The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12) Read online

  His father glared at him. Even after admitting Alban to his table and treating him like a gentleman, he didn’t want Jon’s association with him bandied around the world.

  “Truly?” Mary exclaimed. “Why, how fascinating! Were you with him when he took on those French frigates?”

  “Yes, I was his lieutenant on The Albatross at the time.”

  They all exclaimed in wonder. “And now?” Mary asked.

  “Now I am captain of The Albatross.”

  “How exciting,” Mary breathed.

  Jon regarded her with a trace of contemptuous amusement, for he was fairly sure she imagined she was paying Jess back with her attentions. Trying to ensnare him enough to make her old friend jealous. Jon despised such games, and yet neither he nor Jess were innocent in their own pretense. It really was time to end that.

  “Not always,” Jon said. “I am currently looking forward to several weeks of boredom en route to South America. But it has its compensations.”

  “I suppose the peace makes it less exciting,” Jess observed.

  “I suppose it does,” he admitted. “But I like being at sea.”

  Only all the time that he was, life would go on here without him. His father would mismanage his estates, depriving them of the resources they needed, to the detriment of the land and the people and his own long-term fortune. Jess would, hopefully, marry someone else who would be a good husband to her. Or someone hopelessly unsuitable who would make her miserable. He would not be there to see, to judge, to help.

  Damn. He’d always known it was a stupid idea to get involved with his family again. And yet, there were those odd moments of communication with his father that he would never undo if he could, an instant of shared humor, of memory, or just enjoyment of the old gentleman’s irascible company. He might wish it wasn’t so, but in the end, blood was thicker than water. Damnation again.

  “You are just in time for the assembly room ball,” Claud told his betrothed. “Providing we can still obtain vouchers. It seems to be a big event in Blackhaven!”

  “It sounds delightful,” Mary said graciously. “Have you been to such events before, Captain Tallon?”

  Jon shook his head. “No, I’ve never been ashore at the right time before.”

  “But you will come, Jess?” Mary said. “Mama can chaperone you, too.”

  “Thank you, but Mrs. Grant, the vicar’s wife, has invited us to go with her.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Francis, and Jon wanted to laugh. “I suppose you cannot break your word.”

  “The Grants are charming people,” Jess assured them.

  For an instant, she let her gaze flicker to Jon. Wicked humor gleamed in her eyes, greeting his before she turned hastily back to her guests who had, after all, no way of knowing that in Blackhaven, or anywhere else, the vicar’s wife outshone most in just about every way imaginable.

  Chapter Eleven

  After a spell of mostly fair weather, the heavens opened on the day of the ball. In between short bursts of deluge, it drizzled constantly. Since Crabby had gratefully given up her chaperonage duties for the evening, the plan was for Jon to escort Jess to the vicarage for a light dinner and then they would make their way to the assembly rooms. Originally, Kate had suggested walking, but a note came from her during the day to say they would most definitely take her carriage and offering its services to pick up Jess and Jon for dinner.

  Jess hastily wrote back, saying it would be simpler for them to take a hired carriage to the vicarage, since these were always numerous in front of the hotel.

  Crabby helped her dress as best she could, but beyond lacing her up and brushing out her hair, she was not a useful lady’s maid. She stood back and gave her opinion as Jess pinned up her own hair in various ways. Eventually, they agreed on a style that scooped it high in a roll at the back of her head and then trailed down her nape. Several loose tendrils framed her face.

  “Beautiful,” Crabby pronounced. “Soft and feminine, and gives an impression of artful carelessness.”

  “Instead of incompetent carelessness,” Jess said with a wry laugh. “Oh, well!”

  “Jewelry,” Crabby said.

  “I have my mother’s pearls,” Jess offered with some doubt, for she had the feeling the pearls would look somewhat insipid with the shimmering silk, which was really of the most gorgeous and unique shade of dusky pink.

  Crabby helped her fasten the pearls. At least they made her feel less bare.

  “It will have to do,” Jess said cheerfully, standing up. “Come, let us show his lordship! Will he scold or merely sniff?”

