The Unwilling Miss Watkin

by Regina Scott

  He was obviously not so much changed that he thought he had to atone. No, he still thought all he needed was a charming smile and a ready wit. Even now, he smiled at her as if certain she would acquiesce to his request. The injustice was great, but her need for his silence was greater. Too much hung in the balance—her present, her future. She tried to force the words out, but nothing came. Why could she simply not say the words he wanted to hear and send him on his way?

  Perhaps it was the look of supreme confidence in those clear blue eyes.

  “You never required my forgiveness before,” she pointed out. “Why do you want it now?”

  She knew she must have grown wiser, because she saw the change in him. He stood just a little straighter in his black coat and dove grey trousers, and his gaze skittered away from hers. He didn’t want to answer that question. Why?

  “I want your forgiveness now,” he said, “because it would ease my conscience.”

  She felt a laugh bubbling. “Now there’s a lie. You, sir, have no conscience.”

  He shook his head, the sunlight from the window beyond them making golden highlights on his thick wavy hair. “Certainly I have a conscience. Perhaps it just uses a different scale of measurement than yours.”

  “Oh, I am certain that it must. And I am just as certain that it does not motivate you in this instance. What does, I wonder?” She cocked her head and regarded him steadily. He shifted his weight ever so slightly from one foot to the other. She had to hide a grin. This was simply too much fun! The thought that she could actually discompose the infamous Jareth Darby was quite heady.

  “Come now, Mr. Darby,” she challenged. “Out with it. Why are you really here?”

  He shrugged. “Believe me or not, madam. I truly came only for your forgiveness.”

  She felt a jolt of disappointment and put it down to having her fun thwarted. She tried to get him to answer again. “What, no other motivation? Perhaps I can guess. Is it that you have fallen in love and your new lady requires proof that you are a gentleman?”

  He snorted. “Any lady who would accept such feeble proof would not be worthy of my love.”

  She was willing to accept that but frowned at the feeling of satisfaction that curled through her. Some part of her appeared delighted that he was not in love, likely the part that wanted to see him suffer.

  “Then it must be your family who requires it,” she guessed. “Perhaps they will not allow you into their bosom until you prove yourself reformed.”

  “My brother has been kindness itself,” he assured her. “I even accompany him on outings. You saw us in church today.”

  She certainly had. She hadn’t thought devils were allowed on sanctified ground, but there he’d been, as pious as the rest of the congregation. She had felt a momentary start when she realized that Lord Nathaniel was sitting but a few rows ahead of him. Her gentle viscount had indeed come calling that week as he had said, but she had been chagrined to find that his conversation was even more stammering than usual. He had been unable to bring himself to offer for her. She could not allow him to converse with Jareth before he was truly hers.

  But as upsetting as the idea of losing Lord Nathaniel had been, what had been more upsetting was the way her eyes were drawn to the glow of Jareth’s pale hair in the church’s lamp light. When he turned his gaze toward the choir, she had marveled at the clean line of his profile. When he stretched his arm out along the back of the pew, she had remembered how it felt to have that strong arm wrapped about her. Even now, watching him fidget through her questioning, she felt the memories stirring. She shook herself, determined to remain on course.

  “If not love or loyalty, then,” she said, “money must be involved somehow.”

  This time there was no mistake that he stiffened. She gasped.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? What, have you made some wager about me this time? Am I merely a line in the betting books at White’s?”

  His face was hard. “I have told you my motivation, madam. I wish to clear my conscience and return to a normal life. If you think otherwise, you don’t know me.”

  “On that we quite agree,” Eloise said, sure she had found the true reason and incensed by it. “And I assure you that had I known what you were, I would never have let you near me.”

  Those eyes were chips of ice. “And what exactly am I?”

  “Do you require a listing of your many sins? Perhaps we could start with the more obvious ones. You are a liar and an adulterer.”

  He shook his head. “And you, madam, listen far too much to gossip and slander.”

  She raised her brows. “What, do you pretend innocence?”

  “I feel no need to justify myself, to you or anyone else.”

  “And why not? You came here asking for my forgiveness. If you are such a paragon, for what must I forgive you?”

  He sucked in a slow breath, as if trying to maintain his civility. “In truth, I am not sure. Perhaps coming here was a mistake. Apparently, you have made up your mind, and nothing I can say can sway you. Therefore the only thing left is to bid you good day, madam.” He rose, snapped a bow, and started for the door.

  Eloise stared after him, suddenly deflated. That was it? After all that, he wasn’t willing to fight for the forgiveness he claimed he wanted? No begging? No pleading? Even after all this time, he could not even commit to so little as a conversation.

  Yet, inexorably, he stopped. She could see his shoulders rise as if he had taken a deep breath. He turned toward her, and she was the one to inhale sharply. Those eyes seemed deeper somehow, sadder. She felt her heart touched and struggled to keep up the walls she had erected against him.

  “I am a coxcomb, Eloise,” he murmured. “I see no reason for you to hate me so, but for the very fact that you do, I should apologize.”

  “On that,” she said quietly, “we can also agree.”

