The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12) Read online

If he had a spare half hour between his return, having attempted murderers arrested, and sailing for South America. “Perhaps,” she said carelessly. “Goodbye, Jon.” Don’t say goodbye, not yet. Ask me again to walk with you. Ignore his lordship and simply take me in your arms…

  “Goodbye, Jess,” he said softly. Since he still held her hand, he turned it and dropped a kiss on the inside of her wrist. Her pulse leapt, but she only smiled, drew her hand free, and walked blindly away.

  Dear God, what am I doing? Call me back, damn you, come after me, don’t let me go… In the deafening silence, she turned on him in fury, just in time to see the door finish closing. Again, he’d walked away from her, leaving her disconsolate and angry. Mostly with herself.

  *

  Two days later, having travelled post through the nights, too, Jon’s chaise finally swept around the bend into Viscral land. He’d been looking forward to the end of the grueling, tedious journey which he’d whiled away taking notes of questions he needed to ask, making plans, and writing letters. Eager to begin his education and his judgement, he was desperate to arrive. But he was not expecting the flood of emotion to hit him as he sped into his ancestral home.

  It had been seven years since he’d left, seven years he could not and would not regret. But he hadn’t even realized he had missed this place until he saw the gentle, rolling hills he’d used to climb with his friends and by himself, the spire of the village church sticking up at its familiar jaunty angle, the woods where he’d played and learned to hunt, the farmhouse where he’d first fallen in love. And the inn where he’d first got drunk and made his first female conquest—on quite different occasions. And in the distance, Viscral Hall, as enduring as the landscape, towering over all, not his prison after all, but his home.

  He wiped his wet eyes on his sleeve and tried very hard to laugh at himself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After Jon’s maddening departure, Jess spent the next few days in hectic pursuit of pleasure. She drove out with Captain Grantham and with his amiable friend, Mr. Muir, dragged Crabby to tea with several acquaintances, and to an evening party hosted by Colonel and Mrs. Gordon at the regimental headquarters just outside town. There, she danced as though her life depended on it and rejoiced in the number of young men who declared themselves at her feet. Not that she believed them, but there was a perverse pleasure in becoming the rage of Blackhaven.

  To everyone who asked about Captain Tallon, she said carelessly, “Oh, that is quite at an end. He has gone into the country, I believe.”

  “The wolves will circle,” Crabby said ominously if obscurely.

  Jess only laughed. “Let them. I’m having fun!”

  She didn’t even mind when, on the fourth day after Jon’s departure, she returned from another drive, this time with a different officer, Lieutenant Green, and discovered Cousin Hector had returned.

  He was taking tea with Crabby and Lord Viscral, who looked none too pleased about it, but he rose as soon as she walked into the room to take her hand and kiss her cheek.

  “Cousin, how ravishing you look!” he remarked. “Positively radiant! I gather extracting yourself from the engagement to Jonnie has proved reviving in many ways.”

  “Do you?” Jess said vaguely, withdrawing her hand and stepping back.

  “Do I what?” Hector asked, apparently bewildered.

  “Gather that,” Jess said. “Oh, apple cake, my favorite.” She sat down next to Crabby and helped herself to tea and cake. “Were your friends in Yorkshire not amusing, Hector?”

  “Deadly dull, if you want the truth. And since I have no need to be in London before the end of next week, I thought I would return here and see how you are all getting on with the prodigal. Who, I discover, has gone again.”

  “To Viscral, not Timbuktu,” his lordship snapped.

  “Of course. That must be most gratifying. I have been beseeching my uncle, Jess, to come to the theatre tonight. I have got up an agreeable party, so even if the play is shocking, the company will be good.”

  “Can’t stand the theatre,” his lordship snapped. “Not under any circumstances.” He glanced at Jess. “But you can go, if you take Crabby with you.”

  “Is that necessary, my lord?” Hector inquired. “We are cousins, after all.”

