Love Only Once

by Johanna Lindsey

  “I can’t,” he said firmly.

  Reggie laughed. “And that’s Squire Gibbs and his young wife Faith. I like her a lot. Miriam is furious that she and I have become friends. An invitation to Silverley has always been an honor, you see, and so when I gave Faith an open welcome, the Countess took to her room for two days to express her displeasure.”

  “Likes to lord it over the lesser gentry, does she?” he asked.

  “Oh, she’s very serious about it, Tony.”

  Anthony turned another page. “Good God, who are those characters?”

  “Two of the gardeners, I guess. There are so many servants here I haven’t met them all yet. I drew these men yesterday down by the lake.”

  “You must have been particularly gloomy yesterday. You made them look so sinister.”

  Reggie shrugged. “It wasn’t my mood. They were sinister-looking. They moved on when they saw me drawing them, so I had to finish the sketch from memory.”

  “They look like waterfront brawlers,” he said, “not gardeners.”

  “Oh, stuff. All the people here are really nice, once you get to know them.”

  “Except the cold fish.”

  “Don’t be unkind, Tony. I don’t think she’s led a very happy life.”

  “That’s no excuse for forcing her unhappiness on others. And speaking of—”

  “Don’t,” she said stonily. “I’m perfectly fine, Tony, really.”

  “You can’t lie to me, puss. Look at you. You wouldn’t be putting on weight if you were exercising, and the only time you mope about and ignore your health is when you’re unhappy. I know you, remember? You’re just like your mother in certain ways. But you don’t have to stay here, you know that. You can come home.”

  “I know I’ve made a mistake, Tony, but I don’t want the world to know it. Do you understand?”

  “For his sake?” he asked sharply.

  “No,” she replied, then added hesitantly,

  “The weight you keep harping on isn’t what you think, Tony. I’m pregnant.”

  There was a moment’s startled silence. Then he said, “You can’t know this soon. You’ve only been married a month.”

  “I am pregnant, Tony. Very, very pregnant.”

  His cobalt-blue eyes, so like hers, grew wide, then narrowed furiously. “He didn’t! I’ll kill him!”

  “No, you won’t,” she replied, vetoing his favorite solution. “This is going to be your first great-nephew or niece. How could you explain to the child that you’d killed his father?”

  “He deserves a sound beating at the very least,” growled her uncle.

  “Perhaps,” she agreed. “But not for seducing me before the wedding. I was a willing participant in the making of this child.”

  “Don’t bother defending him, puss. You forget he’s just like me and I know all the tricks. He seduced you.”

  “But I knew exactly what I was doing,” she insisted. “I… it was foolish in the extreme, I know that now, but I thought it would help to change his attitude. He kept trying to get me to break the engagement, you see. He never deceived me into thinking he was willing to marry me.”

  “He agreed!”

  “Yes, but he thought he could make me jilt him before the wedding.”

  “You should have.”

  “Should haves don’t count, Tony.”

  “I know, I know, but blister it, Reggie, how could he desert you, knowing—”

  “I never told him! You don’t think I would try to keep a man that way, do you?” She sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Oh,” Anthony said, brought up short. Then he said somberly, “Honestly, puss, you really are just like your mother. Melissa gave birth to you only a few months after her wedding, too.”

  Reggie gasped. “Really? But… why didn’t any of you tell me that?”

  Anthony turned red and looked away. “Well, were we to say, ‘By the way, dear, you only just made legitimacy.’ ”

  She giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad to know I’m not the only promiscuous one in the family—besides Uncle Jason, I mean,” she teased.

  “Promiscuous! At least your father didn’t desert Melissa. He adored her. He would have married her sooner if her stiff-necked pride hadn’t kept them apart.”

  “I never heard any of this,” she whispered, shocked.

  “They had some terrible rows, they did. She broke the engagement three times, swearing each time that she never wanted to see him again.”

  “But everyone always told me how much they loved each other,” Reggie protested.

  “They did, puss,” he assured her. “But she was as hot-tempered as I am. The slightest little disagreement got out of hand. Thank God you didn’t inherit that from her.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Reggie mused. “If he ever does come back, I’m not going to forgive him. He made me love him, and then he wouldn’t even give our marriage a chance. I do have some pride, even if I did practically beg him not to leave. My love has turned to… well, it infuriates me even to think about him.”

  “Good for you. Think about coming home, will you? There’s no reason you can’t be with your family for the birth. We’ll keep outsiders well away from you.”

  “Well, I do have Meg, and I—”

  “Think about it,” he ordered sternly.

  She grinned at him. “Yes, uncle.”

  Chapter 23

  IT was another damp November morning, and Reggie walked down to the lake with her sketch pad. Uncle Tony had spent the night, and she had seen him off early, promising again to think about coming home. She would think about it, or at least think about returning to London, where she would be closer to the family. She could keep up appearances by moving into Nicholas’ townhouse. That was an idea. And it would even give her something to do, now that she was restricted as to physical activities. She could redecorate his London house, spend some of his money.

