Chapter Three
Jason stared out after her, watching as she turned to peer at the spot he'd just left, seeing the disappointment on her face at finding him gone. She walked back into the open doors of the ballroom. Cat's face was animated as she talked to her friend but Alyssa's was more sedate, perhaps even morose, as she constantly glanced over her shoulder at the moonlit garden.
When she disappeared from sight, he sighed, combing an unsteady hand through his hair. He hadn't expected so much fire in that kiss, so much passion from the young girl. He licked his lips, tasting her upon them and groaning in frustration.
Instead of returning to the gala, he wandered amidst the greenery, lost in a haze of disconnected thoughts that circled around the beautiful vixen in silver. She was passionate, that showed in her actions as well as tonight's kiss. Innocent she might be, but her lips had been warm and yearning as her achingly tempting body pressed against him with naïve abandon.
"Aargh!" he shouted, looking around to see if anyone had heard. He was alone, he noted with relief. Why was he even thinking about her? This was a mistake. With that thought firmly in mind, he walked through the garden to the front of the house and climbed into his coach, ordering the driver to take him home. He would send the coach back for Teddy with a note. Teddy would understand.
The drive home was interminable; the coach seemed too small to handle his thoughts. When it finally pulled up in front of the small townhouse he rented while in London, he jumped out eagerly and jogged up the steps, anxious to be out of his party togs and into something more comfortable.
The butler was at his post, opening the door with his usual reserved, "Good evening, Your Grace." Jason nodded and hurried up the stairs, surprising his valet. Dobbs was reclining in the sitting room of his chamber, reading a book.
"Anything good, Dobbs?" he asked, ripping apart the knot the poor man had taken half an hour and four starched cravats to tie.
"Murder and mayhem, your grace, the usual fare," he said, dropping the book onto the sofa and running over to help his master with the rest of his attire.
"How was the gala?"
"How are these affairs normally?" Jason sighed, sinking down on the side of his bed while he figured out what to do with the rest of the evening. "They are either depressingly boring or interminably long. Neither of which is conducive to a pleasant evening."
Dobbs made sounds of agreement, though his mind was back in his book.
"What does your grace intend to do with the rest of his evening?" he asked, thinking about how long it would take to tie another cravat.
Jason shrugged out of his shirt, handing the barely worn garment to his valet and stretching his broad shoulders. For a gentleman of means, he was very well-formed. The time he spent at his club and working the horses that he loved helped to keep him in better than average shape. His shoulders were wide, muscles curving down his arms and back, his chest broad and well delineated, his body tan from the farm where he kept his horses.
"Go back to your murder and mayhem, Dobbs. I shall dress and go for a ride. It is late enough that I don't believe I shall meet anyone who will die of embarrassment if I'm not wearing a cravat under my coat." He leaned forward and pulled out the plainest of his shirts, buttoning it quickly and tucking it into the breeches he still wore. Yanking out an old jacket that his valet always tried to throw away, he changed from the soft leather shoes he'd worn to the gala into knee-high boots and left the room.
The jacket was a faded black and scuffed from wear. It covered the white shirt he'd left a few buttons open on, exposing his throat and collarbone.
Without his hat, his dark hair was quickly wind blown as he walked toward the stables situated at the back of the property.
No one was present when he entered the building. Instead of causing a ruckus amongst his staff, he went and got his stallion, brushing him down quickly before saddling the big beast himself. The horse, a huge black with a white sock on his front foot, came to him eagerly, nosing at his pockets for the treat Jason normally brought.
"Later, you big baby," he told him, pushing the horse's head up as he went to get his saddle from the tack room. "If you don't watch it, none of the ladies are going to want to look at you. Your belly will get too big."
The horse nickered, turning his head and grabbing a mouth full of jacket, almost knocking Jason off his feet.
Jason laughed, feeling better than he had since he'd nearly been run down by a vixen in the park. He saddled his horse, stepped up and rode off, letting the horse have his head and enjoying the evening air.
It was a pleasure to feel good horseflesh between his legs and to smell the scent of spring in the air. He forgot his worries. So much so that he lost track both of the time and where he was going, finding himself in the middle of a thicket. He knew his horse could find the way home easily, and the huge moon made the evening fairly bright. He was ready to turn around when a shot rang out, startling him.
He ducked before he realized the shot hadn't been aimed at him but was over another small rise. As he was about to turn away, not wanting to disturb a hunter or come upon trouble without his own pistol handy, he heard more shots and a very feminine scream.
Jason kicked his horse in the direction of the sound, tacking around so as not to come unprepared upon whatever drama was unfolding. He snuck up a wide roadway, seeing a coach stopped in the center of the road. Two men lay in their own blood just beyond, presumably dead. Another man was in the ditch closer to him, but just as still. Taking another look at the coach, Jason let loose a whispered round of invectives. He recognized the ornate scrolling and rosettes.
"She's a fine wench. Shall we take her with us?" A man's voice, from the direction of the coach.
"My father shall have your heads if you hurt me," This voice was feminine, very angry and very familiar. The defiance was likely to get her into more trouble than she could handle herself.