  “I have had quite enough of unaccompanied cousins,” Jess said. “And I would very much like Crabby to come,”

  “Then there is no more to be said,” Hector agreed, although Jess could have sworn he was irritated. After all, Crabby was not to everyone’s taste. “Miss Crabtree is most welcome to join us.”

  As it turned out, Hector’s party already included a chaperone whom Jess had known longer than Crabby—Mrs. Francis. She along with Mary and Claud and a rather rakish-looking gentleman by the name of Gaunt, made up the group who gathered in Hector’s box. In spite of herself, Jess was rather touched that he had chosen her old friends to make up his party.

  “Are you perhaps related to Lord Sylvester Gaunt?” Jess asked the rakish gentleman, who curled his lip at her question.

  “My younger brother. How do you know Syl?”

  “I’m a little acquainted with Lady Sylvester.”

  “Haven’t met her,” said Lady Sylvester’s odd brother-in-law, “Can’t say I want to. Can’t see what he’s doing with a mere squire’s daughter anyhow. At least Tamar married money. So, you’re Viscral’s ward, eh?”

  “Gazetted fortune hunter,” Mrs. Francis warned her while Lord Julian Gaunt was chatting to Claud at the back of the box. “All the Gaunts are, but he’s worst of the lot.”

  “Then, not having a fortune, I expect I’m quite safe,” Jess replied, amused.

  “The word is, you’ll have Viscral’s,” Mrs. Francis said bluntly.

  Jess shrugged. “The word is wrong. I’m as sure as I can be that he’ll leave everything to Jon in the end.”

  “Then you played your hand badly,” Mrs. Francis told her.

  Jess blinked. She had no idea how to answer, so she was quite relieved when the curtain went up to reveal the violinist, Alessandro de Rizzo. He played two pieces that had quite an effect on the audience. The last time Jess had been here, there was a great deal of chatter throughout every performance, but for his, the noise died away and people actually listened.

  Of course, he played with considerable emotion that almost overset Jess’s precarious hold on her own. As it was, her fingers clung together in her lap, and she had to dig her nails hard into her skin to prevent the lump in her throat from dissolving into tears.

  She missed Jon. She wanted Jon. A future without him, without his love, seemed unbearably bleak. And Mrs. Francis was right. She had played her hand badly. She should at least have talked to him, discovered if he truly cared for her in that way or not. Instead, she had jumped to conclusions that she didn’t want to believe and protected her pride before her happiness. Just as she had accused Jon of doing with his father.

  Of course, she could not compare the two situations. She could not even think beyond the aching, all-consuming sadness released by the violinist’s beautiful music. Stop. Please stop.

  Eventually, he did, and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. A quick, surreptitious glance showed Claud looking in her direction, a frown marring his brow. She gave him a bright smile that she hoped was reassuring, and turned to prattle to whoever was on her other side. Hector.

  “He does appear to have a talent above the average,” her cousin said.

  Only then did she realize she had been praising de Rizzo’s skill. She had to control her tongue or God knew what she would blurt out next. On one level, this frightened her. On another, she didn’t really mind what she said or what anyone thought of her. She could not make herself care about anything very much at all if she could not be with Jon.

  Foolish, ridiculous woman, she told herself, and concentrated instead on the people she was with.

  “How do you find his lordship?” she asked Hector. “Do you see much change in him in
the week since you left?”

  “Not in the slightest, unless his temper is even worse. You will be bearing the brunt of that, Jess—as always.”

  Jess had never looked on their relationship like that. “I suppose we bear the brunt of each other,” she said lightly. “He took me in and gave me a home. And I learned long ago his bark is worse than his bite.”

  “Is it?” Hector said, regarding her with unusual seriousness. “My dear, despite the roof over your head, he has kept you in penury, at his capricious beck and call and quite isolated from company.”

  “Not from deliberate malice,” she said at once. “From mere thoughtlessness. At the moment, as you see, I have lots of company.”

