The slight smile he saw on her face gave him hope, but he couldn't help but notice how very pale she looked, how drawn and worn.
The house on Park Lane was as elegant as ever, but James hadn't expected to be back for at least a few more weeks if not a few months. There was only a small staff to keep the house functional, and though it was being aired out, there was something musty and unused about it.
He dismissed his valet for the evening, instead choosing to bathe and shave on his own. James was slightly amused to note that doing so almost felt like a luxury now after spending so many nights sleeping in odd places on his trek from West Riding with Jo.
He winced a little as hot water hit the scrape high on his cheek, the only injury he had sustained from the fight. When James looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, he looked grim to his own eyes.
You have to tell her now. There's no real getting around it. After she kept you out of jail and a worse scandal, she deserves to know.
He felt like a man going to his own execution as he walked to dinner. He wondered if she was even going to be there or if she would politely decline, saying she would eat in her own rooms. No, that was hardly Jo's style. She would be there, if only to demand an explanation.
When the footman ushered her into the private dining room, a small space apart from the grand one in the main hall, James stood and drew her chair out for her. She was lovely, dressed in something in pale ivory lace that he didn't recognize.
"Did you wear that on the road, and I was just too distracted to notice?"
"It was at the bottom of the bag Clarine Waters packed for me, if you can believe it. She really wanted to make sure that I was well-thanked, and perhaps to ensure that I was prepared for any impressive parties that we might encounter."
"You look beautiful."
She flashed him a smile, but he could see that the compliment slid off of her like a drop of water off of a slick surface.
They were silent as the footman served the first course, and then, when he would have stayed, James shook his head.
"We'll be dining privately tonight."
Jo shot him a quizzical look.
"I thought it would be best to have some privacy to speak with you about... well, today."
"Ah. Yes."
She was quiet, but there was an expectant air to it.
James sighed.
"You asked me ages ago why I wasn’t in London. We fought about it."
"I remember."
"Yes, and looking back, I did not behave very well. At any rate, if I had been more frank with you then, I might not feel the way I do now."
"And how do you feel now?"
To James’ shock, she took his hand gently.
He squeezed her fingers in thanks.
"Like I'm about to lose... something. But that matters less than the truth, or so I was always taught. I left London because I was involved in a duel."
"James! Did you kill someone?"
"No. But I did wound him, and directly after, I did not care so very much if I had killed him. You see, I caught him at Whites' speaking about my... my parentage."
"I don't understand."
"My mother. There were always rumors about her. She was... of what the quality like to call disputed heritage. She was the bastard daughter of a viscount who was made legitimate just before he died, when he married her mother."
He didn't look at Jo. If he had to see disgust on her face, he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.
"She did act as a child on the stage, but the stories of that were always wildly exaggerated. But she met my father, they fell in love, they married, and had me... and none of it ever mattered to the ton. She was a black mark against my father, and against me, and I know their mocking words haunted her even on her deathbed."
James closed his free hand into a fist. The other hung on to Jo's hand as if he was afraid to lose her.
"I lost my head at White's that night, and on the dueling ground after as well. Then I did it again today. Jo... I would tell you that that's not me, but it is. I will not hear her degraded and..."
James stopped abruptly as Jo rose from her chair and came to stand in front of him. It sent a shock through his body as she raised his chin with one hand, so he could look her in the eyes. When she spoke, there was so much warmth in her voice that he ached.
"You idiot."
"What?"
"Do you think I care about all that? Do you think I'm going to fault you for defending a woman who meant so much to you, for giving childish morons what they deserve? Never."
As if to punctuate her words, Jo leaned forward, her simple braid slipping over her shoulder, and kissed him.
All he could feel were her small fingers on his jaw, her warm lips on his, the stray strands of hair that escaped from her braid against his cheek. All he could feel and smell and taste was Jo, and he knew at the center of his being that he would remember this until the day he died.
Then there was a soft knock at the door, signaling the arrival of the footman with the second course, and with a flurry of skirts, Jo was back in her seat, looking as if she had never kissed him with such tenderness.
"Such good fish, my lord," she said gravely.
James wanted to laugh, not just at her spirit, but at the knowledge of what he knew he was going to do next.
* * *
16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
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Jo thought that if this kept going, she would pace a hole into James’ very expensive Aubusson carpet. The minutes ticked by, one after the other, and she didn't even have Tempest to go down to and spoil any longer.
For the past five days, she had been fussing over the mare, combing out her mane and tail, removing what felt like all the cockle-burrs between Yorkshire and London from her coat, trimming her hooves and brushing her until she shone.
"You're so beautiful, everyone will see it, and of course the Earl of Leaford will want you. You'll sire strong colts and fast fillies, and you and Papa will be remembered for as long as people race horses..."
