Julia Justiss

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by Wicked Wager


  “Delaying?” he suggested.

  A faint color warmed her face. “Perhaps a little.”

  “Then you’ll come with me now?” he asked, trying not to let the eagerness show in his voice.

  “It will take me half an hour to change.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Shaking her head with a wry grimace, as if she weren’t sure what to do about him, she rose. “Half an hour, then. Should you like some sherry? I’ll send Manson in.”

  She was treating him like—a guest. “That would be most kind,” Tony said, telling himself it was ridiculous to be pleased over so trivial a detail.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they rode into the park, Tony keeping her laughing during their transit with anecdotes about his army life after he’d left her father’s regiment. Not until they pulled up their mounts inside the park gates did it occur to him that, given her recent accident, riding neck-or-nothing might no longer appeal.

  “Shall it be decorous trot? Or a full-out gallop?”

  She seemed to sense his concern. “I don’t intend to let that…unhappy event ruin my enjoyment of riding,” she replied. “I’ve few enough pleasures left.”

  “Ah, that I might remedy that sad situation!”

  She gave him a reproving glance. “Such a comment isn’t suitably addressed to a lady.”

  “But would a true lady understand my meaning?”

  “A lady is merely proper, not stupid,” she snapped back. “Now, what was that urgent matter?”

  “First, a gallop. Once around the Serpentine. Since your mare is smaller than Pax, I’ll give you twenty yards.”

  She stiffened. “This is my own mount, not a beast borrowed from my cousin’s stable. You need not offer me any advantage, sir!”

  “Then, my lady, shall we ride?”

  A crack of her whip answered him. Grinning, he spurred his gelding in pursuit.

  Though Pax had a smooth, ground-eating gait, Jenna’s mare was fleeter of foot. In truth, Tony didn’t regret being obliged to concede her the lead. Although observing the rhythmic bounce of her trim posterior inevitably led his mind to dwell on another sort of ride which he’d enjoy even more observing at close range.

  They rounded the last curve, Jenna several lengths ahead when they reached their starting point. Tony reined in, trying to drag his mind back from the carnal.

  “Well and truly bested, were you not, my lord?” she cried, wheeling her mare toward him.

  Tony meant to return a teasing reply, but when he looked over at her, his words scattered like green recruits under fire at their first battle.

  Laughing, triumphant, her cheeks wind-flushed, even the harsh black hue of her habit couldn’t dim the radiance of her face. This was the lighthearted, carefree Jenna who’d first caught his eye as she raced her mount across the Spanish plains, her whole being vibrant with the sheer joy of living—a vibrancy, he now realized, that had been missing when he met her again here in London.

  He’d been drawn to that fearless young woman in Spain, further bewitched by the sensuality of the mature woman she’d become. But at this moment, as he watched both those Jennas combine, the force of her stole his breath.

  As he gazed at her, exulting in the joy that illumined her face, a falling sensation swept through him and he knew he’d give anything to keep that glow in her eyes.

  All too soon it faded. He wanted to cry out in protest at its loss. And say what—“Let me make you happy?” Steady, Tony, old man, he told himself.

  “Now,” she said, bringing her mare into step beside his gelding as they cooled the horses at a walk, “what did you wish to discuss?”

  “Coming back from the City this morning, I strayed into a back alley and nearly had my purse stolen—by a former sergeant of Dragoons.”

  “Surely not a dragoon! Those regiments accept only volunteers—never conscripts or petty criminals pressed into service.”

  “True enough, but he was indeed a cavalryman. With the fields he once worked enclosed by the local landowner, he said, he came back to the city and has ended up a sort of protector to several army widows and their children. Apparently they’ve been surviving by begging at street corners and petty thievery.”

  “That’s dreadful!” she cried. “You…you didn’t turn him over to a magistrate, did you?”

  “Please, give me more credit than that! And besides,” he said with a wry twist of his lip, “I’ve suffered the pangs of an empty purse myself on occasion.”

