Page 29 of Wicked Wager

She could only shudder to think what more he'd have to say should he know how much she truly had to regret. Thank heavens a merciful Providence had spared her discovery!

Having long ago learned 'twas useless to repine over events already transpired, she wasted no further time chastising herself for tonight's appalling indiscretion.

The more important question was what did she mean to do about Anthony Nelthorpe?

She frowned and took another sip of the sherry. She could hardly blame that sorry episode of bad judgment on him. She and only she had furthered their intimacy by laying her head on his chest-and turning his gentle kiss into something quite different.

But how good it had felt to sway with the music, to feel strong, caring arms around her! To be held close and kissed as if she were cherished and desired. Though she'd been appalled, in the stark light of reason afterward, at how fierce was the desire he'd aroused in her.

She'd known for some time he provoked her lust. Hadn't he predicted from the outset that he would tempt her to succumb to it before she managed to reform him? It appeared he had more reason for that boastful claim than she'd initially credited.

For a few moments she toyed with the notion of refusing to see him again, but that smacked of cowardice- and a lack of control. Now that she was fully cognizant of the strength of her desire, she would not allow herself to stray into a situation where the intensity of that need could overcome good sense.

Still, diligence was only a short-term solution. Her marriage had shown her to be a passionate woman, and it seemed that passion survived even after love died. Though she was by no means ready to look for another lover to fill her husband's place in her heart, it appeared her body was fully ready to find one for her bed. Perhaps she ought to admit the fact and look for a suitable gentleman with whom, after a proper interval, to allow that passion free reign.

Perhaps even consider the possibility of remarriage.

Could he speak to her now, she knew Garrett would tell her that as soon as she could, she should put away grief and search for something-or someone-to make her happy. He would probably even agree that reforming Anthony Nelthorpe was an admirable goal, although she was considering it less and less likely she would accomplish that feat.

But in no way could she convince herself Garrett would approve Tony Nelthorpe for his replacement, as either husband or lover.

It seemed, then, that she had better begin considering other candidates. Ones who did not make her, as she had tonight, cringe with shame at her weakness.

Someone like...Colonel Madison Vernier, perhaps?

Colonel Vernier was a man about whom not even the discriminating critic could find anything to complain. His reputation was spotless, his family, Lady Charlotte had later confided to her, the junior branch of a clan that boasted an earldom and he was reputed to possess a tidy fortune. Neither Garrett's family nor Lady Montclare could justify pushing her at other candidates, should it seem she had caught the eye of the colonel.

As for her own preferences, he was appealingly handsome in the uniform she'd grown up admiring, still toiling in the cause for which her husband and father had given their lives. He seemed attracted to her, though it was too soon to tell for sure.

And even if her heart never warmed to another, should he be amenable to becoming her lover, he would doubtless prove congenial, thorough and discreet.

Very well, she decided, sipping the last of the sherry. If Colonel Madison Vernier did show an inclination to pursue her acquaintance, she would encourage it. At least, he might become a congenial friend with whom she could relax and be herself. At most, he might be a friend who turned into a lover, perhaps even a husband.

While keeping Lord Nelthorpe relegated where he belonged, as a casual and occasionally seen acquaintance.

The decision settled smooth and satisfying as the taste of the sherry on her tongue. And when mat rogue called for her in the morning as he doubtless would, despite what had transpired between them, it would allow her to face Anthony Nelthorpe with self-confidence and serenity restored.

*CHAPTER FIFTEEN*

Although she'd told Nelthorpe she wished to set out early, Jenna was surprised the next morning when Sancha came in before she'd even left her chamber to inform her that the viscount awaited her in the front parlor.

"Shall I tell him stay or come back, mistress?"

Jenna walked over to peer out her window, a hazy plan forming in her mind. A glance at the sky told her old campaigner's eye that the day would prove fair.

"Help me into the new carriage dress, then go down and ask him to wait. Lady Charlotte told me last night that on the way to the property we will pass Richmond Hill, which has a lovely vista over the city. If I have the kitchen prepare us a basket, we can breakfast on the way."

