Yes, he was tucked away in Devon with his countess but this was surely a grave enough situation to warrant a brief disruption of his domestic bliss.
* * * *
The creak and roll of the ship had become familiar and comforting. Rebecca stretched herself out, naked on the large bunk that dominated the cabin.
But he didn’t notice.
He was sitting by the little stove that provided them heat, staring into his mug of steaming coffee and whisky.
Feeling suddenly foolish, Rebecca crawled under the coverlet and drew it up to her chin.
He was frowning now.
“Goodness, Jon, what ever is the matter?”
“I was just thinking about my title, this damned marriage business…all of it.”
“Most men would consider themselves quite lucky and would be looking forward to skimming the cream off the marriage mart.” She made her voice light and teasing.
The crease between his eyes deepened. “God.”
“It’s not a death sentence.”
“Not quite at least.” He placed his cup on the floor then his boots echoed on the floor planks as he approached. He sat on the bed then ran his hand over her stomach through the coverlet. “If a man and a woman were lovers but they were also friends, don’t you think they could make a go of a friendly marriage? I mean as long as everything was spelled out. His expectations. Her expectations.”
He was speaking of himself and Lady Maria Waterbury. She couldn’t condone or encourage his union with that she-devil. So she shook her head. “It sounds dreadful to me. A recipe for disaster.”
“You really believe that?” His gaze searched hers so deeply. It gave her chills. But she held her ground and nodded.
“Absolutely.” She knew no other way to protect him from Maria’s clutches. And she knew his fear of female jealousy. “Sooner or later, jealousy would be bound to rear its ugly head.”
“Even if the two people entered that marriage expecting no more than what they had at the beginning.”
“Pride alone would ensure disaster. When a mistress becomes a wife, her thinking changes.”
“I cannot believe that you think this. Surely, you cannot apply this to yourself.”
How better to persuade him of her truthfulness. “Yes, I am telling you this because I possess a woman’s heart. I know a woman’s mind. Such a marriage sounds absolutely dreadful to me. No sane woman would sign on for such a dubious duty.”
Rebecca startled awake then stared dumbly at her surroundings.
Oh yes, she was in a rented room at a tavern in Devon. Cotton-mouthed, she twisted a stray lock of hair round and round a finger.
God, but she was exhausted. She hadn’t slept more than three solid winks last night. Not only had she been disturbed by nightmares of gaol but the man in the chamber next to hers had been dreadfully ill all night and the walls were apparently thinner than paper.
Her sympathy had warred with her common sense and she had longed to go and ask if the poor man if he wished for help. But she was a lone woman in a strange tavern and men didn’t usually want others to witness their weaknesses.
She had contacted Jon, last night before she had gone to bed. And he had sent a note early this morning telling her that he would come here after taking care of some business he had in town.
He would be here soon.
Oh Lord…
The bread and tea she’d consumed for breakfast had begun to churn in her stomach.
What did she expect from Jon?
That he would tell her to lie and testify in the House of Lords that he had, whilst in her presence, engaged in sodomy with another man?
Of course not.
It would ruin them all and could very well sentence him to hang.
But what could he tell her? Nothing that she didn’t already know.
She had one and only one option. She must assume a new name and run to America. Or maybe Australia.
But she’d never been to Australia.
At least she knew better what to expect in America.
Hadn’t she said that things had been too boring since the war had ended?
Was she so settled in her ways that she couldn’t face a little adventure in her life?
But what about Edwin?
He would marry and have children. She wanted to remain in England to be a true grandmother.
Oh, but if she were tried and convicted of murder, she would ruin Edwin’s chances to keep his position and even be successful enough to wed and sire children.
A knock sounded at her door.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
Now. Soon. She’d have to tell him about Maria and the whole dreadful situation.
Or decide not to tell…
“Come in. It’s unlocked,” she called out.
What the devil was she going to do? She chewed her lip as she watched the door open with a slight squeak.
Jon entered and closed the door behind him. His hair was styled in perfect disarray, as always. His clothes, a blue coat and buff trousers, were expertly tailored and made of the finest cloth. His Hessian boots were highly polished.
There was nothing amiss with his appearance.
And yet, today he suddenly seemed…different.
He sat beside her. “Good afternoon, Rebecca.”
She nodded. “Jon.”
He leant against the wall. “What’s this great matter you must discuss with me?”
She told him, in halting words.
He stared at her for several moments. She wondered if he had even heard her. And then a smile crossed his thin, hard mouth. But his eyes remained distant, removed from the moment.
She’d seen that smile before. Seen him give it to other people when he was bored or preoccupied. He had never before given it to her.
It was like a strike in the damned heart, that’s what it was! Here she was, terrified out of her wits by Maria’s threats. Scared for him. Not knowing what to do or where to turn.
But it was apparently all he could do to give her the time of day to inform him.
Rebecca could hold back no longer. “Jon, she means to see you hang!”
His smile changed then, his vivid blue eyes coming alive. “Oh, my poor Becky.”