  He took a step back toward her. “Is there nothing I can do to persuade you that I have changed? Nothing I can do to make amends?”

  “Fall off a very high cliff onto some very sharp rocks?” The words were out before she thought better of them.

  He shook his head with a wry grin. “Perhaps something less violent? I paid good money for this coat once. Jagged rocks and blood would do it little good.”

  She could see he was trying to tease away her anger. Would that it were so easy. She had thought she had put this episode of her life behind her, that she had come to terms with the choices she had made. But it was apparent something held her back from closing that door. Surely it was the fact that she had been the only one to bear the consequences.

  If only she could show him the damage he caused. If only she could make him understand the humiliation and pain his ladies must feel when he walked away and left them to sweep up the pieces. For once, just once, she wanted Jareth Darby to feel what it was like to be the one with regrets.

  Was that possible?

  He must have seen some change in her for he stepped forward once again.

  “What is it?” he asked almost eagerly. “Have you thought of some way you could forgive me?”

  She had, and it was something so perfect that she could not believe she had discovered it. Jareth claimed to have a conscience. If that were true, she had only to get him to use it. She might never erase the hurt she still felt from their parting, but if he realized the damage he had done, he might be prevented from hurting anyone else.

  And if he didn’t have a conscience, she need feel no guilt for putting him through the suffering she planned. Besides, if she planned the suffering appropriately, she might be able to prevent him from telling anyone about their past. Either way, she was free.

  “I have an idea,” she allowed. “It remains to be seen whether you will be willing to try it.”

  “As long as it does not involve sharp objects or loaded pistols, I am certain I will approve.”

  “Very well, then.” It was all she could do not to rub her hands together with glee. “You cla
im to have changed, Mr. Darby. I require proof, a challenge if you will.”

  He smiled, spreading his hands. “I am yours to command.”

  “We shall see. I propose a series of tests. Pass them all, and I shall bestow my forgiveness. Fail even one, and you will never approach me again or speak one word about our former association. Is it agreed?”

  He eyed her. “Perhaps I should hear about the tests first, given your bloodthirsty predilections.”

  She faltered. She had hoped to concoct them as she went, using whatever inspired at the moment. But he mustn’t know that. She straightened. “The exact nature of the tests is immaterial. Besides, if I told you beforehand, it might give you an advantage.”

  “Heaven forbid.” His smile told her he was humoring her. She couldn’t wait to see that smile fade.

  “But if you insist on keeping it dark,” he added, “I must insist on a few caveats to my acceptance.”

  “Such as?” she asked suspiciously.

  His blue eyes glinted in challenge. “No test can be a paradox. You cannot ask me to retrieve the moon or stop the sun.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Children’s wishes. I would not be so foolish.”

  He nodded. “Good. You will also not require me to do anything that could cause me or anyone else bodily harm.”

  “What do you take me for?” she demanded. “Certainly I would never ask you to harm another.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Finally, you cannot require me to spend a penny. No fripperies or trinkets from the local jewelers.”

  “I begin to think I should call this off now,” she said coldly, “if you truly think I would use this as an excuse to wrangle a bauble from you.”

  “You have changed, madam. How am I to know what you are capable of now?”

  How indeed? She would show him, and well. She smiled. “As you will. I accept your terms. Are we agreed?”

  “Agreed.” He stuck out his hand, and she accepted it. Before she knew what he was about, he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. Heat licked up her arm. She snatched back her hand.

  He grinned as if he knew exactly the effect he had on her. “So, when do we start?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow,” she replied before she could lose her courage. “Meet me at Berry Brothers and Rudd on St. James’s at eleven in the morning, and you will be given your first test.”

  Chapter Seven

  As soon as Jareth left, Eloise called for the carriage. She simply had to tell Cleo what she’d done. She was rather glad her friend received her in the wood-paneled library of the Hastings’s town house and did not suggest refreshments. Eloise’s hands were shaking so hard she was certain she’d never be able to hold a cup of tea.

  “I must be mad,” she told her friend as they sat on the heavy wooden chairs the library boasted. “But I find myself actually enjoying the thought of tormenting him.”

  “I think your choice was inspired,” Cleo assured her, brown eyes glinting with malice. “We’ve both heard rumors of the number of ladies he has wronged. Tomorrow you strike a blow not only for yourself but all of them as well. If only I knew their names, I’d issue personal invitations.”

  Eloise couldn’t help but giggle at that. “We might even sell tickets and donate the money to Comfort House.”

  Cleo clapped her hands. “No, I have one better: we could enter a wager in the betting books at White’s on his ability to complete your tests. The men will be sure to take his side, and we will win a fortune!”

  At the mention of the betting books, Eloise sobered. “I would give much to see those books right now. I believe he may be trying to win a wager at my expense.”

  Cleo scowled. “We shall shortly see about that. I’ll ask Leslie to check when next he visits. Just be certain you show Mr. Darby no mercy tomorrow. After what he did to you, he should be thankful you were no more vindictive. Hercules had twelve labors, if I remember correctly.”

  Eloise shook her head. “I will have a difficult enough time coming up with a few, I assure you. And if I cannot keep myself from remembering his more tender moments, I might not even manage those few.”

