The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12) Read online

  On the whole, he was inclined to believe her. Moreover, if her life was as dull as the gray gown and pelisse she wore this morning, she had his sympathy. Only her hat supplied a hint of brilliance, with its jaunty white plumes and rather charming shape on the side of her glossy brown head. If she had truly made it herself, perhaps she did have a talent.

  Barnaby remained in the shadows, unmoving as they passed, the old man complaining and the girl soothing in a light, almost automatic manner. Only reluctantly did Barnaby transfer his gaze from one to the other.

  The old gentleman had aged. His hair and whiskers were white rather than gray. New lines of ill health, or perhaps simply discontent, had formed around his eyes and mouth and his jowls were pronounced, sagging more than Barnaby recalled. But his step was firm, his frown ferocious, his whole air one of command. He was not dying.

  Relief flooded Barnaby. More than that, happiness surged just from laying eyes on the old devil. He almost leapt to his feet to stride over there and seize the stubborn old hand. And then, as though sensing the emotion Barnaby hadn’t bargained for, his father’s head snapped round and their eyes met and held.

  Beyond the old man, the girl’s face turned crimson, her eyes spitting with outrage that he dare come anywhere near her.

  *

  Jess, finally noticing her uncle’s unnatural stillness as he stood staring at the sofa to the far right of the front door, followed his gaze and discovered the young man, Captain Barnaby, who had betrayed her trust. She had liked him, confided far too much, and he had treated her as though she were that courtesan in the red gown who had clung around his neck and taken his money.

  How dare he? she fumed for the hundredth time since she had last seen him. That she had left herself open to such insult by even being in such a place, let alone remaining there and talking to him, only made her angrier. Shame and fury mingled as she glared at him, silently forbidding him to come anywhere near her.

  Apart from anything else, she should not have acquaintances unknown to her uncle.

  “Come Uncle, let us go up,” she managed, taking his arm.

  But he seemed not to hear her. Alarmingly, his gaze was locked with Captain Barnaby’s, and he was smiling with triumph.

  “Ha! I knew you would come!” he crowed.

  A horrible suspicion began to form in Jess’s mind. She tried not to give it credence. But Captain Barnaby’s lips curved into a rueful smile as he rose and strolled toward them.

  “Of course,” he said. “I had to see that you weren’t about to turn up your toes. Since you aren’t, I felicitate you.” He flung out one careless hand, surely the gesture of an acquaintance rather than a son.

  Her uncle stared at it, then slowly clasped it. For an instant, the two hands clung together, then the old man tugged free. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.” And turned away.

  Jess felt sick, her worst suspicions confirmed. This was her cousin, Jonathan Tallon, whom she was supposed to marry. Not Captain Barnaby. He had lied to her, weaseled himself into her confidence, and insulted her. And now she had to face the fact that he knew all her plans and could stop her by lifting one little finger.

  “Sadly, you won’t,” Jonathan Tallon said casually. “I can’t stay. I am glad to see you well, sir. Goodbye.”

  Fresh indignation arose, now on her uncle’s behalf, especially when she glimpsed the defeat, the hopelessness in his old eyes, dulling the sparkle that had been there since they’d left home for Blackhaven.

  “I’ve thought you many things since I came to Viscral Hall,” she burst out to Cousin Jonathan’s retreating back. “But I never before took you for a coward!”

  As though surprised by her outburst—as was the doorman and the maid scurrying past with a shawl in her arms—Jonathan halted and glanced back over his shoulder.

  “My ward,” snapped the old man. “To whom I’d have introduced you if you’d had the courtesy to stand still for longer than ten seconds.”

  Unexpectedly, the young man’s face flushed slightly. It was not just her uncle who was on edge over this reunion. Interesting.

  Surprising her again, Jonathan turned and walked back to them. His bow was graceful, his face unreadable. “Forgive my brusque manners. It seems I have been at sea too long.”

  “Miss Fordyce, my ward,” her uncle bit out. “Jess, my graceless son, Jonathan Tallon.”

