by Jen YatesNZ
They’d spent nearly every hour of the days together and by the second week Barbara confided to Jane she wanted more; they wanted more.
They’d been sharing the upstairs suite for the past few nights and were intending to return to Purberry tomorrow, where they’d marry.
He couldn’t put off his excursion into Bedfordshire any longer. Lady Mary had said her marriage to Greave would take place in September and he wanted the boys future settled before Greave had any legal rights in the matter as their step-father. The first of September was only a couple of days away and he needed to act.
Jane was planning to return to Rotherby on the morrow, regardless how he’d wheedled to be allowed to set her up in a house in London. She’d not be accessible to him at Rotherby and he’d never wanted anything more than he wanted unlimited access to Jane. Nor had he ever wanted or needed to keep one woman for his own exclusive patronage. There’d never been any need to so confine himself or restrict his sexual adventures. Partners in lust had been too readily available all his adult life. Women were shameless in stalking a well-built man.
And he knew he wasn’t boasting when he considered himself well-built.
There was no reason to think that had changed, but the only woman he wanted was Jane. And she was leaving tomorrow. Their idyllic tryst was at an end.
Goddammit, it was time to move on, so why couldn’t he? He’d already spent more time in Jane’s bed than he had in any other woman’s. Boredom should have set in by now and yet, he doubted he’d be bored after a century in the damned woman’s bed. What the devil had she done to him?
Tonight would be their last, so she’d decreed. And that was another thing, He’d always been the one to walk away, to cry enough and move on. He could only presume he’d not been enough for her, that now she’d discovered her sensual self she wanted to explore it with other men, in other settings.
A growl started deep in his throat at the thought of Jane with other men and he hastily disguised it as a cough and continued questioning his farm steward on which fields he planned to leave fallow for the coming season.
Tonight he’d make sure however many men might come after him, Jane would never forget her first lover.
***
Whether Jane would ever forget or not, he didn’t know, but Bax knew with a deeply painful inner certainty he would never forget their last night together in the Stone Cottage. He probably wouldn’t be able to bear stepping foot in the place ever again. There was certainly no way he could sleep in that bed without being haunted by her throaty cries of sensual surrender, guttural moans and pleas for the wild release only he had ever called from her body.
That thought had him wanting to beat his chest, like a victorious warrior. Then he’d think of her offering that new-found passion to another and he wanted to smash his fist into a brick wall.
‘Are you all right, my Lord?’ Fosse asked, riding stoically at his side as always.
‘What makes you think I’m not?’ he snarled.
‘That for a start,’ Fosse answered with characteristic imperturbability. ‘And the fact your entire conversation since we left The Chase has consisted of snarls and grunts—as if you might be in pain, my Lord.’
Bax gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw and forbore to answer.
‘And you made no comment when Castleton’s fancy equipage passed us, or Arrowsmith’s, and both with a couple of fancy pieces hanging out the windows. The fact you didn’t notice the ladies probably disappointed them and no doubt confused my Lords Castleton and Arrowsmith. The moment they recognized you they whipped up their fancy nags, no doubt so the women didn’t dare leap out and into your lap—as they are wont to do.’
Typical Fosse deadpan exaggeration.
‘I didn’t notice them.’
‘No, my Lord, you didn’t. Which is why I’m asking if—something is wrong?’
Anyone else he’d have told to go to the devil in any way they fancied, but Fosse was—
Fosse had been Jason’s man for many years; was all he had left of Jase, a proxy for his twin. Sometimes he really wished Jason was here so they could talk, as they’d used to.
They’d loved and hated one another as brothers, fought each other, tested one another, fought back to back against the rest of the world, talked and listened to each other as no other ever had.
‘Wishing Jason was here actually, Fosse. Sometimes I need his straightforward way of seeing things.’
‘Aye, my Lord. Captain Jase always cut to the real stuff—beneath the sham.’
