He glanced toward the men who accompanied him, knowing their reactions would tell him all the reasons he could not want to expose his siblings to polite society. The cruelty, the judgment, and sneers and whispers—he would do everything possible to protect Judith from that, and his other siblings as well.
Trevor was staring at Lucasta. Jem glanced down at her face to see that the two were engaged in some wordless conversation. Trevor’s look went from outrage and annoyance to an expression of perplexed doubt. Lucasta answered with a raised set of brows and a tilt of her head in Judith’s direction.
Trevor cleared his throat. “Miss Falstead,” he said, watching Lucasta’s face for direction. “I, ah, hope I am correct in addressing you as Miss Falstead? I wonder if I might escort you to the Foundling Hospital’s benefit concert tomorrow night. Though it occurs to me I have yet to procure tickets?—”
“I would adore having you as my escort, Mr. Pevensey,” Judith said promptly.
Jem narrowed his eyes at her. “Lucasta,” he warned.
She squeezed his shoulders. “I can procure tickets for Trevor. And my cousin will behave in very proper fashion toward your sister. Very proper,” she stressed, throwing Trevor a look.
“Of course.” Trevor nodded, watching Judith with caution.
But without cruelty. Without any of the sneering or pity that Jem feared. He looked no more nervous than any young man might feel at offering escort to a young lady not known to him, when his cousin had coerced him into doing so.
“And you can escort us!” Tressie announced, striding forward to look up at Frotheringale. “The three of us! Can’t you, sir? Whoever you are?”
“I-er-I…” Frotheringale flailed, looking helplessly at Jem.
“What a marvelous idea, cousin,” Lucasta exclaimed. “How kind of you to offer. I shall procure the very best seats I can for all of you.”
Jem winced. There would be no disavowing the identity of his siblings now. Unfair of her to take advantage of his temporary loss of judgment to achieve what he’d told her he wanted to avoid: thrusting his siblings into the public eye, exposing them to ridicule.
“Judith, you will be envied, you know, showing up on the arm of Mr. Pevensey,” Lucasta said conversationally, though she searched Jem’s face with her eyes. “He has come to be very much in demand at town events. And Gale, you will be much wondered at, being so cozy with the daughters and sons of a new marquess.”
“I—er,” Frotheringale managed.
“I don’t like it,” Jem muttered.
Lucasta squeezed him again, and the warm press of her lithe body against his reminded Jem of how much else he had to begrateful for that day. “You take risks in your business, do you not? You would not have made such a success of things, else.”
“That’s different.”
“I cannot see how,” she murmured. “If you prove right, then we will know the truth of the matter. But if I prove right—” She pressed her lips together. “We cannot know until we try.”
“I do believe I would enjoy the foundling concert m’self.” Mrs. Cadogan bustled in with an overladen tea try. “I don’t expect you’ll be able to wheedle a ticket for me as well, Miss Lithwick? But if you may, perhaps milord Frotheringale can take Miss Falstead and m’self and the little ones to Arendale House tonight so we may attend the concert tomorrow. I’ve already set Nurse to packing up some things. And Mr. Pevensey, I imagine you won’t rest easy until you’ve gone with his lordship to deliver Miss Lithwick to her family, but surely you’ll take a bit of tea and cakes before you set out?”
Jem released Lucasta with great reluctance as she went to distribute cakes while Judith serenely poured tea. His arms ached as her warmth departed, but the ache in his heart was worse.
He had let Lucasta Lithwick into his life, and she had changed everything. He didn’t feel as confident as she was that exposing his siblings to scrutiny would be anything but a humiliating disaster. To trust anyone but himself to make a decision went so profoundly against the grain that Jem had to grit his teeth to keep from shouting them all down until they bent to his will.
But Lucasta was right. He couldn’t let fear and bitterness rule him any longer. He had done something he’d swore he’d never do: go daft over a woman. And losing her was the one risk he was not at all willing to take.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Well, that tears it! She’s ruined,” Lord Pevensey pronounced. “Trevor, you have to marry her now.”
Every head in the room swung in Trevor’s direction.
There were more people in the Pevensey parlor than it could comfortably hold. Lady Pevensey sat in an upholstered chair with her skirts arranged around her, face as pale as milk. Miss Pevensey and the Gorgons sat in a cluster around Lucasta, whom they had torn from Jem’s arms to fuss and fret over the moment the door blew open. He wished he could have kept her by his side, with her strong, quiet warmth.
Trevor lounged against the broad mantel of the fireplace, the boredom on his face a deceptive mask. Frotheringale stood in the doorway, wearing an expression that was angry and ruffled and, now that he was facing the older and far more worldly Pevensey, held dawning realization of the consequences of his acts.
The Viscount had seen Jem’s siblings and Mrs. Cadogan safely deposited at Arendale House, though Jem wrestled with the urge to run there himself to shield Judith and his younger siblings from Aunt Payne. But he must leave that battle to Mrs.Cadogan for the moment. He couldn’t shift from this spot until he knew Lucasta was safe.
From his position near the window facing the street, he kept trying to catch her eye where she sat on the settee surrounded by her cousin and friends, but she seemed determined not to look at him.
How could she kiss him as she’d done and then ignore him like this? Jem wanted to squeeze her to him until the answers fell out of her. And he wanted to kiss every inch of her weary face. She insisted that the fall from the horse had only left her with a few aches and bruises, and that her cousin, other than restricting her movements and monitoring her letters, had otherwise not been cruel. But to a woman as proud as Lucasta, he knew the enforced helplessness had grated.
