by Burke, Darcy
She traced her fingers along his hairline and down the side of his face to his jaw. “Well, that’s disappointing. Are you going to leave?”
“I should. Probably.”
“Seems a pity to end your visit so soon.” She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “We won’t be disturbed.” Then she bit his earlobe, and he groaned with need.
“Hoyden,” he murmured before clasping the back of her head and dragging her mouth to his, where he ravaged her with his tongue.
She ground her hips down over him, and he knew he wasn’t leaving.
He came up off the settee and flipped her to her back, settling himself between her legs. “Hmm, this is a rather small space for what I have planned.”
She inclined her head toward the far wall, opposite the garden. “There’s a chaise over here. Would that be better?”
He looked over the edge of the settee and grinned, envisioning her legs spread with her gown tossed up to her waist. “Perfect.”
Standing from the settee, he swept her into his arms. She gasped softly, then wound her arms around his neck as he bore her across the room. He laid her gently on the chaise.
“This gown has a drop front,” she said helpfully.
“How convenient. It’s almost as if you knew I was coming.”
Her eyes sparked with desire as she stared up at him. “Hope springs eternal.”
That she wanted him as much as he wanted her was devastatingly arousing and astonishingly humbling. Grateful, he kissed her and gave himself over to the light, if only for a short while.
* * *
“Miss Anne Pemberton,” Culpepper announced as Jane’s sister came into the garden room on Monday afternoon.
Anne was a couple of inches shorter than Jane, with dimpled cheeks and green-brown eyes that crinkled at the edges at the slightest provocation. Her hair was the same curly blonde, but she could never quite keep all of it in place without a hundred pins and other styling aids. She often wore a bandeau, as it kept the locks from falling in her face.
She was trailed by a woman in her middle fifties whom Jane recognized as their mother’s friend Grace Hammond. No doubt she was serving as chaperone since their mother wasn’t there. Jane had wondered if she would come when she’d invited Anne.
“Anne,” Jane greeted her sister warmly before looking past her to the chaperone. “Mrs. Hammond, how lovely to see you. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you to wait in the front sitting room so Anne and I might speak privately?”
Mrs. Hammond briefly pursed her lips, then smiled kindly, her blue eyes fixing on Jane. “Of course not. You look well, Miss Pemberton.”
“I am, thank you.” Jane was grateful for the woman’s understanding.
Once she’d gone, she turned to Anne, who’d gone to look at the Gainsborough landscape, which Phoebe still hadn’t taken to Hanover Square.
“Is this a Gainsborough?” Anne asked.
“Yes, it belongs to Phoebe, of course. As does everything here.” Jane had not forgotten that if not for her friend’s generosity, she would have nothing, not even a roof over her head. When she thought about it too much, however, she felt uncomfortable. And if she dwelled too long, she began to think she shouldn’t have left her parents’ house, for there was no expectation that Jane would ever live independently of Phoebe’s kindness. To that end, she’d begun to think of what she could do to earn money. Anthony’s sister, Sarah, owned a millinery shop. It had been a bit of a scandal at first, but she didn’t actually work there much, especially since she’d left town to have her baby. Now hats designed by Sarah were all the rage.
“It’s lovely,” Anne said, turning from the painting. “You appear quite comfortable here.”
“I am. And how are you?” She gestured to the settee and went to sit in Phoebe’s favorite chair near the hearth.
Anne perched on the settee and clasped her gloved hands in her lap. She was the picture of elegance and respectability.
“Busy preparing to wed.”
Jane noted she didn’t say anything about how she felt. “I can only imagine.” Because Jane had never been in Anne’s position and likely never would be. “I was, ah, hoping I might be able to attend.”
Anne looked down and plucked at her skirt. “Mama and Papa say no.” She raised her apologetic gaze to Jane’s. “I do ask them.”
It sounded as if she hadn’t accepted their refusal. Jane felt a surge of love for her sister. “I expected as much. I suppose that’s why I didn’t include them when I invited you to come.”
“Should I have brought them? I assumed you didn’t want me to. In truth, I assumed you were as angry with them as they are with you.”
“Angry? No.” Jane shook her head sadly. She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d hoped they were no longer angry with her. “I’m…hurt. I recently learned that there was a rumor started about me during my first Season—that I was unchaste.”
Anne’s eyes shot wide, and her jaw dropped. “Is that why you left?”
“Actually, no. I learned about it after I moved here. It certainly explained a great many things, or perhaps just one very big thing that has had repercussions ever since.”
“What’s that?”
“Why I was a failure my first Season. I had as much interest as you’ve had this year.”
“I remember that. I also remember Mama and Papa’s disappointment when you failed to wed. They’ve contrasted our two debut Seasons many times. I’m glad I’ve been able to please them.”
Jane winced inwardly. Anne had done what Jane could not. “You are the antithesis of me, it seems.” A wry smile pulled at Jane’s lips.
“Why do you do that?” Anne asked, her blonde brows pitching down. “You smile and brush away the bad. Why aren’t you angry?”
