by Cheryl Holt
"Well, let’s see." He laid his cards on the table and counted the reasons on his fingers. "She was disgusted with both of us, her life has been in shambles ever since she stumbled into the Abbey, you and I are a couple of blackguards and liars, and she wasn’t about to linger where another misfortune could befall her."
"What was your response?"
"That she was absolutely correct."
"So you told her she could leave?"
"No, I told her she couldn’t leave, but talking to her is like talking to a log. She was anxious to check on Michael."
"Michael is fine."
"I told her that, too, but she didn’t believe me. She doesn’t consider me to be reliable."
"You’re not."
"There you go." Duncan grinned at his new chums. "She was extremely upset about my marriage to her sister."
"As she should be."
"She thinks I’m a bad influence."
"You are."
"Obviously, she doesn’t know her sister, at all. Eleanor is just as stubborn as Grace. It’s impossible to stand up to a female like her. Are you sure it’s worth it?"
"I wanted to speak to her," Jackson complained.
"Yes, but she didn’t want to speak to you. She assumes you’re engaged to Susan."
"I’m not! Didn’t you tell her?"
"I told her, all right. She called me a fraud and a libertine and a seducer of innocent maidens."
She has you pegged exactly, Jackson almost observed, but what was the point?
"Why didn’t you send for me?" Jackson asked. "I could have stopped her."
"How could you have? She was bent on going, and besides, these gentlemen were starting up a card game. I couldn’t pass up such interesting—rich—company, now could I?"
"At least tell me that you gave her some funds for the trip so she isn’t traipsing across the country without a farthing to buy her supper. At least tell me that."
"How could I have given her any money? I didn’t have any myself until these fellows began to lose."
Jackson rolled his eyes and stomped out, wondering how slow the mail coach was traveling, how far a lead she had, and when he’d ever—just once—be done chasing after her.
DC
"Are you mad? I’m not leaving with you. Why would I?"
"I’m not leaving, either. Uncle Jack said I’m to stay here until he returns."
Grace glowered at her sister, then at Michael, but her stern glare had no effect. They were both happy at the Abbey, delighted with their circumstances and seeing no reason to change them.
"I can’t let you continue in this preposterous marriage to Duncan," she advised Eleanor.
"Honestly, Grace, it’s a little too late for you to protest, don’t you think?"
"You should have confided in me," Grace insisted.
"Why? So you could try to dissuade me? So you could refuse your permission?"
"Yes. He’s a cad and a gambler and a lout and a—"
"Grace, I’m ecstatic that he’s my husband. Please don’t speak ill of him. I don’t wish for us to quarrel."
They were in Grace’s bedchamber. She had staggered back from the coast, looking and feeling like a shipwreck survivor.
She had been kidnapped and terrorized and abused, and she was very afraid of the Scott family. Even though Jackson had freed her, she didn’t feel safe. She was a trembling, weepy mess. She kept glancing over her shoulder, certain that Rafferty was hot on her trail.
Whenever she heard a noise, she jumped, convinced that she was about to be tossed into another carriage and whisked away. Rafferty’s first scheme had been foiled, but she doubted she’d be so lucky for the second. After all, how many times could Jackson Scott ride to her rescue?
She didn’t know how other women managed after such an ordeal, but she didn’t have the necessary skills to cope with what had been done to her. She didn’t want to have those sorts of skills.
She wanted to collect Michael and Eleanor, then vanish before something more horrid could occur.
But they had no desire to flee, and she couldn’t persuade them that they should.
"Now that you’ve wed Duncan," she said to Eleanor, "what are you expecting to have happen?"
"I expect him to wrap up his dealings on the coast, and then he’ll return to the Abbey."
"To what?"
"I have no idea."
"He doesn’t have a penny to his name."
"No. Nor do I."
"How will you support yourselves?"
"I have no idea about that, either." Eleanor grinned as if it was all a big joke. "I suppose we’ll throw ourselves on the mercy of Jackson Scott. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on us."
