Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Looking askance at Busby, a big man with a wedge of a scar under his right eye, she had no doubt he had a weapon concealed upon his person. Accusing the Shark of cheating was most likely a dangerous proposition, and someone could get hurt.

  She considered her options. Crocky knew he’d lost the hand and had thus tried to get out of revealing his cards in case she spotted the duplicate. They were, for all intents and purposes, tied. She could win the next hand fairly, which he could also do, or he could cheat and win. At which point, she would have to call him out, as they said.

  Then Lord Cambrey said, “You know, Crocky, you should have declared the carte blanche sooner. Bad form really. Some might say it nullified the round.”

  The Shark bristled. “Now see here,” he began, “I’ve been playing piquet a damn long time, and I’ve never had anyone say I don’t know when to declare before.”

  Jenny didn’t want the men to get into a fight over that technicality.

  “Since I am the one playing him,” she said, “while I thank you, Lord Cambrey, I am deciding Mr. Crockford may keep his extra ten.”

  Blowing a loose tendril off her forehead, she carefully dealt the next hand. Barely glancing at her own cards, instead, she stared hard at the Shark’s hands, making sure they remained in plain sight, not going to his lap or fiddling with his sleeves, for certainly, he had cards concealed somewhere.

  He went first, then it was her turn. The hand was surprisingly uneventful, six tricks each and barely a few points between separating them. It could still go either way with only one hand to go.

  To Jenny, the room was deathly silent except for the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. Another play, then another, and she found herself staring down at what she hoped was a winning trick. Pausing, she stared at it, and then looked at Will Crockford over the top of the cards. Their gazes locked, and his eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

  Coughing loudly, he covered his mouth with one hand, continuing to cough until his man stepped forward and thumped him on the back. Then Crocky made a great show of withdrawing a handkerchief and holding it up to his face.

  “My apologies,” he said at last, taking another long drink and finishing off his ale.

  “Quite all right,” Simon said, but before anything else happened, the Shark laid down his hand.

  “I believe I have won again, not only the last hand but the most points.”

  Jenny pursed her lips. Nestled between a queen and a ten was a jack she was sure had been in the man’s pocket before the interruption of supposed phlegm.

  She glanced at her husband, who stared grim-faced at the cards fanned out upon his table. Lord Cambrey took a step forward and also stared down at the high-scoring trick.

  Crocky’s face broke out in a genuine smile, and he began to push his chair away from the table.

  “A good partie,” he said.

  “Indeed,” Jenny said. “And we shall abide by its outcome without any gainsaying, shan’t we?”

  “Yes, of course,” Crocky said, beaming now.

  “Then I must inform you, you have lost.” She spread her run of cards upon the table, aces high.

  “The Devere family has concluded its debt to you, Mr. Crockford.”

  With that, Jenny pushed her chair out and stood while the Shark stared, eyes bulging at her cards.

  Simon gave an uncharacteristic whoop of joy and grabbed her to him in a tight embrace.

  “Well, damn me,” Lord Cambrey murmured. “Good show.”

  “Thank you,” she told him from the circle of her husband’s arms.

  At last, Crocky stood slowly. His face was ashen, and his man appeared to be waiting for an order.

  As the moments of bristling tension stretched from one to the next, Simon released her and somehow, before she knew it, he had placed his body between her and Crocky. Lord Cambrey was by his side. She held her breath.

  Will Crockford faced them. He didn’t smile, his body stayed taut, but he slipped his hands into his pockets.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “It was an interesting game. I would like to say enjoyable, but I’ve never found losing to be pleasant. That’s why it almost never happens.”

  “I have this for you to sign before you leave.” Simon pulled a single page from the pocket inside his coat. “There’s a pen here.” He picked it up from the sideboard and lay them both before the gaming house owner.

  If anything, Crocky looked even more put out. Hardly glancing at the words, knowing they cleared the debt, he signed his name.

  In another moment, after the briefest nod to Lord Lindsey and Lord Cambrey, he pierced Jenny with his gaze. To her, he offered another deeper nod, nearly a bow. And then he turned and walked out, followed by the still-silent, scarred man.

  When the front door closed, the three of them let out a collective sigh.

  “I think this calls for champagne,” Lord Cambrey said, ringing the bell with an exuberant yank of the tapestry pull. “I hope you have some on hand.”

  Instead of answering, Simon took both of Jenny’s hands in his. “You were wonderful. I thought he had us.”

  “He was cheating,” Jenny explained. “Even if I hadn’t won the last hand, I would have exposed him.”

  Simon’s face flushed red. “The wretch. I should go to his club at once and call him out.”

  “No,” Jenny pleaded. “It’s over. We won. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Simon looked at his friend, who shrugged.

  “I agree with your lady. To confront the Shark in his own sea is asking for trouble. And I see no gain from it except to anger a man whom we already know has no scruples whatsoever.”

  Simon hesitated. “You are both right. At least the three of us will always know the mighty Shark lost to Lady Genevieve Lindsey.” The summoned servant came in and was sent to the kitchen in search of champagne.

  *

  “I don’t want to go in a coach again for a very long time,” Jenny said when they returned to Belton Park days later.

