Chapter 5
Five
“I cannot believe you dragged me to a tea party.” Nancy sent a sulky glance at her friend. “A tea party.”
“It’s the perfect event to turn your page.”
Nancy glanced at the surroundings. The tea had been laid out on the lawn beneath a canopy of pale muslin, the fabric billowing gently in the breeze.
Small round tables dotted the grass, each dressed in crisp linen and crowded with china, silver, and an indecent number of pastries.
Flowering shrubs framed the garden in soft abundance, and nearby a quartet attempted cheerfulness through violins.
Ladies clustered in all colors of pastels, parasols tilted just so, while gentlemen chatted easily among them.
“It all seems so thrilling. Drinking tea.”
“Oh, come now.” Pippa smiled with maddening optimism, pointing to a gentleman in blue. “Knoxley is here.”
Nancy’s eyes flew wide. “Why is he here?” She cast an accusatory glance to Pippa. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Her friend shrugged. “I have ears everywhere in town.”
Lord.
“Didn’t you want to turn a page?” Pippa asked.
“Yes, but Knoxley is a bit . . .” Much. Certainly not a man any woman should purposefully approach to move on with. The man was far too practiced for that.
“Having second thoughts?” Pippa chuckled. “Now that you’ve kissed Jeremy, perhaps you ought to see how it feels to converse with other gentlemen before you attempt a conversation with him? It might be insightful.”
“Jeremy isn’t joining, is he?” She wouldn’t put it past her friend to orchestrate such a thing!
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Pippa.”
Pippa laughed and patted her arm. “I promise I did not invite him.”
Nancy drew in a fortifying breath. It was not entirely reassuring, but since she had been dragged here regardless, she was determined to enjoy the day.
“Lady Nancy,” a low voice drawled, and her gaze fell upon the wolfish grin of the Marquess of Knoxley. “This dull event has just turned slightly brighter meeting you here.”
“And on that note, I believe pastries are calling!”
“Pippa!” Nancy hissed at her friend’s retreating back. “Traitor.”
Knoxley chuckled. “Not turning the page anymore, I take it?”
“Oh, I’m still turning, my Lord. Just not . . .”
He arched a brow. “With me?”
“Well, since you’re being so blunt,” she muttered, averting her gaze. “Yes.”
He chuckled. “Just so we are clear, my Lady, I take my cues from you.”
Heh. She glanced at him and couldn’t help returning his grin. “Very well, I’ll admit I was rather blunt first.”
“Would you like to take a turn about the garden?”
Nancy hesitated. A simple thing, really. Still, she paused. The inconvenient truth was that her lips still remembered Jeremy Locke.
Vividly.
And the confusion hadn’t cleared yet.
That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a stroll, Nancy.
Right.
“Well,” Nancy said, lifting her chin a notch, “I suppose one cannot linger in one place forever.”
His grin deepened and offered an arm. “True.”
“Nancy Bathsheba Byrne!”
Nancy jerked, whirling around.
“Remove your hand from his arm right this minute!”
Her gaze locked with a furious Jeremy. Damn you, Locke! “How dare you say my full name in public!” Embarrassment blazed from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She had sworn him to secrecy!
A sheepish expression crossed his face.
“Silverton,” Knoxley greeted.
Jeremy’s face darkened again. “Step away from her, Knoxley.”
The Marquess sighed. “You make me sound like a villain, Silverton.”
Nancy furrowed her brow at her best friend and first love even though her heart could not help doing a little summersault at his appearance.
He looked so dashing and handsome, all she wanted to do was rush to his side, but she had to stay strong.
She could not slip again. “What’s gotten into you, Locke? And why are you here?”
“Am I not allowed to be here?”
“That’s not what I’m saying . . .” she trailed off when he strode over. His eyes dropped to where her hand rested on Knoxley’s arm, and without so much as a word, he claimed her hand and drew her close.
“Stay away from her,” he directed at Knoxley.
Nancy’s breath caught. It was ridiculous, mortifyingly so, but her body betrayed her all the same.
Heat rushed through her at his touch, swift and familiar, as though some part of her had been waiting for him to do precisely this.
