Page 36 of A Countess Never Tells

His eyes widened, and he gripped her arms. “Tell me before I go mad.”

With a laugh, Kitty took a deep breath and explained her scene with Lord Quatford. By the time her tale neared the end, Ash had his head in his hands.

“He had asked the question, and I was opening my mouth to say yes, when it occurred to me that I had never kissed Lord Quatford. As I was going to be doing so for the rest of my life, I decided I should know what I could expect. So I asked him to kiss me.”

Ash’s head came up, his attention fully on her. “And did he?”

“Yes.” Kitty had to repress a shudder. “And I am so very glad he did because it told me I could not marry him if my life depended on it.”

“He kissed that badly, Kitty?” Ash had relaxed at that, apparently reassured.

“No, not badly. But not good either. At least, not good for me, because he made me feel…nothing.” It was difficult to explain and had been hard to endure. “When I kissed him, I didn’t feel as though I was being kissed at all. Just lips pressed against lips.” She took Ash’s hand in hers. “There is more passion between us holding hands than there was in kissing Lord Quatford, and I don’t think that was his fault. But that’s when I refused him. Because I knew I couldn’t marry him.” She raised her chin to gaze into Ash’s eyes. “I couldn’t marry anyone but you, Ash. No one else will ever be what you are to me.”

“God, Kitty.” Ash leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you.” Kitty pulled back, but kept their hands clasped. “So we must devise a plan to win my brother over.”

“Easier said than done, my dear. And all the while you will still need protection from the vile Baltimore. If it ever comes to the ears of the ton that he is pursuing you, that alone might be enough to ruin you.”

She shot a curious look at Ash. There might be another way to make John see reason, and it shouldn’t be difficult to enlist Ash’s help with it. “Do you think that if my reputation was already ruined, my brother would be quicker to see there was no harm in me marrying you after all?”

A devious smile spread across Ash’s face, and he nodded. “That is a scheme that deserves contemplation. But now I think we should return to the ballroom before your brother comes looking for us. If he did so, one of us would surely be hurled over the balcony, and I would not like to lay money on who it would be.”

Chapter 16

The next afternoon, dressed in his footman’s gold-braid trimmed jacket, breeches, and white silk stockings liberally bedaubed with muck from the street, Ash walked nonchalantly over to Mayfair’s St. Alban’s Street and around the corner to Buckminster Square. He stopped at the edge of the property owned by Lord Haxby and stood for a moment, looking up at the blue front door of the impressive townhouse, the brass knocker shaped like a whale winking in the morning sun. An imposing establishment to be sure. One he would likely be turned away from if he appeared in his own guise. Ash, however, had other ideas.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had to resort to subterfuge to contact a paramour, although with some luck, it might be his last. Gentlemen like him, connoisseurs of women, discovered the many tricks of the trade over the years in order to get what they wanted. The employment of a household’s own servants was often a useful and not necessarily difficult means to an end.

Ash strolled around to the back gate that opened onto the small kitchen garden and the mews beyond. He tried the gate, discovered it unlocked, which surprised but pleased him. After entering the backyard, he skirted the garden and found a wooden bench seat. Excellent. Now all he needed do was wait.

As he sat, he turned the note over and over in his hands, aware of the set of events he was about to set in motion. He had no doubt Kitty would do as he requested. Still, he must see if she could arrange it. His patience was rewarded a quarter of an hour later when a kitchen maid emerged from the kitchen. Bounding to his feet, he feigned hesitation as he approached her.

“Good afternoon.” Ash smiled his most charming smile at her. “I wonder if you could help me?”

The maid, a young girl of perhaps sixteen, eyed him suspiciously. “’Ello.” She looked him up and down, apparently not liking what she saw. “What’re you doin’ ’ere? You’re s’posed to be at the front door, ain’t ya? Not in the kitchen garden.”

“An astute observation, Miss…?” He stared at her until she blushed.

“Joan, sir. Joan Foster.”

“Miss Joan, then. You are in the employment of Lord Haxby, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl still looked suspicious.

“Are you acquainted with his sister, Miss Tate?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” Her face lit up with a lopsided smile showing a missing tooth. Kitty likely charmed all the servants. “She’s ever so kind, she is.”

“So Joan, I wonder if you’d mind doing me a favor?”

The suspicious look snapped back like a steel trap. “What kind o’ favor?”

“My mistress sent this note to Miss Tate.” He held up the folded and sealed letter, now substantially grubbier than when he’d penned it an hour ago. “It’s the name of her new mantua maker. I’m second footman to Lord Wymer, you see. Lady Phoebe, his daughter, asked me to bring this over right away. Miss Tate needs a new gown quickly, it seems. She admires Lady Phoebe’s gowns and asked for the name, apparently. Hurrying over here, I slipped and fell in the mud.” He indicated the dank smears on his livery. “I didn’t want your butler to see me in such a state. If your butler… Mr.?”

“Mr. Barr, sir.” She’d begun to warm up to Ash now.

“If Mr. Barr told my butler, Mr. Hartley, I’d showed up looking like this,” he indicated the disgusting front of his jacket once more, hoping she could smell the reeking garment, “I’d get the sack for sure.”