Sweet Surrender

by Cheryl Holt

  "I sent the girls to London just so she wouldn’t be offended!"

  "Don’t forget that when you first met her, you tossed her out. She probably didn’t care for your cavalier manner. You really can be overbearing. If you’d treated me that way, I’d have left, too."

  "I do not understand women."

  "No, you never have."

  Jackson stood, pushing his chair back so rapidly that it tipped to the floor. He threw his napkin on the table.

  "Where are you going?" Duncan inquired.

  "To find Miss Bennett."

  "Why?"

  "For the same reason I went after her before. So she’s not running around the countryside, boasting paternity and causing a stir. She is staying here until I decide that she’s not."

  "You don’t know her as I do."

  "I consider myself lucky that I don’t."

  "She’s very stubborn."

  "As am I."

  "I wouldn’t expect her to meekly obey."

  "We’ll see about that," Jackson ominously threatened.

  He stomped out, shouting orders to have a horse saddled, to have his coat brought down. In minutes, he was flying down the road.

  DC

  When Grace heard the approaching horse, she didn’t have to ponder the identity of the rider. She’d recognize the clop of that stallion’s hooves anywhere.

  She sighed with resignation.

  At dawn, when they’d tiptoed out—Michael and Eleanor grumbling with every step—she hadn’t thought anyone would notice or mind. She’d slipped that paltry note under her pillow, but hadn’t imagined a servant would read it or show it to him.

  Now, he was chasing them down.

  Why would he care that they’d departed?

  He didn’t want them at Milton Abbey, refused to accept that Michael was his nephew, and would vehemently deny any paternity. And he was a scoundrel.

  After witnessing his debauched character, she was happy to allow him his fantasy where Edward had never married Georgina and Michael didn’t exist. Yes, she’d vowed to remain, but she’d only relented so he’d stop nagging.

  Her attempt to seek assistance from the Scott family had been foolish. Mr. Porter had tried to warn her, but she’d forged ahead—when she should have exercised caution.

  They were in the village, seated on a bench outside the blacksmith’s barn. They were waiting for Mr. Porter so they could arrange a ride to London. Grace hadn’t the slightest clue how they’d survive once they arrived in the city. She was fumbling around, out of ideas, penniless, and terrified.

  "I don’t know why we couldn’t have stayed at the Abbey," Michael complained.

  "I don’t, either," Eleanor agreed. "I’m starving. You could at least have let us eat breakfast."

  "There were reasons we had to leave," Grace grudgingly admitted.

  "What were they?" Michael asked.

  She’d planned to shield them from reality, but didn’t they deserve an explanation?

  "I’m sorry, Michael," she said, "but Mr. Scott didn’t believe that Edward is your father, so he didn’t feel bound to extend any hospitality."

  "He didn’t believe us?" Michael was gravely offended. "I wish you’d have let me talk to him. I don’t appreciate his denigrating my parents."

  "I wasn’t too thrilled myself," Grace muttered as Mr. Scott thundered into the village square.

  He reined in and urged his horse toward them. They rose, morose and beaten down, like a trio facing the gallows. With him mounted, he towered over them, appearing imperious and judgmental and in the right.

  "Miss Bennett," he snapped, "you promised you would remain at the Abbey."

  "I lied," she said.

  "Yes, I see that you have. I’ve typically found females to be ridiculous in their choices, and you’ve proved yourself to be the same as any other woman."

  "That’s me, just one bad decision after the next."

  "Come," he commanded. "We’re heading to the Abbey, and I won’t listen to any argument."

  "You don’t want us there, Mr. Scott, and I have no idea why you’re in a temper. I’ve made things easy on you. I’ve left without your having to force me away. You should be celebrating."

  "I’m not celebrating, Miss Bennett. I’m furious, and as I’ve explained—but you don’t seem to grasp—I always get my way."

  He spun to Michael.

  "Good morning, Michael."

  "Good morning, sir."

  "You may call me Jackson."

  "Thank you."

  "Did you want to leave the Abbey?"