Her pulse leaped hard enough to make her lightheaded.
For one reckless heartbeat, the garden fell away, Knoxley fell away, everything fell away, leaving only him.
Him and the claim he had on her soul that refused to release.
The memory of his rejection flashed, snapping her back to herself.
She stiffened and wrenched her hand free, the loss of his touch sharp but necessary, and took a deliberate step back away from him.
“No.” Her voice was steady, even if her heart was not. She met his gaze squarely. “You need to stay away, Jeremy. This is my life. You have no right to interfere.”
Jeremy stared into Nancy’s blue eyes, and something burst and snapped inside him at the same time.
In all his life, he had never known this grasping sensation—the instinct to claim, to shield, to interfere—and it rattled him with its force.
He could not accept this moment. Could not accept her choosing another man over him, looking at him as though he were the one out of place.
The dream he’d been having suddenly flashed with supreme clarity. Pippa’s wedding. Candlelight. Music. Nancy standing before him, brave and earnest and trembling only slightly as she spoke words he had not been prepared to hear. I’m in love with you, Jeremy Locke.
Dear God.
That hadn’t been a dream?
And he . . .
How in God’s name had he responded? Jeremy racked his brain, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember. That night he’d been foxed beyond comprehension.
“Nancy, can we talk for a minute? I think there’s been a gross misunderstanding of sorts.”
She held fast. “No misunderstanding.”
Knoxley arched his brow at him.
Jeremy gritted his teeth. “Please, Nancy.”
He’d loved her since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.
He might not have realized the impact of the forming affection.
He only knew he wanted to be close to her, and had, foolishly, boxed that love into friendship and never examined it too closely.
He’d never been in love before, and had never had someone in love with him, so he’d not understood what had been standing before him all along.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
He couldn’t believe he was unable to recall his response to her confession. Nothing good, if she’d been prompted to turn the page. He still didn’t quite believe that dream was real. How much courage she must have possessed to confess like that to him.
Be that as it may, he wanted her to turn the page with him.
Was he too late?
God, please tell him he wasn’t too late.
She set her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “What is the matter with you today? Did last night muddle your brain?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said at once. “Yes, completely muddled.”
She gave a short, unimpressed snort. “That is unfortunate.”
Jeremy’s brows knit, gut knotting. “Unfortunate?”
“Very,” she replied sweetly. “Because I much prefer a man whose head is entirely clear.”
He flinched. He deserved that.
Nancy did not wait for his reply. She stepped back to Knoxley’s side and slid her hand through the crook of his arm as though it had always belonged there.
“Come,” she said lightly to the Marquess. “I believe we were going to take a stroll.”
Knoxley’s lips curved. “Indeed.”
Jeremy’s jaw locked. “Absolutely not.”
Her eyes flew wide. “I beg your pardon?”
He did not give himself time to consider the wisdom of his actions. If he did, he would falter. If he faltered, he would lose her. Jeremy crossed over to her, any fog clearing from his mind as a single, decisive thought took hold.
Mine.
He reached past Knoxley without so much as an apology, one arm bracing Nancy’s back, the other sliding beneath her knees, and lifted her before she could protest.
“Jeremy Locke!” she hissed, fingers clutching at his coat. “Have you entirely lost what little sense you possess? Why are you acting like a rogue?”
His eyes met hers. “You bring out the rogue in me, love.”
“Jeremy!” she exclaimed, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. “You cannot simply abduct me in the middle of a tea party!”
A ripple of whispers chased them as he strode toward the doors, ignoring everyone—including Chatteris, who appeared to have followed him over—and mounted the steps of the manor. To hell with shocked stares. Nothing mattered except for Nancy, so brilliantly real in his arms.
“I am not abducting you,” he replied, pushing through the doors into the cooler hush of the drawing room and cutting straight for the drive, where his carriage waited. “I am reclaiming a conversation I was too great a fool to have when you first offered it.”
“What does that mean?” she asked fiercely.
He arched a brow. “What do you think, Nancy Byrne?”
The true rogue had awakened.
And he had no intention of letting her go.