by Regina Scott
“Entertaining Miss Watkin,” Jareth supplied between mouthfuls. “And if you hear rumors to the contrary, please deny that I have typhus.”
Justinian choked.
Hoping to forestall questions, Jareth went on to tell his brother of the morning’s escapades. Justinian shook his head as he finished.
“It must have been quite amusing,” his brother said. “But I fail to see how you convince the ton you are changed if you appear to be chasing after Miss Watkin.”
“I needn’t convince the ton,” Jareth replied. “I merely need to convince Miss Watkin. You wished me to gain her forgiveness, did you not? This was her price, at least in part.”
“I shudder to think what else she would have you do.”
“Only a few more such tests, the content of which is a strictly guarded secret. I begin to believe not even Miss Watkin knows what they are yet.”
Justinian frowned. “She seems intent on making you pay. I take it you have remembered when you wronged her. What exactly passed between the two of you?”
Jareth paused. “Do you know, Justinian, I ask myself the same thing?” He started to explain the situation to his brother, then remembered the footman standing silently at the sideboard. He doubted Justinian would hire jabbermouths, but Eloise seemed so intent on keeping their liaison secret that he could not trust speaking of it before anyone. She would never forgive him if she thought he’d spread gossip.
“I thought I was the only one injured,” he told his brother, purposely keeping the matter vague. “Yet she seems incensed by the memory.”
Justinian obviously had no concerns as to the silence of his staff on family matters. “Incensed? Why? I cannot imagine you would pressure a woman to accept your advances. You have precious little need with the numbers who throw themselves at you.”
Jareth frowned. Had he pressured Eloise into their ill-timed passion in the hayloft? He could remember the scene all too easily. Their courage in meeting had been growing; she had managed to slip away during the day this time, but insisted that she could only stay a moment. As had been happening frequently of late, he had found his time with her maddeningly short and had followed her back to the stable.
“Are you insane?” she’d hissed when she’d seen him in the breezeway between the stalls. “Do you have any idea what will happen if we are caught?”
He hadn’t cared. Coaxing and crooning, he’d lured her up into the loft. Sweet kisses melted in the fire of their embrace. Going beyond kissing had seemed natural, right, the culmination of his dreams.
But as the moment approached, the passion on her beautiful face had broken into fear. At the time he had put it down to a fear of getting caught and kissed the look away. But if, in fact, she had been too afraid of him to say no, it might explain the reactions she had to him now.
“Jareth?” his brother urged, setting down his nearly empty cup of tea. “Answer me. Do you have more to apologize to Miss Watkin for than you originally thought?”
He shook his head. “I am no longer certain.”
“What does Miss Watkin say?”
“She makes veiled hints but says very little.”
His brother looked thoughtful, reminding Jareth of the scholar Justinian had once been. “Perhaps you should attempt to speak with Lady Hastings. She knew Miss Watkin at school, did she not?”
Jareth nodded. But he made his brother no promises. The Marchioness of Hastings would have sooner spit in his eye as give him the time of day, and he knew it. It was a very good thing Justinian hadn’t added her to the list, or he’d be sunk.
But the idea of understanding what drove Eloise was a good one. He needed to know what she held against him, why their past seemed so painful to her. Surely that could help him persuade her to forgive him.
Yet something told him that, in wanting to learn more about Eloise, he had another motive entirely.
Chapter Nine
Eloise also considered her motivations. Teaching Jareth a lesson was harder than she had thought. He reacted unexpectedly. He had experienced the humiliation and turned it into a merry prank. He had discussed their past as if it meant as much to him as it did to her, only to turn around and deny the very things she’d thought they’d shared. How could she possibly understand such a man?
She was more concerned, however, that what she did not understand she found strangely appealing. He was as witty as always; she found it difficult to frown at his jests. There was no denying his sense of the ridiculous, and she envied him his ability to laugh at difficult circumstances.