  Her breath caught. Damn her foolish temper! She should never have called him back. Now he would say they had already met, and the cat would be well among the pigeons. He had no reason to be merciful—she had called him a coward.

  She gazed up at him with defiance, and for an instant, he stared back, rigid with dislike, though whether for her personally or for the whole situation was impossible to guess. Both, probably.

  Then his lips twitched. He bowed again. “Your servant, ma’am, contrary to my recent behavior.”

  Was that an apology? A reference to last night, or to this morning? “Mr. Tallon,” she said distantly.

  Which is when her uncle stomped away, throwing over his shoulder. “Oblige me by escorting my ward to our rooms.”

  Through her own mingled dismay and hope for a reunion between father and son, she was aware of the intense, contradictory expressions chasing across Jonathan’s face, much too quickly for her to read.

  Then, with a hiss of rueful laughter, he dropped his gaze to hers once more and he offered his arm. “We have probably provided enough public entertainment for one day. Allow me to oblige my father for once.”

  She was very tempted to sail regally past him, but there were indeed other curious guests in the foyer, and further spectacle was quite undesirable. Laying the very tips of her fingers on his sleeve, she walked briskly toward the stairs in her uncle’s wake. Jonathan kept pace with her easily, his own strides long and unhurried.

  “You knew,” she said between her teeth as they reached the staircase. “You knew who I was all along.”

  “Not all along, but I guessed quite soon.”

  “And so, you lied to me.”

  “Not really. I have been Barnaby for the last seven years.”

  In spite of herself, she was intrigued all over again and had to remind herself she was angry with him. “Will you tell him?” she ground out.

  “If he asks.” He glanced down at her and his lips quirked. “He won’t ask.”

  She lifted her chin. “Why?”

  “Why won’t I tell tales on you?” His eyes were laughing again. “Because I want to see what you’ll do, of course. That is a very fetching hat.”

  Speechless, she walked on. She was sure Lord Viscral was well aware of them catching up in the first-floor hallway, but he never turned or made any remark to them as they followed him through the already-open door to the sitting room. Holmes, Lord Viscral’s middle-aged valet, held the door, his eyes threatening to pop out of his head, his jaw dropping quite ludicrously.

  “Mr. Jonnie,” he gasped.

  “How are you, Holmes?” Jonathan said casually, giving the old servant an apparently affectionate slap on the back.

  “Very well, sir, and all the better for seeing you! Oh my…”

  “For the love of God,” Lord Viscral exploded. “Why must everyone pretend to be surprised? You all knew he was coming.”

  “Not until dinner, I apprehend,” Jonathan said wryly.

  “I’ll take a glass of sherry, Holmes,” his lordship snapped. “Jonathan?”

  “Thank you,” Jonathan said politely, just as Crabby emerged from the bedchamber she shared with Jess.

  Surprised to discover a guest, she scowled and marched up to Jess, determined to do her duty as chaperone.

  “The governess,” his lordship said casually, waving one hand in Crabby’s direction and displaying, Jess thought indignantly, exactly where his son learned his ill manners.

  “My companion, Miss Crabtree,” Jess said severely. “Crabby, his lordship’s son, Mr. Tallon.”

  Crabby’s short-sighted eyes widened,
and she fixed her spectacles more firmly to her nose. “Indeed? Well!”

  “Oh, for the love of…” Viscral began testily, but, fortunately, was distracted by Holmes thrusting a glass of sherry into his hand.

  “Miss Crabtree,” Jonathan said with a bow. “Is this your first visit to Blackhaven?”

  Crabby almost didn’t realize he addressed the question to her. Her eyes widened and she barked, “Yes!” with excessive shortness, even for her. Realizing it, she scowled blackly. “Yours?”

  Jonathan blinked, although a gleam of enjoyment had begun to seep into his eyes. “Actually, no, I have been here several times before. My ship docks frequently at Whalen.”

  “Ah.” Crabby’s brow cleared. “Then that is why—” Encountering Lord Viscral’s glare, she broke off in confusion.

  But of course, it was indeed why they had come to Blackhaven, why his lordship had chosen the town for his reunion and his ultimatum.