"You’ll live on pity? On Jackson Scott’s mercy?"
Eleanor laughed and shrugged. "It beats starving in the street."
Grace thought of all the years she’d worked hard so Eleanor could attend school, so she could obtain the attributes required to make a good marriage. Yet she’d selected Duncan Dane. What was there to say about such a choice? How could it be explained?
Grace was positive she’d never known her sister, at all.
"You have no shame," Grace scolded.
"I guess I don’t," Eleanor readily agreed.
Grace shook her head with disgust.
The girl was in love, and there was no discouraging her. Grace wondered how long Eleanor would have stars in her eyes for Duncan Dane. After her babies started to appear, and there was no money for food, what would Eleanor think then?
Her sister looked at Duncan and saw someone other than the man he actually was. She seemed to believe she could change him, and wasn’t that the folly of every maiden who’d ever been smitten by a rake?
"Fine, stay if you feel you must." Grace spun to Michael. "Eleanor is an adult, and she can decline to heed me. But you are a child, and I am your guardian. You and I are leaving, and I won’t argue about it."
"I can’t leave, Grace. Uncle Jack ordered me to wait, and I wouldn’t dream of disobeying him."
"What about disobeying me?" she snapped. "Would you dream about that?"
"I’m hoping you won’t force me to pick between you. He’ll be here soon, and he’s such a smart fellow. He’ll figure out our situation, and you won’t have to fret."
Grace didn’t want to wait for Jackson to arrive, didn’t want to talk to him again. When he was present, she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t make decisions. She didn’t possess the shrewdness required to deal with him, so she couldn’t get swept up in his life.
Was he engaged? Was he not engaged?
Duncan had claimed he wasn’t, but she was so disoriented that she’d lost the ability to judge reality from fiction, truth from lies.
She was just a healer from a rural village in Cornwall, and the past weeks had pitched her into a maddening spiral of trouble and catastrophe. She felt as if she was on a raft rampaging down a river, that rapids were approaching and there was no rudder to steer to shore.
"I’m going to be the earl," Michael stunned her by saying.
"Who told you that?" Grace asked.
"Uncle Jack—before he left. I have to do it for Percival."
"For Percival?" Grace scoffed. "Why would you be doing it for him?"
"He would hate to be earl, and he wouldn’t be very good at it."
She smiled wanly, stumbled over to a chair and eased herself down.
This was another reason to flee, another reason to drag Michael away.
She couldn’t guess why Jackson would tell Michael that he would become earl. Jackson resided in Egypt, and as far as Grace was aware, he intended to return there at the first opportunity. If he instituted all sorts of changes, then departed, Michael would be at Beatrice’s mercy.
Jackson could decree whatever he wanted about Michael and his rights, but Beatrice and Susan Scott would have a very different opinion as to how matters should conclude.
Jackson could upset the family order, could cast Percival d
own and raise Michael up, but at what cost?
Beatrice had shown how deadly she could be, and Grace was very frightened of the deranged woman. Michael would never be safe from Beatrice, and Grace wouldn’t put herself through such a grueling existence where she was constantly expecting disaster to appear on the horizon.
She studied the floor, castigating herself. Why had she traveled to Milton Abbey? Why had she butted in where she didn’t belong?
Eleanor had made a place for herself, and Michael believed he had, too. If Grace relented and allowed him to remain, she’d have to go by herself. She’d be truly alone, with no one to worry over her. Wasn’t that a depressing ending?
When she glanced up again, there were tears in her eyes, and Michael noticed instantly.
"Are you sad, Grace? Please don’t be sad."
"I’m not sad," she lied. "I’m just tired."
He came over and clasped her hand. "It will be all right. Once I am earl—"
"I wish you wouldn’t count on it," she kindly urged.
"It will all work out. I’ll take care of you. Father would want me to, don’t you think? And Eleanor and Duncan, too. I’ll be rich, and they can live with us. I won’t miss a penny."
