Wicked Captive

by Carole Mortimer

  Her wound was healing nicely too, the doctor having removed the stiches just this morning.

  Lady Gwendoline had spent her every waking hour either sitting with Jocey, reading to her, or chattering brightly about the things they would do once Jocey was fully recovered.

  During none of that week had Jocey set eyes on Jericho or so much as heard his voice in the house.

  Oh, he sent his excuses to her daily as to why he would not be visiting her that day. Estate business. Crown business. Business business. Any form of business, it seemed, took precedence over his coming to see her.

  “Now, lamb,” Lady Gwendoline chided gently. “You know Cousin Jericho is a very busy man.”

  Too busy, apparently, to bother himself over the health of his ward.

  Jocey still found it slightly incredulous that she had been shot. Shot. Like any soldier on the battlefield. Except she was not a soldier, her enemy had not shown themselves, and this was a battlefield that apparently did not even follow the rudimentary rules of engagement.

  “Yes,” Jocey sighed in answer to her concerned companion. “It is just— I am so bored,” she groaned.

  “Which is a sure sign you are getting better,” the elderly lady assured her warmly.

  To what purpose, Jocey wanted to know. Jericho did not even seem to want to be in the same house as her anymore, and no doubt once Jocey was well enough to travel, he would send her and Lady Gwendoline back to Wessex Manor.

  The thought of that, of being so far away from Jericho, made her shudder.

  “Are you cold, lamb?” Lady Gwendoline fussed as she obviously mistook it for a shiver. “Do you require a blanket?”

  “No. Thank you.” Jocey gave the other woman a reassuring smile. “I am tired from having eaten luncheon and believe I might go back to bed now for a short nap.”

  “An excellent idea.” Her companion beamed her approval. She kept a watchful eye on Jocey as she crossed the room and climbed gingerly into bed.

  Jocey felt the sting of the tears that filled her eyes and threatened to spill over her lashes. The ache in her chest owed nothing to physical pain and had everything to do with Jericho having ignored her existence this past week.

  She sank back gratefully onto the pillows. “Am I nothing but a burden to him now, do you think?”

  Lady Gwendoline looked taken aback. “A burden to whom?”

  “Jericho.”

  “What a silly thing for you to say,” the elderly lady chided as she straightened the bedcovers. “Of course, you are not a burden. He has been most concerned as to your health this past week.”

  “So concerned he cannot even be bothered to come and see me himself.”

  Lady Gwendoline tutted. “I told you, he has been busy. Why, the night I arrived, he was in such a state of concern and disarray, I feared for his health as much as yours.”

  “That was a guilty conscience, not concern.”

  “You are being unfair, lamb. Jericho has explained the situation to me, and I have assured him it was not his fault a traitor to England decided to shoot you.”

  She was being unfair, Jocey accepted. But she missed Jericho so much. Wanted to see him. To be with him.

  And his actions this past week showed he could no longer bear to even be in the same room as her.

  Chapter 16

  “Might I speak with you for a few minutes?”

  Jericho turned from where he had been staring blindly out his study window at the garden. Something he had done a lot of late, mainly because he could not settle to concentrate on any of the work piling up on his desk.

  Which was the reason Cousin Gwendoline’s interruption was so welcome. That, and the fact she was his only source of information regarding Jocelyn.

  He stood up. “Come in, by all means.” He moved to pull back a chair for her to sit down before resuming his seat behind the desk. “Is there something amiss with Jocelyn?”

  “Nothing a visit from you would not cure,” she answered waspishly.

  Jericho frowned. “I have been busy.”

  “So I have repeatedly told Jocey.” She nodded. “But it does not wash, Jericho. You know it, I know it, and so does Jocey.”

  He winced. “It is better for Jocelyn if I stay away.”

  “I disagree.”

  His demeanor became guarded. “What does that mean?”

  Gwendoline drew in a deep breath. “I have a story I wish to tell you. One I should like you to listen to carefully and hopefully learn from,” she added in a stern voice.

