No Ordinary Groom Page 5

  “Myself, I cannot easily keep maps in my head, so I trust Barlow implicitly.”

  Although she turned aside, he could have sworn she said, “What can you keep in your head?”

  “Pardon me, Miss Whittington?”

  “It was nothing, my lord.”

  Molly choked on something, then gave a few halfhearted coughs.

  Jane told herself to be patient, that this errand might yet prove fruitful. He was staring at her, petting that ridiculous dog—which was also staring at her, but in a less than friendly fashion.

  Lord Chadwick’s Georgian town house had fewer levels than hers, but she imagined it was fine—for a bachelor. Mr. Barlow helped her out of the carriage, then limped up the stairs ahead of them to open the front door.

  Lord Chadwick put down his dog in the front hall, and Killer promptly trotted over to Molly.

  She reached down, then hesitated. “Milord, might I pet your dog?”

  “Of course, Molly. In fact, you can keep him company while your mistress and I tour the house and have luncheon. When you’re hungry, Barlow will show you to the kitchen.”

  Jane felt the first flutter of panic as she realized that she would be alone with him.

  With a breathless “My thanks!” Molly went down on her knees and leaned over. Killer put his front paws on her thighs and began to lick her chin. As Lord Chadwick led Jane away, she could still hear the girl’s giggles.

  “Killer has a new friend,” he said.

  Ignoring the talk of his dog, Jane said, “Luncheon, my lord? I did not mean to intrude upon your hospitality. I thought we would tour the house and be on our way.”

  “Patience, Miss Whittington,” he said.

  He took her hand before she realized what he was about and tucked it into his elbow.

  “Another hour will only save us from the poor quality of food we’ll find on our journey.”

  “But your cook will—”

  “Be delighted. It will probably be a cold luncheon, of course, if you don’t mind.”

  How could she mind without sounding churlish?

  She endured the rambling monologue about the details of the architecture and allowed herself to be grudgingly impressed with his town house. The previous owners had obviously decorated and furnished it. She could find nothing out of place, and his servants seemed very well trained. She’d come here for nothing.

  In the drawing room, he halted next to a grand piano.

  “Do you play, Miss Whittington?”

  “Yes, my lord, though not with the passion it takes to be a true talent.”

  He released her arm and sat down on the bench, running his hand across the top. “I find myself wishing I had learned to play.”

  She stepped closer and looked down at him. “Why did you not conceive of such a wish when you were younger?”

  He shook his head, and his rueful grin made him look…engaging, and even sad. “Too concerned with other things, I imagine.”

  For a moment, she thought he was going to say more, and she found herself leaning forward in anticipation, her elbows on the piano.

  When he stood up, she was too near him, and he caught her chin deftly between his fingers.

  “Perhaps you’ll be displaying your talents before our guests in this very room, Miss Whittington,” he said softly.

  His fingers felt warm and intimate, and his eyes stared down into hers. After a shocked moment, she pulled away.

  “Perhaps we should have our meal, my lord.”

  His mouth quirked up in one corner. “We haven’t seen the bedchambers yet.”

  She drew in a quick breath and found herself dropping her gaze. This was such a mistake. “Certainly inappropriate, don’t you think?”

  Before he could respond, she walked ahead of him, back down the stairs to the dining room. For a woman who prided herself on being different from her fellow females, she knew she was displaying a surprisingly missish retreat. She didn’t understand how he could be so irreverent and foolish one minute, then talk about his past with a melancholy air that made her curious and concerned all at once.

  In the dining room, Mr. Barlow was awaiting them. Though he had not changed back into a butler’s uniform, he’d removed his greatcoat and hat. He rang a bell when he saw them, and from the serving room two footmen carried in a large silver tureen and several covered platters, which they placed on the rosewood sideboard before leaving. With a bow, Mr. Barlow left as well, closing the door behind him.

  Jane looked at Lord Chadwick in confusion.

  “Please be seated,” he said, pulling out her chair for her.

  After she had done so, he guided her chair closer to the table for her. His place was at the head, she at his right. China plates and crystal goblets and silver service were spread out before her on a fine linen tablecloth. Instead of sitting down, Lord Chadwick filled her goblet with wine.

  She was so confused. Where were the footmen? Who was going to serve them? She took a sip of wine and realized her hand was shaking.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t give you enough warning so you could arrange flowers for the table.” She tried to sound sarcastic, but it came across in a teasing manner that sounded like she was…flirting.

  He laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Are you not going to be seated, my lord?” she asked, hoping to hurry along their meal.

  “Not yet.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him return to the sideboard and remove the lid before bringing a round tureen to the table. Stunned, she watched as he ladled soup into her bowl and his own.

  Lord Chadwick was serving her?

  He sat down next to her and grinned. “Not everything’s cold after all. I always say, to keep and train good servants, one must know in advance their every duty.”

  “‘Practicing’ their duties is an…interesting concept.”

  “But effective—especially when it allows me to be alone with my betrothed.”

  He said the words as if she were his newest piece of property—which marriage would make her. But she put aside her displeasure because the turtle soup was delicious, and Lord Chadwick’s merry eyes watched her. She almost wished he were wearing that silly monocle. It put a distance between them that she preferred.