Eleanor chimed in with, "Michael, you are the sweetest boy ever, and I heartily accept any help you would like to give us." She smiled at Grace. "See, Grace? Why are you fussing? Michael won’t let anything bad happen to us."
"Yes, I’m sure he won’t," Grace mumbled.
She could have chided them, could have attempted to make them grasp why they were wrong. Nothing good had transpired since she’d met Jackson Scott, and the foreseeable future wouldn’t be any different.
But Michael was a child, and Eleanor—in marrying Duncan—had proved herself silly and immature. There was no point in trying to convince them.
She needed some peace and quiet, needed them to leave her room so she could rest a bit, then begin planning her next move. But before she could speak, a ruckus erupted on the stairs.
"Where is Grace Bennett?" a man shouted, and she didn’t have to ponder long or hard to realize it was Jackson.
"Where is she?" he called again. "Don’t anyone dare inform me she’s left already. If anyone tells me she’s gone, I will pluck out his tongue!"
He was marching toward them, his footsteps pounding nearer, and she rippled with exasperation.
When he’d leapt onto the ship in Dover, she’d never been more relieved. Yet she still couldn’t comprehend why he’d chased after her. Why would he care where she was? Why would he care if she’d waited for him at the Abbey?
In all the time she’d spent with him, he’d never envisioned them having a permanent connection. She did not understand him.
"He doesn’t sound very happy," Eleanor said. "Why is he angry with you?"
"How could I guess? He’s insane."
He loomed into the doorway and smirked. "Ha! I caught you."
"I’m not a fish on a hook," Grace snidely stated.
"Must I resort to tying our wrists so I can keep you close?"
"Why would you want me close?"
"Don’t you know, you idiotic female?"
"No."
He peered around, noting that Michael and Eleanor were their audience.
"You two, out!" he commanded.
They rose like trained soldiers, but Michael said, "Grace is quite fatigued, Uncle Jack. You won’t weary her further, will you?"
"No."
"Are you sure?" Michael pressed. "She needs to rest."
"She’ll rest when I say she can. Now go!"
He gestured to the hall, and they trudged out. As Eleanor passed, she asked Jackson, "Is Duncan with you?"
"No, he’s gambling."
"Was he winning?"
"He appeared to be."
"Marvelous." She acted as if her husband’s wagering was the greatest news ever. She leaned toward Grace and murmured, "Don’t be stupid for once."
"Stupid!" Grace huffed. "I’ve never been stupid a day in my life."
"Are you joking?" Eleanor retorted. "We could write a book about being stupid, and your picture would be printed on every page."
They walked out, and Jackson went after them and slammed the door. Then he whipped around.
"Don’t you move a muscle," he barked.
"I wasn’t planning to."
"Don’t talk, don’t move, don’t do anything until I’ve said what I came to say."
"Fine. Say it."
"You, Miss Bennett, have reached the end of the line and let me explain why."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jackson took a step toward Grace, and she took a step back. He took another and she did, too.
"I told you to stand still," he snapped.
"I don’t like the look in your eye. You’re scaring me."
"You? Scared? Don’t be absurd. You’re not scared of anything."
He swooped in and trapped her against the bedpost. They were forged fast from chest to knee, and on feeling his body touch hers, he was giddy with delight.
"Will you ever behave as you’re commanded?" he inquired.
"No. Never."
"I suppose there’s no hope of changing you."
"No."
"How can I convince you to stay in one place and do as I say?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that I might not wish to do as you say?"
"Yes, that fact has absolutely occurred to me."
She shoved at his chest, trying to push him away, but he wouldn’t move. Now that he’d caught up with her, he planned to remain permanently attached.
"You’re being a bully," she complained. "Stop it."
"I haven’t begun to bully you. If I was a bully, you’d still be at the coast."
"At the coast? Why would I have stayed there?"
