Page 15 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

O n a good day, the journey from Town to Sutton Park took a little over an hour.

As a child, Jack had grumbled about the shortness, envying his friends whose country houses took various stops and horse changes to get to.

As he believed that good things always came to those who waited, the adventure of the long pilgrimage seemed exotic and wholesome.

However, at thirty-one years of age, practicality won out, and he counted himself lucky.

Even decamped at Sutton Park, he would be able to get back to town with ease, keeping an eye on Sinclair and the business as well as doing as his manager had asked…

attending a few events in the Season. Just the thought of it made his stomach curdle, and his mother—in her way—made the matter worse by encouraging all of it.

He’d made the mistake of informing his mother why he would have to split his time some nights, and she’d been positively delighted, saying the family must keep up appearances, lest the ton believe Oliver’s situation was dire.

Heaven forbid people think that. Apparently, his mother didn’t mind when the ton gossiped about Oliver’s whoring and drinking. That was perfectly respectable. Being close to death’s door was beyond the pale of propriety. Nobody’s business but their own.

By midafternoon, the party was firmly ensconced in their new habitat.

After Jack had trailed behind all five doctors, making sure Oliver was set up in his room with everything he needed, he made himself scarce until dinner.

A pile of correspondence sat on Oliver’s desk, waiting for Jack’s attention, but the idea of rifling through it without a few brandies in him felt unconscionable.

Besides, his mind was elsewhere, had been elsewhere since he encountered Ella in the foyer that morning.

Jack had planned to question her further.

Her erratic behavior had been bewildering, to say the least. What had been even more perplexing was his irrational desire to fix it.

Seeing her that way, so discombobulated, so panicky, had affected Jack in ways he didn’t wish to read into.

If Ella were a man, he would have pressed that moment of weakness, squeezed her until she betrayed herself and handed him the truth.

But Ella wasn’t a man. And the notion of causing her more pain and anxiety was anathema to him.

He’d only wanted to hold her. Comfort her.

Brush the frown lines from her mottled face.

And then yank the truth out of her.

But his grandmother had beaten him to it.

When Jack encountered Ella after, she’d been composed and relaxed, one with the party as it prepared to leave. All signs of agitation had disappeared with the morning fog.

And with that, all of Jack’s resolve to go easy on her had also vanished. He would get to the bottom of her subterfuge. If it was the last thing he did.

Dinner proved to be the perfect place to start.

Jack didn’t miss the horror flooding Ella’s face when she noticed herself seated next to him at the monstrously long table. Lips pursed, she allowed him to pull out the chair for her. If she detected that Jack pushed her in with a little more force than necessary, she didn’t say anything.

In fact, not saying anything appeared to be her new defensive tactic of choice. Which only made Jack even more determined to sniff out what she was hiding under that attractive, poised, enigmatic visage.

Nevertheless, ever the gentleman, he waited for her to get halfway through her soup to strike.

“So, are you going to pretend that what occurred earlier between us didn’t happen?” He threw out the words under his breath, making sure only Ella could hear him.

And she heard him, all right. Ella’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth.

With a finesse that Jack couldn’t help but admire, she returned it to her bowl and sat, straight-backed, in her chair.

“Honestly, my lord, you make the short time we were alone together sound rather clandestine. It was only a few little minutes.”

Jack smiled. He’d never give haughty women the time of day; however, he found that he liked when her voice took on that icy tone and her straight nose crept higher in the air. It was damn near erotic. A challenge.

“A lot can happen in a few little minutes.”

Ella angled to him, her brown eyes narrowing to slits. “I doubt that.”

A bark of a laugh escaped him, and Jack quickly worked to muffle the sound, lest the rest of the party feel left out of their conversation. He would always be a second son—when he wanted something, he wanted it all to himself.

“You know… I’ll stop talking if you just tell me what you wanted to say earlier.

” He lowered his head closer to her. She smelled like lilacs.

Springtime. Youth. Fighting to concentrate, he had to feel the words in his mouth before he could get them out.

“I know you’re hiding something. Tell me. I can help you.”

Ella held his gaze for a long, disconcerting beat. Slowly, she mimicked him, lowering her head as well. “I’m not hiding a thing. I’m here for your brother. The second you come to terms with that, the happier you’ll be.”

