10. Jonto #5
Jonto paused. She didn’t make it a habit to introduce herself using her full title, but since he’d pointedly introduced himself using his, not to mention the fact that she wanted to wipe the sneer off this man’s face, she decided to make her rank understood here and now.
She shook Penderley’s soft, feminine hand. “Marquess Morgan Jontoreaux.”
Penderley’s nostrils flared. He was a tall, thin man who used his height to his advantage, glaring down at Jonto with a combined look of malice and disdain.
“It’s only fair to warn you that Lady Brighton and I are practically engaged, and I would consider it a personal insult if you were to take advantage of the immediate proximity of your two estates. ”
Knowing she needed to stop those types of threats in their tracks, Jonto called out to Isla, who was chatting with Lady Masterson further down the line.
“Lady Brighton. Would you mind joining us, please? We need to clear something up.” When Jonto glanced back to Penderley, two red circles appeared high on the man’s cheeks.
Isla excused herself and approached.
With a friendly smile, Jonto indicated Penderley by almost but not quite resting her hand on the man’s lower back.
“Please reassure your betrothed that despite my living in the estate next to yours, we will in no way engage in any behavior that would be considered inappropriate regarding your upcoming nuptials.” She was surprised the man didn’t go up in flames from the incendiary look Isla turned on him.
Jonto thought she’d fan the flames. “I believe congratulations are in order, by the way.”
Isla’s bosom rose and fell with her apparent determination to remain ladylike in front of her guests. “Please join me outside, Lord Penderley.” Without waiting for a response, Isla stalked outside, down the steps, and marched to the other side of the brilliantly torchlit gardens.
Penderley’s hands fisted as he followed closely behind.
Lord and Lady Fitzgerald were next in line.
Priscilla held her fan in front of her face to hide her amusement, and her husband held out his hand.
“Lord Jontoreaux. I don’t know whether you remember me.
I’m Lord Fitzgerald, Marquis of Everton, but please, call me Robert.
And you’ve met my wife, Lady Fitzgerald. ”
Jonto shook his hand and was pleasantly surprised by the man’s firm grip. “I’d hoped to introduce myself tonight, My Lord, but circumstances didn’t allow it. Please, call me Jonto. All my friends do. And Lady Fitzgerald, I hope you enjoyed yourself?”
Pris lowered her fan, and mischief glimmered in her hazel eyes. “You’re a dangerous man, Lord Jontoreaux.”
“Not at all. I only wanted to put Viscount Penderley’s fears to rest.” She smiled her most winning smile and turned back to Pris’s husband, a tall, well-built man with broad shoulders wearing an impeccably tailored frock coat over a starched, wing-collared shirt.
“And Robert, Lady Fitzgerald mentioned you were in the King’s Navy.
Would you be interested in joining me on a tour of my ship? She’s quite the lady.”
Robert’s face brightened. “I’d be honored, Sir. If you’d send word as to when might be convenient, I’ll look forward to joining you.”
“Me as well.” Jonto shot Lady Fitzgerald an amused glance. “Your gracious wife is welcome to join us, or she can join Lady Brighton and Miss Smythson when they take the tour I promised them. The one I have in mind for you might be a bit too militaristic to hold the ladies’ interest.”
Lady Fitzgerald looked to her husband, who, to Jonto’s delight, simply raised his brows, subtly lifted one shoulder, and dipped his chin to say it was entirely up to her.
It was a pleasant change to see a man defer to his wife’s decision-making abilities.
When the lady returned her attention to Jonto, her eyes held nearly the same excitement Celie had displayed earlier, although hers was subtly masked by societal expectations and decorum.
“I’d be delighted, Lord Jontoreaux.” With ladylike elegance, she lowered her chin.
“Until then.” As the handsome couple made their way to the door, Jonto turned back to the room.
Next in line was a couple she’d seen Isla visiting with earlier in the evening. The man bowed slightly and held out his hand. “Lord Jontoreaux, I’m Baron Felix Woodley, and this is my wife, Baroness Anastasia Woodley.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, My Lord.” She turned to the woman. “My Lady.”
The man’s genial response had Jonto warming to him immediately.
“Oh, we met briefly at the Enigma Club. More an exchange of nods than anything else. You might not remember me as I was busy debating the role of art in society with Lord Hadley. We were in the corner heatedly arguing the finer points of oil versus watercolor.”
The baroness shook her head. “Hadley has no idea how to judge emotion within a painting regardless of the medium. He only argues because he knows he can get a rise out of you.”
Jonto nodded, “While I’m no expert by any means, I’ve found that watercolor is the best medium for conveying emotions and spontaneity in ways oil never could.”
Lady Woodley cocked her head. “Are you an artist, then, Lord Jontoreaux?”
“No, but I’ve collected some remarkable paintings, sculptures, and artifacts in my travels. Perhaps you and Lord Woodley would enjoy coming for dinner so I can shamelessly parade my art collection in front of you both?”
Eager anticipation shone in the lady’s eyes, but she deferred to her husband’s wishes as far as a visit to Jonto’s mansion was concerned.
“My wife has forgotten more about art than I’ll ever learn. We love all artistic mediums, Lord Jontoreaux, and if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, we’d thoroughly enjoy seeing your collection.”
Beaming with happy anticipation at the prospect of seeing art she hadn’t personally experienced before, Lady Woodley lightly set her fingers on her husband’s forearm.
“Baron Woodley exaggerates my talents, but I’ll be waiting for your invitation in eager anticipation, My Lord.
Thank you for such a generous offer.” With that, they, too, walked outside.
They happened to pass a red-faced Isla returning from her conversation with Viscount Penderley. She glared at Jonto as she passed.
With feigned innocence, Jonto raised her brows, “Lover’s tiff?”
Isla’s shoulders stiffened as she stopped with her back to her.
Jonto quickly greeted the next couple in line and watched as Isla retreated to the kitchen, hopefully to get some dessert to sweeten her disposition.