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Compromising the Marquess

Page 49

by Wren St. Claire

Robert frowned. “Lannister should have told me what she planned to do. But the devil chose to escort her instead. But at least he didn’t let her go on her own. That would have been worse, all things considered. Although if they had been caught, I’d have been forcing him to marry her at gunpoint instead of you.”

“You didn’t need to force me!”

“No. No, I didn’t.” Robert sighed. “It was a messy business, but it seems to have turned out better than we’d hoped. Although I’ve made an enemy of Silverly again. You know he was at outs with my father over Papa’s refusal to marry his daughter, Mary?”

Jerome nodded. “But surely that’s water under the bridge now?”

Robert shrugged. “Silverly has a long memory. The alliance with Haldane would have been a good one for both houses.”

“There’s always Heather,” offered Jerome.

Robert looked thoughtful. “That could have some merit. He’s a steady fellow, may suit Heather, and she might suit him. He was taken with Ava’s liveliness, but I think, even if Ava weren’t smitten with you, she would have been too much for him in the end. I hope you’re able to cope with her mad starts.”

Jerome prickled at the implied criticism of his wife. “Ava will never be docile. It’s not in her nature, but I’m confident she has outgrown her tendency to flout convention.”

It was just then, scanning the room, he realized he had lost sight of his golden-haired goddess. The dance was finished and Ashford was back with his very pregnant wife, Annis, who was sitting on a couch by the wall with Letty. No doubt the two women were discussing babies. He excused himself from Robert and went looking for Ava. He found that any time apart from her made the invisible string between them twang.

A circuit of the ballroom confirmed that she wasn’t in the room, and he wondered if she had gone out into the gardens for some fresh air. It was warm in the room, and she had been dancing. He tried not to wonder why she wouldn’t come to him and suggest they take a stroll together. A sixth sense was prickling his skin and not in a good way. A hollow feeling in his stomach made him hurry toward the double doors and out onto the terrace. The gardens were a maze of trees, bushes, and wandering paths lit by a scattering of lamps suspended from branches and dotted here and there with little Greek follies, fountains, and statues.

There were several couples strolling through the trees in plain view of the terrace where he stood, but there was no sign of Ava. He hesitated, wondering if she had gone to the ladies’ retiring room. Come to think of it, that was the most logical explanation. What was wrong with him?

He was about to turn back when, on impulse, he descended the steps from the terrace into the garden proper and took the path that wandered around the perimeter of the garden, which was cast in greater shadow. It was toward the back gate that gave onto the mews behind the house that he found them.

He stopped some feet away. A lamp in the tree behind them lit the shadowed space sufficiently for him to recognize immediately Ava’s golden curls and her topaz satin gown. The man had his back toward Jerome, but the pair of them were seated facing each other, their hands linked and heads bowed together as if in earnest conversation.

The man’s hair was as golden blonde as Ava’s. With a sick sort of inevitability, Jerome recognized him. Lannister. A cold wash ran over his skin and that hollow feeling in his stomach solidified into a heavy lump. He had refused to think about what might have transpired between Lannister and Ava on that trip to Northumberland, and they had not discussed it. But he had caught Lannister taking liberties with Ava before. Recalling that occasion, blind fury took swift and sudden hold, and he strode toward the couple, who were so engrossed in their conversation they hadn’t seen him.

“Lannister!” he said, low and fierce. “Unhand my wife!”

Ava jumped in surprise, her eyes going wide. “Jerome!”

He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet, his eyes fixed on Lannister, who looked tired and drawn but had a sardonic smile pinned to his lips.

“Go back to the ballroom, Ava!” Jerome said peremptorily.

“Jerome—”

“I said, go back to the ballroom. Now!”

She stiffened. “We weren’t doing anything wrong!”

“Go!” he said dangerously, hanging onto his temper by a thread. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Lannister.

The other man rose slowly to his feet and to Jerome’s fury said gently, “It’s all right Ava. I can handle irate husbands. I’ve had lots of practice. Go back to the ballroom, love.”

Ava hesitated and said belligerently, “Don’t hurt him!” before storming off.

Lannister watched him with faint amusement, which infuriated Jerome. He clenched his fists, wanting to punch the smirk off his countenance.

“I wondered when this moment would come,” said Lannister. “I thought you took the whole Northumberland jaunt too well. Been eating at you, has it?”

This was so accurate a summary that Jerome flinched. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing—”

“No game, Ravenshaw.”

“You appear to find the whole thing amusing!”

“You are jumping to erroneous conclusions.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “I simply needed someone to talk to, and Ava offered.”