Ever so slightly, his face darkened. “I must leave England. I must leave this place—my homeland—forever.”
Fear for him flared in her chest. “Every moment you spend here increases your danger.” Truly cognizant of their surroundings for the first time, she glanced up and down the street, then to the gate, where one of Garrett’s men watched them.
She turned up to the twilight sky, and a snowflake fell on her eyelash, clinging for a second before it melted away. “Look, it’s snowing.”
He tilted his face upward. “So it is.”
She took hold of his good arm. “Come inside with us. It’s safe and warm in the house.”
This would be Becky’s last Christmas in London. And she wanted nothing more than to say a proper good-bye to her family, with Jack at her side.
Becky’s family welcomed him into the house warily, but within moments it was as if Jack wasn’t a fugitive from the law who’d deceived their beloved sister, who’d tried to swindle them of their money, who’d hurt and betrayed them all. Amazingly, miraculously, they treated him as a member of the family. As a brother.
Becky sent for Lady Devore to join them for Christmas dinner, for the lady possessed no family in London, and Becky wanted to say good-bye. The ever-thoughtful duchess pulled Jack aside to ask after Stratford, and hearing he would be spending the holiday alone, she hastened to send him an invitation as well.
After dinner, the Duke of Calton’s family and their guests assembled in the drawing room. The duke and duchess reigned over the proceedings. Lord Westcliff and his wife, Sophie, were there, and Gary, Westcliff’s son by his first marriage. Lady Bertrice was present as well, dressed in a green gown reminiscent of the enormous tree that brushed the ceiling. Lady Devore had arrived just before dinner, and Stratford had arrived as they were eating the turkey with sage and onion stuffing and mince pie.
Jack remained at Becky’s side as if he were glued there. When she went to the wassail bowl, he followed her and fetched himself a glass as well. When she leaned toward the fire to warm her hands, he did the same. When she looked out the window to gaze out at the streetlamps casting a golden glow over the snow-covered street, he stood beside her. During dinner, at which the whole family was present, even the children, Jack asked Lord Westcliff to change seats with him so he could be near Becky. The viscount had agreed with a smile.
His sitting beside Becky had been against protocol, of course, but Jack had learned by now that this family cared very little for protocol. He rather thought they approved of his desire to sit beside the woman he loved.
After they’d retired to the drawing room, his gaze kept wandering toward the fir tree standing in the center of the room. It was brilliantly lit with tiny tapers and small wrapped gifts tied to all its branches. Becky, noticing his stare, chuckled. “Do you like it?”
“Well, yes, I do.” He turned to her. “But… why?”
“When Tristan and Garrett were boys, they spent a Christmas at court. They did not have very happy childhoods, either of them, but that Christmas, Queen Charlotte had a tree erected at Windsor Castle. It was tied all round with strings of almonds and raisins, lit with candles, and each of the children who visited was given one of the toys from its branches. Ever since, Garrett has erected a tree of his own at Christmas, to make the day special for everyone, but most of all, I think, to delight the children as he was once delighted.” She grinned. “And I think you are delighted as well.”
“I think I am,” he said, turning to her. He was delighted. By the tree, by the smell of plum pudding, by the smiles on the faces of the children. But mostly by the fact that Becky was at his side. And she showed no intention—or desire—to leave it.
She wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Finally, there were no secrets between them.
“He’ll give the children their gifts tomorrow. But for today, we just enjoy the beauty of the tree and its decorations.”
“I am enjoying the beauty of the tree, and the beauty of this night,” he said quietly. He took her hand in his and turned it over, tracing the delicate back with his thumb. “But I’m enjoying the beauty of my companion far more.”
Her smile was dazzling. “You shouldn’t flatter me.”
“Nothing I say to you is flattery, Becky. I swear on my life, everything I ever say to you from this point forward is truth. I will never insult you with anything less.”
She blinked those eyes—shaded indigo in the candlelight—at him. “Thank you.”