  Trouble was, she had come to enjoy the tranquility of Silverley. At least it was tranquil when Miriam wasn’t around. Reggie got along well with the servants, too. Even Mrs. Oates had unbent surprisingly the moment she learned Reggie was expecting a baby. It seemed Mrs. Oates loved babies. Who would have guessed?

  Reggie looked at the gray mansion wistfully. She might have been truly happy there. She pictured her children running across the Silverley lawns, sailing little boats on the lake in summer, ice-skating in winter. She even pictured their father giving them their first ponies and showing them their paces. Somehow she knew Nicholas would have a gentle hand with children. She sighed, a deep, long sigh, pulling up the hood of her fur cloak and casting a look at the heavy bank of clouds above her. Meg was right. It was getting too cold to be sketching outdoors.

  She tucked her sketchbook under her arm and turned to go back to the house. She would sketch the lake another time. It was then that she saw one of the servants hurrying toward her, coming not from the house but from the woods.

  On the other side of those woods lay her own estate. She hadn’t gone there yet. The melancholy caused by thinking about that place where her parents had died was too much. She would go there eventually, she told herself. Eventually, yes. And someday she would show it to her child. The estate had belonged to his… her grandparents.

  As he got closer she recognized the servant as one of the men she had sketched the other day. He was carrying an oversized sack used, she guessed, to gather dead leaves. He looked as strange as she remembered. A vague sense of danger rose in her.

  Maybe it was the full, unkempt beard and long shaggy hair. Or maybe it was his bold demeanor. Whatever, she decided not to wait for him to reach her. She would run to the house.

  She stopped, calling herself a ninny. She was letting her imagination run wild. Silly of her. He was only a gardener, after all.

  Reggie had no sooner finished the thought than the man reached her, took a moment to catch his breath, then smoothly yanked the sack he carried ove
r her head and shoulders. Her first impulse was to scream, but surprise overtook her until the sack was yanked all the way down her body, and her scream was only a tiny muffled sound.

  Her assailant wasted no time shouldering his prize and rushing back into the woods. An expensive, well-sprung coach waited there, hidden, with two high-stepping grays straining to be off. A man was in the driver’s seat, ready to crack the whip at the first sign of pursuit. The man on the ground glared up at him.

  “Ye could at least get your arse down ‘ere and open the bleedin’ door, ‘Onry. She might look like a light bit of fluff, but after that long trek she don’t feel light.”

  Henri, or ‘Onry, as his English friends were wont to call him, chuckled at Artie’s surliness, a sure sign that he was no longer worried about their mission. “Then no one is giving chase?”

  “Not as I saw. Now give us a ‘and. Ye know the cap’s orders about treatin’ ‘er real gentle.”

  They laid Reggie on a thickly padded seat and quickly wrapped a rope around her knees to hold the sack in place. “This will sweeten his temper, yes? Never thought we would catch our fish this soon.”

  “Give it up, Frenchy. Ye’ll never sound like an Englishman, so stop tryin‘. And I bet ye thought we’d be freezin out ’ere in these woods for weeks, eh?”

  “Well, did you not?”

  “Yeah, but I tol‘ ye it pays to be ready, and see if she didn’t come right out to us. A fine piece of luck! If this don’t please the cap’n, what will, I ask ye?”

  “The little fish catching the bigger one.”

  “Right ye are. Let’s just ‘ope that don’t take too long either.”

  “You will ride back here with her to see she does not fall off the seat, or do you wish me—”

  “Ye can ‘ave the pleasure. I don’t trust ye gettin’ this lumberin‘ land ship out o’ these woods in one piece. That’ll be my job.” He chuckled. “I take it ye fancy that arrangement?”

  “As you please, Artie.” The young Frenchman flashed a grin at the Englishman.

  “Just don’t get a mind to sample the goods, mate. Cap’n wouldn’t like that a’tall,” the man said seriously before climbing into the driver’s seat again. The coach rocked forward.

  Reggie’s mind was racing. This had to be a simple kidnapping. A demand for money would be met, and then she would be returned home. Nothing to worry about.

  She wished her body would see it that way. She was trembling violently. They were taking her to a captain who didn’t want her roughed up. Yes, a kidnapping. And he was a sea captain, she surmised, because there was a large harbor in Southampton. Why, Nicholas’ own shipping firm was located there.

  She forced herself to recall every word they’d spoken. What was that about the little fish catching the bigger one? She strained all her senses, alert to every sound, every movement.

  It wasn’t more than half an hour before their pace slowed and she knew they were in Southampton.

  “A few more minutes, cherie, and we will have you inside and more comfortable,” her captor assured her.

