But he had no idea what that looked like.
“Jasper?”
A shiver of pleasure went down his spine. Annabel never used his name in public. It brought all sorts of private places to his mind, helped along by her breath on his neck and her body under his hands. She was staring up at him, concern written across her face. He’d spent weeks teasing her until she laughed with him. Now she’d teased first, and he’d not lived up to her expectations.
“I’m fine.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Every lady in the ton will race to tell you I have no feelings to hurt.”
He missed a step in their dance and narrowly avoided treading on her foot. He’d kissed her. In the middle of a dance floor. And, given the amused stares from several of his friends, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Everyone is staring,” she whispered. “We must be near Lord Argyll. Every lady in the room has been admiring his legs in his kilt.”
“They’re likely wondering what he’s wearing underneath.” He grinned down at her. “There’s a rumor that Scotsmen wear naught but fresh air.”
She blushed to her hairline. “That would be inconvenient in a waltz.”
Cad that he was, he was considering how convenient it would be in other ways. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“That you should have a kilt to go with your corset?”
And how many ways he could use a pink cravat. Jasper leaned close to her ear. “Do you have pink roses against your skin, Lady Ramsbury?”
A shiver went down her spine, teasing his fingers and his imagination. Dear God, she smelled like a spring field in the Wiltshire sunshine. How many times had he lain in those fields, staring up at the sky, and let the grass tickle his ears?
Her eyes sparkled wickedly. “Peonies, my lord.”
He should have known. Roses were far too delicate and fragile for her. Peonies, on the other hand, were sweet and hardy, and they worked hard to be upstanding and straight, even if their stems betrayed them.
The waltz ended, and Jasper bowed to Annabel before ushering her from the floor and back to the chair beside Lady Carmichael. The walk helped rein in his thoughts and ease the tightness in his trousers.
Cousin Amelia and her husband Richard were at the table, chatting with Lord and Lady Carmichael. Jasper bent double to kiss her cheek. She returned it and squeezed his shoulder on her way to Annabel.
“Ferrand.” He shook Richard’s hand. “Good to see you in London.”
He liked Amelia’s husband. He had a level head, a keen business sense, and a fortune he’d earned through hard work. He also voted well as Uncle Augustus’s proxy.
“You as well.” Richard looked past Jasper to the ladies. “But be prepared. Amelia’s talked of little else but cornering Annabel for a long talk.”
They returned quicker than expected, both smiling. Amelia returned to Richard’s side like a magnet. “I’m stealing your wife tomorrow, Cousin.”
Annabel’s eyes sparkled brighter than when they’d been on the dance floor. “She’s invited me to tea with her charity circle.”
“I always find it wise to yield to the worthier opponent.” Jasper’s tease was only a half measure. He knew from personal experience that his young cousin was formidable.
Richard’s crooked smile and raised eyebrow gave him a moment’s pause, however. Apparently tea meant whiskey in some way.
“What exactly—”
“Lord Ramsbury, Lady Ramsbury?” Garret Spaulding joined their circle. “May I congratulate you on your wedding.”
Jasper took the young man’s hand and then his measure. His gaze was direct and sincere, his grasp strong. “Thank you, Spaulding.”
“May I have the next dance with the bride?”
When Annabel nodded, Jasper swallowed his pride and watched her go. He’d had to marry Annabel to dance with her. All Spaulding had to was ask.
Pull yourself together, man. He’s being kind, and she’s doing her job—and having fun while doing it. You need to do yours.
“Into the breach, Cousin.” He kissed Amelia’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting her to join you.”
“You say that now.” Richard chuckled as they shook hands.
Amelia discreetly punched her husband in the arm and led him away, laughing. “As though you mind.”
Jasper watched them go, sharing their laughter alone. He’d need to warn his wife about his cousin’s odd, and lucrative, pastime before tomorrow.
For now, he focused on the row of young ladies on the far side of the ballroom, watching the party pass them by. Society required that he make sure as many as possible had a pleasant memory from the evening.
“Jasper?” The feminine squeal was accompanied by thin, long fingers on his arm and a cloud of perfume. “Have you grown bored of married life already? I was telling Grace just this afternoon over tea that I didn’t expect home and hearth to hold your interest long.”
Gwendolyn Harris, Viscountess Granville, had long enjoyed being the most beautiful lady in the ton. She used her husband’s money to bolster that impression, though it wasn’t for his benefit. Tonight her red silk dress was trimmed with a cloud of lace that kept her respectable until she and one of her many partners were on the dance floor or outside in the garden.
“It’s lovely to see you, Gwennie.” Jasper lifted her almost boneless hand to his lips. He knew better than to consider her weak, especially given the brittleness of her smile, which made her clinging to him that much more annoying. He curved his lips into a smile. “But I hope you didn’t wager on my happiness.”
“I wouldn’t be so gauche as to revel in your unfortunate circumstances,” Gwen said as she smirked at the ladies flanking her.
The hell she wouldn’t. She’d screamed the house down when he called off their affair. It was difficult to sleep with a woman if you admired her husband.
“Not unfortunate at all. Lady Ramsbury and I have been enjoying life in London a great deal.” He stepped back and bowed to the lady and her companions. “If you’ll excuse me.”