Bax had an uneasy feeling if he were here, Jase would see something in his situation with Jane he himself was desperately trying to ignore.
‘So—I’ll arrange to have Jason’s lads living at home at Baxendene and things will—feel better.’
For the briefest moment the stern, stoic expression the man habitually wore broke open to expose something else, a fleeting impression Bax could not name, or even be sure he’d seen. When he looked back again, Fosse rode more rigidly in his saddle, but otherwise seemed as inscrutable as ever.
‘I vowed on Jason’s grave to bring his sons home, to prepare them to inherit. Maurice will be the next Earl of Baxendene and Charles the Laird of Rosen Keep. I’m not looking forward to outlining my plans to their mother. Hopefully a new marriage and new children will compensate.’
He was grateful Fosse made no further comment, seeming to accept his explanation and he could drop back into his moody considerations on how he was going to change Jane’s mind. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was too experienced to believe she was faking that.
They’d left The Chase directly after breakfast, Jane in her carriage headed for Rotherby and he and Fosse on horseback up into Bedfordshire, though he’d spent most of the journey in a blue funk directly attributable to parting company with Jane with no plans to meet up in the future.
Already parts of his body were aching in protest, regardless he told himself there were still as many hungry-eyed, willing women in the world as there’d ever been. He was grateful as they approached Greave that his anticipation of seeing Jason’s sons for the first time in over a year effectively blocked his concerns the only willing woman he wanted was Angular Jane.
Chapter 17
Lady Mary received him in a small elegant sitting room obviously set aside for her private use. A game of chess unfinished on a low table as if the players had recently left it, was the only indication two young boys might occasionally spend time there.
Clearly, he wasn’t welcome. Keeping his vow to Jason’s memory might not be as simple as he’d imagined.
She’d not proffered her hand so he bowed and lowered himself to the edge of the chair she’d indicated and waited while she settled herself. Pleasantries were likely a waste of time. They both knew the boys were the only reason for his visit.
‘My nephews are well? Where are they today?’
‘Their whereabouts is not—relevant.’
Not relevant? He felt his eyebrows rise along with his hackles.
‘It’s what I’ve come for, as you must know, so I’d say it’s absolutely relevant! It’s time they learned what it is to be a Delacourte. Maurice will be my heir one day, bearing the title and responsibilities for Baxendene. Rosen Keep will be Charles’s. It’s time they at least visited their estates.’
Some sixth sense told him he’d make no headway by outright demanding guardianship, as he wanted to.
The damned woman wouldn’t look at him, studying her hands in her lap, probably hoping he’d get up and leave. What had Jason seen to make him marry her so abruptly during a short leave home? There was little color or animation about her.
Unlike Jane—don’t think about Jane!
‘My boys are not Jason’s sons.’
No animation, but—a woman capable of making the most preposterous statement in a clear, steady voice.
She might as well have turned him to stone where he sat, and when he made no response she looked up. He’d bee
n wrong about her eyes at least. A mother lioness had him in her sights.
Slowly air refilled his lungs and his brain started functioning again.
‘The devil you say! Of course they’re Jason’s sons! They have dark hair like—’
‘Maurice!’ she snapped at him. ‘Jason’s best friend.’
Maurice Ormsby? The Earl of Greave’s younger brother?
For a moment his mouth hung open and regardless her story answered some strange anomalies, he wasn’t ready yet to let go of the dream Jason lived on in the twins.
‘I would see them!’
‘There’s no need,’ she said, suddenly rising to her feet as if the interview were concluded. ‘If you apply to the Baxendene solicitor I believe you’ll discover Jason left a full disclosure with him.’
He was cold to his marrow. Yet his skin felt as if it burned and his mind was a volcano about to erupt. All that stood between him and the murderous intent roiling through him like a raging storm was one fragile, devious, lying—whore! Her neck would snap as easily as a stalk of grass in his hands—
Moving so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor behind him, he strode out of the room, down the hall and out of the house to where Fosse waited with the horses. He’d spurred Zeus forwards almost before he’d settled into the saddle, leaving Fosse to mount in a scramble and push to catch up.