  "No. I had hoped for a long visit so I could explore the spot where my father was raised. I feel sad that you have disparaged my parents. I didn’t know my father, but my mother was wonderful. You would have liked her very much."

  "I’m sure I would have. And I haven’t said a derogatory word about your parents. Who claimed I had? Was it Grace?"

  Michael hesitated, not keen to tattle on Grace, but not eager to fib to his uncle.

  "Ah…she told me you didn’t believe us, sir, and my mother would never lie. Not about something this important."

  Mr. Scott’s cheeks flushed, as if Michael’s calm certainty embarrassed him. His haughty attention shifted from Michael to Grace to Eleanor, then back to Michael.

  Before Grace realized what he intended, he nudged his horse between her and Michael. Then he leaned down and grabbed Michael by the arm. In a swift move, he yanked Michael onto the saddle.

  "We’ll be at the Abbey," Mr. Scott advised Grace.

  "What?" Grace stammered. "You can’t just…take him."

  "Yes, I can. Haven’t you figured it out by now? I can act however I please."

  He jerked the animal around, its large size causing Grace to leap away.

  "Stop it!" Grace firmly stated, but he ignored her and trotted off.

  "If you’d like to retrieve the boy," he hurled over his shoulder, "you’ll have to return."

  "You dog! You swine! You…you kidnapper!"

  "At the Abbey, Miss Bennett. I’ll see you in an hour or so."

  "Goodbye, Grace," Michael called, waving.

  "Michael! Wrestle free! Jump down!" she shouted, but to no avail.

  They simply kept on, with Michael smiling at Mr. Scott as if he was a hero, as if he walked on water. Grace dashed after them, but rapidly stumbled to a halt. She could never catch up.

  "Ooh, I hate that man," she fumed as they galloped out of sight.

  Eleanor hurried over, and they peered down the empty road.

  "Why would he behave like that?" Eleanor inquired, sounding stunned.

  "Because he’s a fiend."

  "What’s really happening, Grace? You’ve been in a rage ever since we arrived. Tell me why you’re so upset."

  Grace stared at her sister, wanting to deny any trouble, but Eleanor was eighteen. She’d grown up at a girl’s boarding school, so she’d had limited dealings with men and certainly no experience with scoundrels. Wasn’t it best to enlighten her?

  "When I went upstairs yesterday, I found Mr. Scott in a compromising situation."

  "You spoke to him? You claimed you didn’t."

  "Yes…well…he was with some shocking women, and I can’t begin to describe his conduct."

  "He was entertaining loose women?"

  "It was ghastly. I can’t let him have any contact with Michael. He would be a horrid influence."

  "But he’s Michael’s only family."

  "Mr. Porter told me, and Mr. Scott has confirmed, that Edward wed someone else—an aristocrat’s daughter—shortly after he supposedly died."

  Eleanor gasped. "How could he? He was already married to Georgina."

  "Precisely."

  "What a bounder. Why would he carry out such a deception?"

  "I haven’t a clue, but he and his wife had a son—Percival—who is a few months younger than Michael. He’s been installed as earl."

  Eleanor considered for a moment, her sharp mind quickly grasping the int
ricacies. "They’ll never accept Michael as Edward’s child."

  "No, they never will."

  "They’d have to disavow the other boy. They never would."

  "No, never."

  "Could Michael be…in danger from them?"

  "I don’t think so, but we shouldn’t linger here and find out."

  Eleanor’s shoulders slumped with defeat. "What now?"

  "Now, we walk to the Abbey, locate Michael and—next time—do a better job of running away."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "I need to learn to ride and shoot and fight."

  "That’s quite a list."

  "A boy should be good at all those things, don’t you think?"

  "I absolutely agree."

  Jackson grinned at Michael. They were in the library at Milton Abbey, enjoying some cake and conversation while waiting for Grace to stomp in like a mad hornet.

  "My mother would never allow any fighting," Michael said. "She felt a gentleman shouldn’t."

  "But sometimes a fellow has to brawl."

