Page 7

“I trust you’re well?” His inquiry was directed to Deborah, who flushed faintly and inclined her head. Ava looked between the two. A blond Adonis and a dark-haired Aphrodite. Really? Was that why . . .?

“I am. Thank you, my lord.”

*

Jerome continued on down the street, conscious of Ava behind him, and turned to cross the road. Looking back, his eyes landed on her exquisite little figure again, engaged in conversation with—bloody hell! Lannister! He gritted his teeth and crossed, dodging between riders and carriages.

Didn’t she know better than to give a lecherous devil like that the time of day? Surely Rob had warned her about Lannister. The antipathy between the two men was well known, even in the wider ton. He’d have to have a conversation with Rob.

*

London, November 1819

“Not dancing old fellow?” asked Emrys wandering up to Jerome’s position propping the wall and watching the dancers. Since his second marriage, Ashford’s wardrobe had improved. Not to Jerome’s standards, but he was generally neater, and while not in the first stare of fashion, he no longer looked like something the cat had dragged in.

Jerome dragged his attention away from the petite figure of Ava, twirling around the room in Lannister’s embrace. She was here with Sarah tonight, neither her mother nor Robert was present or it wouldn’t be happening.

“Pulled a hamstring with a lunge in tierce at fencing yesterday,” he said with a grimace.

“Ah,” said Emrys with a grin. “Probably why I don’t indulge in such feats of athletic prowess.”

Jerome ran his eyes over his friend’s slimmed down form. “You’ve been exercising more though.”

“Yes, but not to your level, old chap. Everything in moderation, that’s my motto.”

Jerome smiled. He was about to ask after Annis and the children when he noted that the music had stopped and his attention was caught by the sight of Ava slipping from the ballroom via a curtained alcove that gave onto the salons behind the main room. He would have thought nothing of it, except a quick survey of the room showed him that Lannister was nowhere in sight. A prickle of alarm raced over his skin and a sick stab of something he didn’t want to identify hit his stomach.

“If you’ll excuse me Emrys—” He left the sentence dangling and headed for the spot where Ava had disappeared.

Beyond the curtain was a short corridor with a series of doors off it. He tried several before he found her . . .

Standing in Lannister’s embrace, her cheek resting against his chest. The tableau held him transfixed for a moment, then a searing stab of ugly jealousy speared him through the chest. Close on its heels was a red mist of rage. He retained just enough presence of mind to step into the room and close the door behind him.

“Lannister, get your hands off her, now!”

Ava opened her eyes and lifted her head in shock. “Jerome—”

He ignored her, his eyes on Lannister, who had not, as instructed, let go of Ava. If anything, his grip had tightened. The other man turned his lazy blue gaze on Jerome and said with a sardonic smile, “Such heat, Ravenshaw!”

Jerome took a threatening step towards him. “Do I have to hurt you, Lannister? Because I will. Let. Her. Go.”

Lannister looked down at Ava, who placed her hands on his chest and pushed back gently. He released her and she stepped back, turning toward Jerome. “Jerome, what—”

He cut her off, his gaze still on Lannister. “Go back to the ballroom, Ava.”

“I will not!” she said sharply, making him look at her.

Lannister bowed to Ava and said with an ironic smile. “I think I am rather de trop, my dear. I’ll speak with you later.” He walked past Jerome and let himself out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Ava, have you no sense?” exploded Jerome. His fury at Lannister, balked of its prey, turned on her.

She stiffened and glared back at him. “What are you so angry about?”

“It’s a good thing Robert isn’t here tonight. If he knew you were sneaking off to rooms with Lannister—” He stopped, catching his breath and trying to bring his temper back under control. “Surely, by now you understand that being caught alone with a man will ruin your reputation. And one with his reputation would ruin you beyond redemption. For God’s sake, when will you grow up?”

She stepped closer and slapped his cheek with the flat of her bare hand. She had removed her gloves at some point. It stung. But not as much as the wounded anger in her eyes, which glittered with unshed tears. “How dare you! Why must you always assume the worst of me?”

His hands came up and seized her upper arms. “I don’t,” he said roughly. The accusation in her eyes was playing merry hell with his internal sense of right and wrong. “I’m trying to explain something to you that you seem to willfully refuse to understand! Men like Lannister can’t be trusted! He’s not like me or Deo or Emrys. He doesn’t have a moral compass!”