Louise Allen - Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two

‘Excellent.’ If he thought he was going to disconcert her, he had another think coming. And in any case, she was more than capable of disconcerting herself, without his help. ‘My turn.’

This time, as she held out the shell and the oyster slid between Gareth’s lips she ran the tip of her tongue over her own and he almost choked. ‘You are worryingly good at this,’ he said when he was recovered and they laughed and ate the remaining oysters chastely from their own plates.

Jessica rang the little bell by her plate and the next course, ‘A pea fowl, larded, removed with a ginger soufflé and asparagus, madam’, was brought in.

The guinea fowl led to a much less disconcerting discussion about taste and texture and a good-natured dispute about the amount of port in the sauce, which Jessica lost as she had never knowingly tasted port before. She thought she had scored points by batting her eyelashes prettily and imploring Gareth to carve, because he was certain to be so good at it.

The ginger soufflé melted on the tongue, leaving an unexpected heat behind it. By this time she found she was paying as much attention to taste and texture, heat and cold, spice and sweetness as she had to the feel of the items Gareth had had her touch the night before.

‘That just leaves the asparagus,’ he remarked innocently.

Jessica eyed the thick green shafts, glistening with melted butter and the giggle finally escaped. She had eaten asparagus often enough in the past, daintily with knife and fork, casually with her fingers, the butter running down her chin; now, fuelled by the atmosphere of sensual indulgence and the experience with the oysters, she had no doubt at all what asparagus was supposed to be symbolising.

‘No,’ she gasped, not worrying that the end of her nose must be turning pink as she laughed or that this was not behaviour expected of either the governess, or of the lady who wore a fashionable silken gown. ‘This is too funny to take seriously.’

Silence. She had overstepped the mark with the man who was, when it came right down to it, her employer. He was paying her to take this seriously and she was giggling. What was the matter with her? Miss Jessica Gifford never giggled.

Eva and Bel had wanted her—expected her—to wear the gown without a fichu, to let her hair down, to rouge her lips and blacken her lashes. But her instincts had told her that the first time that Gareth saw her in public he had to see someone who would shock him in truth. His reaction must convince a jaded, cynical audience.

So she had found a fichu, pinned up her ringlets, left her face scrubbed and innocent—and laughed at the game he was trying to teach her. And now he was looking at her, his face shuttered. Those grey eyes were wet-flint dark and the mobile mouth still. Jessica held her breath, wishing she could not remember what his lips had felt like against hers, wishing she had no memory of the scent and the heat of him.

His mouth moved She saw the tip of one white, sharp, canine catch at the corner of his underlip, and then Gareth smiled at her, a slow, lazy smile that caught her breath in her throat and had the stumbling words of apology tangling into silence on her tongue. Oh, my God , she thought, shocking herself, he is gorgeous .

All he said, mildly, was, ‘Sex often is very funny.’

‘Oh.’ Jessica, charmed out of her embarrassment, regarded him, curious. ‘I thought it a subject men had little sense of humour about. That…place was so cold, so joyless. Would you ever hear laughter there? Joyous laughter?’

‘Perhaps not.’ Gareth picked up his wine glass, twirling it gently between thumb and fingers. ‘But there are more aspects to the relations between men and women than that—and, yes, men, despite our fragile sense of self-worth, do enjoy being with a woman with a sense of humour and wit.’

‘I shall remember that,’ Jessica said primly, wondering whether Gareth was being ironic about the fragile sense of self-worth or whether even large, calm aristocrats had their insecurities.

‘Tell me about your family.’ He changed the subject abruptly as she rang the bell.

‘I was about to leave you to your port and nuts.’

‘You have an absorbing novel, or perhaps some stitchery to occupy yourself?’ Gareth leaned back in his chair to allow the footman access to his plate.

‘Neither, I confess.’

‘Then stay and keep me company,’ he suggested as the man placed the decanter at his side and the dish of nuts before him.

‘Is that not rather…unusual behaviour for a lady?’

‘Rather dashing—but then…’ Gareth waited until the door closed behind the footman ‘…you are rather a dashing lady, are you not, Mrs Carleton?’

‘So I understand. May I try some port?’

Gareth poured a little into her empty wine glass, then cracked a walnut and placed the meat on her side plate. Jessica sipped, wrinkling her nose. ‘Very heavy.’ He took a swallow of his, watching her over the edge of his glass. Strangely it did not make her feel uncomfortable; it was as though she had spent many an evening companionably in his company. She put her elbows on the table, nibbling the nut, her port forgotten. ‘What should I be doing tomorrow?’

‘What do you want to do? More shopping?’

‘No!’ Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘I have shopped until I can shop no more—at least for a day or two. I shall wait until everything is delivered, then Lady Dereham and Lady Sebastian will come and we will go through it all and see what further accessories I need. I cannot imagine anything can be missing, but they insist there will be all kinds of things we have forgotten.’

‘If you have no engagements, there are two things we need to see to.’

‘Really?’ Jessica frowned and absently sipped her port. The rich taste was beginning to grow on her.

‘Perfume and jewellery,’ Gareth said and it seemed to her he was watching her for her reaction.

‘Jewellery?’ she enquired coolly. There were only two sorts of women a man bought jewellery for—his wife and his mistress.

‘I rather thought you might take it like that. How would it be if I promise to take it all back at the end, every last pearl? If I promise to leave you with not so much as an amber bead?’

‘That, my lord, would be acceptable.’ At least, it would be socially acceptable. Jessica found her heart was beating erratically with a mixture of disappointment and the thought of wearing such jewellery, if only for a short time. The picture of Gareth showering gems upon her was shamefully pleasurable—and yet she had never so much as coveted a diamond in her life. Mama’s pearl set was in the bank along with her savings, Papa’s signet ring and her coral-and-silver christening rattle.

Governesses did not wear any jewellery beyond, perhaps, a chaste cross. Had a few hours with this man seduced her from her acceptance of her true station in life to such a extent that she had fallen prey to the shallowness of fashionable life?

The feeling that had give risen to the giggle was stirring again and a little voice was murmuring in her ear to stop being such a prig. She was going to earn her holiday from reality; if that meant revelling in a little shallowness, then she, Miss Jessica Gifford, was going to do so with gusto.

Chapter Nine

‘May I have diamonds?’ Jessica asked, hoping Gareth would realise she was joking. In for a penny, in for a thousand pounds, the reckless little voice urged her, while common sense told her that aquamarines, pearls and garnets would be the sensible thing for him to buy.

‘Of course. Of the finest water, naturally, although, with your eyes, emeralds should be your stone. But only a limited number of pieces.’ Without thinking she raised her eyebrows in enquiry, surprised at his sudden lack of liberality. ‘To be in keeping with your cover story. The late Mr Carleton would have earned good money from his royal service, but not so much that he could shower his wife with jewels. And perhaps you have already sold a few pieces to finance your London adventure.’