Jack wrenched away, unleashing a silent groan, expelling all the air he was holding out of his nose. “And you want me to be happy? You don’t even know me.” He swept a hand in front of them, just narrowly avoiding a tapered candle. “You don’t know anything about what you’ve just walked into.”

Ella cocked her head. “Perhaps.” Her chocolatey eyes glinted, pulling a smile from Jack despite his frustration.

Once more, she reminded him of a mischievous elf, hellbent on trouble.

Sure enough, she looked the part of a lady well enough, with her high-necked silk gown and ruffled pagoda sleeves, but that was just a ruse—another attempt at hiding.

There was more to Miss Ella. She was like sand in the palm of his hand, difficult to hold on to, and vexingly mesmerizing.

She widened her shoulders, hiding the intensity of their conversation with a pleasant smile. “Why don’t you enlighten me—if you can, that is. I may be a stranger to everyone, but from what I hear, you aren’t much different.”

Jack let that little comment slide. She’d obviously been talking to his mother. He wouldn’t allow anyone at this table to make him regret or even question his path in life. Did his mother truly want him to be like his uncles?

Ha! His uncles.

Jack took a long drink of his red wine and placed it back on the table with a demonstrable thud .

“Well, I’m sure my mother introduced you to all the doctors.

Don’t bother trying to remember all of their names.

I like to number them one through five and call it a day.

” Next, he jutted his chin across the table at the three gentlemen who’d been present all his entire life.

Like wallpaper, they were always around but could never be remembered with accuracy.

Just there. Bland. “And then there’s my uncles. You’ve met them, yes?”

Ella’s mouth twisted. “Yes, they were… nice.”

Jack chortled. Nice. Was there anything worse? If a beautiful woman ever called Jack nice in that particular way, he would have to rethink his life decisions.

Not that Ella was beautiful.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course she was.

In that Ella way, which he would be hard-pressed to describe to anyone.

Probably because her particular brand of beauty was so distinctly fitting to him.

With her disapproving glares and impish smiles; her hair that wasn’t blonde and not quite brown; her husky voice that lingered in his mind as he fell asleep at night.

Jack shifted in disgust. He could feel himself growing hard under the table. Now was not the time. Actually, it would never be the right time for his brother’s fiancée. If that was what she was. Regardless, the best way to deflate a hard-on was thinking of his uncles.

Yes, that did the trick.

“ Nice ,” he murmured. “Hardly. Degenerates, all of them. Just do yourself a favor—don’t get too close to Uncle Christopher.

He’s the one on the right.” Jack waited until Ella surreptitiously followed his line of sight as she used her napkin to wipe her mouth.

“He can be a bit handsy. Bloody good with numbers, though. Brilliant, actually. For a crude bastard.”

Ella’s chest bobbed as she fought off a laugh. Jack’s heart hammered from the sight. “And the next one?” she asked, sotto voce. “Uncle Edward, I believe.”

Jack tore his gaze from her face, landing on his middle uncle. “You don’t have to shield yourself from that one. Big drinker, bit of a hermit. Likes to read and draw, if I recall.”

“That hardly sounds like a degenerate.”

Jack laughed. “I didn’t tell you what he likes to read and draw.”

Ella couldn’t disguise it that time. Her giggle rang out along the table. Luckily, the servants were busy taking away the soup and crystal glasses, diffusing most of the lovely sound.

Desperately, Jack wanted to make her laugh again. “And then there’s Uncle Andrew.” His voice dropped off and his expression froze as he watched the uncle at his mother’s right speaking in hushed tones, not at all dissimilar to the way Jack was speaking to Ella.

“Well… what about Uncle Andrew?” Ella encouraged him, her cheeks flushed. “I’m waiting for your pithy warning.”

Jack fiddled with the tines of his fork. “Um…” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No warning there. Uncle Andrew is too busy spending his nights with my mother to be much of a bother to anyone other than her.”

Ella had been in the process of reaching for her glass. At his words, she flinched, knocking the crystal over, spilling the wine. Silently, they both watched it bleed a thin river into the white tablecloth.

“Fuck, I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.” Jack ran his hand through his prickly hair. “And fuck, I shouldn’t have said fuck just then.”