She also could not deny his attractiveness. Even dirtied and bloodied, he’d been adorable. Sitting in the coach, it had been all she could do not to reach across and smooth down his pale hair. She had always thought a man’s hair would be somehow rougher than a woman’s, but Jareth’s had always felt like satin. Would it still feel so good to her senses?
She shook herself. She could not be so foolish as to fall under his spell again! She must remember why she had set herself on this path of righteousness. His betrayal was a fact. His dalliance with other women was legendary. Even if his reformation was the truth, he had a great deal for which to atone.
“One part of our conversation truly puzzles me,” she confided in Cleo the next afternoon as she visited her friend in the sunny sitting room of the Hastings’s town house. “He suggested that I ask someone else about his affair with Lady Hendricks. How could that help him?”
“I cannot see that it would,” Cleo replied, spreading her spring green gown to settle herself more comfortably on the rosewood settee. “Besides, you hardly have to ferret out the information. The gossip is so rampant now that he has returned that anyone could tell you the tale.”
“Too many would be happy to tell me,” Eloise confirmed. “How could I be certain what they say is the truth?”
Cleo nodded. “I have heard six versions of the story already. Lord Nathaniel told me one just before you called.”
Eloise paused in the act of straightening the lace collar of her lilac cotton gown to smile. “Lord Nathaniel was here?”
“Indeed. I take it you had not seen him recently?”
“Yesterday, after I gave Mr. Darby his test.”
Cleo frowned. “Had he heard about your escapades?”
“He did not mention it, and I think it likely he would have done so if he had heard. I suppose, however, it is only a matter of time before the ton begins to talk of it. We were rather conspicuous.”
“Lord Nathaniel will not mind,” Cleo predicted. “He is utterly devoted to you.”
Eloise made a face. “So devoted that he has yet to propose! I tell you, Cleo, the man is impossible to pin down. He hints at his feelings for me constantly, yet when I press him even the least bit, he backs away like a hound from a snarling cat.”
“He could speak of little else but your qualities while he was here,” Cleo insisted. “Surely if you are intent on having him, you have only to exert yourself.”
Eloise sighed. “I have exerted myself as much as I am willing, I assure you. Perhaps I am not as intent as I thought.”
“Why?” Cleo demanded. “Eloise, I thought you had forsaken the game of leading gentlemen on.”
“I have!” Eloise protested. “I did not toy with Lord Nathaniel’s emotions. I wished his suit. He is handsome enough in his own way, congenial, good hearted. Yet I cannot help but feel that something is missing in our times together.”
“Such as?” Cleo prompted with a frown.
Eloise licked her lips, almost afraid to say the words aloud. “Such as love.” When Cleo regarded her, head cocked so that her hair fell over one ear, she hurried on. “Do I not deserve love, Cleo? Would you have me settle for less?”
“Never,” Cleo swore, reaching out to touch Eloise’s arm. “Of course you deserve love. But I fear for you, Eloise. I thought you cared for Lord Nathaniel, and now it seems your feelings have cooled. He has not changed. What has changed is the fact that Jareth Darby has retur
ned.”
“That is quite enough of that,” Eloise informed her, pulling her cashmere shawl more firmly about her shoulders. “I do not allow Jareth Darby to dictate my life or my interactions with other gentlemen.”
“I certainly hope not. By the by, Lord Nathaniel thinks Mr. Darby every bit the villain we do. He said as much when he told me the story about Lady Hendricks.”
“What exactly had he heard?”
“The usual—Lord Hendricks caught Mr. Darby seducing Lady Hendricks and drove him off at gunpoint. Only in his story, Mr. Darby struck Lord Hendricks from behind to make his escape.”
“Poppycock,” Eloise pronounced. “Jareth may be a rake, but he’s no coward.”
“He ran away from a child with a pitchfork,” Cleo reminded her.
Eloise wrinkled her nose. “That wasn’t cowardice. That was common sense.”
Cleo raised a brow. “You are defending him.”
Eloise felt herself color. “I am merely seeking the truth, and I do not believe that story of striking Lord Hendricks is such. That is not the same as believing Mr. Darby innocent.”