Stratford sauntered up to them, holding a glass of wassail. He took up Becky’s hand and kissed it, then slanted a glance at Jack. “So the truth is finally out.”
“All of it,” Jack agreed.
Stratford released a breath. “Glad to hear it.” He grinned at Becky. “The chap was madly besotted, and terrified of botching it.”
“Well,” she said quietly. “He did botch it, and rather badly. But—” she returned his smile, “—I think he’s atoned for his sins.”
“Good.” Lowering her hand, Stratford sobered. “So… you’ll be leaving England then?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “There’s no other way—not now. We need to go quickly. We’ll be leaving for Portsmouth tomorrow.”
“Where are you headed?”
“America,” Becky breathed. Jack squeezed her arm.
Stratford raised a brow. “So far away?”
“Yes. Becky’s always wanted to visit America. We don’t know if we’ll stay—maybe we’ll end somewhere else. But we thought we’d try it. Explore a little.”
Stratford didn’t respond. A melancholy expression crossed his face. “I’ll miss you, old chap.”
Becky excused herself to play a carol for the children on the pianoforte, and as she walked away, Jack asked him, “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. What will you do?”
Stratford blew out a breath. “Ah, what I’ve always done, I suppose. Sleep my days away and drown my nights in debauchery and vice.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I think you need to find a woman.”
Stratford laughed bitterly. “I have women aplenty.” He rubbed his thumb along the lip of his cup of wassail. “I don’t know how to change my life, but I’ve tried just about every woman I could, and none has changed a damn thing.”
“But you want it to change, don’t you?”
Stratford shrugged. “Not really. What for?”
Jack’s gut clenched. He reached out with his good hand to grasp Stratford’s shoulder. God, but he didn’t want the earl to end like Tom Wortingham. “Good luck, man.”
Stratford nodded. “And you, too. I daresay you’ll be needing it more than me.”
“That might be true.”
He took his leave of Stratford and headed to the pianoforte as Becky readied herself to play. Just as he approached her, the Duke of Calton asked for a private word.
Becky looked up at her brother in alarm, but Jack gave her a reassuring smile. He’d seen this coming, and he was ready for it. Her brother—her entire family—cared deeply for her, and it was his responsibility to convey the fact that he cared as deeply as they did.
Exiting the room to the opening strains of “God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen,” he followed the duke into the dark, wood-paneled study where he’d first proposed to Becky. The duke slid behind the desk and lowered himself onto his chair. He grabbed the decanter sitting on the desk’s edge and held it toward Jack. “Brandy?”
“No, thank you.”
The duke set it down. He didn’t pour himself a glass, either. “Sit, Fulton.”
Jack lowered himself into the closest chair, and keeping his injured arm pressed tightly against his chest, he placed his good hand on the arm.
“Wortingham was blackmailing you. Why?”
“I never asked him details about why he needed themoney, but he said it was a gambling debt. I just thought…” Jack closed his eyes.
“What did you think?
” the duke asked.
Jack shook his head. “As angry as I was with Tom for making those demands, a part of me understood him. I hoped that somehow… if I could get the money, I could heal him, mend his mind, bring him back to the person he once was.” He laughed without humor. “And in doing so, I could finally leave the past behind. Stupid. There was only one thing that could bring me out of my past.”
“What was that?”
Jack met the duke’s gaze. “Becky.”
Calton made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “The authorities are hunting for you.”
“Yes, they are.”
“You put us all at risk this night by coming to my house.”
“I am sorry for that.”
The duke leaned forward. He hadn’t blinked, hadn’t taken his eyes from Jack.
“Rebecca has told me everything. Everything that passed between the two of you.” He spoke very slowly. “She wishes to marry you.”
Jack nodded slowly. “I certainly hope so, sir. I wish to marry her, as well. That hasn’t changed, not since the first time we spoke in this room.”
“I’m going to make you an offer.”
