Page 52 of Three Weeks with a Princess
Her aunt stopped on the landing, one step above her. “Because it’s clear to me that Jack Easton is in love with you. It’s also clear he has yet to realize it, the poor man. So we’ve got to make him figure it out, and then we can proceed from there.”
For an alarming moment the stairs seemed to tilt under Lia’s feet and she found herself clutching the banister with both hands.
Jack Easton, in love with me?
How in God’s name had Chloe arrived at such a bizarre conclusion? The notion that Jack might be in love with her was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. After all, he’d all but fainted when she’d kissed him in the library at Stonefell, and he’d been an absolute crab with her ever since arriving in London. His actions certainly didn’t strike her as those of a man in the throes of love or even passion—quite the opposite, in fact.
As Lia marshaled her scattered wits, her aunt regarded her with inimitable calm. One could almost imagine she’d just delivered a casual comment about the latest fashion in bonnets instead of turning the world on its head.
She finally found her voice. “I don’t believe that’s true, Aunt Chloe. Jack’s very fond of me and of course he’s protective, but—”
“He’s in love with you,” Chloe said firmly. She took Lia’s hand and pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs. “But as I said, he’s not fully aware of it yet. So we’ve got to give him a nudge.”
Lia drifted down the hall after her aunt, too dazed to feel the floorboards under her feet. “And pretending to become a courtesan will make Jack realize he’s, ah, in love with me?”
Chloe flashed a brilliant smile as she opened the door to Lia’s room. “We’ve got to start somewhere, dear, don’t we?”
Chapter Twelve
“It’s about time you showed up,” the Duke of Leverton said to Jack as he passed the previous guest over to his wife. “The evening is half over.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Besides, I got here ages ago. It took me forever to get into the house and up the blasted stairs.” He glanced down at the front door of Leverton House, where the butler and three footmen were taking wraps and directing eager guests. “I thought this was supposed to be a private ball, but it’s more crowded than Vauxhall Gardens.”
He’d decided to walk over from his club after spending a gloomy hour brooding over the potential disasters looming before them. When he’d reached Grosvenor Square, he’d been dismayed to see the long line of carriages. Given the time of year, the event should have been of fairly modest proportions, not a mad crush that rivaled some of the largest public balls held during the Season.
“Wait until you see the ballroom,” Leverton said. “It’ll be a miracle if the floor doesn’t collapse and send us crashing down into the kitchen.”
Faint strains of music drifted out over the din of loud conversation, but there were too many guests blocking the hall to see into the ballroom. “This was a bad idea, Charles. It puts too much pressure on Lia to be introduced in such an environment. Not to mention you seem to have lost control of the guest list.”
His host snorted. “Lost control? I suspect half the people currently trampling my carpets and bolting down my best champagne weren’t even invited.”
“Splendid,” Jack said sardonically. “What a disaster in the making.”
“Stop worrying. We’ve got everyone out in force tonight. Sir Dominic is watching over Lia with a hawklike regard that even you would approve and Gillian has promised to stab anyone who gets too familiar with her cousin or insults her.”
“Yes, murdering guests will certainly help keep gossip in check.”
His friend grinned. “I recall you laughing at my predicament when I was trying to introduce Gillian into society. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you in this position.”
Jack could vaguely remember a time when he’d been a happy man—even a cheerful one. Now, as problems piled up with alarming regularity, he could feel his sense of humor and charitable view of the world fading away.
“Gillian didn’t have near as many obstacles to overcome as Lia,” he said.
“No? My wife punched an earl in the middle of a ball, which even you will admit was a steep challenge to my skills. Lia certainly will not engage in that sort of behavior.”
“Really, Charles,” Gillian said, turning to her husband. “When will you stop holding that silly little incident over my head?”
“My love, the sheer horror of that moment will remain engraved in my memory for all eternity.”
The duchess laughed. “What nonsense. Now, you and Jack have been complaining and holding up the line for long enough. Poor Lady Cardwell will end up with bunions if you keep her standing there any longer.”
Jack turned to see the lady in question regarding him with a scowl, her gray ringlets and mauve turban all but quivering with displeasure. He murmured an apology even as he mentally frowned. Lady Cardwell was both an intolerable gossip and a starched-up, disapproving biddy. Her presence tonight signaled nothing good.
“What in God’s name is she doing here?” he murmured to Gillian. “She’s a dragon.”
“Believe me, I know. She gives me the cut direct every chance she gets. But she’s a dear friend of Charles’s mother, who insisted on inviting her.” She cast a disgusted look toward the ballroom. “Along with half the other people who are here tonight.”
“I didn’t know your mother-in-law was in Town.” He couldn’t hide his dismay.