“Perhaps not,” Cleo allowed, but the look in her dark eyes told Eloise she was not convinced. “And perhaps I have the answer to your question as to who could tell you the truth of the matter. Margaret, Lady DeGuis, should have been on the ton the year he was disgraced. We could ask her.”
Eloise smiled. “Lady DeGuis is not known for her tact.”
“No, but she is known for telling the truth,” Cleo replied with a twinkle in her eye. “She is coming to visit this afternoon. If you wait, you may have your answer.”
Eloise waited, but the answer was not what she expected. Then, of course, things were often not as one expected when one conversed with Lady DeGuis.
Margaret had inspired the ton as a true Original for many years. She was honest, even when it was not circumspect to be so. She lived by her convictions, no matter the cost. Tall and solidly built, she had thick, coarse hair with more silver than black even though she was less than ten years Eloise’s senior. By far her most notable feature, however, was her loud, joyful laugh, which was the first thing Eloise heard when she posed her question about Jareth and Lady Hendricks.
Cleo exchanged surprised glances with Eloise. “You find the situation humorous, Lady DeGuis?”
Margaret chuckled. “And you do not, Lady Hastings? A renowned rake riding to the rescue? Surely you can appreciate the irony.”
Cleo frowned while Eloise interjected, “Riding to the rescue? I fail to see how adultery qualifies him for sainthood.”
Margaret raised a feathery silver-black brow. “Who said adultery was involved?”
“Oh, everyone,” Cleo put in as Eloise frowned in confusion.
“Then everyone is wrong,” Margaret proclaimed. “Which does not surprise me. The ton at times has no more sense than a flock of turkeys.”
“If Jareth Darby wasn’t having an affair with Lady Hendricks,” Eloise ventured, “why was he forced to flee London?”
“No doubt because Lord Hendricks was out for blood.” Margaret shook her head. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning. Before she was Lady Hendricks, Cecelia attended school with me. We were fairly close and kept in touch during our debuts. She was sweet natured and blessed with a lovely head of golden curls. Her besetting sin was her need for notoriety. I warned her not to marry Lord Hendricks, but his title and fortune blinded her to his faults.”
“What do you mean?” Eloise probed.
“He beat her whenever he drank, and he drank to excess.”
Eloise cringed, and Margaret gave a tight-lipped smile. “You know I cannot abide wrapping the dark in clean linen, Miss Watkin. Cecelia’s story isn’t a pretty one. She was trapped in a marriage that I am convinced would have been the death of her, if it hadn’t been for the championship of Jareth Darby.”
“Unlikely hero,” Cleo muttered.
“I cannot agree,” Margaret said. “Darby has ever been kind to the ladies, the lovely and those less favored. But by far the best thing he ever did was take up with Lady Hendricks. He had flirted with her before her marriage, of course. It should not be surprising that he came to her rescue that particular night.”
“Why exactly did she need rescuing?” Cleo asked suspiciously.
“Her husband had at last shown his true colors. He got drunk at the Duchess of Richland’s ball and shoved his wife down a flight of stairs.”
Eloise gasped and heard Cleo do likewise.
Margaret nodded. “You may well look shocked. It was horrible. Unfortunately for Cecelia, there were few nearby at the time to see her. Darby was one. He insisted on taking her home alone. Only he did not take her home right away.”
Eloise knew she must be white. “He took advantage of her in that state?”
“Do not believe it for a minute,” Margaret insisted. “No woman would be in the mood for romance after being bruised and banged about. Cecelia wrote me afterward. She went with him to the Fenton, where he was staying. He apparently hoped to keep her safe from her husband and urged her to leave the fellow altogether. Cecelia still thought she might make amends, as if she had done anything wrong. She insisted on returning home, then thanked Mr. Darby with a hug. Lord Hendricks found them together in her dressing room, arms about each other.”
“And Jareth Darby left her to face the monster alone,” Eloise murmured, seeing all too easily a mirror to her own life.
