covering the exposed skin with kisses, while leaving the best of them tantalisingly hidden.
In response, the little minx rose up on her knees, pressed her body to his and her chest to his lips, her fingers tangling eagerly in his hair until he held her, one hand splayed over the globe of her breast and another over the globe of her hip. She was a perfect armful, and his common sense struggled with his withered conscience to find a reason not to hoist up her skirt and take the evening to its logical conclusion.
Not tonight. He had but to wait a bit and he could have all he wanted of her, gorging himself on the sweetness until he was sick of it. In a few months, Lord Kenton would be experiencing a tragic death and the girl would be a wealthy widow. Then Jack would be free of his wife and richer for the experience. Before he had to visit the ‘undiscovered country’ he would have ample time to investigate as yet uncharted places on the lovely Cyn. It was hard to imagine that he was to be paid for becoming lord and master to such a tasty bit of pastry. But if some man must make the sacrifice, then why not him?
He sighed in contentment and buried his face more deeply between her ample breasts. Then he remembered that before it went further, they must be discovered here. He sighed an au revoir into her cleavage and gave her a vicious pinch upon the bottom, making her shriek.
‘Cynthia!’ As if on cue, her mother burst into the folly to find the girl, dressed but dishevelled, in the arms of the eligible Lord Kenton.
‘Mother!’ After a moment of dazed confusion, Cyn remembered her role and threw a hand theatrically across her brow. It was overdone. Given time, he could teach her to play the compromised innocent more convincingly. For now, it would have to do.
The sad display had the desired effect. Her mother rushed forwards to take the disgraced girl in hand. ‘How dare you, sir.’
Jack raised his hands again, as he had done when the girl held the gun upon him. ‘Alas, I could not help myself, Lady Banester. A surfeit of wine and moonlight, a waltz. And the supreme loveliness, the charm, the fresh perfection of your daughter … I was undone.’ Jack could see the crowd gathering in the doorway, preventing an exit which he’d not have sought in any case.
He dropped to a knee. It was the one farthest from the entrance so that the majority of the people gathered could see his profile as he placed a hand over his heart. ‘I will do the honourable thing, of course. And with pleasure. I do not regret my precipitous action, if it encourages this sweet girl to a proper union which will make me the happiest of men.’
He bowed his head, as though conquered. ‘Say you will accept me, Miss Banester. Take my hand, my heart, my everything. I lay them at your feet.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a spark of suspicion in the cat-green eyes of his lady love. If she hadn’t have been so pretty, he’d have been annoyed at the criticism of his acting. He was in full form tonight and the rest of the audience was in the palm of his hand. He could hear sighs of envy coming from the girls crowded in the doorway. They’d have accepted his proposal in a heartbeat. Now that it was made, his intended was looking at him as though she was no longer quite sure she wanted him.
But it was far too late for a change of heart. Her mother had seen the whole thing and clapped hands enthusiastically across a matronly version of the bosom that her daughter had inherited, tossing her dark-red curls as she looked heavenwards. ‘Thank you, Lord Kenton, for protecting my little girl.’
‘What the devil?’ Unlike his statuesque and lovely wife, the diminutive Sir William Banester needed to push his way through the crowd for a better view. ‘Kenton, you ass. Get up off the floor. If you want her, you can have her, of course. But you could have asked in the parlour, like a normal gentleman. Now enough of this nonsense. We can settle it in the morning. Thea, come away.’
‘Yes, Papa.’ His betrothed did her best to look both contrite and happy, but cast one last glance back at him, as though still a little surprised that her plan had succeeded.
He could hardly blame her. He was surprised as well. ‘Until the morning, my love,’ Jack said, holding out a hand in a farewell gesture. There would be time to sort out the details, he was sure. ‘I will visit properly, if your parents will receive me. We have much to discuss.’ He gave Lady Banester a look worthy of any hopeful Romeo.
‘Of course, Lord Kenton. We would be honoured.’ She offered a sweeping curtsy so imbued with grace that Jack nearly stammered the truth: he was the one honoured to be received by such a lady and to be marrying her equally beautiful daughter.
Then he remembered himself. He was not the humble Jack Briggs, itinerant actor. He was Lord Kenton and he was the catch of the Season. The Banesters should be happy to have him. And he was happy as well, for tonight he would write to the earl and announce the impending and successful completion of his scheme.
Chapter Two
Trying to catch the best light in the shop window, Cynthia Banester flourished the two pieces of lace she held, admiring their drape and softness, but unable to decide between them. Vieux Flandre was beautiful, but expensive, and a bit heavy for the face of a girl with nothing to hide. In comparison, the Brussels seemed almost too simple for such a special event. ‘Which is better?’ she asked, holding the two veils up to her mother for approval.
‘Take them both,’ Lady Banester answered without a second thought.
‘I am only marrying once and therefore have no need of a second veil.’
‘But if you should change your mind later …’
‘About Kenton or the veil?’
‘Either, dear. It is always wise to have an understudy waiting in the wings.’
Thea sighed. It had been foolish of her even to request her mother’s input, for she should have guessed what the answer was likely to be. Father had often joked that he would not trust her to choose the lesser of two evils, should the devil decide to open a shop on Bond Street. ‘Mother,’ Thea said gently, ‘I must make a selection. We no longer have the money for unnecessary extravagances.’
‘Perhaps we do not, but Kenton does. Once you are married, you have but to send him the bills. He is a viscount, after all. He will take care of everything.’
Thea winced. That had been her plan from the first. And it was all going much too well. It had been three weeks since she had waylaid the poor man, plucking him out of the card room at Lady Folbroke’s ball with promises of a moonlight stroll in the garden and an urgent need for private conversation. He had gone, like a lamb to the slaughter, and they were engaged before midnight. Since then, he had made regular visits to her home, each one properly chaperoned to prevent the ardour he had displayed when they were alone. He had danced with her when they met at balls, escorted her to musicales and behaved like a complete gentleman on each outing.
The church had been reserved, the banns read, the invitations sent and the menu chosen for the wedding breakfast. Had she written the script for a perfect engagement, she could not have done better.
And Kenton had offered no objections to the lack of intimacy, nor shown any sign of waking to the realities of his situation. Why was he not bothered by the fact that she had tricked him? That she had drawn her little pistol and waylaid him like a highwayman stopping a coach? She deserved outrage or ostracism in response. She had feared a total failure, if Kenton measured the worth of her family connections