  “It seems we’ve spent more time away from home than in it.”

  “I’m glad it feels like home to you.” Simon took her in his arms. “I am eternally grateful. Without you, some drastic changes would have had to be made.”

  After visiting with her mother and sisters briefly before their evening meal, she acknowledged her exhaustion.

  “Then let’s turn in early,” Simon suggested as the servants removed their dinner plates. “I’ll rub your shoulders and your feet and your …” He raised an eyebrow, causing warmth to spread through her.

  “Suddenly, I feel a modicum of energy returning.” She let him lead her up to her room.

  Her room. Not their room. The one blight on their happiness remained. Jenny had been so successful in London, though, she felt hopeful she could make a difference here, too.

  Simon eschewed the maid in favor of undressing his wife himself. She loved it when he did this, when his strong, capable fingers stroked her skin as he gazed lovingly into her eyes. When his lips replaced his fingers, whisper-soft against her skin, he placed kisses everywhere, and she found herself trembling. Then his wicked tongue tasted her skin, scorching her as he did.

  Drawing her upon the bed, Simon kept his promise and kneaded her shoulders before rubbing the soles of her feet. However, she found it more frustrating than soothing. There were other parts of her that awaited his touch with extreme anticipation.

  “Simon, please. Come up here,” she demanded.

  Feeling his smile where his mouth rested upon the delicate skin of her inner thigh, she added, “At once.”

  In another moment, he covered her body with his own. Their lovemaking was slow and sweet, and utterly fulfilling.

  “Simon,” she keened as the sensations peaked and her muscles involuntarily tightened. Her husband was deep inside her when she felt him reach his own release. In a few moments, while held in his embrace, she was unable to fight the heavy-lidded tiredness that overtook he
r. As soon as her body began to calm from the intense climax, she drifted asleep.

  *

  “Simon.” Her own voice awakened her from a nasty dream in which she was alone with Crocky. Realizing she was indeed alone, she felt overcome with sadness reaching her hand out to touch the cold sheets beside her.

  Poor man! What demons tormented her husband each night, and how could she help him to overcome them? If one silly dream of the Shark had her lighting her lamp and wishing for company, what must Simon experience, especially when he awakened alone?

  What if she tried again to be a comfort to him? To be an anchor for his ship of nighttime travels?

  Hopping out of bed, Jenny slipped on her nightdress and carefully, quietly, opened the door that separated their rooms.

  Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of his chamber, she listened to his breathing, steady and deep. He seemed peaceful at the moment. Perhaps she should retreat. On the other hand, if he awakened to find her beside him, realizing they’d had a perfectly successful night together, then perhaps he would be willing to try it again the next night. And the next.

  Tiptoeing across the thick carpet, she reached his bed to find little room. He was neither on one side, nor the other, but sprawled in the middle, the blanket around his waist.

  Judging which side had more room, she circled the bed, sliding under the bed clothes, and settling beside him. It took her many minutes as she vowed not to wake him.

  The familiar scent of her husband, the warmth of his bed, his rhythmic breathing, all soothed her into falling asleep nearly as quickly as after their romp.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Simon opened his eyes and saw the bars of his cell. The anguish this caused was greater than usual. Why? He thought about it as he started to sit up. He remembered feeling blissful only moments earlier. Then he remembered Jenny.

  Jenny! His wife. He had a lovely, sweet wife. How could he have married her and left her behind?

  Confusion clouded his mind, but he knew he had to escape to get back to her. Perhaps he could break down the door. Scrutinizing it, the wood didn’t seem too solid after all. Then he thought of Toby. He must release his cousin before the unthinkable happened. Yes, he had to protect Toby.

  Turning his head, to search for his cousin, the sight that greeted him caused him to tremble. Toby was leaning against the wall, alive and yet not. Stiff, his eyes clearly plucked from his head, his body in various states of decay, yet he raised a hand in greeting.

  Simon closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, Toby lived again and was even smiling at him. Breathing a sigh of relief, Simon knew the only way to keep his cousin alive was to kill the guard and get the keys that always jangled from a large iron ring clipped to the man’s trousers.

  Turning away as the guard approached, a murderous rage shook him. If only Simon could move his limbs more easily, but they felt leaden. Still, for Toby’s sake, for Jenny’s, he would beat his captor to a pulp.

  *

  Jenny knew she’d made a terrible mistake, and now she was trapped. The blanket and sheet snared her as she tried desperately to scoot away. Her husband’s sightless eyes were blazing and ruthless as his lethal hands reached for her.

  Whimpering with fear, she flailed at his arms, trying to keep him from making firm contact with her.

  Swiftly, however, his fingers found their target around her neck.

  Before she lost the ability, she screamed as loudly as she could. First a shriek of terror, but then she yelled his name.

  He hesitated, and she thought perhaps he would awaken.

  However, with renewed force, Simon gripped her.

  Hating to hurt him but seeing no other recourse, Jenny brought her knee up under the bedding, aimed at his midsection.

  “Oof,” he said, releasing his hold on her.

