Jack threw down his pack, placed tiny hands on hips, and yelled, “D’you think me a figure of fun?”
And then behind him came another laugh, but this one was soft and sweet. When Jack turned, he beheld the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with rich golden hair and rosy cheeks.
She bent down and said to him, “I think you the funniest little man I’ve ever seen. Will you come and be my fool?”
And that was how Jack becathe„me fool to the daughter of the king. . . .
—from LAUGHING JACK
Melisande was enjoying her usual coddled eggs and buns the next morning at the usual time—half past eight o’clock—when something unusual happened. Her husband entered the breakfast room.
Melisande paused with her cup halfway to her lips and darted a quick glance at the china clock that stood on the side table. She hadn’t mistaken the time. The clock read 8:32.
She took a sip of her chocolate and set the cup precisely back down on the saucer, glad that her hands didn’t tremble at his presence. “Good morning, my lord.”
Lord Vale smiled, those lines beside his mouth deepening in a way she’d always found devastatingly charming. “Good morning, my dearest wife.”
Mouse came out from under her skirts, and for a moment, man and dog eyed each other. Then Mouse wisely conceded the moment and retreated to his lair.
Her husband strolled to the sideboard and frowned. “There isn’t any bacon.”
“I know. I don’t usually eat it.” Melisande beckoned to the footman, standing by the door. “Have Cook prepare some bacon, eggs, a few buttered kidneys, toast, and a fresh pot of tea for Lord Vale. Oh, and make sure that Cook includes some of her good marmalade.”
The footman bowed and left the room.
Vale came to sit opposite her. “I am enchanted. You know what I like to eat in the morning.”
“Of course.” She’d been studying him for years, after all. “That is one of a wife’s responsibilities.”
“Responsibility,” he murmured as he slouched in his chair. His lips twisted a little as if he found the word distasteful. “And is it the responsibility of a husband to know what his wife eats?”
She frowned, but as she’d just put a forkful of egg into her mouth, she couldn’t reply.
He nodded. “I think it must be, so I shall take note. Soft coddled eggs, buttered buns, and hot chocolate. No jam or honey for your buns, I see.”
She swallowed. “No. Unlike you, I don’t much care for jam.”
He slouched farther into the chair, his turquoise eyes lazy. “I admit I have a sweet tooth. Jam and honey and even treacle syrup. Spread it on anything and I just might lick it off.”
“Would you?” She could feel her belly heat at just his words, wicked, wicked man.
“I would indeed. Would you like me to list the possible things I could spread treacle on?” he asked innocently.
“Not at the moment, thank you.”
“Pity.”
She eyed him. She was terribly pleased that he’d joined her, but what an odd mood he seemed to be in
“No.”
“I’ve never known you to rise before eleven of the clock.”
“True, but you’ve only been married to me less than a week. Perhaps I habitually rise before nine or even five, like a crowing cock.”
She felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks. “Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you up so early?”
“Perhaps I was hungry for my marmalade jam.”
She looked at him from under her brows.
He stared back, his look rather disconcerting. “Or perhaps I fancied my lovely wife’s company for breakfast.”
Her eyes widened. She wasn’t sure whether to be intrigued or alarmed at his sudden interest. “Why would—?”
Two maids entered, bearing his breakfast, and she swallowed the question. They were both silent as the maids arranged the dishes and looked to her for approval. Melisande nodded and the servants left.
“Why—?”
But he spoke at the same time. They both stopped, and he gestured for her to speak.
Melisande said, “No, I beg your pardon. Please continue.”
“I merely wish to inquire about your plans for the day.”
She reached across the table and poured him some tea. “I hope to call on my great-aunt, Miss Rockwell.”
He looked up from buttering his toast. “On your mother’s side?”
“No. My father’s mother’s sister. She’s quite elderly now, and I heard that she took a fall last week.”
“A shame. I’ll come with you.”
She blinked. “What?”
He took a huge bite of toast and crunched it, holding up a finger to indicate she should wait. She stared as he masticated and then gulped down half his tea.
“Ouch. Hot,” he muttered. “Think I’ve burned my tongue.”
“You cannot mean to accompany me on a visit to my aunt,” Melisande burst out.
“Actually, I do.”
“My elderly aunt, who—”
“I’ve always had a terrible fondness for elderly ladies. It’s a weakness of mine, if you must know.”
“But you’ll expire from boredom.”
“Oh, no, not whilst in your company, sweet wife,” he said softly. “Unless, of course, you don’t wish me to accomt yh me topany you?”
She looked at him. He lounged in his chair like a big tomcat, his expression relaxed as he ate his bacon. But his greenish-blue eyes had a spark in them. Why did she feel as if she’d just walked straight into a trap? What possible motive could he have to want to visit her great-aunt, of all people? If he were the cat, did that make her the little brown mouse? And why did the thought of playing mouse to his cat make her so very, very warm?
Oh, she was an idiot. “I’d be most pleased to have you accompany me,” she murmured, the only answer she could possibly make to his question.
He grinned. “Excellent. We’ll take my phaeton.” And he crunched into a fresh slice of toast.
Melisande’s eyes narrowed. She was sure of it now. Her husband was up to something.
IT COULD’VE BEEN worse, Jasper thought cheerfully as he handled the ribbons of his phaeton. She could’ve been going to see . . . hmm. Actually, there really weren’t too many things worse than an elderly maiden aunt. But it didn’t matter. He’d sent Pynch off this morning to learn if Lord Hasselthorpe was in town and, if so, where Jasper might find him. In the meantime, Jasper had no pressing business. The day was fine, he was driving his new phaeton, and his lovely wife sat beside him unable to escape. Sooner or later, she would have to talk to him too.