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His plan of rousing her to a furious response succeeded all too well. Though a merciful heaven accorded him an instant, while shock held her immobile, to revel in the taste as her chilled lips warmed under his, a second later she shoved him back and slapped his face.
The force of the blow knocked him off balance. He came down hard on his bad knee, which buckled under his weight and pitched him forward. Blessing the strength he'd developed in his arms, he seized the wooden railing just in time to keep from toppling into the freezing water below.
Relieved as he was to have provoked the fiery Jenna he remembered so well out of her shell of grief, even better had been that doubtless never-to-be-repeated opportunity to sample her mouth. 'Od's blood, how well she fit in his arms! One brief touch of her winter-cold lips had been enough to heat his blood to a July fever.
Awkwardly he hauled himself upright. "Ah, I do so love a passionate lady."
She had reached out as if to help steady him on his feet, but at that, she snatched her hand back.
"Touch me again and I'll be 'passionate' enough to send your miserable carcass straight into the pond."
"I've much warmer places I'd rather you send me."
Whirling around, she stomped off the bridge.
He limped after her. "See how dire is the need for my reform?"
"Clearly."
"Then you'll agree? To honor the fallen heroes-and demonstrate your superior character?"
"'Tis a wicked wager."
"Ah, but I'm a wicked rogue. You could change that- for all of them." Maybe even for me, he added silently. "Unless you want to admit yourself more flawed than I."
She gave a huff of frustration, obviously not wishing to agree to his bargain, yet unwilling to pronounce his character superior. "Very well. Only until Christmas."
"You'll not later disavow this?"
"I always honor my word," she said with icy disdain. "And you shall lose that wager!"
"We shall see, shan't we? As for now, Lady Fairchild, I believe we have a reception to attend."
He held out his arm, not daring to say more, praying that he'd pushed her hard enough to win her acceptance but not so far that he'd alienated her completely.
For a moment she hesitated, moonlight silvering her cheeks, her hair, dancing across the satin of her cloak.
Finally, with an exasperated sigh, she laid her gloved hand on his arm. "I expect I shall live to regret this."
*CHAPTER EIGHT*
What idiocy had she agreed to? Jenna wondered as they approached Lady Charlotte Darnell's townhouse. Promising Tony Nelthorpe- Tony Nelthorpe -that she would attempt a reform of his sadly soiled character?
It would have made more sense to follow her vague longings and throw herself into the Serpentine.
Still, as the distraught widow had accused, she had been the means of saving Nelthorpe's roguish skin.
If she could manage to transform him into a more acceptable human being, it would in some measure make up for the loss of so many good and valiant men on the field at Waterloo.
She had no other worthy activity to occupy her time.
Though she was by no means sure she could accomplish that, she had little fear that Nelthorpe would succeed in seducing her. Even were her fingers too numb to feel, there would be no frisson of attraction passing between them, she told herself, glancing at her hand on his arm.
None she could not control, she amended with more honesty. She'd been an innocent when she'd first encountered him in Spain. Ignorant of why he affected her so strongly, knowing only that he made her uncomfortable.
With the benefit of age and experience, she quickly recognized the reason behind the heightened awareness that seemed to telegraph between the two of them...the prickling of her skin under his gaze...the flutter in her gut.
So Anthony Nelthorpe inspired her to lust. He was a very handsome man, perhaps more attractive than ever now that suffering had worn the edge off his once-omnipresent arrogance. But she could control her baser impulses.
Unlike Anthony Nelthorpe, she thought with a sniff.
Before she could think further on it, Nelthorpe ushered her through the door of their hostess's house.
Lady Charlotte exclaimed with delight when she spotted them, giving Jenna a hug for braving the cold night to attend the party. Not until they continued into the room and Jenna felt the speculative gaze of Lady Charlotte's friend Lord Riverton follow her and Nelthorpe, did it occur to her to wonder how members of the ton-other than the fortune-hunting wife seekers she wished to discourage-might view her association with Nelthorpe.
She raised her chin a notch. Too late to worry about that Besides, without Garrett's child to consider, what did she care for the approval of the ton?
A deep voice in her ear, however, shattered that bravado. "Jenna, how good to see you!"
