Jess was sorry if he had damaged her sensibilities but he was not going to apologize. This was exactly one of the pitfalls of meaningful conversation. There was too much potential for offense. In this case that was just what he had intended.
The silence stretched between them, and in it was a more honest answer to his question than anything she could have said. He resisted the urge to soothe and comfort, to placate with winning words and honeyed charm. What he really wanted to do was draw her into his arms and show her what pleasure they could find if she would just stop thinking so hard. Of course doing that would completely upend this painful effort to put some distance between them.
The door from the corridor opened and someone came into the room. Before Jess could turn to see who it was, Miss Brent called out. “Lord Crenshaw! How lovely to see you.” She hurried across the room and curtsied to the gentleman. His equally happy welcome indicated that they were of some long-standing acquaintance.
Crenshaw took her hand and bowed over it, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
She withdrew her hand but still retained a welcoming smile equal to any she had shared with him. The minx. So she was that friendly with everyone.
“Do you know Lord Jessup Pennistan?” Miss Brent asked with guileless pleasure, apparently unaware of exactly how well the two knew each other.
“Yes, I do.”
The man’s curt answer drew a mystified glance from Miss Brent, her gaze shifting from him to Jess.
“Pennistan” was the extent of Crenshaw’s greeting.
Jess answered with a nod of his own and silence.
Miss Brent’s brow wrinkled with curiosity, but she chose to relieve the tension by taking Lord Crenshaw’s arm. “We must announce you to the countess, my lord. And Cecilia will be so pleased to see you.”
“I bask in your joy alone, Miss Brent.”
Little Venus blushed at the effusive compliment and Jess wondered if Crenshaw was courting her. An educated woman was not his usual flirtation, but then Miss Brent’s fortune might make him willing to overlook her bookishness.
That could not be permitted.
Jess watched the two of them go out to the terrace and fortified himself with another tot of sherry, doing his best to convince himself that Venus did not need to be rescued. And if she did, there was time to consider how best to save her from the bastard.
BEATRICE WATCHED AS the countess welcomed Lord Crenshaw. After a brief conversation she excused herself and turned to her other guests. Crenshaw scanned the small group and moved purposefully back to Beatrice’s side.
Before he could speak, the countess clapped her hands and waited for everyone’s attention. Only those closest to her heard. Beatrice saw Cecilia jump at the sound and knew her sister’s nerves were winning. Even as she tried to think of a way to excuse herself from Lord Crenshaw she felt someone tap her arm.
“Excuse me, Miss Brent. Could I stand with you? My mother is ill this evening and I am not at all comfortable on my own.”
“Of course.” Beatrice wound her arm through Miss Wilson’s, wondering why this girl thought she herself was any more comfortable. She and Cecilia might be two years older than Miss Wilson but they were not at all used to society.
“Miss Wilson, do you know Baron Lord Crenshaw?” She stepped back so that she stood between the two but not in front of them. She heard the countess try for everyone’s attention one more time and winced at the poor timing of her introduction. Neither Miss Wilson nor Lord Crenshaw seemed to be aware of the countess’s efforts.
“Lord Crenshaw,” Miss Wilson murmured with a curtsy.
“Lord Crenshaw, this is Miss Wilson,” Beatrice went on.
Crenshaw bowed to her. “I know your parents and your older sister. How lovely to have the second of the Wilson trio out in society.”
“There are actually four of us, my lord. But Betty is still in the nursery.”
“My apologies for neglecting your sister.” He bowed again and Beatrice thought his manners a little too precise. In this gathering Lord Crenshaw was not as informal as he was at the Assemblies. Beatrice considered what that might mean. Did he view her differently than he did Miss Wilson?
The sound of breaking glass drew all their attention.
“Neither conventional nor economical but it worked, did it not?” the countess called out in the silence that followed. “I am delighted that you are