Only Seduction Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

“Oh, Goliath will do splendidly. He’s a handful, but mild as a lamb if shown who the master is.” Continuing to eat with gusto, she prayed the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach would settle down. Better for all concerned if he would allow her to do as she pleased without a fuss.

  “And you have shown him who is master here, is that correct, Lady Manning?” Grinning, Morley sipped some tea, caught his wife’s eye and hastily set the cup down.

  “He learned that lesson rather well, very early on.” Proud of her ability to control the huge stallion, Alethea raised her chin. No one could fault her horsemanship. Goliath had been wild as any horse she’d ever ridden, but she’d managed to gentle him and taught him to obey her every command. Because of this, she’d insisted on bringing him over from Ireland, even though her father had tried to persuade her to use Lord Braeton’s stable.

  “He may not be the only one to have learned that lesson,” Dalbury murmured. Morley’s sharp laugh rang out and Jack’s face darkened.

  Sending a pointed glance at the marquess, Alethea turned to Kat, who was smothering her face in her napkin.

  “I do wish I could ride with you, Alethea. Childbearing has such inconvenient consequences. Have you been discomfited very much by swelling in your feet? I had not until recently. This is such a new experience…” Katarina continued with the discomforts of pregnancy and Alethea tried to listen, though she kept a wary eye on her husband. Dalbury’s remark had not set well with Jack and she feared she would end up the victim of it as well.

  * * * *

  Impatient with the slow gait, the roan mare from Dalbury’s stable stamped and snorted, her breath puffing out white clouds in the chilly February air. The sun beat down brilliantly, though with little warmth. Still, if she could be on horseback, Alethea would take the cold damp air even if she had to walk her mount.

  Some of the pleasure in the ride had been diminished when she’d been informed that Goliath had been limping this morning when brought out to be saddled. The groom assured her it was likely only a bruised sole, still she couldn’t ride him in such condition. The head groom had then produced this mare as the best mount for a lady. The skittish nature of the animal seemed to belie that assessment.

  They had circled the near park around Merrywell, the marquess showing them the original well from which the property had acquired its name. From there, Dalbury had led them on a sedate walk through the woods. Now, they’d finally come out onto a rolling meadow, a sea of brown grass with a few tufts of green sprinkled here and there.

  The smooth expanse beckoned to Alethea and she longed to touch her horse’s flank and race away, the exhilaration of speed flowing through her once more. But Jack would be completely furious with her if she tried such a thing. Yes, Katarina was correct. Pregnancy was the bane of women’s lives. With a sigh, she patted her mount’s neck and she stamped again. “I want to break away too, my girl.” She leaned forward, rubbing under her neck. “I’m sorry, but we must behave instead.”

  “You must have marvelous grouse on this meadow.” Jack and the other men had stopped to survey the land and talk shooting. “I don’t suppose there are any left at this time of year?”

  “We can ride through and see if we flush any. If so, we can come out tomorrow morning for a little shooting party. It might be a trifle cold for it, but I’m sure we can stay warm enough with a spot of brandy to help us by.” Dalbury cast a glance over his property, the pride in his land obvious. “I haven’t had the chance to shoot this year. We were tied up in London for so long, I’m quite looking forward to it.”

  “Sounds like an excellent idea.” Mr. Morley sat his tall bay well. According to Jack, the man was late of His Majesty’s Army in the colonies and had been in Jack’s father’s regiment.

  “Yes,” Jack agreed, face eager and more animated than Alethea had seen it recently.

  Did her husband like to shoot? If so, and they could return to Ireland, she could show him shooting like nothing he’d ever seen before. Suddenly homesick for the familiar haunts of County Clare, where she’d grown up out on the heath with her father and brothers, Alethea blinked back tears. What a watering pot she’d become. If she could get Jack away from everyone and onto the sure footing of her father’s lands, she might stand a better chance of convincing him she could be not only a good wife, but a good companion. She doubted he would allow her to join him in the sport here in England. Women generally did not. But at home her father had indulged her and she joined in the pursuits of her brothers. Somehow she believed Jack would approve of that, but not in the company of Englishmen.

