by Jen YatesNZ
She’d said no. How could he have been so wrong—about the one woman he’d ever really wanted?
The ride to The Dene from the new property, Riverdene, took less than a couple of hours and he usually used the time to mull over the next stage of the improvements, but today for some reason, Angular Jane would not be budged from his mind.
Knight had told him he was in love. A harsh laugh erupted from him at the thought. He knew little to nothing about love, probably as much as Knight!
Dom and Rogue might have been better advisers on the subject, but they were in deep retreat at their country estates—with their wives.
Where he should have been!
Three months ago he’d have scoffed—loudly—at the idea of marriage for himself and yet here he was, still unable to come to terms with the fact Jane had turned him down.
Jane. She could have been waiting for him at The Dene and he’d sweep her into his arms and run up the wide Gothic staircase to the master bedroom—
Mrs. Larkin had wanted him to move from his old room into the master suite, but he’d told her he preferred his old rooms, felt comfortable there.
Truth was, the master suite wouldn’t feel right until he had a wife to share it with—and the only woman he could visualize in that bed, was Jane.
He needed to get laid. Hard and fast and any woman would do—and no part of his body responded even half-heartedly to the thought. The only woman his body wanted was Jane.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
Kicking Zeus into a gallop he flew along the winding avenue of scarlet oaks, now mostly bare skeletons against a sullen sky. There would be business matters waiting for him in his study. Vale would’ve organized and prioritized and he’d be able to take a solitary meal at his desk and work till his head dropped to the blotter in exhaustion.
‘Good timing, my Lord,’ Vale said, as lightning flashed beyond the mullioned windows as he entered the study.
‘Agreed,’ Bax responded, a little concerned he hadn’t noticed how close the storm was.
‘What have we got today, Vale?’
‘Reports from Somerset, Rosen Keep, and on the renovations to be done at the Baxendene Dower House. A letter from Lady Brisco.’
Goddam his heart! Jane wasn’t staying with Holly anymore and yet his heart almost leapt out of his chest with the thought Holly—even randomly—might mention her name.
‘Thanks, Vale. That’ll be all for tonight. Go find your hearth. Mrs. V. will be looking for you, I’m thinking.’
The older man saluted briefly and vanished out the door. There was never any ceremony between them. Vale had been his father’s steward before he was born.
Picking up Holly’s letter, he dropped into the chair and propped his heels on the desk. Swiftly breaking the seal, he spread the sheets flat, noting there were two closely written instead of her usual one sheet of hurried scrawl.
‘Dear Hades,
What have you done?’
What the fuck?
‘I scarcely know where to begin this letter, I am so angry with you.’
Holly angry with him? She idolized him!
‘I love you dearly and have always made excuses for you, believing—knowing—you were not as bad as gossip liked to paint you—or as you would have society believe.
But this time you’ve gone too far. Today I had a letter from Lady Abigail Downey, the late Lord Rotherby’s daughter. You will remember her, for the three of us, Jane, Abby and I, were frequently together.
Lady Louise, her sister-in-law married to the current Lord Rotherby, called her to Rotherby Hall because Jane was ill. Jane is never ill! Louise didn’t know what was wrong and Jane wouldn’t let her into the house, so she sent for Abby. Not even Jane can gainsay Abby!
Turns out Jane was pregnant, Hades!’
Jesus! His feet hit the floor with a thud and the wild beating of his heart lifted him right off the chair to stand shaking like a leaf. Jane pregnant? With his child? Had she known when he proposed? Frantically he tried to rethink the events of the last few months. They’d spent all but the last week of September at The Chase and it had really only been two weeks later he’d ridden to Rotherby with such confidence to ask for her hand in marriage. So, probably not. His eyes returned to the letter and he sank back onto the chair, but there was no settling the excited thrumming of his heart. Jane was pregnant.
‘Jane was in a state of depression, and not because she was pregnant, but because no sooner had she realized she might be than nature decided otherwise—and now she isn’t pregnant. And that, my dear brother, is what truly upset her. She was distraught, not because she was pregnant and fodder for scandal, but because she lost your baby!
