The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12) Page 15

  Distracted from the people in the doorway, she glanced at him with instant understanding. “He was watching me, protecting me!” That Jon had taken such care of her flooded her with warmth. “Then he wasn’t one of those who attacked us?”

  “No,” Jon said. “That wasn’t either of them. What is it?” he demanded of the huddle at the door. “What’s going on?”

  Several faces turned toward him, alight with excitement, wonder, and not a little fear.

  The lame man said, “Bonaparte’s escaped from Elba.”

  *

  The news spread round the assembly rooms like wildfire, causing outrage and panic. Several ladies fainted.

  “This is bizarre,” Jess said. “We were at war with the French for as long as I can remember, and I don’t recall anyone behaving like this before. What is it they imagine? Is he going to sprout wings and fly across the sea with a flaming torch to burn us all in our beds?”

  Jon grinned. “It’s just hysteria. It will die down again when they realize it makes no real difference to their everyday lives. In the short term at least.”

  “And in the long term?”

  Jon shrugged. “He will have to be recaptured and imprisoned somewhere considerably less accessible than Elba.”

  “And if he isn’t? What do you think he’ll do?”

  “Summon his armies, and try to put himself back on the French throne. It’s all he can do.”

  “Such a shame that we should be back at war again, even before the peace is settled!”

  With all the excitement of this major news, they had returned to the hotel, dropped off by the Grants’ carriage, and were climbing the stairs before Jess remembered the story of the lame man.

  “So, if Masters and Horne didn’t attack us and steal the hackney, who did?” she demanded. “And why?”

  Jon paused outside the door of the rooms and turned to face her. “I have my suspicions who is behind it. If and when I can confirm it, I’ll tell you. In the meantime, accept the help of Masters and Horne, who are not as discreet as I had hoped, but perhaps it’s better you know them.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, still frowning with frustration because he would reveal no more.

  A gleam of understanding lit his eyes. “I’d hate to blacken someone’s reputation through mere prejudice. But I should know soon. And then I’ll have you safe.”

  It was an odd way of phrasing it, and the implications spread heat through her body, reminding her of dancing in his arms, of his kiss in the darkened alley, and his absent caress as he’d fastened the necklace about her throat. Did he really mean more than she would simply be safe?

  I’ll have you safe… Could he possibly be considering their engagement as more than a charade? Because God help her, she wanted him to. She’d known it since she’d danced with him, since she’d been so appalled at the thought of Mary being in her place.

  Her breath caught as he reached up and cupped her cheek. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said softly.

  “Like what?” she managed.

  He had taken off his gloves, and his naked palm was warm, rough in texture, yet so very gentle.

  “I don’t know. Almost as if you could love me.”

  Embarrassment flared along with an intense burst of self-knowledge. God help me, I could. I do. She opened her mouth to say the words aloud, but at once, his hand moved, and he touched one finger to her lips.

  “Don’t. Words are for tomorrow, not tonight.” He bent his head. For an instant, both his mouth and his finger caressed her lips. Then his finger slipped free, and he kissed her with unbearable tenderness. Her hand lifted to his cheek as she kissed him back with shy yet fervent joy.

  He opened her mouth wide, deepening the kiss. She felt the excitement of his tongue and teeth, and the press of his hard body against hers. She gasped with pleasure, and then the door at her back began to open, and he jerked her upright before releasing her.

  “Miss Jess,” said a tired looking Holmes. “I thought I heard voices. Forgive me if I missed your knock.”

  “Good night, Jess,” Jon said softly. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

  She didn’t remember stepping away from him and through the doorway to the dimly lit sitting room, but she must have, for suddenly she was inside, turning toward him with an eagerness that was almost panic.

  But she saw only Holmes, turning the key in the lock once more, heard only the faint sound of Jon’s retreating footsteps toward the stairs.