  “Tender moments?” Cleo’s dark eyes widened. “He had tender moments?”

  Eloise giggled again. “What, did you think I would be attracted to a monster? I assure you, he has earned his reputation for wit and charm. I doubt few ladies can resist him when he is intent on his game.”

  “Is that why you---” Cleo stopped herself, reddening so that her skin clashed with the apricot gown she wore. “Forgive me, Eloise. I have no right to ask you that.”

  Eloise suspected she knew what Cleo wanted to ask. “You are my truest friend, Cleo. If you cannot ask me, who can?”

  Cleo hesitated a moment longer, then blurted out, “How could you have given yourself to him? I mean, you were only fifteen, nearly a child. It just isn’t done!”

  “Oh, I suspect it is done far more often than our teachers would lead us to believe,” Eloise told her, though the mild censure stung. “But, the simple fact was that I fancied myself so deeply in love that nothing else mattered. I would have flown to the moon and back had he asked it of me. Anything else seemed trivial.”

  Cleo smiled, but the look held sadness. “I feel the same way about my Les, but I know the feeling is reciprocated.”

  Eloise thought her own smile must be just as sad. “I thought the feeling was reciprocated too. But had he loved me, he would never have left.” She shook herself. “You see? If I dwell too much on the past, I will never face my future.”

  Cleo had been encouraging then, but the note she sent Eloise that next morning was even more so.

  “Leslie reports that Jareth Darby is mentioned in several wagers,” the letter read in Cleo’s sprawling hand, “but none that appear to include you. In fact, the only wager being made about you is whether you will accept Lord Nathaniel when he offers. Note that that is when he offers, not if. I shall shortly be wishing you happy, in several areas it seems. Your devoted friend, Cleo.”

  So, the male members of the ton expected Lord Nathaniel to offer for her. The thought was rather pleasing. However, the news that Jareth was not betting on her forgiveness was simply confusing. She had been so sure by his reaction that money was at the heart of his quest. If not a wager, then what?

  She was no closer to an answer when she spotted him in the crowd strolling St. James’s. He had stopped to speak with Portia Sinclair and her stepmother. His conversation was such that both were simpering. Portia’s color was nearly as bright as the pink ribbon on her serpentine Spencer. Her slender hands kept fluttering over the drape of her green-sprigged muslin gown as if uncertain how attractive he found her.

  On the other hand, her stepmother’s dark gown should have made her look as stern as Eloise, who was dressed in navy lustring. Yet even Mrs. Sinclair appeared to be captivated by Jareth’s charm. Her small mouth was bent in a smile; her pudgy cheeks were rosy. He was supposed to be reformed, yet there he stood for all the ton to see, making ladies’ hearts flutter.

  Her blood heating, she managed an equally insipid smile as he broke off his conversation with a bow and moved to meet her just as distant church bells rang a quarter past eleven.

  “You are late, Mr. Darby,” she informed him.

  He reached for the pocket of his embroidered waistcoat as if to retrieve a watch, then seemed to think better of it. He bowed instead.

  “I was unavoidably detained.”

  “So I saw,” she replied, gaze drawn past him to where Portia and her stepmother were watching. The older woman must have noticed Eloise’s pointed look, for she tugged on Portia’s arm to turn her away.

  “Do you know Miss Sinclair?” he asked as if making polite conversation.

  “Yes. An interesting young lady, to be sure, as are all the other young ladies making their debuts. Do you intend to discuss their merits as well, or shall we get on with this?”

  He raised a brow. “Are we
in such a hurry then? Is there some urgency to this test of yours?”

  “No,” she had to admit. “But I do have other activities planned for the day, so if you wouldn’t mind?”

  He bowed again. “I am at your disposal.”

  She felt her mouth curl in a satisfied smile. “Excellent. Your first test, Mr. Darby, is of your humility. I was certain that must be one area in which you sought to reform.”

  “Indeed; I am far more humble than when you first knew me.”

  It was a pretty speech, but he spoiled it by pausing to flick a piece of dust off the lapel of his navy jacket.

  “Indeed,” she said.

  He glanced up, obviously noting the sarcasm in her tone. “You think that impossible? Test me as you will, madam.”

  “Oh, I shall, Mr. Darby, I shall.” She turned to nod down St. James’s toward White’s. Even this early in the morning, gentlemen would be lounging by the windows. He would be easily noticed. “You see the bow window at White’s? I intend to walk past it to where St. James’s meets Picadilly. I expect you to follow behind me.”

  He quirked a smile. “My angel, you are kindness itself.”

  “On your knees.”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You did indeed, and if you complete this feat, you will be on your way toward earning it. Your test, Mr. Darby, is to follow me the length of St. James’s on your knees, as befits a true penitent.”

  He glanced up the street as if measuring the distance. She followed his gaze, noting the number of people. Ladies walked arm in arm, followed by footmen loaded with packages. Gentlemen strolled by, swinging canes of ebony and teak. Street vendors hawked wares, their cries rising over the sound of passing carriages and wagons. Urchins darted through the crowd in search of fun and a fat purse. Jareth’s eyes narrowed.