  "Exactly," Michael solemnly stated. "I tried to explain it to her, but she was a girl. She didn’t understand."

  Jackson nodded in commiseration, disturbed to discover that he liked Michael very much.

  He was smart as a whip, mature for his age, well-mannered, and confident in his speech and demeanor. And he looked so much like Edward. His facial expressions, his gestures, his smile. Jackson was mesmerized and alarmed, and he caught himself hoping that Michael was his nephew.

  He hadn’t yet met Percival—his other, real nephew—but he’d heard the stories. Percival was chubby and bumbling and possessed none of Edward’s remarkable traits. And with Percival having bright red hair, there were constant rumors that Percival wasn’t Edward’s son, that Susan had had an affair.

  Jackson had never believed the gossip. Susan had been too intent on becoming a countess, and she wouldn’t have jeopardized her situation.

  "When will Grace arrive?" Michael asked.

  "I expect her any minute."

  "She’ll be upset with me."

  "She won’t be angry with you. She’ll be angry with me."

  "Yes, I’m afraid she will be."

  Jackson shrugged. "Don’t worry. She’s tiny so she won’t do much damage."

  "She may be tiny," Michael sagely advised, "but she can be fierce when riled."

  "I’ll keep that in mind."

  A ruckus commenced in the front vestibule, and Michael’s eyes widened with dismay. It had to be Grace.

  Jackson pointed to the French windows that led onto the rear terrace.

  "Why don’t you go to the stables? Inform the lads you’re to have a tour. Pick out the horse you like best, and tomorrow we’ll start your riding lessons."

  "Really?"

  "Yes."

  Irate footsteps pounded in their direction, and Michael frowned. "Shouldn’t I talk to Grace first? She’ll want to be sure I’m all right."

  "I’ll tell her you’re fine. You don’t need to stay."

  Michael flashed a look of male conspiracy, the precise sort Jackson had shared with Edward when they were boys and plotting against their mother.

  "Go," Jackson urged. "I’ll come out in a bit and find you."

  "Thank you, Uncle Jack."

  The endearing term caused Jackson to flinch. He supposed he should caution him about using the intimate mode of address. After all, he couldn’t have Michael running about, calling him uncle, but Jackson liked the sound of it.

  Just as Michael vanished, Grace marched in, her sister trailing behind. Grace was as furious as he could have predicted, and he was having difficulty displaying the appropriate reaction. He was charmed by Michael, humored by their scheme to conceal him from Grace, and actually eager for their next round of sparring.

  "You scurvy dog!" She stormed over until they were toe to toe. "Where is my ward?"

  "I’m hiding him. I’ll give him back when you behave better."

  "When I behave better?" She was nearly apoplectic. "You are a lecherous, salacious, lazy, corrupt—"

  He glanced at her sister. "Would you excuse us?"

  Eleanor wrung her hands, unnerved by their tempers. "I don’t know if I ought to leave the two of you alone."

  "Don’t worry about us," he told her. "Your bedchamber is still open. Why don’t you rest from your ordeal?"

  "I’m not tired."

  "Then I doubt you had any food this morning."

  "I didn’t."

  "As I assumed—seeing as how your sister is a lunatic."

  "I’m not a lunatic!" Grace bellowed like an insane person.

  He ignored her and continued to cordially chat with Eleanor. "Locate a servant and order yourself a meal." He gestured magnanimously. "Whatever you like, they’ll be happy to fix it for you."

  She anxiously asked, "What do you think, Grace?"

  "You should eat, Eleanor," Grace seethed. "I’m about to commit murder, and I’d rather you didn’t watch."

  "I completely agree."

  She scurried out, and he had Grace all to himself.

  Grace was standing very close, and he leaned in so they were even closer. The foolish woman wasn’t afraid of anything so she didn’t retreat. He didn’t move away, either.

  For some reason, when in her presence, the oddest sensations were generated. A current of energy flowed from him to her, as if their proximity ignited sparks. He couldn’t guess what was causing it—perhaps it was their hot natures grating together—but he was fascinated.