  “Of course,” he agreed.

  “Very well.” She straightened in her chair. “Thirty years ago I was engaged to be married— I asked that you listen and learn,” she reproved as Jericho relaxed back in his chair. “Better,” she approved as he sat forward to lean his elbows on the desktop and give her his full attention. “I was engaged to be married, but before the wedding could take place, my fiancé was shot and killed in a duel.”

  “I am sorry to hear that—”

  “By your father.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Jericho gasped.

  Her smile lacked humor. “My fiancé, Henry, became…caught up in the wiles of another woman. She was only playing with him, of course, but Henry’s guilt was such, it caused him to confess the lapse to both myself and your father.”

  Jericho closed his eyes. “The other woman was my mother.”

  “Yes. But that is not the point of this story,” Gwendoline dismissed briskly. “The point of the story is that I should not have let my pride rule my head but listened to my heart instead. I should have forgiven Henry when he asked me to, and perhaps by now, we would have been grandparents and laughing together over his silliness. There had been no physical misconduct between him and Caroline, only a few kisses, and Caroline had no interest in continuing even with that once she had made the conquest.”

  “My father did not see it that way,” Jericho sighed, knowing only too well how his mother had liked to play games with other people’s lives. But he had never known, never guessed, she had harmed her own cousin by marriage in such a manner as this. It was a wonder Gwendoline could even bear to be around him or any of his family after what his mother had done to her.

  “Cousin William has always been hotheaded, and Caroline knew just how far to push his temper.” Gwendoline sighed. “I warned Henry against talking to William, but he did not listen, and the duel and his death were the result.”

  “It is a terrible and sad story, and I apologize on behalf of both my parents, but I do not quite see…”

  “What relevance it has to here and now?” the elderly lady finished. “The relevance it has, Jericho, is that you are now behaving with the same stubbornness as I did all those years ago. It is a family trait, of course, but even so…” She gave an impatient shake of her head. “You have lost weight this past week. Your face is pale. There are lines of strain beside your eyes and mouth. All of them indications of the deep stress you are under.”

  “I have explained the situation to you regarding our search for the traitor to the Crown.”

  “That is not the reason for your current stress.”

  Jericho’s frowned. “I assure you—”

  “And I assure you that I am not so old, I cannot see what is right in front of my nose,” Gwendoline snapped. “You are languishing down here in your study and Jocey is languishing upstairs in her bedchamber, both of you too stubborn to talk to the other.”

  “There is nothing to say—”

  “There is everything to say.” The elderly lady rose to her feet. “Do not make the mistake I did, Jericho. Do not let fear and pride stand in the way of what you truly want. Who you truly want.”

  He gave a shake of his head. “You have mistaken the situation.”

  “Really?” she challenged. “At the moment, your guilt over the shooting is telling you it is for the best if you keep your distance from Jocey. That she is better off without you in her life. That being in your life is the reason she
was shot. Meanwhile, Jocey is upstairs in her bedchamber believing she has become nothing but a burden to you.”

  Jericho rose angrily. “That is preposterous!”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course, it is,” he snapped as he began to pace the room. “She has never been a burden to me. Sh-she is the light to my darkness. Laughter to my dourness. Unbridled joy to my reticence. I have never for a moment regretted taking her as my ward.”

  “Or as your lover?”

  Jericho stared at the elderly lady as he came to an abrupt halt in his room. “What has Jocelyn told you?” Wariness edged his tone.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Gwendoline dismissed. “But your current expression and demeanor confirm for me the two of you have become lovers.”

