by Jaycee Clark
Emily didn’t understand what they were trying to say. One thing stuck in her mind. “But I’m not. Don’t you see? I’m not really the Marchioness of Ravensworth.”
Jason shook his head. “No one outside the four of us knows this. And you are the only one here who could recognize Mr. Smith.” His gaze locked to her and he walked to her, leaning down, trapping her between the chair and him. His hands rested on either side of her on the chair’s arms. “Is there anything else, madam wife that you’ve neglected to inform me of?”
God, she loved this man.
She smiled. “Not that I can recall at the moment, but give me time, and I’m sure I can come up with something.”
He did not smile.
She laid her hand on the side of his face. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how, and I’d hoped it was some mean-spirited prank.”
His eyes still bore into her, that intense blue stare made her want to shift.
“It’s not like you told me of your notes either.”
“Children, children,” Rayne said as he poured a shot of brandy. “It is past time for telling. The time has arrived to plan. I sent word to Hobbs; the men should be arriving shortly, knowing Hobbs.”
Jason leaned further to her, closing the distance between them. Nose to nose he said, very quietly, very coldly, “Do not ever keep anything from me again.”
He was so territorial. She smiled and kissed him, a simple kiss of her lips to his. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll do more than try.”
“How can I do more than try? I could try to tell you and you be busy, or you might not be here, or you could simply not listen, or—”
The last of her words were lost as his mouth descended onto hers. “Bedlam,” he muttered, his lips moving against her own. “Straight to Bedlam.”
She licked her lips when he pulled back.
“For the love of God, now is not the time to…to…to…” Rayne grumbled.
“Yes?” she and Jason asked together, both turning their heads in his direction.
“This is the way I see it,” Rayne said, that look of baffled amusement on his face he always seemed to carry. “The man is a liar. If confronted, Emily will simply say she doesn’t know him.”
“She won’t be confronted,” Jason replied.
“But if she is, if they’re ever face to face—”
“They won’t be,” Jason growled.
Emily laid her hands on his chest. “But if we are?”
His gaze zeroed back to hers, his eyes bright with a fierceness she’d never seen in him. “You won’t be.”
“The point is that she will deny knowing him, Jason. The man will be written off as a lunatic.” Rayne looked at her. “And there can be no scandal in that. No harm to come to Jason or to Joy.”
It made a bit of sense. “I see that. And I agree on the point that then he will have no public claim on me. But the fact is…”
“Have you seen this man?” Jason asked her, his gaze still level with hers. “Have you?”
She cupped his cheeks. “No. I would have told you if I had.”
He grunted and straightened. “Then for all we know, the man truly is an imposter.”
Hope flared within her, but doubts, the past squelched it. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.
“Why not?” Jason began to pace. “You’ve not seen him, only heard of him and he’s sent you missives. Are those the activities of a long-lost husband worried about his wife?” he asked.
Nick sauntered over to a chair, propping an elbow against the high back. “I think I need to make a round at my club this evening.”
Emily frowned.
Jason was already nodding. “Yes, I believe you do. Let the word be put out.”
“Is it to be vendetta or lunatic?”
Jason stared off into space. “An enemy. It’s the truth. I want none of this coming back on Emmy or Joy. Though a lunatic would work just as well, and we could write his claims off as mad musings.”
Emily stood up. “Wait just a moment. Are you all forgetting one small and not so insignificant detail?” She propped her hands on her hips, frustrated at the way the men just took over as if she were too weak to handle anything. Perhaps she’d had a few moments of weakness, but she’d managed to control the fear in the end. They could give her some credit.
“What is that?” Rayne asked.
“That if this man is who he claims to be, I am not married to you,” she said to Jason.
His gaze sharpened, chilled. “You are mine. Don’t you ever forget it.”
The brusque words at one time would have sent her running from the room or trembling in fear. Now, something warm unfurled within her. She was Jason’s. With him by her side, Theodore could hold no claim on her.
“So if it does turn out to be Theodore?” she pressed.
The men exchanged glances, the air thickened. No one answered her.
Chapter Twenty
Theodore paced his room. They knew, knew who he was and still men were looking for him. Him! As if he were the common criminal and not God’s Messenger, sent to spread the Word to thousands of savage heathens.
He stopped and looked out the small window to the street below. Filth all but clogged the air. He could smell it in the dank air, feel it in the words and voices, see it in the starving faces.
Yesterday morning he’d wondered what the two adulterers had thought of his messages. Then, by chance and God’s grace, he’d heard men below talking about the Marquis of Ravensworth and the reward for the crazy man stalking his family.
Stalking?
Theodore scratched his jaw, perhaps he was stalking them, but he had every right to do so. The marquis had taken what was his, stolen it.
He shook his head. No, no, that was Rebeckah’s fault. A woman’s place was by her husband, she knew that, had been taught that. So why hadn’t she followed God’s rule?
He left the woman because of her own actions, hoping to distance himself from her and his rage, to find peace with God. Instead, he’d been taken hostage and seen unspeakable crimes.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. The heathens had kept him alive, and for what, he still did not know, but he had not met the same fate as those others taken that day at the fort. Images, black and dark, winged their way along his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he tried to outrun them.