  *

  Jon leapt down the hotel stairs, three and four at a time. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the elderly couple coming in the opposite direction, he might have jumped straight over the bannister. He had far too much energy and no idea what to do with it. At least not without bribing Holmes to let him in…

  And that wouldn’t do. Clearly, Crabby shared Jess’s bedchamber. But soon, soon… The thought of Jess naked in his arms was fast becoming an obsession with him, one he should not feed by kissing her, and yet, he couldn’t help it. Her lips were so soft and sweet and willing. He could almost taste the latent passion awakening in her.

  Shoving his way out into the blessedly cold-night air, he raised his face into the wind.

  Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow we’ll end this damnable charade, come to a better, more honest understanding… He only hoped he was not misreading her feelings. He would be well served for arrogance if she sent him about his business with a flea in his ear.

  For now, forcing himself to concentrate on matters of her safety, he went to talk to the drivers of the hired carriages, to see who had lost one, or whom they had lent it to.

  *

  His inn lodgings were invaded early the following morning by not only Horne but Bill Bains, who dragged him out of much-needed slumber by banging relentlessly on his bedchamber door.

  With a groan, he reached for his clothes and hauled himself out of bed, “I hear you. I hear you,” he shouted ill-naturedly, climbing into his old breeches. Still fastening them, he went to the door and opened it. Horne and Bains erupted inside.

  “Come in,” Jon said mildly.

  Bains missed the sarcasm. “Thank you, sir. We’ve got names.”

  “I know your damned names,” Jon snapped, closing the door and gazing longingly at his rumpled bed. It had been almost five o’clock in the morning before he’d fallen into it, and he doubted it was much after nine now.

  “No, sir, the ruffians who had a go at you and the lady,” Bains said, grinning.

  “Ah.” Jon walked over to the washstand and dunked his face into the bowl until his forehead touched the bottom. Then he emerged, shaking himself like a dog before he reached blindly for the towel. “That’s better.”

  “For who?” Horne demanded, brushing drops of water off his sleeve.

  “Me,” Jon said without apology. “Tell me.”

  “Couple of louts for hire in the Blackhaven tavern,” Bains said. “Saw ’em bruised the day after you spoke to me, Captain. But a lot of ’em look like that a lot of the time. So, I didn’t think nothing of it until I drew ’em and showed them to Horne here.”

  He took a crumpled paper from his pocket and gave it to Jon. Two, stony-faced thugs with chunks of their faces shaded stared vindictively up at him.

  “They look like the ones,” Jon agreed, frowning. He stabbed his finger on the face of the man on the left. “I remember him in particular.”

  “I know them villains since I were a nipper,” Horne said with a curl of his lips. “Never prepared to work for their money, but happy enough to thump people or steal for it. Masters couldn’t see for definite who it was who drove that hackney last night—all muffled up against the rain—but he says it could easily have been this villain here.” He stabbed a none-too-clean finger at the ruffian on the right. “Anyhow, I knew them right away when I saw Bains’s picture. He’s caught them right well.”

  “He has a talent,” Jon agreed. “So where can I find these gentlemen?”

  “I think you p
robably want to find the gentleman who paid them,” Bains said, taking a folded paper from a deep pocket in his disreputable coat. “I drew all the nobs I could think of who came into the tavern. Including this fellow.”

  Baines smoothed the rough portrait onto the table and raised his eyes to Jon’s. “I saw him in there, but it was Horne and Masters who saw the money change hands between him and our villains.” Baines pointed at his two drawings. “He paid them.”

  “Want us to talk to him and discover why?” Horne asked hopefully.

  “Oh, I know why,” Jon said ruefully. “Now that I know who. No, don’t get into fights unless you need to. I want you to concentrate on looking after the lady. Where’s Masters?”

  “Skulking outside the hotel. Or will be in half an hour,” Horne said. “We figured your lady wouldn’t move much before midday after the ball.”

  Jon didn’t point out that he’d been at the ball, too, and then ridden to Whalen before he could fall into bed. He was glad to be wakened to hear the truth, even it was going to make life difficult.