  “Without resorting to thievery, I hope!”

  Recalling the castaway stripling of a few nights ago, he laughed shortly. “No, I call it ‘gaming.’”

  “So what did you do about the sergeant?”

  “I gave him what coins I had and an offer of work. But the problem is graver than that, for he told me that in the neighborhood roundabout him are nearly two dozen former soldiers, widows, and orphans in the same situation.”

  “Two dozen?”

  “So Sergeant Anston says. I…I haven’t the funds to care for so large a group,” he confessed, his face heating. Having to make that admission to Jenna, he found, was more humiliating than he anticipated. “I know your father often assisted troopers and their families. So when I cast about for some means to assist them, I thought of you. Some of these might be from the Fighting Fifth, though I don’t—”

  “It makes no difference which regiment they come from!” she interrupted. “Of course I’ll help. ’Tis an outrage, after all they’ve done to have them return to England and end up starving on the streets of London!”

  Hearing her affirm her intention to help eased the anxiety that had weighed him down since he left the City this morning. “Thank you.”

  She waved away his gratitude. “What do they need? Food and clothing to start with, I should think.”

  “Food for certain, warm clothes, and shoes—though I’m not sure the children will wear them.”

  “Come, let us return at once. I’ll get the kitchen staff started while I call at my bank for funds to purchase the clothing and supplies.” She paused a moment, frowning. “Though I may have to battle with Lane’s fancy French chef to cook plain, wholesome food.”

  “If you order the provisions, my cook will prepare them. Betsy’s kind heart will need no persuading.”

  “Excellent! Let’s get started, then. If the neighborhood is as destitute as you describe, ’twould be best that we not venture there after dark.”

  “No, ’tis barely safe in day—” He stopped as the full meaning of her words penetrated. “Surely you cannot mean to accompany me when I deliver the supplies?”

  Her expression turned frosty. “Of course I mean to accompany you.”

  “A young woman whose dress clearly indicates she is Quality? ’Twould be much too risky! I’ll have trouble enough persuading my groom to accompany me.”

  She shrugged. “All the more reason for me to go. I don’t require persuasion, and if need be, I can wield a whip or a pistol better than your groom. Once I change into one of the plain gowns I wore on campaign, I will be in no more danger than the females who reside there.”

  “Which is quite peril enough!”

  “Come now, Captain, I’ve been in the stews of Bombay and the hovels of the Peninsula, outridden bandits and a contingent of pursuing French cavalry. I’m not afraid of what I might find on any London street. Besides, if I am to decide what sort of funding will be required, I must review the situation myself. A lady’s eye is likely to see needs a man would never notice.”

  “That may be true,” he admitted. “Mayhap I should bring a female servant along.”

  “And should the necessity arise, a female servant would be better able to protect herself than I am?”

  He had to concede her that point. “Probably not.”

  “Most assuredly not!” she corrected. “I have more experience fighting off ambush than anyone you could enlist, save another soldier.”

  “That may be so, but I still can
not permit it.”

  She glared. “Do you want my assistance or not?”

  He stared at her, torn between the desire to help the unfortunates and the need to protect her. When her implacable gaze did not waver, finally he said, “If your assistance comes at the risk of your person, then no, I no longer request it. I’d best get you home now.”

  Belligerence fading, she lifted pleading eyes to his. “Please, my lord! I…I’ve felt so useless since leaving Brussels. This is important, Tony. Please let me help.”

  Whether it was empathy for a fellow survivor of war now searching for some purpose in life—or the sweet sound of his name on her lips, he found himself weakening. “How could I live with myself if something happened to you?”

  Her brilliant smile told him she knew she’d won. “Nothing will. And besides, you shall be right there to protect me. If you refuse to take me, being now aware of the situation, I might have to canvass the city on my own.”

  “Good Lord, Jenna,” he cried, his stomach clenching at the thought, “promise me you will do nothing of the sort!”