You’re a selfish beast, Hades! Jane was a virgin. She admitted that to us one day; a thirty year old, widowed virgin. And you! Words fail me.
I know you offered marriage, but what woman wants a man with your reputation, Hades, especially if she loves you? For we know how that ends. You get her pregnant, leave her in the country, return to the city and your rakish behavior. You are no better than Papa! And if I were a man I’d call you out! I’d get Brisco to do it for me but, scoundrel that you are, you would probably make a widow of me.
Goddamn you, Hades! You always vowed you never bedded virgins.
I never thought you could do something like this!’
There was more, but he couldn’t read it for his eyes had blurred. His head hurt. His gut hurt. His chest hurt.
Jane. Fuck, he was the greatest idiot to walk the earth. Tossing the letter on the desk he reached for the bell pull, summoned Fosse and went to gaze out the window on the meticulously raked gravel driveway below and the fountain with its eternally rearing horses constantly spouting water. As it had all his life.
‘My Lord?’
‘How soon can we be ready to ride?’
‘Ride where, my Lord?’ the man asked guardedly.
‘Rotherby Hall.’
‘It’ll be dark before we reach the village, my Lord, and there’s the devil’s own storm going on out there,’ he said, waving an arm towards the window. ‘If it were daylight t’would still take about four hours. It’s black as the devil’s backside—and it’s not dark yet!’
Bax gritted his teeth, dragged a hand through his hair and tried to steady the erratic beat of his heart. Fosse was right and riding for Rotherby in the height of a storm at this time of night was adding more stupidity to what he’d already committed.
‘I’m going to get married, Fosse. You’re the first to know.’
Now why had he blurted that? Obviously he was trying to convince himself—when he still had to convince Jane.
‘Congratulations, my Lord,’ Fosse said, with the slightest rise of one eyebrow. ‘Lady Rotherby has accepted your suit after all?’
‘No, Fosse. But she will. She has to! That,’ he said, nodding at the letter on the desk, ‘is from my sister, and among some choice judgements and condemnation of my character and person, she informs me Lady Rotherby loves me.’
‘Aye, my Lord. Any fool could see that!’
‘Are you calling me a fool, Fosse?’
‘Guess I am, my Lord,’ the man admitted, and the stern, straight mouth almost crooked at one corner. A Fosse grin, by God.
‘No doubt, you will also claim to be in possession of the fact I love Lady Rotherby!’
‘Aye, my Lord. And if you’re to arrive safely at Rotherby to plead your suit—yet again—should I alert Baikie to have the carriage ready at dawn?’
‘Yes, Fosse.’
‘Any idea how long we’ll be gone, my Lord?’
‘No, Fosse.’
The man’s eyes gleamed.
‘Very good. Will that be all, my Lord?’
‘Thank you, Fosse.’
The man had reached the door when Bax turned from the window and called after him.
‘Fosse?’
‘My Lord?’
‘What would you know about love?’
The impertur
bable, staunch Fosse crumpled before his eyes and for the briefest moment there stood before him a man gaunt and ravaged by pain. Then, as if a Major Generalr had cracked out an order, he stiffened his stance, lifted his chin and cleared all emotion from his face. Once again Bax was looking at the well-trained military man who’d served his brother all his years in the army, and himself ever since.
He was wondering whether he’d imagined the lightning change of expression, when Fosse said, in his usual unexpressive way, ‘Love is the most amazing thing, my Lord—and the most painful.’
Fosse was staring past him, his eyes deep pools of darkness, and Bax briefly wondered if he should press and yet he couldn’t seem to stop.
‘Is that—experience speaking?’
‘Aye, my Lord.’ Silence crackled between them, then Fosse continued, ‘My Miranda died trying to birth our first child. After I buried them both I joined the army. I welcomed the thought of death. Captain Jason gave me a reason to live again, my Lord.’
‘I’m sorry, Fosse. That was a thoughtless question on my part. My apologies for opening old wounds.’