  When he served her slices of cold roast beef and duck, he leaned very near her, and she wondered if he was arrogant enough to think he could muddle a woman’s head that way.

  But oh, something was wrong with her, because when he went down on his knees beside her chair and asked simply, “Might I have your permission to kiss you, Miss Whittington?” she found herself staring at his mouth. He wasn’t smiling now, and those deep dimples were shallow creases in his skin. For the first time, she imagined what it would be like to kiss him.

  When she realized her own frozen indecision, she blinked and turned back to her plate.

  “I think not, Lord Chadwick,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. “I can show my gratitude by merely saying thank you.”

  He shook his head and smiled as he rose to his feet. “Ah, someday I shall convince you that a kiss is a far better way to express yourself—and even reward your intended husband.”

  “Perhaps between married persons,” she said disapprovingly. “Although I do not believe affection should be withheld as a reward.”

  He rested his hand on the table at her side, leaning over her. She looked up at him and found that she could not seem to draw a deep enough breath.

  “That is very true,” he murmured. “Kisses only satisfy when freely granted.”

  She stilled as his warm, bare hand cupped her face, then she softly gasped as his thumb trailed along her lower lip. The sensation was hot and pleasurable, and she trembled.

  When he straightened and went back to his own seat, she almost felt…bereft.

  Chapter 6

  The beginning of their journey out of London was slow and overheated, but Will enjoyed spending time with Jane, and
he was hoping to make her see that they were well matched. Coaches and wagons crowded the streets, and vendors wove among them all, shouting their wares.

  It would be good to get away from London with his betrothed, away from the feeling of being followed. He had never found anyone in the shadows, never proven anything, and it was frustrating.

  Killer stood on his hind legs in Molly’s lap and looked out the window, taking everything in with his usual intensity. When Molly wasn’t petting him, she held a handkerchief to her red nose, which, as the day wore on, began to drip. She sneezed repetitively and mumbled an apology each time.

  Jane was staring out the other window, jostled regularly by the movement of the coach. She and Killer gave each other wide berth, which Will found amusing. He enjoyed “accidentally” bumping her legs. He’d done it so often in the first few hours that now she kept her knees pressed to the wall of the carriage.

  He was getting closer and closer to victory in his quest to kiss her. He had barely restrained himself from sweeping her into his arms all during luncheon.

  He talked to Jane about subjects that she might find interesting: the Royal Italian Opera, and the fete that the Duke of Devonshire had given in honor of the Tsar of Russia earlier in the summer. Although she didn’t respond with enthusiasm, she listened politely and had an occasional comment. He found it troubling that a proper society woman wouldn’t converse on these subjects. She never offered anything about herself or her amusements.

  As the crowded streets of London finally gave way to the Middlesex countryside, where open farm fields were separated by hedgerows, Jane actually turned to look at him.

  “Lord Chadwick, I have a question to ask.”

  “Of course, Miss Whittington.”

  Molly sneezed miserably, they both said, “Bless you,” and the maid apologized again, her eyes streaming tears. He saw Jane watching her with concern.

  “My lord,” Jane said, “you earlier mentioned that you wanted to travel by carriage because you had business to attend to. Might I ask what business it is, and how much it will lengthen our journey?”

  She was a little too forthright, but it would hardly be polite of him to chastise her. Besides, she would have found out his agenda eventually.

  He nodded his head toward the window. “What do you think of the countryside here?”

  She frowned. “It is lovely, of course.”

  “It is good that you think so. There’s an estate nearby that’s for sale.”

  “An estate? You wish to purchase property?”

  “I wish to find a home.”

  Her eyes widened and she blushed in that lovely way she had. “But don’t you already have a home—besides the London town house? You’re our neighbor in Yorkshire.”

  “That was my parents’ home, and although I will never sell it, I wish to start anew somewhere else.”

  “Why?”

  He looked away. How could he say he felt like a fool over how he’d behaved in his youth? “It’s so…provincial. We need somewhere more suitable for entertaining.”

  Jane studied him in a way that made him feel naked—and not in a sensual way. He’d said the wrong thing, of course.

  Molly sneezed. Killer harrumphed and lay down in her lap, glaring at Jane as if everything were her fault.

  Jane walked in the orchard of the Hertfordshire estate while Lord Chadwick spoke with the housekeeper. The owners were in London, and the housekeeper had just given them a tour, her pride in the house very evident. He had wanted Jane to be as excited as he obviously was, but she just couldn’t. It felt like she was playing dolls with someone else’s life—not her own. The house was lovely, though a bit too small for “entertaining,” she thought morosely. Now she knew that her future husband found Yorkshire “provincial.” If they married, he probably wouldn’t take her to see her father much.

  The wind shook the trees gently, sheep bleated in the distance, but there was another sound, something not quite right. She stilled, listening.

  Someone was crying. And whining?

  She walked soundlessly until she reached a low stone wall marking the end of the orchard. The sobbing was louder now, and she could see just a touch of curly brown hair draped over the wall.

  “Molly?”

  There was a gasp, then the hair disappeared.