Margaret chuckled. “Actually, he planted the miscreant a facer. Cecelia insisted that he flee. She took the first ship for Canada. She writes me regularly. She is a painter now and quite happy about it.”
“Then Mr. Darby is the hero after all?” Cleo asked incredulously.
“In Cecelia’s eyes he is.”
“That does not exonerate his other dalliances,” Cleo insisted. “I still say he is a rake and a scoundrel.”
“A rake, perhaps, but not a scoundrel,” Margaret maintained. “I rather like his dash. Pity he’s infected with the Darby pride.”
Eloise wasn’t sure pride was his motivation. But then, she couldn’t say what was. She left Cleo’s with too much on her mind.
She and Cleo had vouchers for Almack’s that night. Struggling as she was to see Jareth in the new light Lady DeGuis had offered, she considered staying home. Unfortunately, she was afraid to think how the patronesses might respond if she did not appear. Her reputation was much improved from last Season, it was true. But if her stunt on St. James’s had become known as she suspected, she would be better to go brave it out, behave like a lady, and put the rumors to bed.
Unfortunately when she arrived at Almack’s beside Cleo and Leslie, she found it difficult to behave.
For one thing, Lord Nathaniel followed her about like a child’s wooden pull toy. As she had begun to realize that what they felt for each other was not the kind of love upon which one built a marriage, she was no longer certain how to respond to his attentions. She thought she should give him the opportunity to declare his feelings, in case they were stronger than she suspected. Yet when she attempted to encourage him, he immediately paled, stammered, and offered to dash off for refreshments, her shawl, or one of her friends.
She would have liked nothing better than to sit him down and demand to know his intentions toward her. Unfortunately, she could hardly do that in so public a place as Almack’s, and she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t faint if she attempted the discussion in private. Her frustration was harder and harder to hide, and she was certain it showed in her face and conversation.
She also found it difficult to behave as some might have expected on the dance floor. Lady Jersey had insisted on a number of quadrilles, and Eloise loved dancing to the fast-paced music. While other ladies complained of the exertions, she delighted in the freedom. Lord Nathaniel seemed mildly concerned with her dancing and when he did not offer a second set, she promptly requested Lord Hastings to partner her.
She had found partners for three quadrilles
and a country dance when she spotted Jareth. Then it was even harder to behave. How could she act civilly toward him when he persisted in flaunting his dalliances? He was partnering Portia Sinclair, and it was easy to imagine that he was bent on seduction. Why else would he smile in so charming a manner that the light glowed from his blue eyes? Why would he allow his hand to brush her gloved arm? Why would he bend near as if to whisper into her tiny ear?
And Portia seemed just as bent on attracting attention. Her apricot-colored gown was so sheer as to be nearly transparent, her lashes obviously blackened, and her lips rouged. She looked ripe for the picking, and Jareth seemed all too eager to sample the fruit.
He was wearing the blue velvet coat and trousers again, and the richness of the color only made him look more opulent. Portia was obviously captivated. What could the girl be thinking to gaze at Jareth so heatedly? Could she not tell that her skirts kept brushing his stockinged calves? Did she not see the fans plying as they passed, hear the gossip, smell the whiff of censure? The girl was out to ruin herself, and Jareth in the process.
Eloise started. Was she actually concerned about how Portia’s attentions could affect Jareth’s reputation? Surely there was no need. His reputation for seduction needed no embellishment. And if he had truly reformed, wouldn’t he stay away from the ladies’ lures? And why should she care either way?
Unfortunately, she found that she cared all too much.
Chapter Ten
Jareth had to remind himself that he was reformed every time Portia Sinclair brushed her lithe body against his. Surely this was some sort of test. He’d only recently become reacquainted with the Bible, as Eleanor had taken to reading passages aloud on the evenings they did not go out. However, he was certain the story of the prodigal son did not end in forty days of temptation in the desert.
Yet Portia Sinclair seemed designed to test him. She was lovely, she was intelligent, she was vivacious, and worst of all she seemed to have lost all interest in the major and was directing her youthful energies toward capturing him instead.