  Hector cast her a shrewd look. “That, I think, is Jonnie’s doing.” He leaned closer. “Be frank, Jess. Have you never been discontented with your life?”

  “Not until he decided I should marry a man I had never met.”

  “And yet you went along with that.”

  “Eventually.” Though she had seriously considered running away to become a milliner—the thought made her laugh now—at the expense of Claude. Dear God, what a little fool she had been. No wonder Jon had never taken her seriously. She forced a smile. “After all, Jon turned out to be quite charming, but there, we would never have suited.”

  “So, Jonnie’s jaunt to Viscral…is that designed to get back into his father’s good graces? For his lordship tells me you and whoever you marry will get all his money now.”

  “I don’t think of such things,” Jess said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “There’s no point, for he’ll change his mind again next week. Besides, it’s my belief he’ll outlive all of us!”

  Hector gave a faint, perfunctory smile, and she turned to talk to Mary instead. A few people called during the interval, including Captain Grantham and Mr. Muir. Claud, she noted, vanished from their box. She didn’t see him in any of the others, and she wondered with a certain amount of indignation if he had gone to see Antonia, right under Mary’s nose.

  When he returned, just before the play was about to begin, she stared at him, willing him to sit beside her for a moment. Although he didn’t appear to glance at her, he did unexpectedly sit in the recently vacated chair beside her.

  And before she could question him about Antonia, he said, “Everything well with you, Jess?”

  “With me? Yes, of course.”

  “Just thought you seemed a bit…unlike yourself. Wondered if you were upset about Tallon.”

  “Jon? Lord, no. The engagement was largely to please Lord Viscral, you know, and we knew very quickly we would not suit. What of your own engagement? Does it prosper?”

  He grinned and lowered his voice. “That was a dashed good idea of yours. I bought her the prettiest necklace, said it was your advice and it had to be specially set for her and everything, which explained the silly note. And now she’s quite in charity with both of us.”

  “I thought I detected a softening.”

  “Well, I hope so, for that’s my allowance gone until quarter day. I’ll barely be able to get home at this rate.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to give no more to Antonia in that case, especially in light of what Jon had once revealed about her totally mercenary ways. But she had said her piece on that score already, and the theatre was quietening for the beginning of the play.

  It was during the first act of Twelfth Night that Jess became aware of Hector’s friend gazing at her fixedly. She ignored him until he brought his chair nearer hers.

  She turned and met his gaze. “Do I have a smut on my nose? A tear in my gown?”

  “I would not care if you had. You are incredibly beautiful.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said flatly. “And you make me uncomfortable by staring.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he drawled. “I’ll limit my attention to glances.”

  “My lord—”

  “Call me Julian. My lord makes me sound like my father, may he rest in peace, although I doubt he does.”

  “Well, be quiet, you’re spoiling the play.”

  He obeyed, but only until the interval, when he edged his chair beside her and engaged her in conversation that consisted largely of his fulsome compliments and her careless denials.

  “You do know you’re boring me,” she said at last.

  He only grinned. “Then take a stroll with me in the corridor.”

  “The play is about to continue.”

  “Even better.”

  “No,” she said firmly, “it isn’t. And I won’t.”

  However, he was relentless. As the play continued, and he moved his chair behind again, she could actually feel his breath on her nape as he murmured occasional blandishments in her ear. Some of his sallies were quite amusing and to do with the play, others were compliments just a little too warm to be proper. Before she had come to Blackhaven, before she had met Jon, this might have overwhelmed her, though she doubted she would have succumbed to his flattery. As it was, she more or less ignored him. Crabby, frowning, gave him a few repelling glares that he did not appear to notice.

  At the next interval, Hector made him move on some pretext, and murmured to Jess, “Is Gaunt making you uncomfortable? Shall I send him about his business?”

  “I’d rather not make a fuss.”

  “There will be no fuss. He’s an amusing chap, but he has no idea how to stay within the lines of what is pleasing. None of the family do. It was their upbringing, of course, but I won’t have him annoying you.”