  “I think I shall send for Evers—Papa’s batman, you’ll remember—to conduct the search. Besides,” she said, wrinkling her brow as she set her horse in motion, “though providing food and clothing is a beginning, these people need more than a temporary helping hand. They need homes and jobs. Should not Parliament do something about it?”

  Tony set his horse to match her mare’s pace. “When the issue was brought up before Parliament, I understand, the Tories vociferously denounced the very notion of awarding pensions or provisions to veterans.”

  “Could you not stand up and argue for them?”

  “’Tis my father who holds a seat, not I—one I don’t believe he’s ever occupied.” He laughed shortly. “I doubt he could find his way to Parliament, unless the building also shelters either a gaming house or a brothel.”

  She cast him a thoughtful glance, no doubt hearing the bitterness in his words. “Then we must do all we can. Thank goodness it’s barely noon! We should be able to get dinner cooked and delivered before dark.”

  “So you are set upon going with me?”

  “With you or—” her eyes took on a wicked gleam “—without you. The ‘going’ is not open to question.”

  “If anything untoward happens to either of us,” he said, torn between admiration and exasperation, “I shall never forgive you!”

  She gave him an upward look through her lashes that was almost—provocative. “Then I suppose we shall just have to stay very close and keep each other safe, won’t we?”

  Staying very close—now that was a directive he’d have no trouble obeying. “While dinner is being prepared, I’ll summon the sergeant and some of his mates to provide an escort for when we return with the provisions.”

  “Famous,” she said, nodding. “I begin to believe that we might get on well together after all.”

  Spirits soaring at the idea of being able to help the soldiers—and keep Jenna near him, he couldn’t help giving her a wicked grin. “Oh, I certainly hope so.”

  “Rogue!” she admonished without heat. His spirits rose higher. Perhaps he might earn her esteem after all.

  As they neared the park gates, Tony spied two figures on horseback emerging from Rotten Row. Apparently spotting them as well, the couple halted. The gentleman leaned close to the lady, as if conferring with her—or trying to steal a kiss—and then rode off in the opposite direction, while the lady proceeded toward them.

  The ton didn’t ride in the park until much later. Had they stumbled upon a tryst? Tony wondered with a smile.

  They reached the gate at the same time as the lady. Perhaps Jenna hadn’t seen her, for it seemed as if she would continue through without acknowledging the woman.

  “Why, it’s Lady Fairchild, isn’t it?” the rider called, guiding her horse to block Jenna’s path.

  Not until the lady turned in the saddle toward Tony did he recognize her: Lucinda Blaine, Countess of Doone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “LORD NELTHORPE! How nice to see you,” the lady cooed.

  “A pleasure to see you again, too, Countess.” Out of the alcoholic fog of the past, Tony recalled having followed his friends in pursuing the “Lovely Lucinda” after her marriage to a very rich earl. Apparently the thrill of snaring the old man’s money and title hadn’t charmed the Beauty for long, for as a bride of several months, she’d already been willing to offer him kisses—and the promise of more, though he’d had to flee London before he’d been able to try his luck redeeming them.

  Lady Doone waved a graceful hand. “How formal you’ve become! You used to call me ‘Lucinda.’” She fluttered her lashes at him, an intimation of intimacy thick in the air.

  Though Tony found it annoying that she’d make so blatant a gesture in front of Jenna, he also knew that Lucinda Blaine, acclaimed as one of the Diamonds of the ton since her debut season, was unable to resist trying to entice any gentleman she encountered. Probably because she’d married an old dried stick a generation her senior.

  Though he had no desire to add his name to the list of cisebos she kept dangling, he didn’t mind flirting with this undeniably beautiful woman—especially if it showed Jenna that some women still found him attractive.

  “Countess, I should not dare be so familiar with a lady of such high rank, even if she were an…old friend.”

  She laughed, evidently pleased with the flattery. “But one never forgets one’s friends. One’s dearest, most intimate friends. Do you not agree, Lady Fairchild?”

  “I’m sure you have much more experience in that than I,” Jenna replied, her voice decidedly frosty.