  “Inside?” Not “on board?” Well, he was French, after all, so maybe that had been a language problem. Oh dear. The tight sack around her cloak was beginning to make her itch and sweat. And to think she’d believed there would be no more adventures once she was grown!

  The coach stopped and she was carefully lifted out, the Englishman carrying her this time. There were no sounds of a waterfront, no waves lapping against a ship, no creak of nearby timber at anchor. Where were they? There was no gangplank to maneuver across, either, but steps were mounted. Then a door was opened.

  “Hell’s bells, Artie, you got her already?”

  “Well, this ain’t ballast I’m totin‘, lad. Where do I put ’er?”

  “There’s a room ready for her upstairs. Why don’t you let me carry her?”

  “I can box yer ears and not drop ‘er, lad. Want to test me?”

  There was a deep chuckle. “You’re too touchy by half, Artie. Come on, I’ll show you where the room is.”

  “Where’s the cap’n?”

  “He’s not expected back until tonight. I guess that means I get to take care of her, don’t it?”

  “Will ye listen to this young cockerel, ‘Onry?” Artie demanded. “Not on yer life, lado, will we be leavin’ ye alone with the likes o‘ ’er. Yer the only one round ‘ere who might think ’e can get away with a little hanky-panky ‘cause the cap’s yer old man. Don’t ye be thinkin’ about it while I’m around.”

  “I said take care of her—not take care of her,” the boy shot back.

  “Is the lad blushin‘, ’Onry? Is that a real blush I see?”

  “Run along, mon ami,” Henri said to the boy. “You questioned his strength, and he will not let up on you today.”

  “Well, at least let me see what she looks like.”

  “Oh, she’s a pretty one, lado.” Artie grinned. “In fact, when the cap sets eyes on ‘er, ’e’s likely to forget what ‘e wanted ’er brought ‘ere for. Might just keep ’er for ‘imself. Might just indeed.”

  They carried her to her upstairs room, and then she was set down on her feet. She swayed and nearly fell. The rope at her knees was removed, and the sack lifted off. But the little room was so dark, its windows boarded up, that she had trouble seeing for a moment.

  A deep breath of air was her first order of business. Then she focused on the three men, her captors and the boy, moving toward the door. The younger one was looking at her over his shoulder, his mouth hanging open.

  “Just a minute, if you please,” she called to the departing men. “I demand to know why I was brought here.”

  “The cap’n will be tellin‘ ye that when ’e gets ‘ere, m’lady.”

  “And who is the captain?”

  “No need for names,” the brawnier of the two answered, offering a placating tone in response to her haughty one.

  “Yet I know your name, Artie. And I know your name, Henri. I even—” She stopped before telling them she had sketched both of them. “I wish to know why I am here.”

  “Ye’ll ‘ave to wait and talk to the cap’n. Now, there’s a lamp there on the table, and ye’ll be fed shortly. Just settle down and make yourself comfy-like.”

  She swung around, furious, her back to them. The door closed and a key was turned in the lock. She let out a sigh. Where had she gotten the nerve to act so hoity-toity? They were sinister-looking characters despite their bantering manner and placating voices. Well, at least she hadn’t shown them any fear. They wouldn’t see a Malory cringe. That was a huge satisfaction.

  She sat down warily on a rickety chair, wondering forlornly if that might just be her last moment of satisfaction for a long while.

  Chapter 24

  THE food was delicious, even in Reggie’s nervous state. She ate her fill of squab pie, rice pudding, and saffron cakes. There was a delicate wine, too. But once the distraction of dining was over, she went back to worrying.

  Henri had brought her the food. He had put on a very rakish ruffled silk shirt; black breeches with high, wide-topped boots; and a long, coatlike vest. Good Lord, all he lacked was an earring. He had even shaved everything except his tightly curled mustache. Why?

  What had she gotten herself into this time? Feminine clothes were laid out on the bed, brand-new from the look of them, silk robe, a more discreet linen nightgown, furry bedroom slippers, and, embarrassingly, underthings. On a vanity were toilet articles, brush, comb, a very expensive perfume, all new.

  The young man had come in to start a fire for her early in the afternoon, and Artie stood guard at the door. He smiled timidly at her. She glared back frostily. She ignored the boy entirely.

  It was night now, but she refused to make use of the large bed. She would stay awake all night if she had to, but she wouldn’t relax until she had met the captain and given him a piece of her mind.

  She fed the fire with wood the boy had left her, then drew a chair up to it, tuck
ing her feet beneath her dark blue velvet skirt. The room was warm and she began feeling sleepy.

  She almost didn’t hear the key turning in the door. The sound made her stiffen, but she didn’t turn around. Damned if she would deign to notice either Artie or Henri.

  “My son tells me you’re a raving beauty,” said a deep voice. “Let me see what has him so smitten. Present yourself, Lady Montieth.”

  She stood and, very slowly, turned to look at him. Her eyes went wide in shock.

  “Uncle James!”