  “I’m sure it is,” Jonathan said smoothly. To Jess’s surprise, he placed a chair for Crabby, who all but stumbled into it in shock, before turning to receive the glass of sherry. “Thank you, Holmes.” His gaze met his father’s. “To what are we drinking?”

  “I’ll drink your health if you drink mine,” Lord Viscral said wryly.

  “Happily,” Jonathan said, raising his glass. “And that of your household.”

  Lord Viscral emitted a crack of laughter before he drank. “Collecting allies, Jonnie?”

  “Do I need them?” Jonathan asked mildly. “What attack are you planning?”

  “Why would I attack my own son?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d say there is precedent between us, but I wouldn’t want to start a quarrel.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” the old gentleman mocked. His face was more animated than Jess could remember.

  “So, are you going to tell me why I’ve been summoned?” Jonathan asked. His gaze brushed against Jess. “Or am I supposed to wait until dinner?”

  “Patience was never your chief virtue,” Lord Viscral observed.

  “Then tell me now, for I really should return to Whalen this afternoon.”

  “Important business?” Lord Viscral asked with a shade of contempt.

  “Indeed.”

  “For Captain Alban?” The contempt was more pronounced now.

  “As you say.” Jonathan’s voice, like his eyes, had hardened, as though in warning.

  “Then it’s true.”

  “That I sail under Alban? Of course it is. It’s how you found me, isn’t it?”

  “Captain Alban?” Jess exclaimed. “But he is a hero! He took on the French fleet with two merchant ships, and won! Plus, has he not recently been revealed as a gentleman, and married the Duke of Kelburn’s daughter?”

  “It’s not so much the man’s recent history that concerns me,” her uncle snapped.

  “I expect it’s the fact that the captain actually worked for his living,” Jonathan explained to her kindly. “As do I. Such industry sticks in my father’s craw.”

  Viscral’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, it does. But not as half much as the damned piracy!”

  Jonathan waved one dismissive hand. “Mere rumor and never proved, let alone charged against him or any of his officers.”

  “Of course, Captain Alban has his own fleet, and you one of his vessels.”

  “The Albatross,” Jonathan said, and in spite of his deliberately casual manner, Jess glimpsed his pride in his ship and his achievement.

  Perhaps the old man did, too, for he sat back in his chair and took a thoughtful sip of his sherry. “You must have worked hard at it,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll be honest, I never thought you would stick at it. I thought you’d be home in two weeks when you ran out of money. And when I heard you were at sea, I thought you wouldn’t last the first voyage.”

  “I nearly didn’t,” Jonathan said humorously. “It was to the West Indies, and I nearly died of fever there. But here I am. Whatever doesn’t kill you, they say, makes you stronger.”

  The old man snorted. “I never heard anyone say such fustian. Whatever doesn’t kill you, probably weakens you!”

  Jonathan shrugged, meeting his father’s glare with the faintest smile on his lips. “I am not weak.”

  His father looked him up and down. “No. No, you’re not.” He sipped his drink and waved the glass impatiently. “Sit, damn you. You make us all uncomfortable looming over us like that.”

  Jonathan’s lips quirked, but without fuss, he lowered himself onto the sofa.

  “You married?” Lord Viscral barked.

  Jess groaned inwardly. As though feeling her tension, Crabby caught her hand and squeezed. Wait until you meet him, she’d advised Jess. It could be the perfect thing for you.

  Well, she had met him, and her opposition was redoubled. As, no doubt, was Jonathan’s. Only Jess didn’t want the quarrel between father and son to continue. Their eyes were locked together.

  “Married?” Jonathan repeated. “Yes. Four years ago.”

  Chapter Three

  It was such a perfect answer; it took Jess’s breath away. She laughed.

  Her uncle’s stunned, yet furious gaze whipped across her and landed back on his son. “Who?” he barked.

  “Izlan,” Jonathan said mildly, although his expression was closed and quite unreadable, “the daughter of Ahar—”

  “You married a damned heathen?” Lord Viscral exploded.