"Because I wanted you to? Because I expected you to? I never imagined you’d be foolish enough to leave on your own."
"I had to find out if Michael was safe."
"You couldn’t have asked me?"
"I wasn’t thinking clearly. In case you didn’t notice, I was in a bit of a state."
"Yes, you were, which means it was ridiculous for you to tot off like a mad woman."
"I’ve only been insane since I met you."
"Don’t blame me." He wagged a finger under her nose. "I’m certain you were mad long before we ever crossed paths."
She tried another fierce shove and wiggled away. She stood, glowering, appearing furious and aggrieved and so desperately alone. He yearned to draw her into his arms, to stroke a hand up and down her back while he swore everything would be all right. But in her current condition, she’d never let him be kind.
"Why are you angry with me?" she said. "I didn’t do anything to you."
"Except give me the fright of my life."
"You were worried about me? Don’t make me laugh."
"Miss Bennett, the last time we had a civil conversation, you begged me to chase across the country after your sister."
"And I haven’t thanked you. So…thank you."
"You’re welcome." He curtly nodded. "When I returned, I was informed by my mother that you are a tart—"
"A tart!" She sizzled with rage.
"Yes, a tart and a confidence artist and an embezzler. She had the signed confession to prove it."
"Well, she told me that you were engaged to your sister-in-law."
"I heard."
"Susan said her wedding to you was approaching, and she didn’t want me here anymore. She ordered me away."
"I’m sure she did."
His ire spiked, and it dawned on him that—in his dealings with Susan and Beatrice—he hadn’t implemented nearly enough punishment.
"Susan had a big fat diamond ring on her finger."
"It’s a family heirloom that my brother gave her when he proposed. She waves it around whenever she’s eager to flaunt herself."
"You’re claiming you didn’t give it to her?"
"I’m not claiming. I didn’t give it to her."
"I signed your mother’s confession without reading it. She offered me money to go away, and if I refused, she threatened to take Michael from me and make him vanish before you got back from Scotland. I was terrified."
"As you should have been."
"A swine named Rafferty kidnapped me."
"I’ve met Rafferty."
"He tossed me in a carriage, and he dragged me to London against my will, and he locked me in this horrid warehouse, and no one knew what had happened to me, and they put me on a ship, and it sailed away, and I thought…thought…"
Suddenly, she ran out of steam. She slumped as if her bones had turned to rubber. Her knees buckled, and he leaped over and grabbed her. If he hadn’t, she would have fallen to the rug.
He moved to a chair and seated himself, with Grace settled on his lap. She sighed and—for just an instant—nestled closer. Then she straightened and scowled.
"That’s the second time I’ve fainted."
"Yes, and I wouldn’t take you for a swooner."
She studied him, then breathed, "Oh no…"
"Oh no, what?"
Miserable and alarmed, she shook her head. "It can’t be. I won’t let it be."
"Won’t let what be? What are you talking about?"
"I think I’m pregnant." She leaned in so they were nose to nose. "If I am, you’re a dead man."
"You might be pregnant?"
"Yes. It’s what usually transpires when a female behaves precisely as she shouldn’t, especially when she’s unlucky. Lately, there’s no woman alive who’s unluckier than me."
"You’re pregnant." He savored the words, liking how they sounded as they rolled off his tongue. "You’re positive?"
"No, but I’d bet a hundred pounds. Why would I be fainting every other minute?"
"You don’t have a hundred pounds to bet."
"No, I don’t." She groaned with dismay. "Is there any other misfortune that can land on me? How many disasters can you render?"
"Probably a few dozen more—if you give me a chance."
"You’re a menace."
"Yes, I am, and guess what?"
"What?"
"I’m about to be married."
She lurched as if he’d slashed her with a knife. "To Susan? I tell you I’m increasing, and the next sentence out of your mouth is to inform me of your marriage to someone else? You are the most despicable, low down, dirty, foul, repulsive, contemptible—"