Trying not to appear too hasty, Jenna released Nelthorpe's arm and turned to the man who'd hailed her. "Harry! How wonderful to see you, too!"
"What, I'm offered a hand? What about a hug?" Captain "Heedless" Harry Hartwell, one of her father's former lieutenants and longtime friend, demanded.
Without further thought she threw herself into his embrace. Not for almost six lonely months had she felt the comfort of a strong, caring man's arms around her. Her chest tightened and tears pricked at her eyes.
Gently Harry set her back on her feet, his clear blue eyes regarding her with sympathy and affection. "I was so sorry to hear of your loss-both of them. I've been in Vienna, helping to prepare for the Duke. The delegation returns there shortly, but if there is anything I can do..."
I will not cry, she told herself, taking a deep, gasping breath. "No. But thank you for offering."
The captain turned to the viscount. "Out of uniform now, I see, Nelthorpe. 'Twas quite a beating the Royals took below Mont St. Jean. Pleased to see you're looking better than when I visited you in hospital."
Nelthorpe bowed. "Thank you, Captain. I'm pleased to be getting around better."
A little frisson of shame warmed Jenna's face. Apparently Harry, good officer that he was, hadn't forgotten his former company-mate after the battle.
"Confounded the sawbones who declared you'd never walk again, I see. Must have required tremendous effort."
Nelthorpe nodded, his cheeks reddening slightly. "I exist to be contrary, I suppose."
"Jenna, what did I hear about your accident?" Harry said, turning to her. "That you fell from your horse?"
"Supposedly, though that blow to the head knocked any memory of it clear out of mind. I had borrowed the mount, my usual horse having thrown a shoe. Aunt Hetty seldom rides the mare, who is a real plodder, but with one nasty habit-she detests riding crops. The head groom neglected to mention it to me, so once in the park, when I urged her to greater speed..."
"A gross omission by the head groom!" Harry observed with a frown. "He should certainly have warned you if you'd not ridden that horse before."
"So my cousin thought. I understand he flew into a rage and turned the man off without a character."
"As well he should have. Come, let's get some refreshments and you can tell me what you plan next.
Nelthorpe, good to see you."
The two men bowed, and Harry led her off.
Not wishing to confess to Harry her ridiculous bargain with the viscount, after accepting the wine he brought her, she said, "I...I'm not sure what I intend to do."
"Should I renew the offer I made at Badajoz?"
Jenna laughed, as he'd surely intended. "When you coerced all Papa's officers to offer yourselves to your late colonel's daughter, that she might marry one of you and remain with the army after Papa died?"
But her momentary humor was snuffed out by recalling 'twas Garrett, the serious, commanding brigade major, who'd won her hand on that occasion. Who, after convincing her he'd come to reciprocate the love she'd long cherished for him, brought her the greatest happiness she'd ever known.
And the greatest sorrow.
"I'm not the regimental colors, to be caught up from one falling hand and passed to another," she whispered.
"I didn't mean it like that! How can you even think to doubt how much I admire and respect-"
"I'm sorry," she broke in. "I know what you meant."
The blue eyes he fixed on her were grave. "I may have spoken of it jestingly, but I'm entirely serious about that offer, Jenna. I would be honored if you'd consent to be my wife. We've been friends for years, and what could be a firmer basis for marriage than that?"
Spoken like a man who has never been in love, she thought, both touched and rueful. How could she put into words, for one who obviously had no idea of it, the depth of contentment and breadth of rapture possible in a union between a man and woman who not only liked, but loved one another? A dimension so much richer, so far beyond friendship she could not begin to describe it.
And so did not attempt to.
"You only ask because you know I will refuse," she parried. "I am honored, but...I cannot accept."
He nodded, taking the refusal with a good grace which confirmed that opinion. "Remember, though, I am yours whenever you wish, Jenna. You have but to send for me."
"What I wish is that one day you will meet a lady who will not just win your esteem, but conquer your whole heart. When you do, I doubt you'll wait to be sent for. I expect you'll sweep her up and carry her away!"
"Perhaps," he said, grinning. "Not planning on being carried off yourself, are you?" He nodded toward the corner of the room.