  “Molly, you don’t need to hide from me. You can’t be afraid—I’ve known you your whole life.”

  Jane put her hands on the rough stone and leaned over the wall to find Molly huddled pitifully, her eyes swollen and red. She sneezed and cried at the same time. Killer rested in her lap, whining and halfheartedly wagging his tail.

  “Oh Miss Jane, I didn’t want ye to see me like this!”

  She ran her sleeve across her nose, and Jane handed her another handkerchief.

  “I can’t stop sneezin’ and me eyes are itchin’ so bad they’re makin’ me cry.”

  With a playful bark, Killer licked at her chin. Molly sneezed twice as hard.

  And then Jane knew. “Oh, Molly, it’s Killer’s fault.”

  The maid only looked confused.

  “You were fine until the first time he crawled into your lap. You started sneezing almost immediately.”

  “But I don’t understand, miss. How can a little dog make me sick?”

  “Some people can’t be near certain animals. Cats made my late aunt Edith sneeze.”

  Molly brightened, as if relieved. Then the dog licked her chin and she frowned—then sneezed again. “But Miss Jane, we’re all in a carriage together. What will I do?”

  “Leave that to me,” Jane said. “For now, let’s find someplace private to wipe the dog hair off your face and hands and brush off your uniform.”

  They went around the main house, keeping as far away from Lord Chadwick as possible. Jane tried to shoo away the dog, but he continued to follow, with that silly mop of hair on top flopping with each step.

  In the kitchen, they asked a maid to bring water and linens up to a guest bedroom. While Molly washed herself, wearing just her smock, Jane brushed the dog hair out of her clothes. All of this embarrassed Molly, who insisted it wasn’t Jane’s place to help her.

  Jane ignored all her concerns until Molly said, “Miss, where’s Killer?”

  Jane absently looked about on the floor. “He’s here somewhere. Probably under the bed.”

  “No, miss, I would have heard ’im. But I know he came in the house with us.”

  How well-trained was that dog? Could he be making mischief—expensive mischief? From somewhere below, a crash echoed through the house, and she groaned.

  “Miss Jane—”

  “I know.” She tossed the dress to Molly. “Put this on and then come help me look for the dog—but don’t hold him! Keep him away from your face.”

  Jane raced down the curved marble staircase that took up the western end of the hall. Light streamed in a set of long windows above her head and illuminated the graceful furnishings. It was a lovely house.

  There was another crash, and then a shriek. Jane followed the sound through a drawing room, then a billiards room, and into a library. A low bookshelf had been overturned, and a maid was trying to pull a book away—from Killer. The little animal had his teeth sunk in, and he pulled with all his might.

  “Killer!” Jane shouted.

  The maid glanced up frantically. “Mistress, can ye not do something? He already overturned a bucket of milk in the kitchen!”

  But the dog ignored Jane until she reached for him. Then he dropped the book and, with a cheerful bark, ran from the room.

  It was her own fault, she thought, picking up her skirts and running. She hadn’t even realized Killer had followed them into the house. Wherever was he going? She ran after him from room to room, and he sniffed as if he were looking for something. Soon another maid was giving chase behind, and a footman joined in the pursuit.

  She followed the sounds of barking into a narrow passage leading into the servants’ wing. At the en
d of the corridor, just before it took a sharp left turn, there was an open door. Killer was standing on the threshold, barking furiously at something within.

  The maid skidded to a stop just behind her, then gasped. Jane turned to face her curiously, but the maid was looking beyond her, into the room.

  “Tommy!” she said suspiciously. “What are ye doin’ here?”

  A young man was eating a freshly baked pie off a counter. At his feet, a satchel overflowed with jars and packages.

  He hurriedly swallowed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Anne, I was just fetchin’ supplies!”

  “It’s been you all along, ’asn’t it?” she demanded, pushing past Jane and stepping into the pantry. “You’re the thief we been lookin’ for!”

  Killer sat down on his haunches, tongue hanging out, watching the scene as if he understood every word of it. Jane reached down to grab him, but with a yip he darted past her, back down the hall toward the main house. She ran after him as fast as she could, turning down several corridors. Finally, she thought to be cautious, and as she peered around the next corner, she saw Killer skid to a halt in front of his master.

  Lord Chadwick made some sort of sound that Jane couldn’t understand, and immediately the dog dropped onto his belly, head down.

  Jane backed away, not wanting him to catch her chasing his dog all over the estate. She walked quickly down another hall, beginning to wonder if she was lost. Turning a corner, she tripped over the foot of a statue. Someone caught her from behind before she could fall, and strong arms hauled her back and turned her around.

  She found herself face-to-face with Lord Chadwick.

  Her hands clutched his shoulders for support; his arms were wrapped around her waist. She was breathing hard, and every movement made her breasts brush his chest, which strangely made her feel hot and restless. His face was so close to hers that they could have shared a kiss. If she put her arms out, they could have been dancing—but standing against him, alone in a deserted corridor, didn’t feel like dancing. It felt…wicked and daring.

  He smiled at her, flashing his deep dimples. He gently tucked back a loose strand of her hair, and his fingers trailing along her skin and up over her ear made her shiver.