Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack Read Free

shrugged. “Very well.”
    “Lord Jack, there you are!” Miss Wharton’s hideous ringlets bounced into view.
    Damn. “Ah, Miss Wharton, there you are. Were your ears burning? Ash here was just telling me how much he wished to beg a dance from you.”
    “He was?” Miss Wharton’s mouth fell open.
    “I was?” Ash raised both eyebrows.
    Ash was only engaging in a bit of good-natured brotherly teasing, but Jack surreptitiously administered a well-placed elbow nevertheless.
    “Oh yes,” Ash said, “so I was. Miss Wharton, will you join me in the next set?”
    Ash managed to capture the woman’s hand, place it on his arm, and lead her away before she quite knew what was happening. She craned her neck to look back at Jack, but then she was gone. Ash, the splendid fellow, had chosen a set on the far side of the ballroom.
    There was no time to waste. Jack slipped out, careful to avoid Mama’s or Father’s gaze, and ran up to his room. He threw a few things into his valise, grabbed his purse and greatcoat, and ducked down the servants’ stairs.
    He stepped outside. The cold took his breath away for a moment. A thick blanket of snow muffled the lawns and gardens, while thousands of stars glittered in the cold, clear sky.
    He belonged in London, but he loved the country. London was a constant din of coach wheels and horse hooves on cobblestones, drunken bucks singing and shouting. It was dirty and crowded, but the country . . .
    The country’s quiet peace would be shattered by his curses if Miss Wharton caught him.
    He strode toward the stables.
    About forty minutes later, he was indeed cursing, but it had nothing to do with Miss Wharton. He’d almost slid off the road for the sixth time.
    He should have stayed home and taken his chances, barricading the door to his room or even spending the night on Ash’s floor. The fellow snored loud enough to wake the dead, but that would have been better than breaking his—or his horses’—necks on this damn road. There was no chance in hell he’d make it to London tonight.
    When he finally pulled into the Crowing Cock, he’d never been so glad to reach an innyard in his life.
    Watkins, the ostler, came out to see who was arriving so late. “Lord Jack!” He ducked his head, but not before Jack saw his eyes widen. “I didn’t think to see ye tonight.”
    Of course he hadn’t. Everyone for miles around knew tonight was the Valentine birthday ball, the culmination of the Duchess of Love’s yearly matchmaking house party. “I’ve urgent business in London, Watkins, and thought I’d get a start on my journey.”
    Watkins blinked but didn’t point out the obvious: he was only a little closer to Town than he’d be if he’d stayed in the warmth and comfort of the castle.
    “The place’s right full, milord. Lots o’ folks stopped when the chill came on.”
    “I see that.” Even in the cold, the windows were wide open. Light and noise spilled out—the rumble of voices, the clink of mugs. There was little chance he could slip in unnoticed, but perhaps he’d be lucky. All he wanted was to find Findley and go to bed. Dodging Miss Wharton and struggling to keep his horses on the road had worn him out.
    He left his cattle in Watkins’s capable hands and crossed the yard, pushing open the door—
    “Look who’s here! Come join me, Jack.” Damn, that was Ollie Pettigrew’s booming voice. “Dantley’s gone off to the privy, and I might never see him again.”
    Silence descended like a dropped window sash, and the eyes of every man in the room turned to regard Jack.
    Bloody hell. So much for avoiding attention.
    He strolled over to join Pettigrew, who bore a remarkable resemblance to a large bear, and the hum of conversation resumed. He’d have a quick drink, and then he’d find Findley. “What’s the matter with Dantley?”
    “Ate something that didn’t agree with him.” Pettigrew pulled out his pocket watch and made a show of consulting it. “Is the ball over