  The gentlemen continued to talk about the shooting, reminiscing over past glories until Alethea wanted to scream. Could she tell them about the first bird she brought down at the age of twelve? Or the day she had bagged the largest count of all her brothers? No. They would likely be appalled, not appreciative of a woman’s accomplishments in this totally masculine pastime.

  “Early tomorrow morning then,” Dalbury was saying as the other men nudged their mounts closer to him.

  Well then, let them band together. Alethea surveyed the meadow and started her mount at a walk. Perhaps she needed to remind them of her presence. They had come out to ride. They should be off.

  The slope into the meadow urged the spirited horse to pick up the pace. Before Alethea knew it, they were trotting along at a good clip. She leaned forward in the saddle, the cold wind in her face invigorating. Then, reluctantly she pulled back on the reins. Best not press her luck. But the horse ignored her signals and somehow they eased into a ground-eating canter. Damn the animal. Alethea pulled at the reins, trying with all her strength to make it circle and stop its headlong flight.

  Thundering hooves beside her told her she was in trouble from yet another source.

  Face darkened by a fearful scowl, Jack pulled alongside her.

  “Alethea!”

  With a great jerk, she pulled on the reins and threw her weight to the back of the saddle. Thankfully, the roan slowed, first to a trot, then a walk, and finally stopped. Breathing heavily, she looked around for Jack.

  Brows lowered, mouth clamped into a thin straight line, eyes narrowed almost to slits, his angry face struck fear into her for the first time. She glanced back. Dalbury and Morley had remained at the top of the slope, quite a bit further away than she’d thought.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Alethea?” He grabbed her reins as if he thought she might try to escape him.

  In his present mood that might be a good idea, still she must explain. “It was this damned horse. She’s been jumpy ever since I mounted her. I started her at a walk, but she took it into her head to stretch her legs and there was precious little I could do to stop her.”

  “Why did you start her in the first place? We were stopped for a moment only—”

  “We had been sitting there for ages as you three discussed your skill with guns and shooting without a thought for including me in your conversation.” Alethea’s chest heaved as she fought to draw in air. He was in the wrong as much as she.

  “How could we include you?” Her husband’s face screwed into an exasperated question. “You know nothing about shooting.”

  “Did you even ask me? Because if you had, you’d find out that I do, Jack.” The fierceness in her voice surprised even her. “I have shot grouse and pheasant on my father’s lands since I was twelve. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’ve never wanted to know me, know about me.” All her frustrations in her marriage came boiling out of her. “You married me to appease some strange need of yours to be the honorable gentleman, the one to rescue a damsel in distress. You didn’t think about after the rescue. I’m no more than a ghost of a wife to you. The woman you married but will never feel anything for.” Angry tears washed down her cheeks. “So don’t pretend some concern for me or my health or the health of this child that you don’t actually feel.�
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  Jerking back as though she’d slapped him, Jack let go her reins and sat staring at her, silent. No denials.

  With a sob, she gathered the reins and turned the roan back up the slope at a fast walk. She rode past Dalbury and Morley, their mouths open. She didn’t give a farthing for what they thought. Giving the horse her head, she urged her into a canter once more, listening for the sound of horse’s hooves chasing her, knowing they would not come.

  * * * *

  Alethea picked up her wineglass and drained it. Dinner had been a strained affair that evening, but thank God it was almost over. When Katarina rose for the ladies to retire, she would plead a headache, which was true, and return to her room, for once glad that she did not share it with her husband.

  She’d returned to the house well ahead of the men. Her back aching, likely strained in her efforts to control that damned horse, she’d gone directly to her room where she had Clemons order a hot bath. It hadn’t helped, so she’d spent the afternoon in bed, trying not to recall the horrendous scene with Jack. Her eyes were swollen and painful, one more sin to heap on her husband’s head.

  In two minds about going down to dinner, she’d finally called for Clemons and crawled out of bed. She would not be a coward. Let the others say what they would about her. She was never afraid to face anyone, though her stomach twisted and turned.

