Free Loving Lord Ash by Sally Mackenzie Page B

some of the sights, especially the new building that’s been going on.”
    Kit had always loved architecture; he’d even named his horse after the famous British architect Inigo Jones. “Have you designed anything recently?”
    He shrugged. “Nothing of import. It is only a hobby after all.”
    “But you used to enjoy it so much.” She’d marveled at how he could create such detailed structures using only his imagination; she needed to look at a model when she painted. “Remember when you built that snow castle Ellie and Cicely and I played in until Percy decided to attack it?”
    Kit had actually lost his temper that time. He’d pushed Percy, and the two of them had fallen to the ground, rolling around and swinging at each other and knocking down the castle walls. Cicely had cried, of course; she was always crying. Ellie had been sad, too, but Jess had laughed. She’d grown bored playing pampered princesses and had been on the verge of dropping snow down Cicely’s back, so the fight was a welcome diversion.
    “Yes, I remember. I built a fort at this year’s Valentine’s Day party, too; it’s so seldom we get snow that packs down well.”
    Ah, yes. The Valentine’s Day party to which she was never invited. Not that she wanted to be, of course. Percy would be there—he was Ned’s brother-in-law—and she didn’t wish to spend even a moment struggling to be polite to him.
    She took another swallow of brandy, but its warmth didn’t quite melt the cold knot in her stomach.
    “Does the manor have a serviceable traveling coach?” Kit asked.
    “No.”
    He frowned. “How do you travel?”
    “I don’t.” Did he think she went tooling around the countryside? “I’ve had no reason to undertake a long journey.”
    She might be happy enough to miss the duchess’s house parties, but she hadn’t been invited to Ned’s and Cicely’s wedding either. She’d admit to having shed a few tears over that. Not that she’d truly cared to see them marry. Cicely had been an annoying milksop and Percy’s sister as well, but being excluded from such an important event underlined the fact that she was not and never would be part of Kit’s family.
    “The wagon was good enough for getting to Sunday services.”
    “But for getting to London . . .” Kit shook his head.
    “What? You don’t think it will suit your consequence for the Marquis of Ashton to arrive in Town in such a plebeian conveyance?”
    He looked at her sourly. “I don’t think it will suit my comfort. London is several days’ travel, as well you know, and while the roads must be better than when I came here, they will still be rutted and likely muddy. Does the wagon have any springs whatsoever?”
    “N-no.”
    “Then you have to admit every inch of our persons would ache if we were to attempt the journey in it.”
    There was no point in arguing the obvious, so she merely nodded.
    “I will arrange for a suitable coach when we get to the next inn. The White Stag clearly doesn’t have any for hire.” He looked over at her small valise. “Is this all you brought?”
    “It was all I could carry.” Especially as she was half expecting him to toss her out on her arse. “But I don’t have anything suitable for London anyway.”
    Did Kit look a little guilty? He shouldn’t. What use would she have had for fancy dresses at the manor?
    “Well, since we’ll be avoiding the social whirl,” he said, “it shouldn’t matter too much, but I’ll have Jack point us to a good mantua maker once we get to London.”
     
     
    So it was decided. He was going to take Jess to London. They were going to see if they could salvage their marriage. If they could be friends and then lovers.
    It was a good thing the room was shadowy, because that thought was having the predictable effect on his anatomy.
    “I assume your maid will come as well?”
    Jess shook her head. The candlelight gleamed on her hair. He’d like to see it down again, and run his hands through