Lady Butterstone nodded wearily. “Verywell. I shall retire.”
In the library, a room of immenseproportions lined to the ceiling with tomes, Lady Ashley rang for afootman and instructed him to light the fire.
“Do you care for morecognac?
Jack refused. “Best keep a clearhead,” he said concerned at how easily he might losehis.
After the wood in the hearth blazed,the footman departed. They went to an inlaid mahogany desk on whichsomeone had placed a large leather valise. “Father’s secretary hasnot yet arrived to deal with this matter. Please take Father’sseat. It’s more comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
Jack drew up a chair for her. He tookthe leather chair behind the desk.
She drew the valise toward her andopened it. “I’ll separate all the correspondence pertaining toFrance. I doubt the rest is of much interest.”
“An excellent idea,” Jacksaid, watching her. Everything about her delighted him, from herlong slim fingers to her delicate throat caressed with fairtendrils. He sighed, leaned back, and tapped his fingers on theleather desktop. He had left London so that he would never wantwhat he could not have. And here he was, hopelessly, foolishly,caught up. “Perhaps we can uncover the mystery tonight.”
She raised her eyes to his, a letterin her hand. “You are anxious to leave us.”
“My reason for that maysurprise you.”
She flushed slightly. “But you won’ttell me.”
“Not a goodidea.”
She traced her full bottom lip withher tongue. “If you don’t wish it.”
Jack’s blood heated. He pushed backhis chair. He’d been accused of being hotheaded in his time. Anddamn it, it was true. Why stop now when it really mattered? He camearound to where she sat, reached down, and removed the letter. Tookher hands and drew her to her feet.
She didn’t protest her gaze lockedwith his. He slid an arm around her waist and raised her chin,brought his mouth down on hers. Oh, but she was sweet; he losthimself in her scent and her slim body as she kissed him back, herfingers threaded through the hair at his nape.
He drew away. “I should apologize. ButI’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I.”
He studied her face for a moment thenpulled her close again, breathed deeply of flowers, and woman. “Whyhaven’t you married?”
She moved back away from him. “Oh, butI was. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I assumed…”
“I am Lady AshleyLambourne.”
“Lambourne. The Duke ofWestmore’s second son?”
“Yes, Charles and I marriedwhen I was seventeen and he nineteen. It was thought he would notlive to be old. He died two years ago.” She sighed. “He was alwaysquite frail.”
Now he remembered hearing of it. Herhusband had been crippled since birth. His father had gone to hisfuneral. Lambourne’s elder brother was also sickly and had diedearly this year.
“No children from thematch?”
She shook her head. “Regrettably thatside of our marriage was not successful.”
“Perhaps we should continuelooking into this.” He gestured to the letters.
She slipped her small hand in his.“Perhaps we can enjoy the fire, first.”
He smiled. “The fire?”