  “Thank you, Hector,” she said, surprised and not a little touched by his care. She even felt a pang of guilt for her frequent spats with him. He was family, after all. Crabby nodded her approval.

  The general conversation and visitors to the box kept Lord Julian fairly diluted throughout the interval, but as soon as the play resumed, he returned to his old place.

  “Aren’t you bored with this drivel, yet?” he whispered. “Come, walk with me. I promise you a more entertaining time.”

  “Sh-sh.”

  “I love this curve in your neck. It makes me want to kiss you, just here.” And his fingertips actually touched the side of her neck, where it joined her shoulder.

  She stiffened, leaning forward to get further away from him. For a moment, she feared he was actually moving his chair to compensate, for there was some movement behind her. But then there was only silence, and when, cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder, Lord Julian was nowhere to be seen.

  Hector caught her eye and gave a rueful half-smile. Clearly, he had got rid of her importunate admirer who was, no doubt, the fortune hunter Mrs. Francis accused him of being. Jess smiled gratefully and returned to the play.

  “Glad your cousin threw that fellow out,” Claud said as they left the theatre. “Beyond the pale! It seems what they say of the family is true!”

  “I have met Lord Sylvester Gaunt, and he isn’t remotely like that,” Jess replied.

  “He was,” Hector said wryly on her other side. “Worse because he was younger. In Blackhaven, they say marriage has been good for him.”

  “Maybe it has,” Jess said, “but I wouldn’t care to be married to Lord Julian!”

  “I’m sorry I asked him now,” Hector said. “I thought he would behave better in polite company.”

  “It’s of no moment,” Jess assured him. “I enjoyed a very pleasant evening in spite of him. Thank you, Hector.”

  Since it was a fine evening, they walked back to the hotel, where they enjoyed a late, light supper. Mary, clearly, had “forgiven” Jess, for she invited her to call the following morning. Jess, who needed company constantly to stop herself from wallowing in unhappiness, agreed at once, and they all repaired to their own rooms.

  *

  In the morning, after another somewhat troubled night, Jess breakfasted with Crabby as normal and then accompanied her uncle to take the waters. Lord Viscral was also somewhat subdued since Jon’s departure, though it wasn’t clear if
he was brooding over his absence or over his attempt to usurp the old man’s authority over the land. They were mostly silent lost in their own private miseries. But she found it an odd comfort to have him there, and he actually patted her hand once for no obvious reason.

  It was as they sat in the pump room, both drinking as if expecting miracles from a glass of water, that she overheard a remark that made her sit up straight. Bits and pieces of various conversations penetrated her reverie now and then without making any further impression, until one old lady she’d never met said to another, “It was ridiculous. I am a grown woman of intelligence, with an independence, so I took matters into my own hands and came here to Blackhaven.”

  Jess jerked up her head, frowning. She was not even sure which direction the voice had come from. And it didn’t actually matter.

  What on earth was she doing, moping and feeling sorry for herself and doing nothing? If she loved Jon, why had she let him go and assumed it was all over? Mere pride and an over-developed sense of self-protection. If Jon did not love her, could she not have tried to win him? After all, he must surely care for her to some degree.

  When had she become such a milksop that she would simply sit and let things happen to her and around her without making any effort to influence the way things should be? The way she wanted them to be. Was she not still the same person who would have tried to live independently by making a success of millinery rather than give in to her guardian’s outrageous demands?

  Love didn’t have to sap her spirit. If she wanted Jon, she had to fight for him, not let him leave without making some effort.

  She sprang to her feet, as though determined to begin this instant, and then laughed as Lord Viscral waved his glass under her nose for a refill. She obeyed him with rather more of a spring in her step—a natural one rather than the false, desperate vivacity of the last few days.

  As they walked back to the hotel, she said abruptly, “Why did you let Jon go to Viscral? To prove to him that he knew nothing? Or to see if he could succeed?”

  The old man was silent for a few moments, then he grimaced. “To see if he cared.”