Thereby avoiding Lane-and a possible scold-in the breakfast parlor downstairs, she thought.

Shaking off the vague disquiet engendered by the thought of spending a day with Nelthorpe, she let Sancha fasten her into the gown. "Pray tell Lord Nelthorpe we'll join him shortly. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

With a nod, Sancha left her. Jenna finished her preparations, grabbed her warmest pelisse and hurried into the hall.

Where she almost stumbled over Cousin Lane, who was slipping from his chamber, a dressing robe belted about him and his golden hair sleep-tousled. Looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him, he halted.

"Heavens, Jenna, where are you off to so early?" he asked. '"Tis barely dawn!"

'"Tis somewhat later than that, cousin," she replied with a smile. "Having lived most of my life with the army, I'm accustomed to rising early. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, no," he muttered, waving a hand vaguely. "But you look dressed for traveling. Whither are you bound?"

A part of her resented his inquiries, for he had no real authority over her-and she knew he would likely disapprove this trip. But despite Bayard's official claim to be head of the household-and understandably enough, given the titular viscount's disposition-Lane seemed to feel it incumbent upon him to act the responsible male of the family. One of which duties would be to watch over the welfare of its female members.

Rather than waste further time, better to forestall him with a brief explanation.

"I've an appointment to inspect some property outside the city. Sancha as well as John Coachman and two footmen will accompany me, under Lord Nelthorpe's escort. Now, you must excuse me, for the others are waiting."

As she expected, at the mention of the viscount's name, her cousin's face darkened. "Nelthorpe again?

I wouldn't have thought that reprobate capable of dragging himself out so-"

A soft noise caught her attention. Lane must have heard it, too, for he broke off and turned to peer down the dim hall. "Don't stand there eavesdropping on your betters, man," he commanded. "Get about your business!"

Emerging from the shadows cast by a large armoire, Bayard's valet Frankston shuffled into view.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, Lady Fairchild," he said, eyes lowered as he bowed and hurried past toward the servants' stairs.

Taking advantage of the interruption, Jenna said, "I really must go. I shall see you tonight."

Lane muttered a protest as Jenna dipped a curtsy and walked past him. To her relief, Lane did not attempt to call her back. With any luck, he would be occupied this evening and she'd be spared his lecture until tomorrow.

As she descended the stairs, her spirits rose at the prospect of spending a day out of the noisy, grimy confines of the city. Perhaps this tour into the countryside might give her a glimpse of some place in which she could eventually settle.

But even that vague reference to a future without Garrett caused a painful contraction in her chest. Not wishing to spoil her outing by letting herself be dragged once more into the abyss of mourning, she forced the thought out of mind.

Half an hour later, picnic preparations well under way, she entered the parlor to find Lord Nelthorpe by the window, tapping one booted foot on the floor.

"Good morning, my lord," Jenna said, feeling a bit guilty for having kept him waiting. "I'm sorry to be so tardy. I hope you haven't been too much inconvenienced."

After giving her a bow, he said a bit pettishly, "I was beginning to believe you were not coming at all."

Having not seen him other than charming, Jenna raised an eyebrow. She couldn't recall him indulging in truculent behavior when he'd been one of her father's subordinates in Spain. Perhaps his injuries made him testy in the morning, when his knee was likely to be at its balkiest.

Deciding to overlook it rather than take him to task for his tone, she said pleasantly, "When I explain the reasons for delay, I am sure you will be once more in charity with me. Shall we leave, then?"

"Indeed," he replied, his voice still aggrieved. "Are you sure you will not be too preoccupied to go with me?"

Perplexed, Jenna knit her brow. "I thought we'd agreed last night to view property today."

"While I tapped my heels in this cursed parlor, I thought-though at this unholy hour I could scarcely credit it-that perhaps you'd decided to allow your new friend to accompany you instead."

"My new friend?" she echoed, wondering what maggot had got into his head until, in a flash, an explanation-however improbable-for his churlishness occurred. "You are referring to Colonel Vernier?"

"You've met some other rich, well-spoken war hero between last night and this morning?"

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