Jack raised his brows. “Are you?”
“Leave this house. Leave my sister in peace, and I’ll ensure you get out of England safely. With your pockets brimming.”
Jack went stiff all over. “No.”
The duke cocked his head. “Don’t you wish to know the amount?”
“No.”
“It’s more than Rebecca will bring you.”
Jack ground his teeth. “Do you think—after all that has passed—that I want her damn money?” Rising, he thrust a frustrated hand through his hair. “God damn it.”
Steepling his hands in front of him, the duke leaned back in his chair. “It is a good offer.”
Jack stared at him, too furious to speak, not trusting himself to move.
“Think on it.”
Jack slapped his good hand on the desk and leaned forward until his nose was inches from the duke’s. “I’m not going to think on it. I don’t want your damned money or your damned freedom. I want Becky.”
The duke appeared unaffected by Jack’s show of temper. “You intend to take her away from her family. From those who love her and want nothing more than to keep her safe. With you, her happiness, her life, and her livelihood will be at risk. What man wants that for his sister?”
“Her happiness is my only priority. I will keep her safe.”
“And when have you proven that you can be trusted to do that? You have hurt her.”
“No more,” Jack ground out. “You have my word.”
“And what is your word worth?”
“It is all I have. Your sister, despite everything, trusts me. And if that’s all I ever have, that will be enough. It’s all I care about.”
“Good.” The duke straightened, and so did Jack. “Frankly, if what you told my sister is true, and you killed the Marquis of Haredowne in defense of a woman, then I cannot fault you. It is an honorable man who will go to any lengths to protect an innocent.”
“I will do anything for Becky, but I will never call myself honorable. It is not an honorable man who marries a woman in order to use her money to pay off his blackmailer.”
“Sit down, Fulton.”
Jack returned to the chair he’d occupied before, and the duke’s light blue eyes pinned him to it. “You didn’t marry Rebecca for her money.”
“I didn’t succeed. But I would have.”
“Mm. But I will never think that was the primary reason you wanted her.” Calton folded his hands on his desk. “If you lacked scruples so entirely, you would have given up on her the moment she demanded more time, right here in this room. You would have pursued and seduced someone else, or found another way to obtain fifteen thousand pounds for your old friend. But you didn’t. You wanted my sister for more than her money.”
Jack met the other man’s stare. If he’d met Becky without Tom Wortingham’s threats hanging over his head, he still would have wanted her. It had been more than her money from the very beginning. Deep inside, he’d known it all along.
Again the duke peered at Jack with those disconcerting eyes. “But do you love her? As much as you loved the girl you killed the marquis for?”
He winced. This was the hard part. He wouldn’t speak ill of Anne, and yet he wouldn’t hold her on a pedestal. He couldn’t allow anyone to think he cared for Becky any less than he had once cared for Anne, because it simply wasn’t true. “Anne was my first… she will always hold a place in my memories. But Becky is here now. She is real. She is my life.”
Calton drew back sharply, looking shaken. “I understand perfectly.”
All of a sudden, Jack understood, too. The duke had loved Sophie, Lady Westcliff, from the time he was young. But now he’d found his partner for life in his duchess.
“Look, I haven’t gone about this in the proper way,” Jack said. “God knows you cannot wish for a scoundrel, a criminal, and a liar to become part of your family. But I love your sister. Again, I would ask you to allow me the honor of becoming her husband. The deceit I engaged in—it was to my own detriment, and not only physically.” He gestured at his bandaged arm. “I will never forgive myself for lying to Becky. For hurting her.” He took another breath, this one shaky. “But by God, I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”
Calton paused, and then he said slowly, “But not in England.”
“No. A life in England… I wanted it. I tried. But it is not meant to be.”
“You must leave before the authorities learn that you have been here.”
“Yes.”
“Where will you go?”
Jack glanced away, then back at the duke, meeting his eyes squarely. “I took the liberty of arranging passage to America under an assumed name. A ship departs next week from Portsmouth.”