  Conversations were halting and tense. The weather was frequently remarked upon. Covert glances were often sent her way. At last, Katarina rose, a peculiar frown on her face. “Ladies, let us retire.”

  Gratefully, Alethea rose, then caught the table edge as her legs threatened to buckle. Too much wine, but it had been necessary to carry her through the ordeal of dinner.

  Jack, seated beside her, grasped her arm. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  Pulling her arm from his grip, she whispered, “I’m fine. Let me go.” The last thing she needed was another scene. But her legs seemed not to want to work properly. Carefully, she grabbed the back of her chair and turned away from him.

  “Alethea.” He gasped her name and she tried to turn to him, but her head felt fuzzy.

  His eyes had widened to enormous circles. He jumped to his feet. “Alethea, there is blood on your gown…on the chair.”

  Slowly, she glanced at the seat cushion, an embroidered cream square, blooming bright red in the middle. Her blood. Her knees buckled and a great roaring filled her ears. The room dimmed. Faint sounds swirled around her head.

  “Alethea! Alethea! Dear God.”

  Chapter 18

  Jack caught his wife and lowered her to the floor. Her face had paled to a pasty white. “Send for the doctor.”

  “The midwife will be faster. My God, look at the blood.” Dalbury stood over him, signaling a footman. “Run quickly to the midwife’s room. Bring her here immediately.”

  “The midwife is here?” Jack peered up at Dalbury hopefully. Praise God if it were true.

  “With Katarina and Juliet nearing their time I wanted to take no chance.” His host’s grim visage stared down at him.

  Alethea moaned, turning this way and that.

  Unable to sit by and do nothing, Jack scooped her up. “Send the midwife to Alethea’s room. I will make her as comfortable as I possibly can.”

  With a hand to Jack’s shoulder, Dalbury stayed him. “This may be the best solution of all, Manning.”

  Cursing, Jack shook off the hand and carried the still moaning Alethea from the room. “It will be fine, Alethea. You will live, my love,” he crooned as he took the steps two at a time. At her door, he fumbled with the handle and burst in.

  Clemons jumped and rose from a chair where she’d been mending a tear in a blue gown. “My lord?” Her gaze fell on her unconscious mistress in the stained gown and she shrieked. “What has happened, my lord?”

  “She collapsed at dinner.” Jack couldn’t take time to be more than curt. “Help me get her clothing off.” Gently he laid her on the bed. “Have you a pad of some sort to try to stop the bleeding?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Tossing the blue gown aside, Clemons felt Alethea’s brow with the back of her hand. “She’s got a fever. Here, let me unpin her.” With lightning speed, the maid had the gown off, holding a part of the petticoat beneath her mistress while she grabbed toweling from behind the screen and pushed it between her mistress’s legs. “That will do for now. Have you sent for the doctor?”

  “Yes, and the midwife is on her way.” Jack grasped Alethea’s hand, cold and limp, and chafed it, willing his own warmth into his wife’s fragile body.

  “You should leave, my lord. Let me bathe her.”

  Running a hand through his hair, Jack couldn’t take his eyes off Alethea. “You think she’s losing the baby, don’t you?”

  Eyes filled with sadness, the maid nodded. “No doubt, my lord. Losing this much blood, it can’t be anything else. The midwife will know how to help her though.” Clemons gestured toward the door. “If you’ll pardon me, my lord.”

  “No.” He shook his head vehemently. “I’ll stay with her. Do what you can, but I’m not leaving her.” Jack scowled and grabbed his wife’s hand.

  Giving him a wide-eyed look, Clemons fetched a basin and water from behind the screen to tidy her mistress. The water had turned deep pink before the maid pulled a fresh nightgown over Alethea’s head. “Can you sit up for just a moment, my lady?”

  Moaning and groggy, Alethea tried to do as asked as Jack supported her back.

  Clemons pushed the gown down over Alethea’s shoulders, glanced at the darkening material between her mistress’s legs, and scurried from the room.