Screams echoed in his head, praying, crying. No help ever came.
Something crashed against the hall wall, jerking him back. A shudder danced through him, chills racing down his spine.
Theodore wiped his hands over his face. He needed to think to plan.
All he wanted was his wife and daughter. And the wife, he knew was a lost cause. Even he had not been able to beat the wickedness out of her.
But the child.
Ah, the child could still be saved. She was young enough, impressionable enough, he would raise her right. Of course the child wouldn’t come without the mother, and if he had the child, the mother would come easily enough.
Rebeckah had always tried to protect her, but he’d had his way.
The past and present crashed through his brain, his wife and dark-headed girls. Pain echoed, a dull throb behind his eyes.
Some part of him whispered the child was not his, but he shoved the evil thought away. Laziness was not acceptable, nor were excuses. The child came first. The child should be saved. He’d just as well leave his wife here, the adulterating slut. But perhaps he could save her with time. God wouldn’t want him to give up.
No. No. No. Theodore shook his head and kept pacing, plotting and planning.
* * * * *
Emily clapped her hands at Joy’s picture. “Very beautiful, Poppet.”
Joy handed it to her and climbed in her lap. Emily didn’t care about the paint-covered fingers.
“And what is this?”
Joy settled against Emily. “Das Papa, add you, and Panny,” she said, pointing out the scribbles and then smiling at her
nursemaid, Franny.
Emily nodded. “And what is this?”
Joy huffed. “Dat’s my pony, Fweckles.”
But of course it was. “Yes, I can see that now. You are just the little blooming artist aren’t you?” Emily kissed the dark curls atop Joy’s head, the slight smell of dust catching her off guard.
“What have you been doing?” she asked her daughter.
Franny shook her head. “Miss Joy was playing in her cave again, my lady.”
“Your cave?” Emily asked.
Joy nodded. “Yep. Lodo was hungwy.”
Emily had no idea who Lodo was. The nursery had an alcove and one of the panels could open in the wainscoting. The crawl space behind it, Joy had claimed as her space—her cave where apparently Lodo presided.
“And who,” Emily asked, “is Lodo?”
“Da big cat.” She waved her picture in Emily’s face. “Les go give it to Papa.” Joy shuffled down and held the paper, the bottom corner clutched in her fist as she dashed to the door, almost tripping over her own feet.
“Joy, slow down,” Emily cautioned, hurrying to catch up with her daughter.
At the top of the stairs, she grabbed for her daughter just before Joy stepped off the first one.
“I do it myself.”
Emily sighed. “Not the stairs you won’t. I don’t need to see you puddled at the bottom of them. Who would ride Freckles then? And what would your Papa and I do without you?” Emily stepped off the first one and held tight to the straining hand in hers. “Besides, I need your help down them.”
Joy stopped, her brow furrowed as she thought about that. “I help you, Mama.”
Joy had become increasingly independent of late. It was exhausting. Emily yawned, tired already and it was just past noon. At least she had managed to keep her toast down this morning.
Jason’s study door was shut. Emily started to tell Joy they would wait, when Joy kicked it. “Papa!”
So much for leaving him in peace. “Joy, don’t kick the doors, it’s not ladylike.” The door opened. “You must knock. Not kick.”
Joy turned and said, “I couldn’t.” She held up the picture clasped in one hand and wiggled her fingers of the hand that Emily still held.
“At least you are resourceful and that is always a wonderful thing for a woman to be,” Jason said, leaning down and scooping Joy up. “What have we here?”
Emily walked past them into the room, dropping into one of the chairs as Joy prattled on about the picture.
“I’ll put it right here on my desk. Is that acceptable?”
She watched as he set the picture on the top of his desk.
“No, Papa, not dere.” Joy wiggled until she had the picture back and placed in the center of Jason’s work area, already littered and scattered with papers. “Dere. Dat’s where it should be.”
Jason met her eyes and grinned before he gave his daughter his attention. “My apologies, Poppet. I see you are right. Whatever was I thinking putting it up at the top? Anyone can see that the lighting is much better in the very center of my desk.”
Joy’s smile dimpled her cheeks.
Emily tried to swallow the yawn, but only managed to partially hide it and water her eyes.
Jason looked back to her as he sat, Joy in his lap. “Why aren’t you resting?”
“Haven’t made it to our room yet?” she tried, leaning back. If she stayed still she could more than likely go to sleep right here.
“You should be asleep.”
Without opening her eyes, she waved her hand in his general direction. “I will.”
With half an ear she listened to Jason and Joy whispering, glad she was here, with him.
Since night before last, her nerves had been calmer, now that Jason knew what they were facing. He was, she knew, right. She should have shared her worries right off, but she hadn’t. Now, though it hardly mattered. Jason was taking care of things, as he put it.
At least he told her what was going on.