  Jonathan’s eyes were like flint. Jess could almost have believed him. “I married a follower of Islam, under both those and Christian rites. There is nothing damned about her or our marriage.”

  Lord Viscral’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair. His knuckles shone white. “Damn you, sirrah, have you no concept of what is due to your family?”

  “Why yes, but I doubt it accords with yours.”

  “Clearly!” Viscral drew in an unsteady breath. With a clear effort, he relaxed. Perhaps he suspected the lie. “Is she here with you? In England?”

  “No.”

  Lord Viscral smiled fiercely. “Of course she isn’t. I’ll have it overturned.”

  “No,” Jonathan said. “You won’t.”

  Crabby’s grip tightened as though she expected another outburst, but the old gentleman only smiled faintly.

  “Perhaps not,” he agreed pleasantly. “Perhaps you have children to consider.”

  Jonathan drank and set down his empty glass. “No. No children.”

  Glancing from son to father, Jess doubted anyone could guess what went on in either head. She certainly could not.

  Crabby shot to her feet. “Shall I order luncheon to be sent up?” she asked brightly.

  “Hmm.” Lord Viscral considered. “Perhaps you will join us, Jonathan, since you can’t favor us this evening?”

  “I shall be honored,” Jonathan replied unexpectedly. “And perhaps, after luncheon, my cousin Jessica would join me for a walk around the town.”

  Jess stared at him. Now, what is he up to?

  “Perhaps she will,” Lord Viscral agreed complacently.

  “Who knows?” Jess said airily. She would have preferred to refuse, but in fact, she needed to talk to Jonathan, at least to find out what he was up to and whether or not he meant to drop her in trouble with his lordship. At the moment, despite his deceit and insulting behavior last night, she could almost believe he meant to help. Or at least not hinder.

  *

  Luncheon, taken in the privacy of their sitting room, would have been a pleasant meal because Jess asked Jonathan about his travels. The ensuing discussion was fascinating to her and to Crabby, whose lack of social grace all but vanished as she joined in the conversation with intelligent questions and knowledgeable descriptions of her own.

  Unfortunately, Lord Viscral chose to interrupt the peace. Without warning, once Holmes had left the room, he broke into Crabby’s comment.

  “I had a proposition for you,” he said across the table to his son.
<
br />   Jess tensed.

  Jonathan met his father’s gaze. “You’ll restore me to your will if I come home?”

  “I never removed you from my will,” Lord Viscral said impatiently. “So, really, you had no reason to take a pet and run off to sea.”

  “I had every reason,” Jonathan disputed, his smile provoking. “I’ve had so much fun.”

  “And you wish to carry on with this…fun? Answering to the beck and call of Captain Alban until you are old or he dies and leaves you to the mercy of his heirs? Or would you rather be your own man at last, and look after your own land, your own people?”

  “You don’t look to be at death’s door to me. They are your people, your land.”

  “Yes, they are,” Lord Viscral agreed. “I’m not dead yet. But neither will I live forever. You should come home and learn your role. You will make a good viscount in the end.”

  “I’m flattered. And I believe Izlan will make a wonderful viscountess.”

  A spasm crossed Lord Viscral’s face. “You will be the viscount when I die. No one can change that. But I can choose where to leave the rest of my fortune. Most of it is unentailed, as you know.”

  “Of course, you must do as you see fit,” Jonathan said with a careless shrug.

  “I will. It’s a pity you married the heathen. For I was going to keep you in my will as my chief heir, provided you married Jess.”

  Jess wished the ground would swallow her. But Jonathan didn’t even look at her. His gaze was locked with his father’s. “That would always have been an infamous proposition.”

  “Infamous how? She needs to be provided for, and I have no desire to break up the estate.”

  “Give her a season in London,” Jonathan said unexpectedly. “Rich men will drop at her feet, and she can choose her own husband.”

  Jess stared at him with shocked respect.

  “The world does not work that way,” Lord Viscral snapped.

  Jonathan shrugged. “Sometimes, it does. Especially if you give her a dowry.”

  “Taken from your inheritance?”