Today, he was still Kenton and eager to show his mutual admiration. ‘Is something the matter, my sweet?’
‘I had hoped that we would see your father for the wedding. I quite looked forward to meeting him.’
It was a predictable expectation on her part and Jack answered it smoothly. ‘He was detained in Essex. Business with the estate, I think. Travel is difficult for him. But I have written to him about you. He is very pleased with the union and eager to meet you. He sent the ring you are wearing now.’ He paused dramatically to make the next words sound more like sentiment than a quickly constructed lie. ‘It belonged to my mother. It was a great favourite of hers. I remember it well, though I was so very young, when she …’ He sighed.
She looked around for something with which to distract him from his grief. ‘Toast, Lord Kenton?’
He grinned at her and accepted the proffered bread. ‘Thank you, Lady Kenton. And no need to be formal, now that we are practically as one. Kenton is fine. Or you might call me by my Christian name.’
‘John?’ she said hesitantly, as though trying the word for the first time.
He gave a silent thank you to the late John de Warde for being so conveniently named. ‘Or you might call me Jack. It is what my friends call me. And I very much wish to be your friend.’ He glanced down the table. ‘I wish to be friends with your family as well. I must talk to your father before the day is through. He has spoken of a settlement, but we could not manage to find time to discuss it until now.’
‘Tongue?’
Hells, yes. She was leaning forwards, over the tray of cold meats, in rapt concentration as though it took any great thought to choose the best piece for him. The tip of her own pink tongue protruded ever so slightly from between her teeth, and the set of her body gave him a tantalising glimpse down the front of her gown.
His body shot to attention as his mind instantly focused on the wedding night, which, as far as he was concerned, could begin any time after noon. Was it normal to be so utterly fixated on bedding one’s own wife? There was probably some quote in Shakespeare’s canon about delayed pleasure being sweeter, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of it.
Because his wits were addled by lust. It had been three long and very respectable weeks since he’d offered for her. In that time he had done nothing to shock or annoy. He had played the part of a perfect gentleman and played it to the very hilt. Now, if they could just get this interminable breakfast behind them, he would get Cynthia Banester alone and fall on her like a condemned man at his last meal.
At least Jack Briggs would have done so. Lord Kenton would be a connoisseur. And if ever there was a dish to be savoured, it was the new Lady Kenton. There would be plenty of time later for risky and hurried couplings, after he had initiated her into any of the conventional arts that she was not yet familiar with. If the lady proved willing and true to her initial response, they might have no end of fun together before it was time to part from her. Several months as a doting husband to this redheaded pocket Venus was almost, but not quite, an ample payment for his services to the earl.
She stood beside him now, looking up through gold-tipped lashes, a shy smile on her face. ‘My dear,’ he said, surprising himself with a sincere sigh.
‘Jack.’ She leaned forwards again, giving him an even better look down the front of her bodice.
He leaned closer to speak into her ear. ‘Have I thanked you yet for bringing me to this pass? I had not thought to offer for you, but now I cannot imagine my future with another.’
‘I am relieved to hear you say that,’ she said, sighing as well. He could not help but admire what a deep breath did to his wife’s anatomy.
She reached out a finger and traced it lightly down the back of his hand. ‘Many men would not have been so forgiving of my impudence. I very nearly tricked you into this marriage.’
He put an arm about her shoulder and pulled her close, planting a kiss upon her forehead, even though they were still in plain sight of both her father and the vicar. ‘Let us speak no more of that … unless it is as an amusing story to tell our children.’
For a moment, the woman cuddling at his side seemed to evaporate and was replaced by a harder, shrewder but equally beautiful version of herself. ‘I’d rather die. I mean …’ she dissolved into softness and innocence again ‘… children often find tales of their parents’ courtship to be more shocking than romantic. And describing the interlude in the gazebo with any sort of detail …’ She stopped again. ‘You are a compelling storyteller, Kenton, but some things should be kept secret.’
So she was embarrassed by her ardent response to his wooing. It was really quite flattering. ‘As you wish. The circumstances of our meeting shall stay a secret.’ The point was moot, after all. If there were children, it was not as if he would be there to spin tales for them.
And there would be no risk of them at all if he could not manage to say farewell to the girl’s plaguey family and get her alone. He took a final sip of his wine and wiped his mouth with the napkin. ‘I think it is time I spoke with your father, my dear. And then we shall retire to the Kenton town house and you may begin your new life.’
Her hand tightened on his suddenly and he patted it in reassurance. ‘You have nothing to worry about, sweeting. Did I not promise you, on the night we met, that I would give you nothing but pleasure?’
‘It is not that.’ She attempted another melting gaze and leaned so close to him that he could feel the side of her breast pressing against his arm. ‘Can we not go now? You may speak to my father on another day, when things are not so busy. I swear, he would hardly notice if we left together right now.’
From his other side, he heard Lady Banester give a knowing chuckle. ‘The eagerness of young love.’ The older woman touched his other arm, and for a moment Jack had to remind himself of the marriage that had just taken place and the sublime beauty of his bride. It was clear that Cynthia had inherited the charms of her mother. The woman was a stunner in her own right. And though clearly devoted to her husband, she was not afraid to wield her beauty like a weapon. ‘You must forgive my daughter’s impetuosity, Lord Kenton. Although with such a handsome husband, I can certainly understand it.’
‘Thank you, Lady Banester,’ he replied, remembering not to be too flattered. ‘And your daughter has done nothing in need of forgiveness.’
‘But it is plain that she wishes to see her new home. And you gentleman have things you must discuss.’
‘Mother.’ The single word from his wife was clearly a warning, although damned if Jack knew what it meant. The air between the two women crackled with tension. Occupying the space between them was like being caught in a battle of sirens.
‘I am only trying to help.’ Lady Banester pouted and Jack felt an illogical desire to agree to whatever she might suggest. ‘And I have a suggestion that will please you both. While you and Sir William talk, I will escort Thea to your home, so that she might prepare herself for your arrival.’
‘You will part me from my husband on our wedding day?’
He turned back to his wife with what he hoped was a firm but benevolent smile. ‘Only for an hour, dearest. And then I shall return to you and we might continue our celebration.’
In bed. By then, he would have money in the bank and a promise of continued support for the lovely Cyn, in exchange for the use of various Stayne properties and the prestigious connection with one of the oldest families in Britain. Sir William was nothing more than a humble