Calton shook his head. “You expected she would submit to this plan?”
“I hoped… I prayed that she’d find it in her heart to forgive me my sins. I couldn’t go away without being sure.” Something in him softened as he remembered the look of anticipation and excitement in Becky’s eyes when he’d drawn her aside earlier and told her his plan.
“What name will you assume?”
Jack tightened his fingers over the armrests, steadying himself. “James. Jack and Rebecca James. I hope you will not think it presumptuous of me, but I have watched your family for the past month, and it is so unlike mine. I can only hope the family Becky and I will build in America will be as strong, stable, and loving as the one you have built here in England.”
Even if it was only the two of them—if Becky was infertile as she suspected—he maintained that hope. They would build a happy life together. Each would be all the family the other truly needed. And far away, Becky would always have her loved ones in England.
The duke nodded. “No, it isn’t too presumptuous. In truth it will comfort me to know that my sister will be known by her true name. I’ve suffered her as a Fisk for four years too long. But—” the duke’s eyes narrowed, “—you will marry her properly?”
“Yes. I promise you that will happen as soon as we arrive on American soil.”
“Are you suggesting that you and my sister live in sin for the entire duration of the voyage to America?”
“Well…” Jack shifted uncomfortably.
The duke’s eyes narrowed until only the thinnest line of blue showed. “No.”
“No?”
One edge of the duke’s lips tilted upward. “The special license you obtained last month is still valid, is it not?”
When Garrett and Jack returned from their conference, Garrett called for quiet, then announced, “The curate has been summoned. Jack Fulton will marry Rebecca tonight.”
Becky’s jaw dropped. She stared wide-eyed at her brother before Kate, Sophie, and Cecelia whisked her out of the room. As they hurried out, though, Becky caught Jack’s eye. He was
smiling at her, his eyes full of love. It surged into her, through her, and she smiled, too. She still had a silly smile pasted on her face when the ladies tumbled into her room.
Becky stood in the center of her bedchamber in a blissful daze as the women bustled about.
Sophie sent for the dress she’d worn when she remarried Tristan four years ago, and that had been altered for Becky when she’d planned to marry Jack at the beginning of the month.
Josie, who’d been hurrying to pack Becky’s belongings to take with her on the voyage to America, took charge of the proceedings, ordering the other women about as if they were the servants and she the mistress. None of them cared; instead they jumped to search through Becky’s stockings drawer, her clothes press, her rack of shoes, her box of jewelry.
The sapphire blue silk Becky had worn for Christmas dinner pooled around her feet, and Becky leaned down to tuck the arrowhead Jack had given her into her garter. When she straightened, four women were staring at her, frowning, and she laughed. “It’s for luck!”
Shaking her head and muttering about the eccentricity of the James family, Kate went to her own room to find a certain hairpin that matched perfectly with the dress. The other ladies scattered around, returning to their various tasks.
As Becky tied the leather strip that held the little carved man from Fiji around her neck, Josie leaned close and whispered into her ear. “My lady, you haven’t need of anything for your flux, do you?”
Becky’s heart tumbled over in her chest. Dropping her hands, she turned slowly to her maid. “What day is it, Josie?”
“Why, it’s Christmas, of course. The twenty-fifth of December.”
Becky’s flux came like clockwork every twenty-eight days, and Josie always kept track of what day she was on in the cycle. “How many days am I late?”
“Fourteen, my lady,” the maid said primly.
“A fortnight!” She pressed her hand to her stomach and stared at her pink-cheeked maid.
Josie grinned. “I daresay it’s a good thing you’re marrying tonight.”
Becky’s breath caught. “I daresay it is.”
Kate burst in, victoriously holding up the pin she’d found. When her eyes met Becky’s, she dropped her hand. Her dark brows snapped together. “What? What is it?”
A Season of Seduction Page 30