  After a reviving breakfast and several cups of coffee, Jon changed into more respectable clothing for a gentleman and called for his horse. Despite the difficulties ahead, he felt excited, hopeful. His heart beat fast, egging him on. Compromises would have to be made, but he felt good about them. He felt good about everything because he was going to see Jess again.

  He found himself whistling as he strode from the stables down to High Street and the hotel. He even hummed as he ran upstairs and rapped on the door.

  Holmes admitted him, which was when he had the first inkling that something was wrong. The old valet’s eyes betrayed more than a hint of warning and straightforward fear. Jon frowned at once, but said only, “Good afternoon, Holmes. I suppose my father is at home?”

  “Not to you, I’m not!” his lordship yelled from inside the room. “Throw him out, Holmes!”

  Holmes spread his hands. But he hadn’t closed the door. Clearly, he expected Jon to walk straight back out, which was somewhat lowering if understandable. But he’d had enough of running from his father’s tantrums.

  He closed the door himself with his heel and sauntered further into the room.

  His father was sitting by the fire as usual, but the glare of his eyes was considerably fiercer than normal. This time he was truly angry. A ball of crumpled paper lay on the floor a couple of feet away from him—the source, perhaps, of his anger.

  And then he had an inkling of that source, of what he had forgotten to do. His head full of Jess and would-be-murderers and thieves, he hadn’t taken the time to talk to his father as he should.

  “Good morning, Father,” he said cheerfully.

  “Judas!” roared his father. “Interfering, ignorant fool!”

  Oh, yes, his father knew about his communication with his dismissed steward, and he was, understandably, incandescent with rage. Jess stood behind his lordship’s chair. Clearly, she had been trying to soothe him, without notable success. He knew a pang of guilt for putting her through this from nothing more than carelessness.

  On the sofa in the middle of the room, Miss Crabtree sat tense and anxious. He felt bad about that, too.

  Bad-tempered old tyrant. “I’m very glad to see you, too,” Jon said, wryly. “Though I could wish you happier.”

  “Happier?” That appeared to be another red rag to this bull. “How could I be happy at all when my son, my heir, goes behind my back, goes deliberately against my wishes in order to humiliate me, waste my money, steal from me, in effect!”

  Jon frowned. “I have never stolen a bean from you, and you know it. In fact, I’ve saved you the expense of paying me an allowance these last seven years.”

  “Don’t change the subject!” the old man snapped. His fingers curled into claws with fury. “You had no business reading letters addressed to me, and certainly no authority to issue orders in my name!”

  “That is true,” Jon admitted. “But I didn’t issue any orders in your name. I issued them in mine.”

  “Then they should not be carried out!” the old gentleman yelled. “A fine thing it would be for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to wander onto a gentleman’s land and change things as they see fit!”

  “But I am not any Tom, Dick, or Harry, am I?” Jon inserted when the old man paused for breath. “I am your son.”

  “My son by blood,” the old man retorted. “Who ran away from his responsibilities when he was seventeen and stayed away for seven years! How could you even imagine that such behavior qualifies you to make judgements, let alone changes to my land? My pocket!”

  That stung, because it was true. Oh, he could split hairs. He hadn’t run away, he had left, and he still didn’t regret it. But he shouldn’t have borne the grudge so long. He shouldn’t have stayed away.

  He saw the gleam in his father’s eyes, too. The old man knew he had finally riled him and pressed his attack as he always did.

  “Did you think I was so decrepit that I wouldn’t notice? When you sail away for another seven years leaving me to the cost of your folly, the ruin of my own land—”

  “Oh, stop it!” Jon snapped at last. “You’re not decrepit. You’re just penny-pinching and stubborn and refuse to listen to men who tell you the truth because you’d rather hear what you want to. That’s why you dismissed young Matthews, isn’t it? Well, I can’t reinstate him, but even I can see that he’s the one with sense, and so yes, I wrote, authorizing the work that will save you and many of your tenants from eventual ruin. You can thank me later.”