  “Sniff,” Crabby said, opening the bedchamber door.

  Jess was not quite prepared to see Jon there, for she hadn’t heard anyone arrive. Her heart gave that funny little skip she would never get used to, and she remembered that all of this—the gown and the reason to wear it—were all because of him.

  Crabby, who seemed to enjoy throwing them together alone for short periods, said, “You go on, Jess. I’ll just tidy up here and join you in a moment.”

  There was nothing for it but to advance alone to meet him. A quick glance showed her that neither his lordship nor Holmes were about, only Jon, overwhelmingly handsome in his black pantaloons and evening coat. His cravat was simply but neatly tied, his waistcoat a plain, white silk. And his face, as too often, was deliberately unreadable.

  “Do you like the gown?” she asked nervously. “I hope you think it was worth the money.”

  “I like it very much. But you should know it’s no longer my gift. My father insisted on recompensing me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  “I believe he was shamed into it. Good thing, too. I believe he thought that if you never went anywhere and never met anyone, you would never leave him.” He gave a quick, painful smile. “As I did.”

  “And now he believes his strategy is working. Oh, Jon, we need to tell him.”

  “Not tonight,” Jon interrupted. “Tonight is for dancing and other amusements.” He came toward her, lifting a parcel from the table as he came. “Since my last gift was appropriated, I’ve brought you another. For your first ball.”

  “Oh, Jon, you shouldn’t buy me—”

  “Very likely not. Open it. If you don’t like them, I’ll send them back.”

  Intrigued in spite of herself, she unwrapped the parcel and found a jeweler’s case inside. “Oh, Jon,” she breathed and opened it.

  Her breath caught in wonder. Lying on a creamy velvet bed was a necklace and matching earrings of rubies set in gold. The stones were not large, but dainty, like finely sculpted teardrops glinting and winking in the candlelight. In awe, she lifted the delicate necklace, letting the gently swinging rubies catch the light.

  “Let me,” he said, and turned her with both hands on her shoulders.

  She was far too aware of his fingertips brushing her flushed skin as he unfastened the pearls. Then he urged her gently forward to face the mirror that filled one panel in the wall. Handing her the pearls, he took the rubies from her and placed them around her throat, settling the exquisite drops against the skin above her breasts.

  She could barely breathe. The stones lay cool on her skin, and yet his fingers burned wherever they touched. At last, his hand settled at her nape and they both gazed into the glass.

  Bemused, Jess blurted, “Why, they make me look beautiful.”

  “That isn’t the jewels,” he said impatiently. “You have always been beautiful. But I believe they do compliment the gown.”

  They did, bringing out the rosier shades in the shimmering silk and blending the whole with her complexion. She swallowed. He’d said she was beautiful, that she had always been. She didn’t quite believe it, but she liked to hear it. And at that precise moment, she felt…good.

  “Can you manage the earrings?” he asked.

  They were light, clipping onto her lobes firmly without pinching. Now she looked regal.

  “Oh, my,” she said faintly. For
an instant, their eyes met in the glass again. Then she twisted her head to look up at him directly. “Thank you.”

  She had forgotten his hand resting on her nape, his thumb absently caressing. But he was aware of it. His eyes, dark and turbulent, told her so, flickering downward to her lips. Flame licked through her, sweet and heady. She had never wanted anything so much as to feel his mouth on hers in that moment.

  She swallowed. “You have to stop kissing me.”

  “I haven’t started yet.”

  In spite of everything, laughter caught in her throat. And then Lord Viscral’s bedchamber door flew open, and her uncle marched out.

  “Good God,” he exclaimed, coming to a full stop to stare at her. Slowly, Jon’s hand fell away, and she turned to face his father. “Very well,” he said. “You look very well.” And then he sniffed.

  Crabby was right. Jess laughed, just a little shakily. “Shall we go?” she asked.

  Somehow, she could not be still. She both feared and yearned to be alone with him in a closed carriage, even the short distance to the vicarage. She could not control what was happening to her and, God help her, she soaked up his slightest admiration like nectar.