  Alethea whimpered fretfully.

  Jack eased the covers up over her. “Shhh, love. I’ve got you. Lean on me, sweetheart.”

  His voice seemed to rouse her, for she held her head up and looked at him, her blue eyes puzzled. “Jack? What’s happened?”

  “You’re going to be fine, my love. Just fine.” He stroked fine wisps of her fiery hair away from her face.

  Still puzzled, she followed the movement of his hand. “But what happened? Did I swoon?” Her brows furrowed. “I can’t remember… My stomach hurt and my back. I felt ill before Katarina rose from dinner.” She glanced from Jack to Clemons who had just returned with more toweling. “What am I doing here?”

  “You’ll be fine, my lady,” Clemons said, pressing a wet cloth to her head. “The midwife is on the way this minute. She had to send word to the kitchen to brew you a special tea.”

  “Midwife?” She jerked her head back toward Jack. “Why is the midwife—ohhh!” Alethea doubled over, her shoulders hunched and shaking.

  Jack’s stomach lurched. He slid his arm around Alethea, comforting her as another spasm gripped her.

  Panting, she lifted her head, her eyes large and glassy with pain. “I’m losing the baby, aren’t I, Jack? Tell me the truth, please.”

  Glancing away, he nodded. “I believe so. We’ll know more when the midwife arrives.” A sob wrenched from her lips, cut him like a knife. God, what he wouldn’t give to take this pain from her. The physical he would bear willingly. The inner anguish at the death of her child he could not begin to fathom. “Clemons, what is keeping the damned woman?”

  Sobbing still, Alethea grasped his hand. “It’s all right, Jack. This is for the best.”

  “What? Don’t say that, Alethea. Never say that.”

  “It’s true. You know it is.” She squeezed his hand hard and her body shook. “This child would have been a reminder all your life of me and my disgrace. If it had been a boy, it would have been your heir, but not your heir. This way is better.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “It would be better still if I should die too.”

  “Alethea! Good God, how can you say such a thing?” Fear flew through him. Never wish for death, for it is one wish that will come true, his father
had always said.

  “You know it’s true.” Struggling against the tears, she swallowed hard. “I have made your life a misery ever since we married. You might have wed someone you loved, someone you would have been happy with. I thought I could make you happy. This way I will.”

  “You will not speak of this again, Alethea.” He wanted to shake her, but feared it would injure her further. “I forbid it. You are talking wildly and to no purpose.” Instead, he gathered her into his arms. So frail, suddenly. Too precious to let go.

  “I have loved you, Jack.” Leaning against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. “I wanted you to know that. I would never have asked you if I didn’t. I thought my love was enough.”

  “Alethea.” He shook her gently with no response. “Alethea.” Frantic, he pinned Clemons with a glare that could have speared the woman. “Get the midwife now!”

  Face draining of color, the maid scurried to the door, pulled it open and disappeared.

  “Please, Alethea. Stay here. Stay with me, my love,” he crooned, rocking her gently, her hand clasped in his. Why had he been so foolish not to let her know how much she meant to him? Had he really not known until today? Until he stood on the verge of losing this strong, passionate woman he didn’t want to live without? He held her close, tight in his arms, willing her to stay, to fight for her life.

  The door opened and Clemons entered, followed by a short, stout woman in a coarse brown dress who stepped confidently into the room. “Lord Manning? I’m Mrs. Johnstone. I’ve been midwife in this part of Gloucestershire for nigh on thirty years. I birthed his lordship, the present marquess, and I’ll see her ladyship through this.” The woman bustled forward, snapping open a small vial. “Here we go, my lady.” She held the vial under Alethea’s nose.

  With a cough and a moan, his wife turned her head away, struggling once more in his arms. He laid her down, softly.

  “There you are, my lady. Now, when did you begin having your pains?”

  Alethea’s pinched face seemed to shrink back on the pillow. “Before dinner. It started as a dull ache in my back. And I was sick to my stomach for the first time in weeks. Ohhh.” She grunted in pain, clamping down on Jack’s hand.