  Jericho felt color warm his cheeks. “We have not— We did not—”

  “Consummate the affair?” She shook her head. “That is between you and Jocey. I am only concerned for the fact two people I love deeply are at the moment behaving like two muleheaded nitwits. Love is to be treasured, Jericho.” Her voice gentled. “It is the greatest gift one human being can bestow upon another. I lost the man I loved because my pride would not let me forgive Henry, and then it was too late. You will not even take a chance on love out of fear— Yes, I know you fear the emotion,” she soothed as he startled. “That you have difficulty trusting women. I am not surprised by that distrust after the way your mother behaved all your life. But Jocey is not Caroline, nor is she anything like her. Jocey is true to her friends and her family alike, such as we are,” she added ruefully.

  Jericho thought back to how Jocelyn had removed the family of mice from the range at Pomeroy Cottage, so they should not perish. Her determination to visit Prudence Germaine and offer her love and support. Even though she had known both those things would cause his displeasure. Of how stoically she had suffered his father’s indifference for years without complaint. How Jocelyn was always so gentle and appreciative of Lady Gwendoline. How she had enjoyed his company until he had treated her so badly, he was sure she could never forgive him.

  “Jocey does not believe she has anything to forgive you for,” Lady Gwendoline comforted, telling Jericho he must have spoken those last words out loud. “And neither should you,” she continued briskly as she stood up. “She is currently upstairs pretending to sleep, but I suspect she is crying instead.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “What has happened to upset her?”

  “You,” the elderly lady drawled ruefully. “Go to her, Jericho, forget your fears and accept and feel the love and affection you deserve.”

  He could barely breathe. “You believe Jocelyn loves me?”

  “That is for you to discover for yourself. All of life is a risk,” she added gently. “But love is too precious not to grab it with both hands when it comes your way.” She walked to the door. “I shall not expect to see either of you until dinnertime.”

  Jericho remained in his study long after Lady Gwendoline had departed, his head filled with so many questions. Questions he had no answers to.

  The most important one being whether or not it was possible Jocelyn did love him.

  If she did, then Jericho would gladly spend the rest of his life being whatever she wished him to be.

  Friend.

  Lover.

  Husband.

  Jericho felt the familiar rise of panic at the mere thought of being any woman’s husband. Quickly followed by a euphoria so deep, so strong, at merely imagining being Jocelyn’s husband, he knew he could not sit and brood in his study a moment longer.

  He needed to see and speak with Jocelyn.

  To get down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness and love, if need be.

  Jocey waited only long enough to be sure Lady Gwendoline had gone downstairs before throwing back the bedcovers and getting out of bed.

  She was too restless, her thoughts too intense, for her to be able to sleep. Something she had already known when she made that excuse to her elderly companion. Jocey felt the need to be alone for a while. To allow her heartache full rein before she shut it away forever and decided what she was to do with the rest of her life.

  Her first priority must be to remove herself from Pomeroy House. It was too cruel, too painful, to know that Jericho was somewhere in the house but did not wish to see her.

  She could not leave for several more days yet, of course. She was becoming stronger every day, but so far, she had not been able to bear the constriction of her normal daily clothing and instead still wore a nightrail and robe for her comfort. Her hair also remained tied back with a ribbon rather than arranged in any of the intricate styles she usually favored.

  Where would she go when she could leave?

  Back to Wessex Manor would seem to be the logical choice. She could recuperate in Devon. The bracing air there would no doubt aid in her full recovery.

  Except, Wessex Manor was so far away from London.

  Too far away from Jericho.

  But Jericho had made it more than obvious he did not want her here. She—

  “Jocelyn.”

  She turned sharply on her bare heel, eyes wide as she saw Jericho standing in the doorway of her bedchamber.

  “Might I come in?” he prompted huskily.

  “I… Yes, of course.” Jocey fidgeted self-consciously with the silk belt of her robe tied about her waist, feeling at a complete disadvantage dressed in her bedclothes.

  Jericho looked as elegantly fashionable as usual, in a dark gray superfine and lighter gray pantaloons, as he stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

  Well, perhaps not quite as he usually looked, she allowed, as he turned to face her and she saw the pale gauntness of his face and the dark circles about his eyes. His tailored clothing also seemed slightly loose on him, as if he had lost weight.