  Crabby came out of the bedchamber with her evening cloak. “Exactly what it needed,” she exclaimed at the sight of the new rubies.

  Smiling, Jess handed her the pearls, but in a moment of inspiration, Crabby stood on tiptoe and threaded them through her hair. “Since you don’t have a proper headdress,” she said.

  “Well done, Miss Crabby!” Jon approved. “That looks rather lovely.”

  By some chance it did, and Jess felt like a queen as Jon conducted her downstairs to the front of the hotel.

  The rain was pouring down by the bucket load, so, of course, everyone wanted a hackney. “Just one moment, sir, ma’am,” the doorman said, peering into the darkness.

  Inevitably, two appeared at once, one actually overtaking the other to bump to a sudden halt in front of the door. With his massive umbrella, the doorman conducted them the two or three paces to the coach and let down the steps. Holding her beautiful new skirts as high as she dared, Jess hurried inside. Jon jumped in beside her, and the carriage bolted into motion almost before the steps were up and the door closed.

  “Everyone’s in a hurry when it rains,” Jess said, amused.

  Because it was easier than looking at him when every inch of her was tingling with awareness of the large, long-legged person beside her, she gazed out of the other window. She caught a glimpse of a familiar figure as they sped past. The lame man, and for the first time, he seemed to look right at her, his expression agitated, almost frightened.

  “That’s him again!” she exclaimed ungrammatically as they rattled along the high street. “The man with the injured leg who followed you and was at the inn that day.”

  “Blackhaven is hardly large. You see the same people all the time.”

  “True,” she said, holding on to the seat as the carriage bounced over the road.

  With an exclamation of annoyance, Jon reached out to steady her. At the same time, he peered out of the window. “But this is not the way to the vicarage,” he said grimly and knocked peremptorily on the carriage roof.

  Getting no response, he steadied himself against the wild reeling of the coach and opened the window nearest him, leaning out into the rain to yell instructions to the driver. Then he broke off abruptly and ducked back inside. The road sped by so fast, Jess could barely see it. Alarm surged, even before Jon tugged off his coat and dropped it on the seat between them.

  “Close the door after me and pray,” he said.

  “Close the…Jon, what on earth is going on?”

  “We no longer have a driver,” he said and opened the door. Cold air and rain blasted inside.

  “You can’t!” she cried, suddenly realizing what he intended to do. “You’ll slide off and be killed at this speed!”

  “We both might if we do nothing. Close the door.” With that, he reached up, swinging himself up as the coach lurched and swayed over bumps in the road.

  Her heart in her mouth, Jess could only obey, racking her brains in vain for any way to help him. Reaching under the seat, she found a blanket that might help if he made it back inside alive.

  With awful anxiety, she listened to the bumps on the roof, knowing at least that he hadn’t fallen off. A tree branch thumped off the window, making her jump. One of the outside lanterns vanished. And then, miraculously, the coach began to slow.

  It pulled up altogether at the side of the road. Jess wrenched open the door. “Jon? Jon, are you hurt?”

  “Not in the slightest,” said his cheerful voice in the darkness. “I’m about to turn the horses and drive them back into town.”

  She snatched up the blanket, thrusting it in the direction of his voice. “Here!”

  “Just what I need.” He sounded pleased. “Won’t be long.”

  It was a longer, much more sedate journey back into the center of Blackhaven, for he drove the horses at a mere trot for most of the way.

  At last, they rolled up at the vicarage, and a servant ran out with an umbrella.

  “No need,” Jon called cheerfully. “The rain’s almost off now.”

  Only by comparison with the previous deluge, Jess thought indignantly, though as she disembarked, she realized he was right. She walked up the path to the house, carrying her reticule and Jon’s coat and peering over her shoulder at the blanket-shrouded figure behind her.

  As soon as they were inside, he hauled the blanket off, handing it to the servant. Jess ran to him, clutching his upper arms and peering into his face in search of pain or damage. Even then, she was aware of the thick muscle, taut beneath her hands. He was shivering.