“I was, especially about the rumor. It ruined my life. Or so I thought.” Considering how happy she was with Anthony right now, that didn’t seem an accurate characterization. “Mostly, I am upset that Mama and Papa blamed me for something that was never my fault—rumor or not.”
“Upset isn’t the same as angry.”
Jane laughed softly. “No, it isn’t. But I’ve recently decided that life is perhaps too short to nurture such feelings anyway. In addition to asking you about attending the wedding, I also invited you here to see if there’s any hope that I might repair the relationship between myself and Mama and Papa. Or do you think it’s a lost cause?” She hoped it wasn’t. When she thought of Anthony’s grief over losing his parents, she couldn’t bring herself to give up.
Anne blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Papa didn’t want me to come today. Neither did Mama at first, but I told her I’d come whether they wanted me to or not, so Mama arranged for Mrs. Hammond to accompany me.”
“Because she didn’t want to come herself.”
“No.” Anne grimaced faintly. “I’m sorry, Jane.”
“It’s not for you to be sorry about. Maybe they’ll come around.” Perhaps she’d start writing to them, wear them down. To what end, though? It wasn’t as if things would go back to the way they were. They had to learn to accept her for who and what—a spinster—she was.
“Enough of that,” Jane said, brightening. “Tell me about the wedding and your betrothed. Are you happy?”
Anne nodded. “Gil is attentive and charming. And quite wealthy. Mama is positively giddy about that. She’s always saying it’s better than a title, really.”
Jane wasn’t sure she believed that, not after all the years Mama had spent drilling into Jane how wonderful it would be if she could at least wed a baronet. Which wasn’t even in the peerage. “I’m glad you’re happy. That’s really all that matters.”
“Happy…yes. He kisses well enough.”
“Anne!” Jane laughed. “How would you know that?”
Anne blinked at her. “Because I’ve kissed him.”
“Clearly. But how can you judge his skill unless you’ve kissed someone else?”
Giving Jan
e an innocent look, Anne lifted her shoulder as she turned her head to look out at the garden. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Jane recalled that Anne had said she was in love with someone earlier in the Season. “You kissed that other man?”
Anne nodded.
“What happened with him?” Jane asked. “You said you loved him.”
“There was no way we could be together.” Anne straightened and turned her head back toward Jane. “Anyway, Gil—and his kisses—will be fine.”
Suddenly, Jane felt incredibly naïve. She was three years older than Anne, and yet Anne had kissed someone first. “I didn’t kiss anyone until just this year.”
Anne stared at her in surprise. “Truly?”
Jane nodded. “A few gentlemen tried, but I never let them. That’s what makes the rumor about me so laughable.”
“I see. Well, I didn’t want to marry someone without at least kissing them first,” Anne said. “Not after…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Not after what? That other man, surely. What had gone on between them? Good heavens, Anne was far more educated about these things than Jane had been at her age! “It sounds as if you’ve more experience in kissing and whatever else than I could have imagined.” Jane thought of her own experience with Anthony, which brought a flush to her skin.
“Am I embarrassing you?” Anne asked.
“Not at all,” Jane said, waving her hand.
“Does it bother you that I’m marrying before you? That you might not marry at all?” Anne looked away, and Jane could tell she regretted asking.
“It does not,” Jane assured her. “I want you to be happy, and I’m sorry your debut was delayed because I didn’t wed.”
“Don’t apologize. I didn’t want to come out until you were married. You know that. But Mama and Papa insisted this had to be the Season.” There was a bit of resignation in her voice. She shrugged again. “So here I am.”
Something about the way she said that made Jane pause. There was almost a…hollow quality to her tone. And she glanced away again, as if she were uncomfortable.
“You’re truly happy?” Jane pressed, worried that wasn’t the case. She would hate to think Anne had been forced into both a Season and a marriage.
“This is easier than the path you’ve chosen, I’m afraid.”
Jane’s insides turned to ice. Had she driven her sister toward something she didn’t really want but felt she had to accept? “Promise me you won’t do anything you’ll regret. Your marriage will be long and unbreakable.”
“I know that, and anyway, Mama consulted Madame Sybila. The cards indicated this is an excellent match.”
“Madam Sybila?” She was a fortune-teller who’d recently gained notoriety for reading cards and palms. Jane was surprised their mother had gone to see her.
“Indeed. It’s a bit strange for Mama to do such a thing, isn’t it?” Anne’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “I was disappointed she didn’t take me along.” She stood. “I suppose I should be going.”
Jane rose and stepped toward her sister. “Maybe I’ll steal into the back of the church on Thursday in disguise.”
Anne grinned. “I will look for an old woman with a hunched back.”
“Yes!” Jane actually considered it and would thank Anthony for the suggestion.
Anne’s smile faded. “You mustn’t. I wouldn’t want Mama or Papa to see you there. The wedding is very important to them.”
To them. Anne hadn’t said it was important to her.
“I understand.” Jane went to hug her sister. The embrace was warm but brief. They said goodbye, and after Anne and Mrs. Hammond left, Jane went into the front sitting room to watch the coach pull into the square.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Anne was hiding something, that she was perhaps not happy at all. Jane’s failure had put an incredible burden on her sister—to succeed where Jane had not. What if she’d doomed her sister to a marriage she didn’t want?