He came to sit beside her.
She waited for that breathless, tingling awareness of him. Of his masculinity so near to her.
Nothing came.
Not even when his familiar cologne and masculine scent wafted to her.
“Put the matter from your mind,” he said firmly.
“She threatened to see me hang. How could I possibly just put that from my mind?”
“You are really taking her threats seriously?” He studied her for a moment.
She should tell him that Stephen had installed a spy in the Ruel household. But something held her tongue. Loyalty for a lover of just one night? Not likely. A concern for Stephen’s safety?
Perhaps.
She chewed her lip.
She should tell…
Jon took her hand. He must feel its cold clamminess. He sighed. “You are taking her seriously. Listen to me, put the matter out of your mind. I shall deal with Maria Seymour. Once I am done with her, she will not dare threaten you again.”
She sighed.
“Well, if all else fails, Becky, you can testify against me and say whatever you must. I shall hire the best of solicitors and have you declared a mad, jealous former mistress.” He grinned.
“Please don’t jest.”
“Oh, don’t worry.”
She stared at him blankly. She couldn’t believe this was all he had to say. And she didn’t feel one whit safer for having come to see him and having told him all.
“Now what are you doing, sitting here all alone in this dreary room?” he said, smiling again. “You should come to our house for supper tonight.”
“I would not feel comfortable doing that.”
“There will be no grand visitors there. Just the ch
ildren and the dogs.”
“And your lady.”
“She will not mind hosting you in the least. I suspect she is growing weary of my sole companionship.”
“She doesn’t seem the type to crave entertaining visitors, especially not your former mistress.”
“People do not understand her.” He leant closer. “But you must promise me, not to mention any of this business about Maria and her threats to Lady Ruel.”
“Oh goodness! As though I would dare!” She was really growing vexed with his whole demeanour. And then the smell began to overwhelm her. She couldn’t help wrinkling her nose.
He raised his brows. “Is this the way you greet an old friend?”
She frowned and leaned away. “I am sorry, Jon. I can’t help it. You smell like vinegar…or sour milk.”
Jon glanced down at his left shoulder and brushed his fingers over the wool. He grinned. The same blinding smile of white teeth against slightly tanned skin. But somehow not the same. “Viscount Midhurst burped and upchucked a bit of his breakfast on me, just as I was leaving. I was already far too late.
In the carriage, on the way to my meeting, I sopped it up as best I could.”
He pulled a pair of spectacles out of his coat pocket and put them on. It drew her attention to the dark puffiness around his eyes. There was a certain drawn look to his features.
“You’re not sleeping well?” The words left her lips before she could think. She was perhaps spending too much time with patients as a midwife and a nurse.
He glanced up. A slight smile softened his thin, hard-looking mouth. “An infant lives at my house. Of course I am not sleeping well. Five hours’ solid sleep is something I only daydream about now.”
That must mean he slept with his lady wife. Otherwise he’d be in his own chambers and undisturbed by nannies and crying babies. She never would have suspected Jon of being that sort of noble husband.
She remembered that last time the Countess of Ruel had come to the shop. How her skin had been sallow and dark half-moons lay beneath her bloodshot eyes. How it had tweaked Rebecca’s sympathy.
“Not much sleep for Lady Ruel either, eh?”
“None at all for her it seems at times.” He grinned.
Ha! As though that were something to find amusement in.
Well, easy for him to laugh, he could always retreat to his own private chambers and sleep the daytime hours away, then escape to the House of Lords in the evenings.
Lady Ruel wouldn’t have the same options.
Rebecca had seen so many—too many—noblewomen made old and infirm before their time from trying to bear their lord a son and heir, through a string of daughters or repeated miscarriages.
And even when they had delivered a healthy son, the whole business started over to produce the necessary spare.
Would he have treated the overproud Maria like this? No, that bitch wouldn’t have borne it. Instead, he had stumbled upon a dedicated mother for his children and yet he seemed determined to take advantage of that very dedication to motherhood.
She had thought Jon was different. He wasn’t different at all!
Irritation cracked down Rebecca’s spine, a feeling that had been growing since the moment he’d entered the chamber. “You are careless.”
He looked up and lifted his brows. “Careless?”
“Yes, you’ve grown careless.” She took a deep breath. “When I was staying at Eastwood Place a year ago and you were with Lady Ruel at that dilapidated cottage—”
“Applecroft Grange?”
“You have named that ramshackle hovel?”
He frowned. “It is far from dilapidated. I have spent a small fortune refurbishing that place.”
“I saw your lady, on that-that—monstrous stallion you gifted her with, riding across the meadow hell-for-leather.”
Jon smiled, ever so slightly. “Perhaps she was out of sorts.”
“With what?”
“With the master of Applecroft Grange, with life.” Jon’s smile widened, growing a little wistful. Beneath that, she could feel his laughter. Oh, how he always, always minimized life’s difficulties. But to laugh at the burdens of a young wife and mother, his very own lady. Rebecca couldn’t believe her ears or her eyes.