Finally drawing alongside, Fosse shouted, ‘We’ll kill the horses if we ride at this pace much longer!’
‘Better than killing that bitch!’
‘Whoa!’
Fosse pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and threw himself from the saddle.
‘Better to kill me, my Lord!’ he shouted.
Bax reined Zeus in and turned to stare back at quietly spoken, staunch Fosse, standing in the middle of the road shouting at him like a bedlamite. Kill him?
‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Fosse?’ he bellowed, only half his mind on gentling the startled animal beneath him.
‘You know, don’t you? Lady Mary told you!’
‘Told me—?’
The crazy question, the damning sense of treachery, and the terrible awareness of losing Jason all over again coalesced into one ugly realization—of ultimate betrayal.
‘You knew!’ he accused, leaping as precipitately from his horse as Fosse had a moment before. ‘You fucking well knew! You’ve always known—those boys were not Jason’s!’
He was standing over the man, shouting, out of control and Fosse never moved a muscle. Stoic to the end.
Bax had another painful realization. Fosse was Jason’s man to the end, too.
Slowly the terrible desire to maim, damage, kill something drained out of him and he stumbled back to lean against Zeus, the only loyal creature left standing with Hades Delacourte. Everyone else had abandoned him—or betrayed him. Papa, Jason, Samantha—Fosse. Dom and Rogue, both married and with other priorities now. Jane—Don’t think about Jane—
‘Why—the fuck—didn’t you tell me? Did you not think I needed to know? Goddammit, Fosse! I thought the problem of my heirs was taken care of! Those lads—’
‘Were Lord Jason’s first priority—and mine, my Lord,’ Fosse cut across his diatribe.
‘How?’ Bax demanded. ‘I pay your damned wages. I’d have thought that bought your loyalty!’
Fosse’s gaze dropped to his boots, then he said quietly. ‘My first loyalty’s always been to Captain Jase, my Lord—and the lads. You—come in third—my Lord.’
Bax felt uncontrollable anger swelling in his chest again. He—came in—third?
‘Explain!’ he barked, barely restraining the desire to clench his fists and lay Fosse out on the wheel-rutted road.
‘I made a promise to the Captain, my Lord. He made me promise if anything happened to him I would honor his promise to his friend, Captain Maurice, to ensure the boys were taken care of. Captain Maurice had no idea there would be two of them. Which doubled Captain Jase’s obligation. He might not have loved Lady Mary, but he did as Captain Maurice asked, went back to England and married her. He never saw the boys—but he’d promised Captain Maurice when he was dying—and I’d promised Captain Jase. My job will only be done when Lady Mary remarries and someone else can take responsibility for them.’
‘You didn’t think I needed to know all that? I’ve been paying that woman a generous allowance because I thought—believed—those boys were Jason’s!’
‘The boys came first,’ Fosse insisted doggedly. ‘You might have left them entirely dependent on the largess of Greave, a man with a family and close-fisted into the bargain. Not a good situation for any woman—or the young gentlemen!’
Bax dragged a hand down his face, wondering what had happened to life as he’d known it. Had he been living with his head so far up his arse? Was he totally unaware?
‘You want my resignation, my Lord?’
What? Fuck! Did he? Life without Fosse? Though the man’s first loyalty was still to Jason eight years after his death?
‘That won’t be necessary—but you might want to take a couple of weeks off so I don’t succumb to the need to knock your lights out every time I look at you.’
‘Aye, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord. Shall I leave now, my Lord?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake mount up and stop ‘my Lording’ me! You can leave in the morning. We won’t make The Dene before dark now so we might as well get drunk in the next halfway decent inn we come across.’
‘Aye, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord.
To prevent himself slamming the unusually subservient Fosse to the ground, Bax mounted up and spurred Zeus forward, not bothering to look back to see if the man followed.