She repeated the words to herself now. James was taking her darling mare to the earl today, and he promised her that all would be well. Of course, it would be. James had said it would.
Though she had guessed this would be a fraught day for her, she found that her mind wasn't just on Tempest. Jo also discovered a deep well of sadness in her for realizing her time with James was over. They had fulfilled their bargain, and there was no reason for her to continue living in his house. It was time to move on with her life, or rather, to return to it and to see what could be made of the wreckage of it all. God, she'd be lucky if her uncle didn't send her to a convent.
"It will all be all right," James had said before setting off that morning. "I promise."
She believed him. She had to believe him.
Up in the guest room he had given to her as her own, she was insulated from most of the noise of the house. When she heard shouting from the ground level, it struck her as shockingly loud. Frowning, Jo went to investigate, and to her shock, in the main receiving hall, she found Uncle Francis.
"I was told by the earl himself that he had my damned niece and that I was meant to come here! What kind of kidnapping organization are you running here? What the hell do you think is—"
"Uncle Francis?"
The moment he laid eyes on her, her uncle's eyes darkened with rage.
"You foolish little bitch! Do you have any idea what I've suffered looking for you? Your reputation is in tatters, and I swear by all that is holy, you will be taught a lesson before I bring you home among decent folks."
Jo shrank back from him, feeling a rill of fear run along her spine. She had never seen him like this. He looked genuinely dangerous, and from the way the butler, a tall strong man James had told her used to be a boxer, held him back, she could see that
he agreed.
"Come here, Josephine, you are coming home—"
"She's not going anywhere she doesn't want to go."
James’ voice cut through the tumult with such cold sharpness that everyone turned to look at him. He stood in the doorway with a man she didn't recognize behind him. She wondered if this was the Earl of Leaford, but the man had a rather bookish look about him, nothing like the horse breeders she had met.
James’ voice was calm, like a drink of cool water in the desert to Jo. "I think we should adjourn to my study to discuss what happens next."
"I won't go anywhere with—"
James gave him a quelling look. "Believe me, you'll want some privacy for this, Lord Fairport."
They were a strange group in the study, and Jo couldn't help but notice that James kept himself between Jo and her uncle at all times. She appreciated it, but it still didn't solve her deep confusion as to what was going on.
Once they were in his study, James turned to her uncle.
"I see you received my message, Lord Fairport."
"You sent for him?" Jo asked, shocked.
"I did, Jo, and I meant to set this up so you wouldn't have to deal with him before now. I'm sorry for the scene in the foyer."
"What the hell do you mean—"
"And you, Lord Fairport, shut your damned mouth. If you open it again, I will have the constables in. And if I tell them what I know, they are going to be very interested in you, aren't they?"
To Jo's shock, her uncle fell silent, something she had never seen him do.
"James... what's happening?"
"Your uncle is a fraud, is what has happened. A few days ago, I finally got in touch with my solicitor and with an investigator. He uncovered a few things, namely regarding your father's will. Your uncle has not been entirely honest with you."
Jo's eyes flew to her uncle, but he only stared at the ground, his face pale.
The bookish man next to James cleared his throat.
"It is true that the title and the lands of Fairport belong to Francis Sallings. They are entailed to the male line, and Miss Josephine Sallings may not inherit them. The stud farm and the horses are a different story."
Jo stared. "What?"
"Miss Sallings, your father willed you the stud farm and the bloodstock living on it. They are yours."
She looked at James, who nodded at her. "It's true. The will is clear. I imagine your uncle assumed he could do what he liked with the property and the bloodstock and you would never know. If he paid off enough lawyers in West Riding, you might never know."
Jo felt as if she should do any number of things. She wanted to shout at James and tell him that this wasn't what her family was like, that they weren't thieves or liars, except, of course, in this case, her uncle definitely was. She wanted to scream at her uncle, demanding what in the world he was thinking, though she could guess, and none of it was flattering.
When Jo managed to speak, her voice was hollow. “How many?”
Her uncle blanched.
“How many horses did you sell from my father's stud farm?”
“Nine. Two stallions, four mares of breeding age, and the rest yearlings.”
“Get them back. I don't care how you do it. Get them back, every single one. If you can do that, I won't involve the constables.”
Her uncle looked as if he was going to argue, but then James stepped forward.
“Do as she says. If your own guilt and honor will not motivate you, then be certain I will find a way to do so.”
Francis Sallings nodded once, and then without a word, he strode out of the room. Jo was vaguely aware of him leaving and of James dismissing the solicitor as well. When he came to stand next to her again, she was shaking, clasping her arms around her. How could she feel so strong and vital on horseback and also be so vulnerable here?
