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Until his cousin Jonathan walked toward him. “I say, Ashford, this is a damned fine party you’ve thrown. Uncle Crispin would be proud.”
“Would he have been?” Thomas cocked his head. “You and your father—may he rest in peace—had been over on the American continent for so long, I doubt that either of you would know what would have made my father proud.”
Jonathan took a step back. “Good God, Ashford?—”
“Good God yourself, Jonathan. Call me Thomas. That’s what you’ve always called me.”
“But now you are the mighty Earl of Ashford. You know I am always wanting to stand on ceremony.” Jonathan offered a sarcastic bow.
It was a shame, really, that he and Jonathan weren’t closer. They had played as little boys, but Lily and Rose probably hardly remembered him. Thomas had been twelve when Uncle Pembroke was widowed and took Jonathan, his only offspring, to the Americas.
Before then, though, the two little boys had been great playmates. They looked so much alike that they were often mistaken for brothers.
Jonathan took another sip of his champagne. “Well, if you aren’t going to dance with any of these delectable young ladies, I certainly shall.”
“Off with you then,” Thomas said. He glanced around the ballroom. Where was Tricia?
Lady Sarah was engaged in conversation with several other young ladies and their mothers, but Polk—and Tricia—were nowhere to be found.
Thomas’s heart fell to his stomach.
Not a good thing.
He trusted Polk, of course, as one trusts someone in a foxhole. But with a young lady? No. Not even slightly. Polk had once had designs on Lily, and Thomas stopped that in its tracks before it started.
He was known to steal kisses from unsuspecting young ladies, and the thought…
No.
Polk’s lips would not touch Tricia’s.
Not while Thomas was around to stop it.
6
“How are you enjoying the ball, my lady?”
Tricia looked around. Where was everyone? Somehow she’d allowed Lord Polk to escort her out of the ballroom. They stood in the grand marble foyer, where a few servants were bustling about, paying them no mind.
“It’s the most elegant ball I’ve ever been to,” Patricia said. “Of course, I had never been to a ball at all until my brother received his earldom. And at that time, I was but fifteen and relegated to the balconies to watch the festivities from above.”
“I’m sure many a young gentleman saw you when he looked up and wished you were down dancing with the rest.”
“I don’t know about that.” Tricia’s cheeks warmed, and she knew she was blushing.
But she didn’t want to be blushing for Lord Polk. He was a nice enough gentleman, and certainly handsome. From an excellent bloodline as well, as far as she knew.
But her heart belonged to the new Earl of Ashford, Thomas Jameson.
It had belonged to Thomas for four years.
“I would love to have another dance with you later,” Lord Polk said.
“Perhaps,” Tricia said demurely. “I’m afraid my dance card is quite full.”
“Well, there will be more balls.” He delicately placed a hand on her shoulder. “Might I call on you sometime?”
Tricia pressed her lips together, preparing her words carefully. “My mother, sister, and I are staying here at the Ashford estate for the duration of the house party, but after that we’re returning to our townhome in London for the rest of the season.”
