Loving Lord Ash by Sally Mackenzie Page B

had a long-standing liaison with Ellie.”
    She was very happy she’d been able to say Ellie’s name without her voice breaking.
    Kit snorted. “That’s ridiculous. There is nothing between Ellie and me.”
    Oh! He was either an excellent actor or what he said was true—at least now, because she believed him. She started to smile—
    Wait. Ellie wasn’t the only woman who he’d been linked to. He’d consorted with many ladies, some as highborn as he . . .
    “Between you and someone else then? Is that why you want to end our marriage now—because you’re in love?” Oh, God, yet another thing she hadn’t meant to say, but the notion had just popped into her head. It made perfect sense. It hadn’t been his birthday, but his heart that had sent him riding to the manor.
    She’d thought her own heart couldn’t get any heavier, but she’d been mistaken.
    His face twisted with distaste. “I do not believe in love.”
    It would be sadly ironic if the Duchess of Love’s oldest son truly did not believe in love, but Jess was happy to hear it hadn’t been that emotion that had sent him journeying to the manor.
    Perhaps there was still hope for her marriage.
    “Jess,” he said, finally coming away from the door, “let’s not argue. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to throw you out on the street. I’ll make arrangements—settle some money on you. You won’t go hungry or homeless.”
    He would, too. He’d find her a nice little cottage and likely keep her in paint and brushes as well. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be left alone to paint.
    No. She’d tried over the years to convince herself that was indeed all she wanted, but now, having seen Kit again . . . Roger was right—she needed to decide if she still loved her husband, and if he could be persuaded to love her.
    She took a deep breath and grasped her courage with both hands. “I have a proposal for you.”
    His eyebrows rose. “A proposal? What—”
    Someone knocked on the door. Kit looked at her. “Is that whoever brought you to the inn checking to see if I’ve murdered you?”
    She’d wondered when Kit would realize he was stuck with her, at least for the night. “Oh, no. Roger left after he dropped me off. I don’t know who that could be.”
     
     
    Good God. He stared at Jess. She was here until the morning. Here in his room. In his bed room.
    Surely the inn had another chamber available.
    The idiot in the corridor knocked again, blast it. Ash turned, grabbed the handle, and flung the door open.
    Winthrop stood there, his hand raised to knock once more.
    Good. He could ask the fellow about procuring a room for Jess.
    The innkeeper was looking her up and down as if she were a clod of horse dung someone had tracked into his inn. “Milord, would ye like me to have this woman removed?”
    Jess made a small, pained sound. Anger surged through Ash.
    “‘This woman,’ Winthrop, is my wife, the Marchioness of Ashton, as well you know. You will show her the proper respect.”
    Winthrop’s eyes widened and he ducked his head, bowing in a disgustingly fawning manner. “My apologies, milord. I thought—”
    “Don’t.” Ash looked over at Jess. “Have you had your supper yet, madam?”
    Jess smiled at him—the bright smile she used to give him when she was a girl—and shook her head. “No, my lord.”
    He hadn’t managed to choke down a single bite in the common room, but now he found he was famished—but not for Winthrop’s stringy beef. Perhaps the kitchen could do better with something else. “Send up some roast duck, bread, and vegetables, Winthrop, and a bottle of Madeira.”
    “Very good, milord.” Winthrop bowed and departed.
    Jess was still smiling at him. “Thank you for not letting Winthrop throw me out.”
    Her smile was doing very odd things to his heart. “I would never let you be treated in such a fashion. I don’t know what got into the man.”
    Jess shrugged. “I’m afraid the local people