James pulled her into his arms, and she went willingly, pressing her forehead against his chest.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. I don't know. I'll get my father's horses back. I suppose they’re mine now? I can't believe it.”
“You have some time to decide what you want to do. And I'll help you.”
She smiled at him. “And Tempest?”
“Well, if you want me to bring her before the Earl of Leaford, I still will. But everything's changed now, and I think you might want to reconsider.”
“Yes, everything has changed.”
* * *
17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
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One Week Later
West Riding, England
Jo hadn't seen very much of London, but what she had seen couldn't compare to the green fields of Yorkshire. From atop Tempest's back, she looked out over the rolling green hills that belonged to her father's—no, hers, it was hers—stud farm. The spacious whitewashed buildings where her hopes for the future of thoroughbred horses in England lived lay to her right, and to her left were gorgeous fields of an incomparable green. Underneath her, Tempest pawed the emerald turf, and with a smile, she reached down to stroke her horse's neck.
“Happy to be home, my best girl? So am I.”
She started to urge her mare toward home, but a shout made her draw up short. She wheeled Tempest around to see James on Gunner hurrying to catch up behind her.
“You might have waited.”
“I thought you wanted to go for a true run. I didn't think that involved a great deal of waiting.”
James scowled at her, but she could see the edges where a smile threatened. When she looked at him, her heart felt whole, and suddenly she wanted to laugh.
He came closer, bringing Gunner up alongside Tempest.
“I think I've kept you away from the farm long enough.”
She blinked at him.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Were you wondering why I asked you to come riding with me this morning?”
“I... no? I thought you were offering me relief from the pain of getting the tumult of paperwork in order or making sure that I didn't actually rot in my father's office.”
“Well, yes, I was doing that, but I needed you away from the farm for the morning.”
“James, what in the world are you doing?” For some reason, her heart gave a minor skip. She had been so busy, racing back to West Riding with James, seeing to the stud farm, and settling into the small manor on the property, that she had barely had time to even think about the feelings that tumbled between her and the man who had saved everything she loved.
“Come and see.”
There was a small run to the north of the stables, and Jo could see upon riding up to it that it wasn't empty. Underneath her, Tempest lifted her head as if scenting something in the air, and she shook her mane restlessly. Absently, Jo stroked her neck as she tethered her and came closer to the railings, James right behind.
When she saw the dapple-gray stallion in the run, tall and sleek with the same deep chest and dished face that Tempest and so many of her father's best blood bore, she gasped.
“James!”
“That's Hunter's Pride, out of Tipperary by Gainstead.”
“Gainstead? But that's...”
“A direct descendant of the Darley Arabian. Yes. I know that your father prized the blood of the Byerley Turk above those of the other founders of the thoroughbred line, but I thought—”
James’ words came to an abrupt halt as Jo threw herself into his arms.
“It's too much, far too much, James,” Jo murmured, as she held on to him tight. The gift of Hunter's Pride combined the future and past for her in a way that made her chest feel tight, and right then, it didn't matter if the entire ton came by to shake their fingers at her, holding on to a man she wasn't married to while wearing scandalous split skirts. She couldn't let go of James even to take a breath.
“If
it's too much, shall I take him back?”
“Don't you dare!”
James laughed, a sonorous sound that warmed her from head to toe.
“James?”
To her surprise, James drew back from her, and then in the dust of the yard, he went down on one knee in front of her, keeping her hand in both of his. Her heart started to beat hard, and she sought his eyes. She wouldn't turn away from him for all the Arabians in England.
“Jo. When I look at you, all I want to do is to give you the future you deserve. I have spent my entire life looking into the past as if it had any answers, searching for them in my parents, my history, my honor. What you've taught me is that the future is a thing we need to plan for, to invest in, something to struggle for, and for which to do outright battle.
Jo, when I'm with you, I see a future that I want to build alongside you, no matter what it entails. I love you with all my heart. You own it, every part, and I want you to marry me.”
The words were on her lips because they had been in her heart for a long time now.
“Yes, yes, James, I love you. I love you, and I will marry you!”
James came up with a wide grin, and from his pocket, he pulled a small wooden box. He winked at her.
“Hunter's Pride was yours no matter what you said. This was for if you agreed.”
With trembling fingers, she opened the box. It wasn't a ring inside, because she realized with a pang that James knew what she did: a ring might get damaged or even injure her as she worked with her beloved horses. Instead, it was a pendant, a heart-shaped inky black diamond surrounded by twinkling diamonds. It gleamed like Tempest's coat, and she looked up at him, unaccountable tears in her eyes.
“I love you, James. I... I want you here with me for all the days that come.”
Tales of a Viscount_Heirs of High Society Page 30
