room. “You like cards enough when you go to gaming hells.”
“Gaming hells aren’t dangerous.”
“Well, I never. This is a party in your own home. You are not in danger.”
“Ah, but I am.” He refilled his glass. “Did you know Miss Peck suggested I take her to the conservatory? Tonight?”
“I’m sure she didn’t.”
“I’m sure she did.” Also, his mother could not have noticed the deep gouges on his forearm from her talons. “Mother, I appreciate you inviting them all, but…”
“But what?” Her eyes went wide and all innocent-like.
He stared at her for a moment. “You have to know that none of them would suit.”
“None of them would suit?” The fact that she parroted him and batted her lashes while doing it made suspicion bubble within him. Oh, he knew her. He knew her well. He just hadn’t suspected she could be so manipulative.
“But you didn’t want me to settle on one of them, did you?”
Her innocent look intensified. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Jonathan, you are talking in riddles.”
“Am I? Who is the woman you really want me to consider. Just tell me. It will save some time.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shifted her intense attention to the pleats in her skirt.
“Is it the Malbury girl? What’s her name? Portico?”
“Portia. And no. She’s spotty.”
“Drake’s daughter? Petunia?”
“Priscilla. And no. She’s mannish.”
“All right. Who then?”
The dowager sniffed. “I have no intention of choosing your wife for you, and frankly, I am insulted at the allusion that I do. You’re a grown man and you can choose your own wife. Now, come back to the party. You’re going to play cards and you’re going to like it.”
With a command like that, he could hardly disobey.
But he took his whisky with him.
TRUTH BE TOLD, once the card games started, the party was tolerable. Probably because a lot of the guests left at that time to go to bed. And probably because Jonathan managed to be seated with Mattingly, St. Clare, and Everton. And, as they all knew, Everton was an easy mark.
Pity they weren’t playing for money.
For her part, Meg sat with Susana and Christian and Hisdick. There was far too much laughter coming from that side of the room. It almost ruined his concentration.
But at least, from this vantage point, he could keep his eye on her, and he found, as long as he could keep his eye on her, he could remain calm.
It wasn’t until very late that Meg stood, Susana with her, and said their good nights.
Jonathan wanted, quite desperately, to follow. But he could hardly do that, so he stayed where he was and finished his hand. Christian and Hisdick wandered over to their table and co-opted some empty chairs, and the men—the only ones left in the room—gave up on cards and settled for a nice conversation. With whisky.
Oh, it was all so pleasant.
Until Mattingly said, “I say, Devon. Thank you for inviting me. I can’t tell you how taken I am with Miss Chalmers. Arsy yarsey, head over heels.”
And something bitter shifted in Jonathan’s gut.
“Oh, yes,” St. Clare said, with a glint in his eye. “She is lovely. Her brother was George Chalmers, yes? I remember him from Eton. Good sort.”