  “Jon,” she said helplessly, rubbing his arms. “You need to be warm…”

  “What’s happened?” the vicar demanded, rushing toward them from the room on the right, Kate on his heels.

  “Runaway coach,” Jon said. Gently, he took Jess’s hands and moved her aside. “Largely because the driver had managed to jump off. Got a bit wet, I’m afraid. And I suspect I’ve left a stolen hackney outside your gate. One of the horses might be injured.”

  “The servants will see to the horses and fetch the Watch,” Mr. Grant promised.

  Jon frowned. “Maybe we could exclude the Watch for now? I’ll find out later who the hackney belongs to.” He shivered.

  “Come up,” the vicar said at once. “You shall have one of my shirts and whatever else you need. Kate, some brandy, perhaps?”

  “Of course,” Kate said.

  Jess held out Jon’s dry coat to the vicar, who blinked at it.

  It was Jon who laughed. “You are wonderful,” he said, still grinning as he followed his coat and Mr. Grant upstairs.

  By the time Jess had finished apologizing for their lateness and explaining to Kate what had happened, Jon and the vicar returned. Jess’s anxious gaze could find no trace on him of their recent adventure, apart from his slightly damp hair. He must have been wearing a fresh shirt, cravat, waistcoat, and pantaloons, but she could not tell. Mr. Grant, fortunately was similar in build.

  “I blame myself,” Kate said. “Every time I befriend someone, they almost die!”

  “Yes, but if you didn’t befriend them, perhaps they would die,” Jon said with a grin. “I hope we haven’t spoiled your dinner.”

  “Not at all,” Kate said at once. “Let’s go through and eat. I have to say, Jess, you look quite stunning this evening. You will be quite the belle of the ball.”

  It felt almost unreal after the frightening events of their journey, to be sitting down to an amusing dinner as though nothing had happened. Then, they stepped into another carriage—this time driven by the Grants’ own coachman, for Jess checked twice—and were driven to the assembly rooms.

  I hope my first ball is not quite so exciting as the journey…

  *

  At first, she found the noise and the sheer number of peopl
e overwhelming, more so than the theatre for some reason. It was like a dazzling, chaotic sea of strangers, all shouting and laughing over the surprisingly loud music emanating from the small orchestra in the gallery. For the first five minutes, Jess wanted to cling to Jon’s arm or even hide behind Kate’s skirts. Since such behavior would have been entirely unacceptable, she plastered a smile on her face and waited for the panic to subside.

  Once they were seated together at a table, she grew more comfortable.

  “Look,” Jon murmured, nodding toward the dance floor in the middle of the room. “Your Claud and Mary are dancing together. Clearly, they are still friends.”

  “Well, that is something,” she replied, relieved as she picked them out in the nearest set. “I hope they reach a better understanding.”

  She felt his gaze on her face as she watched them come together in the dance.

  “You really do, don’t you?” he said curiously. “And yet this engagement hurt you when you first heard of it.”

  “I suppose it did,” she admitted, “but only because my head was living in the past where Claud was concerned. We would not have suited at all. Between you and me, I’m quite relieved at my escape! Probably, I shouldn’t ever be married. I expect too much and would greatly resent being ruled by a man who could not rule himself.”

  “I hope you do not include your betrothed in this category.”

  She laughed, turning to face him to share the joke. But although his lips curved into a faint smile, it did not reach his eyes. Her own smile faded and died. “You are right,” she whispered. “We have to end this. I’m sorry, so very sorry, to have dragged you into it.”

  His hand covered hers on her lap. “Don’t be. It’s been a great deal of fun and given me a much-needed kick besides. But you’re right. We do have to end the charade.” His lips quirked, and this time, his eyes did smile, too. “Just not tonight.”

  Ignoring the strange pain twisting through her, she said lightly, “Why not tonight?”

  “Because we might as well enjoy the privileges of the betrothed, and make the most of our evening without the inevitable recriminations.”