Page 13 of One Night of Scandal
Jack wasn’t going to give up so easily. “I remember now, an MP actually helped the radicals with something. Which radicals, I wonder? The Spencean Philanthropists? The Hampdens?”
“That, I don’t know.”
“Ah, well, rumors do make things more interesting, don’t they?” Jack overrode his frustration with a forced laugh and tapped his brandy glass to Pennington’s. The other man obliged, lifting the glass that had been meant for Lady Viola and draining it.
Jack glanced about and lowered his voice. “Did you hear it here? Perhaps we should be careful what we say.”
“Not here, no. The Wicked Duke is safe territory for all!” Pennington shook his head vigorously. “No, I heard it at that coffeehouse on St. James’s. That’s the best place to hear rumors. If you want to, that isss.” Pennington had begun to slur.
Jack pounced. “Yes, it seems quite a few MPs like to frequent that establishment.” Jack had spent some time there in his younger days, when he’d been a barrister, before he’d become an MP, following in his father’s footsteps to the letter. “Did you hear this rumor from an MP, or was it one of the employees?”
“Neither.” Pennington waggled his brows, then leaned close, exhaling his brandy-ale breath over Jack’s face. “It was that solicitor who always sits at the corner table. Hodges.”
Triumph surged in Jack’s veins. He was more than familiar with Hodges; the man had once worked for Jack’s father. That had been decades ago, but he would know Jack, and there was no reason to expect he wouldn’t share the same information he’d given Pennington. Hopefully, he’d share even more. Jack just hoped heknewmore. If he didn’t, perhaps he could point Jack and Lady Viola in the right direction.
Lady Viola. All this time, she’d been holding her own with the annoying Sir Humphrey and Caldwell. Jack leapt to his feet. “I’ve a sudden urge to play billiards as well.” He looked at Pennington in question but stopped short of inviting him.
Pennington waved his hand before letting it drop to the table, his palm loudly smacking the wood. “You go. I’ve a need for another ale, methinksss.”
He probably didn’t, but Jack wouldn’t stand in his way. He moved into the billiard room and saw that Lady Viola was watching him. Jack quickly made his way to her side and stopped dead.
One of her sideburns was barely hanging onto her face. He rushed forward and urgently whispered, “Your disguise is falling off.”
Her hand came up to her cheek, and she felt the problem. Her eyes widened, and she started toward the door to the private salon, leaving the billiard room without a word.
Jack followed her out at a sedate pace. Once he got to the private salon, he saw her heading through a back doorway. He continued after her, ending up in a small, poorly lit storage room.
She turned as he entered, her breath drawn in a sharp gasp. Then her shoulders dipped in relief as she recognized it was him. She pushed the hair onto her face. “It won’t stick.”
He stepped forward and surveyed the problem. “No, it doesn’t seem to want to.”
“I have glue in my pocket, but I don’t have a looking glass.”
“Can I help?” he offered.
She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small jar. Opening the lid, she showed him that a brush was attached to the underside. “Just use this to dab the glue on.” She set the lid back on and handed him the pot.
Jack took the brush and moved even closer. “Sorry,” he murmured. “The light isn’t very good in here. I’d hate to glue your mouth closed.”
“My brother would probably appreciate that. At least he would have when we were younger.” She laughed softly, completely abandoning the deeper tone of Tavistock’s vocalizations. Her laugh was warm and alluring.
They were nearly chest to chest. “Can you tip your head back slightly?” he asked.
She did as he asked, and the lone lantern hanging on the wall splashed its meager light across her cheekbones. He swiped the brush into the glue. “A sparing amount?”
She started to nod but seemed to think better of it given his ministrations. “Yes.”
He brushed the glue onto her face. “It’s a shame you cover yourself up with these. Does it hurt when you take them off?”
“Not really,” she said. “I’m quite used to it. Hold the hair in place for a moment so the glue will set.”
Replacing the brush into the jar, he gently pressed the faux hair against her skin. It was an intimate caress, or it would have been if she were bare faced. Her gaze locked with his as his fingertips applied pressure. He was aware of the warmth of her flesh and a hint of fragrance that had no business belonging to a man. He hoped no one ever got this close to her and recalled how she’d expertly removed Pennington’s hand earlier.
Jack’s changed his mind. Thiswasintimate. And only growing more so the longer they looked at each other and the longer he touched her face. He’d never been more aware of her as a woman.
“I think it’s probably fine,” she said softly.
As he withdrew his hand, he was struck by an image of her without the facial hair. Her lips were full—the top pointed in the middle and the bottom thick and lush—and he saw himself kissing them…