‘T’was a long time ago now, my Lord.’
‘But it still pains you.’
‘Aye, my Lord. T’is the nature of love.’
Their eyes met and held for a moment; a moment in which Bax felt Fosse had finally shifted his allegiance from his beloved Captain Jase. In some silent, unspoken way, Fosse had saluted him, Lord Baxendene, and pledged his loyalty.
‘Thank you. Fosse.’
He followed the man’s retreating back, then turned back to the window.
Love is the most amazing —and the most painful—thing that can happen to a man.
Wasn’t that the truth!
The storm had left the roads muddy and dangerous and though impatience, anticipation and desperate anxiety rode him, he ordered the coachman to take no risks. Today he’d respect his cattle—and staff—and act the adult his thirty-five years proclaimed him to be.
He loved Jane and was ready to embrace all being a husband and a father might demand of him. He would be the father his own hadn’t lived to be. Papa had only been four years older than Bax was now when he died. Would he have changed if he’d lived longer?
Why did men fight so hard against love? Now he’d embraced it, he understood the terror while he was still unsure whether Jane loved him or not. But if she did, there would be nothing to give him greater joy, pleasure or perfection in his life.
Only a week or two ago he’d have considered such thoughts demonstrated weakness, softness. Today he thought of loving Angela Jane and felt ten feet tall and strong beyond imagining.
He’d not be turned away this time. She would listen—and understand. This time he’d start as he should have before, by taking her into his arms and kissing her until no other outcome was possible.
And tell her he loved her.
He was visualizing the flare of fire in her eyes to match the blaze of her hair as they finally pulled up before the entrance of Rotherby Dower House. She’d not been able to disguise her reaction to him the last time he’d called, although she’d still denied him.
She’d not deny him this time.
Forcing himself to move with something approaching his usual controlled elegance, he exited the coach and banged on the door knocker.
Instead of the butler who’d admitted him on the previous occasion, a housemaid opened it. He was totally unprepared for her stilted recital of what was obviously a carefully rehearsed message.
‘Lady Rotherby is from home and if anyone needs to know her direction they should apply to Lord Rotherby at the Hall. Otherwise they could call again at some later date.’
It took him a moment to realize his mouth was hanging open and to shut it, then to snap a brief ‘thank you, before returning to the carriage.
‘To the Hall!’ he commanded the coachman tersely, as he climbed back in to settle opposite Fosse.
‘Not home,’ he growled, and fell to glaring out the window until the carriage rolled under the portico of Rotherby Hall.
Fosse sat, arms folded, expression unchanging, watching Bax from beneath hooded lids. Ignoring him, Bax leapt to the ground before the groom could assist and strode up the stairs to knock on the door and request an interview with Lord Rotherby.
Rotherby Hall was a mansion built in the Palladian style, with lofty proportioned rooms and banks of floor-to-ceiling windows giving an impression of light as well as elegance. Bax was in no mood to appreciate the ambiance.
Lord Rotherby rose from behind a huge maplewood desk as Bax was announced and after a brief startled hesitation, came round to offer his hand.
‘Baxendene! What—er—can we do for you?’
Polite behavior demanded they make pointless chitchat before coming to the purpose of the visit, but Bax was beyond the most cursory comment on something as banal as the weather. Besides which, he’d lay a monkey Rotherby knew exactly why he was here.
‘I’ve come to visit Lady Rotherby—that is, Lady Jane Rotherby and I was advised to apply to you for her direction.’
‘Have a seat, Baxendene.’
‘I’d rather continue—if you don’t mind, Lord Rotherby.’
‘Aye.—I mind,’ Rotherby said, calmly turning towards the tantalus on the credenza on the far side of the room between two banks of windows. ‘Whisky? Or brandy?’
Knowing impatience was unlikely to gain him the intelligence he wanted, he gritted his teeth and muttered, ‘Brandy—thanks.’
