Page 71 of Heiress Gone Wild

Abruptly, he grabbed her arms, shoved her back, and let her go. He turned away, and this time, he did leave, going up the stairs without another word or a backward glance, leaving Marjorie staring after him. Men, she thought, shaking her head, were completely inexplicable.

Had theMary Louisastill been on a more remote part of the Thames, Jonathan might very well have dived overboard and swam for shore.

After weeks of fighting and suppressing desire, he’d finally given in. He’d allowed himself one hour of wild sexual fantasy about his ward, and he’d been paying for it ever since. Instead of being a relief, that afternoon in Claridge’s tearoom had made his agony even more acute, and during the weeks that had followed, being in her company had become an almost unbearable torture.

Now, after an entire day of evading her—a task that had required considerable ingenuity on his part—he’d been forced to take refuge below deck, where he’d swallowed two fingers of whiskey, dunked his head in a basin of cold water, and reminded himself at least twenty-seven times of things like duty and responsibility and gentlemanly conduct.

He’d barely returned to a sane state of mind, however, before she’d come below and he’d ruined all his own good work by hauling off and kissing her. After that scorching hot disaster, getting away by swimming for shore began to seem his only alternative.

Unfortunately for Jonathan, the yacht was well past Battersea Park when he emerged on deck, so even if he’d wanted to employ such desperate means of escape, there were far too many ships on the river to attempt it.

As it was, Jonathan had no choice but to do what he’d been doing for the past several weeks. He endured. He suppressed any naughty thoughts about her the moment they entered his head. He reminisced about schooldays at Winchester with Paul and kept Hetty entertained with tales of her brother’s boyhood misdeeds. He mingled, he mixed, he told stories of his life in America, and he smiled so much that by the time they reached Queen’s Wharf, his jaw ached.

In the days that followed the water party, he took steps to ensure that what happened on theMary Louisacould not happen again. Sending Irene’s plans for his social calendar to perdition, he stayed away from the house on Upper Brook Street and its voluptuous, ginger-haired guest as much as possible.

Most men in his situation, he supposed, would have turned to another woman to relieve the agony, but to Jonathan, such a course held no appeal. He’d never been one for the brothels. Even on the American frontier, where prostitutes were an unmarried man’s only viable choice, he’d never had much taste for them, and he’d seldom sought their company. Besides, he knew any relief he might find in the arms of another woman would be purely physical and also temporary, for Marjorie was the only woman he wanted. He joined a gymnasium instead and discovered that a punching bag and fencing foil were decent, if not fully effective, physical outlets for his frustration.

He also sought other distractions. He looked up old friends from schooldays. He handled the various business matters his stop in London had required. He took cold baths and went for long walks.

Following Rex’s advice, he applied to be a member of the Travellers Club, and with Torquil’s influence, Rex’s endorsement, and the recommendations of various schoolfellows with whom he’d become reacquainted, he was shuffled to the top of the waiting list. In the meantime, he was able to attend as a guest, and in order to avoid Upper Brook Street, he took advantage of both his brothers-in-law in that regard as often as possible.

“You realize your sisters are becoming aggravated with us,” the duke told him as they met Rex there for drinks one night in late July. “They know you’re ducking society, and the fact that we’re helping you do so is not sitting well with them.”

“It’s just a few more weeks,” Jonathan said, and took a sip of whiskey. “Thank God.”

Henry chuckled. “Dear Lady Truelove,” he said, looking at Rex, “the women in our lives are insisting we mingle in society, but after all these weeks of doing the season, we are exhausted, and we just want some peace. How can we make our wives understand that nights at the club are vital to our masculine health and well-being? Signed, Bored with Balls in Belgravia.”

Jonathan and Rex both laughed, not only at the duke’s double entendre, but also at the fact that he was usually far too proper a chap to make a naughty joke like that.

“Lady Truelove,” Rex said after a moment, giving his brother-in-law a look of mock reproof, “would never advise a man to go to his club instead of his home. Unless,” he added with a grin, “he’s got a very good reason.”

“Which is what?” Henry asked. “Best if we get that story straight, gentlemen, before we leave here.”

“I’ve already arranged for that.” Rex glanced past the duke’s shoulder and his grin widened. “In fact, our reason for being here tonight just walked through the door. The Marquess of Kayne has arrived.”

Jonathan, who didn’t know the Marquess of Kayne or anything about him whatsoever, did not understand the significance of the man’s arrival, but Henry seemed to do so.

“Aha,” the duke said with a nod and a discreet glance over his shoulder. “I see where your mind is heading, Rex. You are a clever devil.”

“Why, thank you,” Rex murmured, brushing a speck of dust from his lapel, donning a show of modesty. “I do my best.” Leaning closer to Jonathan, he went on, “Kayne is someone you need to meet, which is why I’ve asked him to join us this evening. And, given what I’ve told him about you, he very much wants to make your acquaintance.”

Jonathan had no opportunity to reply before a tall, dark-haired man paused by their table, bringing all three of them to their feet.

“Torquil,” the marquess greeted. “Galbraith. Good to see you both. It’s been a while.”

“We haven’t seen much of you this season, Phillip,” Henry commented. “Not since your annual May Day charity ball.”

“I’ve been busy down in Hampshire, so my wife and I have done very little this year. I’ve only been coming up for the Lords.”

“Would you allow me to introduce my brother-in-law, Jonathan Deverill?” Henry asked. “Jonathan, the Marquess of Kayne.”

If this man truly was eager to meet Jonathan, he didn’t show it. A pair of cool blue eyes flicked over him in polite, impersonal fashion, and his handshake, though firm, was brief. “Mr. Deverill.”

Henry inquired if the other man had yet dined, and upon learning he had not, an invitation to join them was given, an invitation the marquess accepted.

“How’s the shipping business these days, Phillip?” Rex asked after they had ordered joints of beef and bottles of claret and settled back in their chairs. “Lord Kayne is a very forward-thinking peer,” he explained to Jonathan. “He got into industry early on.”

“Hawthorne Shipping was my father’s doing, not mine,” the marquess said. “Though I admit, I’d have done something if he had not. Any peer that still depends on land rents for his income isn’t just a snob, he’s a fool.”

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