  Apparently, he was physically attracted to her. Perish the thought! He—who had a virtual harem of beauties at home in Egypt—was enticed by a petite, nosy busybody.

  If it wasn’t so hilarious, he’d be incensed. Didn’t he have better taste? Hadn’t he always set his amorous sights a tad higher?

  He felt alive and invigorated. He could smell the soap with which she’d bathed, could perceive her torso’s heat emanating through her horrid gray dress. To his absurd delight, he was wondering again how she’d look without her clothes, and it occurred to him that he was desperate to learn the answer to that question.

  "I’m amazed by your gall, Grace."

  "Don’t call me Grace."

  "I specifically asked you to stay and you left anyway."

  "You don’t own me."

  "You barged in and turned my world upside down, but when I wasn’t to your liking, you scampered away like a frightened rabbit."

  "I won’t have my ward within a hundred miles of you."

  "Won’t you?"

  "No."

  He leaned even nearer so the tips of his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt. Their legs and feet were tangled, and finally, he’d rattled her.

  She took a step back, and he took one forward. She took another, and he did, too, forcing her across the floor until she bumped into the library’s desk and could go no farther.

  He pressed himself to her, holding her against the solid wood. She was trapped and couldn’t move unless he decided to permit it. He seemed to want something from her, though he couldn’t decipher what it was.

  With each encounter, she grew more surly and less impressed by him, and her lack of regard was spurring him to recklessness. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just leave her be?

  He pushed her down until she was actually lying on the desktop, with him wedged between her thighs and stretched out so he could feel every delicious inch. He was being an ass, and he should have risen so she could scoot away, but his common sense had fled.

  "Get up," she fumed, shoving at his shoulders.

  "No."

  "Get up!" she repeated more sternly.

  "No."

  "You are a bully."

  "I am. I admit it."

  "I can’t abide an arrogant male."

  "Then you’ll definitely detest me."

  "You’re bigger than me so you think you can treat me however you please."

  "You’re correct. That’s exactly what
I think."

  "Ooh, I hate you."

  "I don’t care."

  He studied her as she studied him in return. He was held rapt, utterly bowled over by her and unable to pull away.

  "We’re at an impasse," he said.

  "Only in your deluded mind."

  "Yesterday, I asked nicely and you told me you’d remain at the Abbey, but you’re a liar."

  "I’ve never lied in my life until I met you."

  "What is it you don’t like about me?"

  "You mean besides your rude manner, low morals, and ghastly character?"

  "Yes, besides all that."

  "Trust me, that’s plenty."

  He smirked. "I am so humored by you."

  "I can’t imagine why."

  "Maybe because you’re so ridiculously absurd."

  "I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much."

  "No, you’re absurd, so I’ll have to handle you more severely."

  "Will you whip me? Lock me in a closet? What?"

  "I will simply ensure that you obey."

  "Obey!" she sputtered. "I am neither your servant nor your slave. You’re in no position to expect subservience."

  "Yes, I am, and you’ve proved yourself to be thoroughly unreliable."

  "I’m the most reliable person on earth when I’m dealing with someone worthy of constancy."

  "Extreme measures are warranted."

  "Extreme…measures? What are you babbling on about?"

  "You won’t stay when you promised. You can’t swear and keep to your vow. What is left to guarantee the conduct I require?"

  "Why don’t you ponder your dilemma over the next forty years of your life—forty years where you’ll never see me again?"

  He bent down, his lips a hairsbreadth from her own. Her eyes widened with surprise and a touch of alarm, and he was thrilled to note that he’d rendered her speechless. Was that all it took to make her quit talking?

  They shared another poignant moment, similar to the one that had festered the previous afternoon. He was drawn to her, attuned and connected, when he’d never met a female with whom he wanted less of a bond.

  "I ought to kiss you," he blurted out.

  "Kiss me!"

  "It would serve you right."

  "If you even think about it, I’ll find you later and kill you in your sleep."