Albert Galsworthy was nothing like his brother, Jack, though he did bear a great resemblance to their father, as Bax remembered him from his own youth. Albert had that same steady, stern but kindly appearance. He gave the impression of solid worth and absolute integrity. Bax had a feeling he was going to have to earn the man’s confidence—and trust—before he’d learn anything about Jane’s whereabouts.
‘Now,’ Albert said, settling comfortably back into his chair and waving Bax towards the other across the desk. Taking a sip of his whisky he sat back, obviously with no intention of saying anything more.
Bax suddenly had a distinct memory of standing before the headmaster at Eton for some misdemeanor or other and the feelings evoked were uncomfortably similar to how he felt now.
Reminding himself what was at stake, he asked again, ‘Where might I find Jane?’
‘I’m not inclined to divulge that information. Jane became unwell—and reclusive—after returning from London. To the extent we sent for my sister. Abby and Jane are close. I’ve been given to understand you, Lord Baxendene, are directly responsible for both—her illness and her withdrawal from company. I also believe you’ve visited once and been turned away. Jane is a cherished member of our family here at Rotherby, Baxendene, and at present I’m feeling more inclined to call you out than tell you how to find her.’
Bax almost spat his brandy across the desk. The man was a head shorter and considerably slighter of build.
‘You’re either extremely foolhardy, Rotherby, or extremely fond of Jane.’
‘Both, my Lord,’ Rotherby surprised him by admitting with a rueful smile curving his lips. ‘Which is why I’m hoping you can assure me you’ve an honorable reason for seeking a further audience with my stepmother, a convincing reason to safely trust you with her direction.’
The bastard’s solemn blue gaze pinned him across the rim of his glass as he took another sip of his whisky.
Bax placed his glass down on the desk then rose and stomped over to the window, not that he cared or saw what was beyond the glass. He was too intent on hiding the fact he was blushing. At least he presumed he was, for his face felt hot and his body was decidedly uncomfortable. Squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw he turned back to face the man behind the desk.
He needed to discover where Jane was and get out of here. If that meant he had to admit he not only loved Jane but needed her, he’d crawl on his knees to the bastard if needs be.
‘I love Jane,’ he
snarled, if the husky, emotional way the words came out could be considered a snarl, ‘and I intend to ask her to marry me—and this time I’ll not take no for an answer!’
A slow smile crept across Rotherby’s austere features. Slapping the whisky glass down on the desk so a little splashed messily across the blotter, he rose and held out his hand to Bax.
‘I’m relieved to hear it, Lord Baxendene. Jane deserves the greatest happiness life has to offer—and if you don’t give it to her, I may still come after you with a gun. You will find her at ‘Rotherby Cottage, by the River Chelmer near Maldon. I’ll write the directions for you.’
Well into the afternoon the following day Bax finally stood before the blue-painted door of Rotherby Cottage. Built in the Elizabethan style, it was adorned with diamond-paned leadlight casements and fantastical twisted brick chimneys. The absolute serenity of the place struck him, even from his anxious position on the front step.
The door opened to reveal an older man, the butler he remembered from his previous visit to the Dower House, wearing an unwelcoming scowl. Getting to Jane was obviously not going to be easy.
‘Lord Baxendene to see Lady Rotherby.’
The man’s scowl deepened and as Bax was preparing to push him aside and enter the house anyway, a woman appeared from the back regions and he was relieved to see it was Dolly, Jane’s maid. At least that confirmed Jane was here.
‘Lord Baxendene! That’s all right, Frost. I’ll take his Lordship to our Lady.’
‘But,’ Frost protested, his already impressive scowl deepening, ‘my Lady said as we was to admit no one!’
‘She did,’ Dolly assured him with airy confidence, ‘but that don’t apply to Lord Baxendene. This way, if you please, my Lord?’
Bax needed no further invitation, and before the muttering butler could close the door in his face, he stepped into a quaint hall with a stunning coffered ceiling and followed the maid through a door at the back. Stepping from the relative dimness of the hall into the ambient light of a small, well-heated conservatory, the scent of orange blossom overpowered his every sense.