Chapter 12
Anthony went into his study, where Monday’s correspondence sat on his desk. He picked through it, looking for something of interest, when his skin turned to ice. The handwriting on the last one was familiar—thick and stark.
Tearing it open, his heart began to pound.
Colton,
I require a second payment for my silence regarding your gambling debts and the resulting murder of your parents. Same place, Wednesday, the twenty-sixth of May before dinnertime. Three hundred pounds.
“Bloody fucking hell!” Anthony squeezed the parchment in his fist and dropped it to the desk.
That would make a total of five hundred pounds. He had the money—his father had left him a tidy fortune—but he wouldn’t keep paying this blackguard.
Anthony stalked to the sideboard. He reached for the brandy, desperate for some calm in his raging mind. He spun on his heel and walked back to the other side of the room.
Who the bloody hell was it? The barkeep had said he only knew that someone would pick up Anthony’s package and deliver it somewhere else. And that if Anthony stayed to see who it was, the delivery wouldn’t happen.
His hands began to shake, and he went back to the sideboard. This time, he picked up the brandy and poured it into a glass. After setting the decanter back down, he swooped up the drink. Just before he raised it to his mouth, Purcell stepped inside the door, which Anthony had left partially open.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but Miss Pemberton is here to see you.”
Jane? He didn’t want to see her right now. Not like this.
“Tell her I’m occupied.”
“I can hear that you aren’t.” She slipped into the study behind Purcell, moving to the butler’s side and standing in front of the hearth. Her gaze riveted on the glass in Anthony’s hand and then on his face, which surely looked as upset as he felt.
Purcell’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at Jane. “Miss Pemberton, I’m afraid I must ask—”
“It’s fine, Purcell,” Anthony ground out. He nodded toward the butler, whose brows rose briefly before he bowed and left.
“I’m sorry I followed your butler into your study, but I needed to see you. I didn’t imagine you’d turn me away.” She frowned at him.
“What do you want, Jane?” He raised the glass to his lips.
She stepped farther into the room, moving toward him. “Why are you drinking?”
He lowered his arm partially. “It’s late afternoon. Why does it matter? As you know, I often drink.” Irritation blistered through him. He didn’t want her here. He wanted to be alone with his anger.
“Yes, but from the look of you, there is some reason.” She stopped just in front of him. “Tell me.”
“It’s nothing.” He tried to school his features into a careless expression, but he feared it was impossible. He was too enraged.
She took the glass from him and pivoted, going back to the other side of his desk. “It’s clearly not nothing.” She sipped the brandy.
“Now you’re going to drink it?”
“I’ll give it back to you when you tell me why you’re upset. Don’t lie to me, Anthony. I know you well enough to recognize when you’re angry. Or hurt.” She lowered her voice, her gaze caressing him. “Which is it?”
He didn’t want to tell her about the extortion. What he’d done was bad enough, but now this was bringing everything back up, making it the present instead of the past. And how the hell was he supposed to bury that?
She looked toward his desk, her gaze landing on the rumpled parchment. “What’s that?”
Dammit. He strode to the desk and, from the flash in her eyes, realized he’d cursed aloud. He picked up the letter and folded it. “Nothing.”
She set the glass down. “I’ll leave you to your brandy, then. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Turning, she took a step toward the door. Anthony reached for her, his hand closing around her forearm. “Don’t go. Why did you come? Why do you need to se
e me?”
She pivoted, her expression a mix of hurt and disappointment. It nearly broke him. He couldn’t do that to her, not when he did it to everyone else.
He let go of her arm. “It’s an extortion note.” He handed it to her so she could read it.
She opened the paper, looking at him in question. He gave her the barest nod, then watched as she scanned the paper, her eyes widening and her lips parting. The precise moment she reached the end was clear: she swore.
“Bloody hell, Anthony. What is this?” She waved the paper. “Never mind, I know what it is. Who is this?”
“I don’t know.” Or maybe he did. He needed to think.
“You already paid them?”
“The day I came back from your house. Two hundred pounds.” The words flowed from him. It felt good to release them. “This is the second demand.”
“Oh, Anthony.” She went to him and put her hands on his chest.
“I was out of time. The letter had been here for who knows how long—while I was at your house. I had to make the payment that very day, or he would reveal my terrible secrets.” All of them.
“How would he do that? Or she—since you don’t know who’s behind this.”
He couldn’t imagine it being a woman. And the only man he could think of was the Vicar.
How would he reveal Anthony’s secrets? Admittedly, Anthony hadn’t thought through the specifics. He’d been too worried about not getting to the Stinking Sheep in time. “I don’t know. But the first letter said everyone in London would know of it. Maybe he was going to publish it in one of the papers.” Anthony felt sick.
She pressed her hands into him, then clutched his lapel in her hands, drawing his attention to her instead of the nausea swirling in his belly. “You can’t keep paying this person. Can you go to Bow Street?”
He hadn’t thought of that. And he should have. One of Marcus’s good friends was a Runner. He could likely help Anthony.
