Chills by Heather Boyd

long?”
    “Ten minutes is too long without your company.” Lord Carrington flashed a charming smile until Jack leaned across to whisper in the gentleman’s ear.
    Carrington’s smile grew, and then the viscount burst out laughing before turning back to her. “I rescind my earlier bland greeting. It is a very great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look forward to hearing of your adventures firsthand. Ah, I see my party has returned. Do excuse me.”
    Still chuckling, he sauntered off.
    Constance couldn’t help but frown after him. She didn’t have adventures. Nothing exciting ever happened in Sunderland. She glanced up at Jack. His smug, self-assured expression was back in place. Fear assailed her. “What did you say to Lord Carrington?”
    The marquess tugged her along. “Oh, I just mentioned your name.”
    “My first name?” Constance stopped.
    “No, your nickname,” Jack smirked. “Then Carrington remembered what he already knew about you.”
    “And what was that?”
    “Frogs.”
    Constance’s stomach dropped. “What about them?”
    “Surely you remember the day you got angry with me for not taking you out riding. You snuck into my bedchamber while I dined, then crammed slimy frogs into my best riding boots.”
    “You told people about that?” Constance gaped at him.
    “Of course. It was the highlight of my visit.” Jack chuckled, placed her arm back on his sleeve, and forced her to keep moving.
    That prank had been the hardest to accomplish, but she had aimed at making him angry, not amused. It was one of the first instances she could recall that she hadn’t understood his reaction.
    “I was only seven. Do you think you could avoid telling people such things about me? I do have a purpose for being here tonight.” Constance raised a hand to her face, appalled to have such a long ago event brought up.
    “I've told only my friends about the shocking things you used to do, and besides—” Jack’s good humor vanished— “Carrington is to marry. But if he wasn’t, he cannot afford you.”
    Constance pushed down her panic. She didn’t know how to respond. It appeared as if he was looking to protect his friends from her plan to marry for money. He must hate helping her.
    They were halfway to joining Virginia when a sultry, feminine voice hailed her escort. An angry curse crossed his lips, but he turned without taking Constance with him.
    “At last, a chance for pleasurable conversation. I was considering the merits of organizing a picnic on the Thames next week. Care to join my party, Ettington?”
    Constance peeked around Jack’s broad shoulder, but instead of the blonde she had expected, a dark-haired, older woman leaned toward him, eyebrow raised seductively. At least Constance thought she meant it to be seductive. From Jack’s reaction, it was hard to tell.
    “I have no interest in sailing on the Thames,” Jack stated bluntly, frost lining his every word. “Lady Darraby, may I present Miss Grange?”
    The lady ignored Constance. “Come now, my dear marquess, surely you agree that a bit of adventure now and again improves the season. Even the most innocent of carriage rides can be quite stimulating.”
    The woman sidled closer, but then she winced and her glance fell to the floor. Although Constance couldn’t see, she was fairly certain Jack had just used his cane to keep the woman at a distance. She hid a smile as Lady Darraby took a half-step back. Apparently, the cane had some merit—he should keep it.
    “Of course, but I see nothing worth putting myself out for,” Jack replied coldly. “Good evening.”
    Constance wanted to applaud him for being so direct. Lady Darraby’s face flushed at the rebuff, and then her gaze turned to finally take in Constance’s presence. Lady Darraby’s glare impaled her.
    Jack led Constance around the older woman, but her senses prickled as if she had an archery target pinned to her back.
    “Ignore her.”
    Jack negotiated a tricky maneuver