  No doubt, despite what Jocey had said to Lady Gwendoline earlier, Jericho had been busy this past week, along with the other Sinners. Those gentlemen would, she believed, have increased their efforts to find who was responsible for killing Worthington and Priscilla Germaine, and now shooting Jocey. None of them would be safe until that matter was settled once and for all.

  She forced a smile to her lips. “How might I help you?”

  Jericho made no reply for several minutes as he drank in every detail of Jocelyn’s appearance. She was obviously feeling, and looked, so much better than when he had last seen her a week ago. But closer inspection revealed shadows in the depths of her eyes, that her face was very pale and thinner, the skin stretched tautly over her collarbones, and her movements were less assured and more nervous than they had been. There was also an air of constraint about her which Jericho had never seen before.

  He drew in a deep and ragged breath, not sure how to proceed now that he was actually in Jocelyn’s presence. “The doctor tells me you are making a miraculous recovery.”

  She nodded. “Enough so that I shall hopefully be able to remove myself from Pomeroy House by the end of the week.”

  His eyes widened. “To go where?”

  “I thought, with your permission, that Wessex Manor would be far enough away.”

  “Away from what?”

  “You.”

  Cousin Gwendoline had been wrong, Jericho accepted heavily. Jocelyn felt nothing for him except a need to get away from him as soon as she was able.

  “I should like to take Lady Gwendoline with me,” Jocelyn added. “If you permit it, that is?”

  His mouth twisted. “My most recent conversation with that lady made it clear to me I am unable to stop her from going wherever and doing whatever she pleases.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “I am sure you are mistaken. Lady Gwendoline is always everything that is amiable.”

  “Not when it comes to her lamb,” he assured self-derisively.

  Jocey knew he was referring to her. Lady Gwendoline had called her that pet name from the first day she arrived in Pomeroy House three years ago to act as Jocey’s
chaperone. “Did you say something about me to upset her?” she prompted curiously.

  “On the contrary.” Jericho smiled. “She had many things she wished to say to me.”

  Jocey tensed warily. “Such as?”

  “Well, the main point seemed to be that I should take my head out of my ass and talk to you.”

  Jocey gasped. “I am sure Lady Gwendoline could never be so indelicate as that.”

  “Possibly not.” Jericho smiled briefly. “But it was nevertheless implied in what she said to me.”

  “Talk to me concerning what?” Jocey prompted cautiously. She had never told Lady Gwendoline of her feelings for Jericho, but the elderly lady could not be insensitive to the pleasure Jocey felt in his company. Her female companion was also aware of how upset Jocey had been, and still was, by Jericho’s avoidance of her this past week. Jocey sincerely hoped that lady had not felt compelled to upbraid Jericho for his tardiness, or how hurt Jocey felt by his absence.

  Now that the time had come for Jericho to talk of his feelings, he found it difficult to do so. “Did you know that Cousin Gwendoline was once engaged to be married?”

  Some of the tension seemed to ease from Jocelyn’s shoulders. “I did, yes. Her fiancé was killed in a duel, I believe, before they were made illegal.”

  He nodded. “A duel with my father, because my mother had decided to make Gwendoline’s fiancé her latest conquest and my father took exception to it.”

  Jocelyn gaped at him incredulously. “That is… I cannot believe… Truly?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed heavily. “Thankfully, Gwendoline bears no grudge against me or this family for her misfortune.”

  “For which I am truly grateful,” Jocelyn said with feeling.

  Jericho gave an inclination of his head. “Her only reason for telling me the tragic story was because she did not wish us to make the same mistake she did.”

  “I do not understand…?”

  “She wishes she had forgiven her fiancé when he begged her to do so. As I now ask that you forgive me,” he added softly.

  Jocey understood even less after this statement. She was not betrothed to Jericho. Nor did she have any right to reproach him if he had bedded someone else since their return to London. The likelihood was that he had, considering how long they had been back in the capital.