  He swung away, as if he was about to storm out, but instead, into the stunned silence, he spun around in the middle of the room and added. “And you needn’t worry about the expense. I never expected you to pay for it. Look on it as an early birthday gift.”

  “I won’t!” his lordship raged. “Because it will never happen! I’ve already written to stop it.”

  Jon felt the blood drain from his face. Only his father had ever made him this angry. “You’d do that? Just to spite me? You’d keep these people in poverty until you’re all ruined? It won’t cost you a penny, you and they will be better off within a year, but it’s more important to you to oppose me! Why in God’s name did I ever come here?”

  “Enough, Jon,” Jess breathed, intervening for the first time, although somewhere he’d been aware of her growing distress at their quarrel.

  “I oppose you?” the old man spluttered in fury. “I am your father!”

  “Then act as if you are,” Jon retorted. “Act—”

  “Oh, I will!” his father interrupted. “I withdraw my permission for you to marry my ward. You’ll get nothing from me but the title and the demesne which I can’t change. Jess can marry who she chooses, and they will get the money.”

  Jon laughed in his face. “Don’t you understand? Jess could always marry who she chose.”

  “Jon, this isn’t the way,” Jess warned.

  He ignored her, didn’t even take his eyes off his father’s. “Haven’t you worked out yet that our engagement was false? It is fake, pretense, designed solely to let her enjoy life a little and actually meet someone she might want to marry. She’s not your damned servant, and you owe her more than such a scurvy trick.”

  Jess closed her eyes, hiding her emotion. Guilt surged for doing this in such a way, but he couldn’t take back the words or whatever pain they caused her. He would make it up to her, beg her forgiveness…

  His gaze slid back to his father, whose face had drained to white. A fresh pang of regret smote him. He had almost forgotten he had the Tallon temper, too.

  “Get out,” his father ordered, in little more than a whisper. “Go back to whatever bilge you crawled out of.”

  The insult was meant to hurt. Because Jon had just hurt him. Again. An intense jumble of emotion rushed on him, confused him. Through it all, he knew he was to blame for a large part of this mess, and that it wasn’t something he could fix with a simple order, or even an apology.

&n
bsp; For the moment, all he could do was obey. He nodded curtly. “But I would beg a few words with Jess first.”

  The old man would have refused. He saw it in his eyes. But Jess released the chair back, which she had been gripping so tightly, her knuckles shone white, and without a word, walked to the door.

  “Don’t tell me it was ill-done,” Jon said as he paused there. “I know it.”

  “Good.”

  He rubbed at his forehead, bewildered now as to how he had got to this position. He was almost surprised to find that his hand shook. “I’m sorry. It was not meant to be like this.”

  She said nothing. Her gaze was aimed somewhere around the middle of his chest.

  “Our engagement was false,” he said abruptly. “Please…consider doing me the honor of making it real.”

  She was so still, he almost thought she hadn’t heard him. But her gaze looked almost fierce, glaring at his waistcoat buttons. He could see why when she raised her eyes determinedly to his. They were too bright, too full of emotions. She was trying not to cry. Shame surged up from his toes.

  “I can’t,” she said simply. “I can’t leave him like this. And you have to go. Goodbye, cousin.” And she walked away, back to his father, leaving him not only stunned but with the oddest impression of his entire being crumbling into dust.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Holding herself together by a thread, Jess poured Lord Viscral a glass of brandy and asked Holmes to bring some tea. After that, she took Crabby by the hand and tugged her into the bedchamber. Nothing could be done until his lordship was calmer. But it stretched her nerves to breaking point that she couldn’t be alone to cry her heart out.

  This day, of which she had expected so much, had turned into a nightmare. And not just because she’d seen a side of Jon she could not like—everyone, including herself, was subject to moments of temper, of lashing out without care of the consequences. It was the sudden knowledge that she had been a mere pawn in his power struggle with his father.