his eyesight blurred a bit, which wouldn’t help him separate out the married from widowed ladies.
Although plenty of married women engaged in trysts, the idea of an affair with another man’s wife soured his stomach. Aside from the risks of getting oneself shot, Jasper didn’t believe in being a party to cuckolding a fellow gent. Just because he had no desire to become leg-shackled yet didn’t mean he disrespected the sanctity of marriage.
Circling the great hall, he nodded to those he thought were acquaintances. It was too blasted hard to tell with all those masks and billowy capes. Speaking of billowy articles of clothing, the fur-lined robe he wore was going to kill him if he didn’t catch a breeze soon.
Again, he cursed himself for listening to Fiona. Henry VIII ? No wonder the ladies kept their distance. Having a reputation for liberating others’ heads from their necks tended to breed mistrust.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he dabbed at them with the sleeve of his robe.
Jasper sighed. He needed a reprieve from the heat. Spotting a door opening onto a balcony, he hurried toward it and slipped outside. He closed the door behind him and welcomed the cool breeze on his damp skin. Still, the night was too warm for a fur-trimmed anything. He swirled the velvet cloak through the air as he removed it, tempted to toss it to the ground below. Instead, he draped it over the railing.
As if the robe wasn’t bad enough, the revolting codpiece under his jerkin squeezed his shaft. Jasper lifted his skirts and jiggled to readjust himself.
“Ah, much better.”
A chuckle startled him, and he spun around to locate the source.
“I thought to scold you for blocking my view, but then you are so very entertaining.” The smoky female voice sent a jolt through his limbs. “What are you, the court jester?”
“Damned Fiona,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’m King Henry the Eighth.” He held his head high as if he were truly royalty, which was absurd given the lady had caught him with his breeches down. Or would that be skirts up? Blast! Either scenario was humiliating.
“You’re not here to find wife number seven, are you?”
Jasper drew back. “Egads! No.”
“Then you mustn’t run off.” The lady stepped from the shadows, her mask held in her hand.
He’d always been the luckiest bugger. Jasper Hainsworth, Earl of Norwick, shared a balcony with the most notoriously libidinous widow in all of London. His gaze shot around the balcony. Where was her ubiquitous companion, Lady Audley?
“Lady Kennell, what brings you outside with all the activity in the ballroom tonight?”
“Likely the same as you, Lord Norwick. It’s hotter than Hades inside. It was either step outside or shuck my dress.”
Her lack of decorum delighted him. He’d heard rumors. “I suppose it was a difficult choice to make. Do you believe you followed the correct path?”
“Now, Lord Norwick, it is no secret I rarely follow the straight and narrow path.”
Her melodious laughter made him tingle in the most wonderful places, naughty places that hadn’t been entertained for several days.
“In fact,” she said, “I haven’t ruled out the complete removal of my attire.”
Jasper’s hand slapped over his hammering heart. “Indeed? Yet, you have no lady’s maid to assist you.”
A slight breeze carried a whiff of vanilla to his nose. Bianca Kennell smelled delicious. A ray of light shone through the glass doors, illuminating her midnight black curls and reflecting off the gold necklace around her neck.
“Hmm,” she purred. “Yes, that is a dilemma.”
A tremor of pleasure raced through him. Lady Kennell responded to him. She didn’t run from the balcony or push him over the edge. What was the world coming to?
He attempted to clear his constricted throat. “M-might I offer my assistance?”
“I never would have mistaken you for a lady’s attendant, my lord.”
“I’m always willing to help a lady in
Although plenty of married women engaged in trysts, the idea of an affair with another man’s wife soured his stomach. Aside from the risks of getting oneself shot, Jasper didn’t believe in being a party to cuckolding a fellow gent. Just because he had no desire to become leg-shackled yet didn’t mean he disrespected the sanctity of marriage.
Circling the great hall, he nodded to those he thought were acquaintances. It was too blasted hard to tell with all those masks and billowy capes. Speaking of billowy articles of clothing, the fur-lined robe he wore was going to kill him if he didn’t catch a breeze soon.
Again, he cursed himself for listening to Fiona. Henry VIII ? No wonder the ladies kept their distance. Having a reputation for liberating others’ heads from their necks tended to breed mistrust.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he dabbed at them with the sleeve of his robe.
Jasper sighed. He needed a reprieve from the heat. Spotting a door opening onto a balcony, he hurried toward it and slipped outside. He closed the door behind him and welcomed the cool breeze on his damp skin. Still, the night was too warm for a fur-trimmed anything. He swirled the velvet cloak through the air as he removed it, tempted to toss it to the ground below. Instead, he draped it over the railing.
As if the robe wasn’t bad enough, the revolting codpiece under his jerkin squeezed his shaft. Jasper lifted his skirts and jiggled to readjust himself.
“Ah, much better.”
A chuckle startled him, and he spun around to locate the source.
“I thought to scold you for blocking my view, but then you are so very entertaining.” The smoky female voice sent a jolt through his limbs. “What are you, the court jester?”
“Damned Fiona,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’m King Henry the Eighth.” He held his head high as if he were truly royalty, which was absurd given the lady had caught him with his breeches down. Or would that be skirts up? Blast! Either scenario was humiliating.
“You’re not here to find wife number seven, are you?”
Jasper drew back. “Egads! No.”
“Then you mustn’t run off.” The lady stepped from the shadows, her mask held in her hand.
He’d always been the luckiest bugger. Jasper Hainsworth, Earl of Norwick, shared a balcony with the most notoriously libidinous widow in all of London. His gaze shot around the balcony. Where was her ubiquitous companion, Lady Audley?
“Lady Kennell, what brings you outside with all the activity in the ballroom tonight?”
“Likely the same as you, Lord Norwick. It’s hotter than Hades inside. It was either step outside or shuck my dress.”
Her lack of decorum delighted him. He’d heard rumors. “I suppose it was a difficult choice to make. Do you believe you followed the correct path?”
“Now, Lord Norwick, it is no secret I rarely follow the straight and narrow path.”
Her melodious laughter made him tingle in the most wonderful places, naughty places that hadn’t been entertained for several days.
“In fact,” she said, “I haven’t ruled out the complete removal of my attire.”
Jasper’s hand slapped over his hammering heart. “Indeed? Yet, you have no lady’s maid to assist you.”
A slight breeze carried a whiff of vanilla to his nose. Bianca Kennell smelled delicious. A ray of light shone through the glass doors, illuminating her midnight black curls and reflecting off the gold necklace around her neck.
“Hmm,” she purred. “Yes, that is a dilemma.”
A tremor of pleasure raced through him. Lady Kennell responded to him. She didn’t run from the balcony or push him over the edge. What was the world coming to?
He attempted to clear his constricted throat. “M-might I offer my assistance?”
“I never would have mistaken you for a lady’s attendant, my lord.”
“I’m always willing to help a lady in
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