***
Bax hunkered down in the big leather chair in Knight’s private den and rested the half empty tumbler of whisky on his chest. Funny, he thought, though there was nothing remotely funny in his present situation, this was where he always ended up when all other strategies failed. God knows why he hadn’t simply come here first.
Going to Baxendene House had been to endure the ugliest scene he’d ever had with his mother. Like him, she’d felt as if she’d lost Jason all over again. She’d been so distraught he’d sent for Ashdown, then left the house faster than the proverbial rats abandoning a sinking ship.
He should have come here first. The Matrix Club was closed for the season, the rooms cleaned out and shrouded in Holland cloths.
Like a bear, Knight was preparing to hibernate for the winter, either holed up in this den, the only part of the London House not normally used by patrons of the Club, or at Knightsborough Hall up in Hertfordshire. Bax could only give thanks his cousin’s position in the war office kept him in town when most of the ton had already returned to their country estates.
‘Life’s a fucking game of sh—skittles.’
He was starting to slur his words. Good. That much closer to oblivion. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d passed out in this chair. Knight’s only response was a grunt so he was probably going to nod off soon, too.
‘You’d be the last one left standing.’
‘What the fuck are you blathering about?’ Knight rumbled.
Not so far gone after all.
‘You gonna tell me you’re not who I always thought you were? Like you’re really some Bonapartist spy, or something?’
‘Good Lord! What’ve you got in that glass besides whisky? I’d call another man out for less!’
‘Huh—but you’re Knight! Only legit—legit’mate son of m’Uncle March. You’re not gonna tell me thaz all bullshit, are ya, Knight?’
Knight put his empty glass aside, rested his head against the leather back of the chair and turned to stare moodily at Bax.
‘Be a good lad, Bax. If you can’t talk sense, shut up!’
‘Nah. Need to talk. Ang’lar Jane’s not here so it’s got to be you—like always. You—always you. Ang’lar Jane turned out to be a bloody virgin, for God’s sake—’
‘You took care of that—at least—I presume
you did—’
In a messy effort at affirmation, Bax waved his glass, sloshing whisky across his waistcoat. Fosse would grumble at the stain. No. He’d sent Fosse away—
‘Fosse ain’t my man. Even after all these years. Still Jason’s.’
‘Now what’re you talking about? Jason’s been dead these what? Eight years?’
‘He lied. And Fosse perpetra—perpet—kept up the lie. Cos he’d promised his bloody Captain Jase! My honorable, upright, fucking brother who let me believe all these years he’d sired two sons. Left a part of himself.’
‘What are you saying, Bax?’
Knight righted his slouching body in the chair and fixed his cousin with his dark gaze.
‘Jase’s boys—not his get. Their father was bloody Captain Maurice Ormsby. Jase only married Lady Mary so she’d not be disgraced birthing Ormsby’s brats—after he died—before he could get back to marry her.’
Knight nodded sagely, as if unsurprised by the disclosure. Then again, little ever surprised the hardened owner of the Matrix Club.
‘Often wondered why she made it so difficult for you to visit. She had to have worried you’d stop her allowance! How did you find out?’
‘She sent word she’s marrying Greave, Ormsby’s older brother. I decided it was time I demanded custody of my heirs.’
‘Ouch,’ Knight grunted. ‘And Fosse knew? You’ve dismissed him?’
‘Nah. Felt like killing him. Still do. Told him to buggar off for a couple of weeks. Might have a handle on myself by then. Fuckin’ hope so. Nothing’s like it used to be! Rogue and Dom’re married. Just you ’n’ me left. Even my bloody Mama—Holly—’
‘What the devil are you on about now?’
‘Papa sired Holly on Mama’s maid. Forced Mama to claim Holly as hers to save her being raised ill’git’mate. I was an asshole to Mama for years, believin’ she’d cuckolded Papa and he’d died—defendin’ her honor. Turns out—’