  Given that before her marriage to the earl, the countess had been engaged to Garrett Fairchild, Tony could understand Jenna’s reserve. In fact, he recalled, when Tony had joined the Fighting Fifth in Spain, Garrett had still been pining over Lucinda’s defection.

  “Oh, Lady Fairchild, I expect we have more shared…experience than you would like to think,” Lady Doone said. “Tony, I’d heard you’d finally returned from Brussels. In company with Lady Fairchild, perhaps?”

  After Lady Doone’s sly jab at Jenna, whatever mild inclination Tony had to bandy words with her evaporated. And since Lucinda Blaine was not only a hopeless flirt, but the worst of gossips, he’d better squelch the potential rumor of her second comment before it could begin.

  “Alas, no…unfortunately for me. I didn’t meet her again until the memorial service for Colonel Fairchild.”

  “Poor, dear Garrett!” The countess sighed. “To have lost him just one battle away from having him return to us for good! We held each other in the tenderest of regards.”

  “So tender, you broke your understanding with him to marry the earl,” Jenna observed.

  “But Garrett understood the necessity of it—my father’s debts so great and the earl promising to be so generous. Besides, in the end—” she smiled at Jenna “—he forgave me most graciously.”

  Observing the grim set of Jenna’s lips, Garrett decided she’d endured enough of Lucinda Blaine’s baiting.

  “We mustn’t detain you further, my lady,” he began.

  “Indeed, I’m sure your husband must be wondering what has become of you,” Jenna inserted.

  Suppressing a grin, Tony continued, “Your devoted servant, Countess. Lady Fairchild, shall we depart?” With a brief bow to Lucinda, Tony kicked his horse into motion, Jenna immediately following.

  Behind them, the Beauty sat in openmouthed astonishment that Tony had dared to ride away—before she dismissed him. He’d likely made an enemy there.

  But getting Jenna away from Lucinda had seemed more important. He glanced over at her, noting that the color that had warmed her cheeks after their gallop had now vanished, leaving her looking pale and drained.

  Perhaps it had been too soon after her accident to have urged her to ride. “Are you fatigued?” he asked with concern. “We could stop at Gunter’s for some
ices.”

  “No. I want to go home.”

  Anger and frustration swelled his chest as he realized that their interlude with Lucinda Blaine had effectively chilled the air of camaraderie that had warmed him during their ride. He cast about for some way to retrieve it.

  Perhaps a frontal assault would be best. Hoping he wasn’t about to make matters worse, Tony rode in front of Jenna’s mount and halted, forcing her to pull up as well.

  “What’s wrong, Jenna? I hope you didn’t let the Countess of Doone’s nasty remarks upset you. She seems to need to imply every man she meets find her fascinating.”

  “You gave her no reason to doubt that supposition,” Jenna snapped.

  Had Jenna been a bit jealous? Pleased in spite of himself, he said, “A man may admire a showy bauble without coveting it for his own.”

  “But if it once was his own, does he ever stop regretting its loss?” she asked softly.

  Tony threw her a sharp glance. Surely Jenna couldn’t doubt that her husband had found his way free of whatever spell Lucinda Blaine had once cast over him.

  “No intelligent man keeps a shiny bit of glass after he’s discovered that ‘pearl of great price,’” he said.

  When she turned to look at him, Tony was horrified to see tears in her eyes. “What if he thinks to have both?”

  She did have doubts. Incredulous at the realization and torn by the obvious distress on her face, Tony protested, “You can’t truly believe Garrett had any warm feelings left for Lucinda Blaine!”

  “How can you be certain?” she flashed back. “You two were never friends.”

  “True. But after you were wed, I was threatened with the direst retribution if I so much as approached you. He guarded you as he would his most precious possession.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t want to share this particular bauble.”

  It must be her weakened physical state that made her prey to these nonsensical doubts. “Come now, Jenna, do you not think you are letting yourself make too much out of a vainglorious woman’s innuendo?”

 

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