The word had been sent out that a mentally ill man was stalking their family, thinking Joy and Emily were his wife and child. Speculation was that Ravensworth did not know if it was a ploy by one of his enemies to harm him, or if the man was truly insane. Either way, the lie had been told and spread as quickly as a fire in a dry forest. But then, there was nothing society liked more than the latest on dit.
Emily still wasn’t certain how to feel about the falsehood, but she was trying not to worry about it, since Jason didn’t want her to worry. And she even learned there were bets placed in the clubs as to what “fate” would befall the man.
Yet, the clock inside her seemed to be ticking louder and louder, as if warning her that time was almost up. For what or whom, she tried not to dwell.
She did not tell Jason any of this, of course. He’d only tell her not to worry.
God’s truth she was getting tired of that dictate.
For just a moment more, she’d rest here, then she’d get up and go lie down.
Jason watched as Joy tiptoed out of the room, her hand held in Summerton’s, her steps animated and dramatic in an attempt to keep quiet. He let out a breath and looked at Emily.
She sat in the chair, her head tilted to rest against the back of it, her eyes closed, her cheeks too pale for his liking.
At least she’d managed to keep down what little she’d eaten today.
God she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful and he loved her.
He opened his mouth to tell her, but the reminder of her words the other night stopped him. Had he shown her enough that he loved her?
Jason steepled his fingers and rested them against his mouth, his elbows on the desktop and watched her sleep.
Emily was everything to him. Everything. Did she know that? How in the blazes did he show the woman what she meant to him?
He watched as her chest rose and fell with her evened breathing. She was asleep. Shaking his head, he stood, walked to her.
With the tip of his finger, he traced her arched brows, the bridge of her nose, which was, at present, free of worry. He brushed her hair back from her temple and leaned down kissing her cheek. It was as soft as Joy’s, he thought.
The woman needed to slow down. Bending, he scooped her up and held her against him, her smell of vanilla wafting around him as he walked from the room, her arm around his neck.
The only good thing about all the happenings of late was that it kept his mind occupied with things he could do instead of things he could not. The doctor advised against “marital duties”. Jason smiled. Dr. Blaine had turned all shades of red when giving that bit of halted advice.
And though Jason missed her like he had missed no other woman, he was taking no chances with her or the baby. So what if he hardly slept with her nestled up next to him, at least she was getting her rest.
At their bedroom, he laid her on the bed and eased off her gown and shoes. She mumbled something but closed her eyes again and went limp.
“You should have napped sooner.” He tossed her gown aside and pulled the covers back. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth.
She mumbled something again.
“Shh. Rest.” He straightened, but her hand on his stopped him.
“Stay with me, please.” Even with her eyes closed, she arched a brow.
Chuckling, he squeezed her hand. “For a bit.”
When he settled against the pillows, she turned into him, resting within the circle of his arms, her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
“Do we really have to go tonight?” she whispered.
God he didn’t want to. Caressing her arm, he said, “I’d rather not. But if we stay here, with the rumors abounding, it’ll seem as if we have something to fear from this man. That we are hiding something.” He pulled his chin in and looked at the top of her head. She didn’t look up and he continued. “I don’t want anyone questioning this man’s motives or his connection to us. Being seen tonight at the Kollerton Ball will seem as if we are con
cerned, but that is all.”
It was crucial they go. The Kollerton affair was one that everyone who was anyone coveted an invite. If they were at the ball, and questions were asked, Jason could deflect them, answer them, whatever he needed to do.
“I promise we won’t stay long,” he told her again.
He stared at the canopy top, watching the shadows play on the deep blue pleats as he listened to Emily’s breathing. In no time, he knew she was asleep, yet still he stayed and held her.
Swallowing he whispered, “I know you don’t need the words, but sometimes I’d like to say them.” He kissed her hair. “I love you.” He blew out the breath he’d been holding. “I love you so much, the thought of anything happening to you terrifies me. I swear on all that I hold dear, I will keep you safe.”
A weight descended on his chest and he took a deep breath, hoping to ease it, but didn’t.
“I will keep you safe.”
She shifted, her arm coming around his middle, her head turning. He studied the ridged line of her nose, the way her lashes lay soft and curled against her cheeks.
She was his, and no one would ever say different.
The anger he’d held on simmer for the last two days bubbled anew. There were guards around the house now, four of them. Two watched the back alley and two the front. Hobbs said he’d sent his best men. The men, who would scare any other sane person, melted into clay when Emily or Joy so much as smiled at them. Especially Joy. She called them her pirates. They looked the part. One man was missing a hand, and in its place was a hook. One day, some person, mayhap his daughter, would undoubtedly write a story about a pirate captain and a hook for a hand. Joy called him One Hand Jack. And when he’d tried to tell his daughter that was not the man’s name, Jack had laughed and said it was better than most he’d been called in his life. So One Hand Jack had become the “leader” of Joy’s band of merry pirates.
Jason hadn’t asked where Hobbs had gotten the men, and he didn’t care. If Hobbs said these were the best, they were the best. He knew that these men wouldn’t hesitate to protect either Emily or Joy.