  She turned and nearly succeeded in escaping from the bed, but his hand grabbed at her shoulder, and he yanked her back toward him. As his hands found her neck again, this time from behind, she pummeled his legs with her heels.

  “Simon,” she screamed again.

  Suddenly, she heard knocking at their bedroom door.

  “My lord! My lady!”

  It was the admiral. Thank goodness they weren’t still in London where she was certain no one would have come to her aid.

  “Help,” she screamed, only to find herself heaved onto her back on the bed.

  In the next instant the door burst open though she couldn’t see Binkley from her vantage point. All she could see was Simon who held her by the front of her nightdress with one hand and had pulled his right hand back, making a fist.

  “Oh God,” she moaned, hearing Binkley’s feet upon the floor.

  Too late. Ducking to avoid the punch—or at least to protect her face—Jenny still caught a glancing blow against her ear and skull that caused her head to explode with pain while a loud ringing clamored within her brain.

  And then mercifully, his attack stopped.

  For as Jenny cowered with her arms up, her ear ringing, the butler went against all rules of servitude and attacked his master.

  With Binkley hauling Simon away from her, right off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, she heard her husband awaken at last.

  “What in blue blazes?” His voice was thick with sleep, groggy with confusion.

  Binkley stood over him but was staring at the injured countess, his keen eyes boring into hers.

  “He didn’t mean to,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Truly. He was asleep.”

  Almost imperceptibly, the admiral nodded before beginning to help the Earl of Lindsey to his feet.

  If she could have, she would have snuck back to her room to avoid the unpleasant scene she knew would follow.

  *

  Days later, even with the swelling in his wife’s ear partly subsided, their relationship was reduced to the thinnest of strained discourse. Each encounter usually began with him cursing himself when he saw the state of her, and with her absolving him of any blame like a goddamned saint.

  Simon had reached the breaking point.

  “I can no longer stand to look at you.”

  Jenny cringed at his words, and her lovely pink cheeks paled.

  “That is a terrible thing to say,” she retorted. “You can’t mean it.”

  “I do. I have told you to go stay with your family. Yet here you remain, like a battered reminder of my sick mind.”

  “I do not hold you responsible for what you do when asleep.”

  “Then you are as foolish as you are currently ugly.”

  She flinched, and he hoped it would take only a few more unkind words to get her to leave. For soon, he would need to take her in his arms and kiss her sweet lips and confess how he could not stand the notion of living without her.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, her voice trembling, “I will not abandon you, our home, or our marriage.”

  “This is not the marriage either of us intended.”

  She stood and, against all sense, moved toward him instead of away from him. “It may not be this way forever.”

  Involuntarily, he took a step back.

  “It certainly will not,” Simon agreed. “You are leaving. Today.”

  She shook her head. “You cannot force me. I made a mistake. I admit it. It is entirely my fault. I should never have entered—”

  “You’re right,” he snapped. “You shouldn’t have. If we hadn’t retired early, if Binkley had already been asleep in the servants’ quarters rather than doing his final walk through the house, then you might be dead.”

  He crossed his arms, looking formidable and absolutely unyielding.

  “I understand you do not wish to return to your home here in Sheffield. People will talk. Your family will be disappointed.”

  He looked out the window considering what to do. When an idea came to him, he turned to face her.

  “You will accompany your family to London. You can all go early for the Season and o
rder Margaret’s gowns.”

  She worried her lower lip, looking most unhappy. “For how long? When will you join us? Surely by Christmas.”

  His heart clenched when her voice broke on the word Christmas. How could he send her away? Every particle of him needed her close, wanted her there beside him. She was everything now, the only reason he wasn’t locked away in his room. But he needed to heal somehow, to stop this madness. Desperately, he wanted to be the man he was before his captivity. Was it even possible?

  All he knew for certain was hurting her was too painful. If he ever fell asleep by mistake in her bed after they made love … no!

  “I don’t know how long.” He tried to say it calmly and kindly. After all, none of this was her fault.

  “Please, Simon, I don’t want to leave you.” Grabbing hold of the front of his coat, she raised her gaze to his. “We love each other. I will not go.”

  Swallowing, he braced himself. One of them had to be strong enough.

  “You will stay at our townhouse, or I will not pay for Margaret’s season.”

  Gasping, Jenny released him. “You wouldn’t stoop to such blackmail.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. Couldn’t she see he meant what he said?

  “I would. Fight me on this, and there will be more at stake than merely your enduring a Season with the bon ton.”

  “What are you implying, Simon?”

  “A divorced countess is infinitely better than a dead one.”

  Jenny reeled, her face as white as paste. Now he had her attention.

  “You would let me go?”

  He hated how small her voice sounded. Where was his strong, practical lady?

  He balled his hands into fists at his sides. Any weakness at this point could endanger her life.

  “I would save you from me. Either by living apart or, if you will not go willingly, then by divorcing you.”

  She put her hands over her ears, apparently unable to listen to his terrible words.

  “We should call a doctor,” she said, no longer looking at him, her gaze fixed on a spot past his shoulder and out the window. “You should discuss your dreams. We could make sure neither of us falls asleep when we are in the same bed—”