A flare of anger burned through her. Was he really so unconcerned?
“A young woman, a delicate highborn lady, shouldn’t be encouraged to behave so recklessly. And what’s wrong with you, gifting her with such an animal?”
He sobered and sat straighter, losing the casual, careless air that had so provoked her. He was taking Rebecca’s words seriously, instead of simply brushing her off and taking his leave. Something she knew he’d allow few people.
She was aghast that she’d taken advantage of that regard between them. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself, she crossed her arms over her chest and returned his look steadily. “Why would you do something so careless in regard to your lady?”
“She said she wanted a more powerful horse.”
“So, you just give in to all her whims?”
“If such a whim is harmless, why not?”
“Harmless? She could break her neck.”
“She’s an excellent horsewoman. Her father raised horses and she grew up on a side-saddle. I have no worries.”
“It’s not proper!”
“We were in the country. There was no one to see.” He frowned at her. “At least I thought there was no one.”
“I don’t know you anymore. I thought you had better sense.”
“You must understand. She has spent so much of the past few years cooped up, confined with bearing my children. And before that, she was imprisoned by her trauma from that accident. She loves to ride. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to run a little wild now and again?”
“She’s just a girl—”
He scoffed. “She’s hardly a girl.”
“She’s isn’t even thirty, that’s girl to me.”
“She’s done a lot of living. She’s not the typical Mayfair young lady.”
“You are older than she is and her husband. I would think you’d show some sense and give her some guidance.”
“Enough, Rebecca.” Jon’s voice was lazy, once again resounding with amusement. But his look…
Oh, Lord, she was lucky not to burn to cinders on the spot.
Rebecca glanced down at her hands and folded them. Her palms were sweating. Really, what had come over her to speak to Jon like that?
Outside, someone broke into song, the off-key sound carrying on the breeze through the partly opened window.
“Good Lord, Rebecca.” Jon’s voice rang with vexation. ”You sound like a woman twice your age.”
“I was merely concerned. The last time she came to my shop, she looked rather careworn. It occurred to me that three births in four years is quite a burden for a lady of such delicate nerves. You gentlemen seem to think only of your own need for heirs. And you apply such thoughtless pressures on your ladies.”
He gaped at her. “I cannot think what I have done to lower your estimation of me to such a level that you could ever believe I would force a pregnancy on my wife. However, it is a private matter and one I won’t discuss any further.” He frowned. “What’s come over you?”
She blinked several times and realized that she was allowing her tense nerves over the situation with Maria to get the better of her. Jon’s amused acceptance of the whole matter hadn’t helped.
And she was still haunted by young Lady Beck’s death.
“She throws herself too passionately into the endeavour of the children’s care. She will not delegate enough to the nursery staff,” Jon said, betraying his earlier assertion that it was a private matter that he wouldn’t discuss. There was no denying the pride in his voice. A somewhat wistful smile softened his expression. “Was she really riding ‘hell for leather’?”
Renewed irritation flashed through her. “It amuses you, does it?”
He gaped at her a moment. “Wha
t the devil is plaguing you? You’re not acting like yourself.”
“I still cannot believe you would ever be so careless with her safety.”
“You don’t know what she went through, how she had to fight to overcome her fear of horses.” He jolted to his feet and strode to the door.
He stopped and whirled on her. “What of you?”
Her mouth dropped open and she placed her hand to her bodice. “What of me?”
“Why do you insist on dressing like-like—” He waved his hand. “A little church mouse.”
Her mouth dropped open and she glanced down at her light brown muslin gown. “I do not dress like a-a church mouse.” She lifted her chin and glared at him. “And what can it possibly matter to you?”
“I gave you a generous—more than generous— congé. What happened to it? And I’ve heard that you are running about town in a hired hackney. What happened to your carriage and horses? Did you sell them?”
“I have given to charity, there are so many in need in London. I have also invested for Edwin’s inheritance. And I ask again, what could it possibly matter to you?”
“People who know that I kept you must think that I have abandoned you without a shilling.”
“Oh, so it is your nobleman’s pride, is it?” She folded her arms over her chest. “You should go. Your countess must be wondering where you are.”
“She knows exactly where I am and why. I don’t lie to my wife.” His look turned as fierce as a thundercloud. “Just as I don’t force her to bear my children. Nor do I intend to enforce a pallid existence upon her just because she happened to be born a lady.” He paused and compressed his lips, practically glowering at her. “There’s nothing she can do to please other women. She’s constantly being criticized, no matter what she does. But you are the last person I expected to join that chorus of vicious harpies.”
With that, he turned and left. The sound slam of her door echoed in her heart. She buried her face in her hands. Why had she said those horrible things to Jon? Why had she slammed the door between them?
She didn’t understand herself.
Not one bit.
* * * *
I’ll see you hang!
Rebecca startled awake. Sweat was pouring from her body, making her shift cling to her.
Perilous Risk Page 16
