Page 35 of As the Earl Likes
“Things have picked up, and we could use a hand,” Becky replied. “If you’re free.” She glanced at Sheff.
“I will come out directly.” Jo set the cards down on the table as Becky retreated. “I’m afraid I must return to the common room.”
“Pity, for I was enjoying our conversation,” he said, meaning every word. He could have stayed in the cupboard with her all night. But would he have kept his hands to himself?
He would have had to, for that was their agreement, and he would not breach it again.
“I was too,” she murmured before preceding him from the cupboard.
Once they were in the common room, he could see how much busier the club had become. He realized he’d never paid much attention before. He watched Jo move into action, greeting gentlemen with her characteristic smile and charm. And wit—though he couldn’t hear her, he knew that to be true.
Sheff found himself trailing her like a lovelorn puppy, attempting to overhear snippets of whatever she was saying as he nursed his ale.
“Can’t believe you’re betrothed,” one man said to her.
Another looked at Sheff. “And to a blackguard like him.” The man winked at Sheff and roared with laughter.
“Well, now he’s my blackguard,” Jo replied, directing a saucy smile toward Sheff that made his knees weak.
This went on for several minutes as she half flirted with the men ribbing her about being engaged to a reprobate like Sheff. He began to grow uncomfortable. No, Sheff was becoming angry. Not because of what they said about him, but because Jo was batting her lashes at them and laughing and being altogether too enticing.
That wasn’t anger. That was jealousy.
Sheff tossed back a good portion of his ale, then set his tankard on the nearest table, uncaring that it was occupied. He’d been about to stalk out of the club when he realized that if he left without saying something to his betrothed, his behavior might be noted. And likely disdained. He wouldn’t do anything to draw unpleasant gossip toward Jo.
He made his way to her and had a powerful urge to slide his arm around her waist as he moved close to her side. He wanted to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear that he would miss her and to have a good evening.
Clenching his hands, he took a breath, then straightened them before moving toward her. He did not touch her, but he leaned close and whispered, “I want them all to believe we are a true match, so I’m making this look as though we are one.”
She turned her head, and the green in the depths of her hazel eyes was more vibrant than he’d ever seen. “I see.”
“Have a good evening, my love,” he said more loudly so those closest to them could hear.
“You too,” she said, her gaze darting ever so briefly to his mouth.
With Herculean effort, Sheff turned from her despite wanting nothing more than to kiss her until they were both senseless.
Instead, he would make his way to the Rogue’s Den and try to forget about his hazel-eyed, silver-tongued, fake bride. He couldn’t help doubting that would be possible.
Min had sent a note to Jo on Sunday indicating that the duchess would, in fact, be joining them at the modiste on Monday. Jo had responded that she would meet them there at the appointed time. She did not want the duchess coming here, even if she would not leave her coach.
When Jo’s mother had heard of the meeting and that the duchess would be there, she’d announced her intent to go too. Jo wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.
On the one hand, she was glad to have her mother’s support, especially since Sheff’s mother would be present. On the other hand, she worried that the duchess and her mother would not get on well. Or that, perhaps, her mother would even provoke the duchess. There were occasions when Jewel Harker did not hide her disdain for the upper crust of Society, whereas Jo’s father always sought to curry their favor.
Perhaps he should be accompanying her.
Jo and her mother rode in a hack to Madame Demarest’s shop on Bond Street. As they arrived, her mother gave her an even stare. “We will not permit the duchess to control what you select.”
“I want to make a good impression, Mama. If that means I allow my future mother-in-law to choose some of the designs, I am happy to do so.”
Her mother’s gaze softened on Jo. “That is smart of you. But do remember that she is your fake future mother-in-law, thank goodness.”
Jo had thought a great deal about Sheff asking if they should, perchance, actually wed for convenience. Not that she was considering it, but she had wondered why he’d asked. Did he truly want that? She didn’t think he would, which she’d communicated to him. “Would it be terrible if I married him? Not that I am, but I am curious why you would be against it.”
“I am against marriage in general, unless you want to have a child. Since I don’t believe you do, at least not at this point in your life, I would not want to see you wed. All that aside, marriage to someone like Shefford would be awful, and not just because of his terrible reputation. As a countess—and someday duchess—you’d have all manner of duties and responsibilities in Society.” Her mother made a face. “Can you think of anything more tedious than hosting balls and striving to always be above reproach? And that means whatever people judge that to be on any given day. I much prefer mingling with people in a less formal environment at the Siren’s Call. There, we see people as they are, for the most part, and I find that far more engaging, don’t you?”
Jo didn’t think it would be tedious to host Society events. Balls might be too much, but soirees or salons could be entertaining. Not everyone she’d met at the events her father had taken her to or the literary salons she’d attended had been insufferable. In fact, many were very pleasant, and she’d enjoyed their conversations about travel and books and other topics. To Jo, the interactions at the Siren’s Call could, in fact, be tedious. However, she didn’t say that. Now was not the time to broach the idea of not taking over the club.
