by Laura Landon
From her vantage point, Josie watched Rainforth clench his hands at his side, an indication that he was noticeably more ill at ease than she’d first realized.
“I don’t know that either.”
“What, exactly, do you know concerning this child?”
“Nothing, except there is a chance he or she was brought here perhaps six months ago when the child’s mother was killed in a carriage accident. The mother’s name was Mrs. Carrie Gardner.”
A sudden jolt knocked inside Josie’s chest. Of course. She should have known. Carrie Gardner had been living in the dower house on St. Stephen’s, an estate owned by the Marquess of Rainforth. Of course.
Damn him!
Vicar Chadwick waved to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit down, Lord Rainforth.”
Vicar Chadwick waited until the man sat, then took his seat behind the desk. He folded his hands atop a stack of papers on which he’d been working, then continued in a low, calming voice. “If by chance we know the whereabouts of the child, what is it you want with it?”
“I intend to take the child with me.”
Josie bristled. “By whose authority?”
The Marquess of Rainforth spun around in his chair at the sound of her voice, then stood, his towering height emphasizing his formidable presence. The steel-gray of his eyes locked with hers and Josie found the intensity of his gaze difficult to escape.
Vicar Chadwick stepped around the corner of his desk. “Allow me to present Miss Josephine Foley, Lord Rainforth. I don’t believe you’ve met. She works with the children here at Sacred Heart and is in charge of their placement when they leave.”
He stared at her, his gaze traveling over her in an assessing glance that hinted her interruption didn’t meet with his approval. The slight arch of his brows was the only indication that her appearance might have surprised him.
“Then you are obviously the one to whom I wish to speak.”
Josie stepped into the open, closing the gap that separated them. She prepared herself to battle him, sensing that his presence here posed a threat to one of her children.
“I’m not sure I can help you, my lord.”
“You can tell me if Mrs. Gardner’s child was brought here after her death.”
“To what purpose?”
He frowned at her question. “I want the child.”
She met his frown with one of her own. “What right do you have? Are you a relative of Mrs. Gardner?”
Josie noticed a slight hesitation before the marquess answered.
“Not a relative exactly. Mrs. Gardner and I were friends.”
Josie smiled. “I’m sure Mrs. Gardner had many friends. I certainly wouldn’t consider giving her child to just any of them.”
The marquess’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you wouldn’t. But Mrs. Gardner and I were very… close friends. The child’s welfare is important to me.”
“As it is to me.”
Josie felt an undeniable anger burn deep inside her. An anger fueled by resolve to do whatever was necessary to protect Carrie Gardner’s child from this man. Unfortunately, if the look on his face was any indication of the determination lurking beneath the surface, the marquess was equally as resolved to have his way.
“I’m not sure I understand your hesitation, Miss Foley. One would think Sacred Heart would be more than pleased to find homes for their children.”
“We are always most eager to see our children be part of a family. It is what we pray for. Unfortunately, not every family who is willing to take one of the children can provide a good home.”
“And you are questioning the home I would provide for the child?”
“Of course not, my lord. How presumptuous that would be of me. I am merely trying to explain why every detail of a person’s lifestyle is considered before we place one of our children into someone’s care. What I am having a certain degree of difficulty understanding, is why Mrs. Gardner’s child should be of any concern to you… now.”
From the slight rise of his shoulders, the openness of her question had at least surprised him. Josie steeled herself as she waited for his answer.
“Is it not enough that I am offering to take Mrs. Gardner’s child and provide for it?”
“A man of your reputation?”
The words had spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Words she honestly meant but sincerely wished she hadn’t said.
“Ah,” he answered, his voice brimming with a subtle hostility that came through with blatant clarity. The muscle at the side of his jaw knotted as evidence to his building anger and his steely glare didn’t leave her face for a second. “I see my father’s indiscretions have even reached your delicate ears.”
Josie couldn’t hide her surprise. “It’s not your father’s indiscretions we’re talking about, Lord Rainforth. He’s not the one who wants to take one of the children out of my reach. It’s your reputation that’s in question. I could never in good conscience release one of the children into your care knowing what I do about your character. What I cannot understand, is why you want the child?
“My reasons are no one’s concern but my own.”
“I’m sure they would be of great concern to Mrs. Gardner. May I suggest that your relationship to Mrs. Gardner was far more than friendship? And unless I’m in error concerning the…ah, circumstances surrounding the child’s birth, I’m sure you also provided the lady with a modest income so she could live in relative comfort in some remote area of England where you would never have to lay eyes on her again. That’s what the nobility does to their castoff mistresses, is it not?”
The air held a dangerous tension as the two stood locked in battle. Only the nervous clearing of the vicar’s throat penetrated the silence.
“Miss Foley,” Vicar Chadwick interrupted, clearly embarrassed by her outright accusations. “I think—”
“It’s all right, Vicar Chadwick,” Josie said, barely able to contain her anger. “We’re all adults. We’re all acquainted with the ways of the world. Especially the habits of the nobility. And the marquess’s reputation certainly speaks for itself on this matter. Have you come to dispose of the child, sir? Are you suddenly concerned that if not dealt with now, the child might be a future embarrassment to you?”
Another long, uncomfortable silence filled the room. It was several tense seconds before the Marquess of Rainforth answered. When he did, his voice contained a deadly tautness that sent a chill racing down Josie’s spine.
“I hardly have to answer to you, Miss Foley. Suffice it to say, the child is important to me.”
“How can it be? It hasn’t been from the day it was born. Besides, it can never be a legal heir.”
“The child’s birthright is not at issue. Only the child’s welfare.” With hands tight into fists at his side, he took one more step closer until he towered over her. “I’ll repeat my question. A question you’d be wise to answer. Is this where Mrs. Gardner’s child was brought after the accident?”
Josie couldn’t mistake the fury in his eyes. Couldn’t ignore the tension so thick it nearly suffocated her.
“I expect an answer,” he said, his voice not a loud demand that would have fueled her anger even more, but a soft, deadly command that sent a wave of apprehension racing through her.
With an act of defiance much braver than she felt, Josie stepped so close to the marquess that the hem of her worn cotton gown rested on the tips of his black leather boots. She was so near him she had to lift her chin to look him in the eyes, and when she did, she nearly stumbled backward. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. She couldn’t show any weakness. Not if she wanted to protect another child from the cruel whims of the nobility.
“Well, Miss Foley?
“No, my lord. The child was not brought here after the accident.”
Josie could not mistake the angry rush of air from his lungs. It took a long minute more before he asked his next question.
“Do you know what happened to the child
, then?”
Josie lifted her chin even higher. “I know what happens to every child. It’s my responsibility to make sure none of them are placed in harm’s way.”
“The child would hardly be put in harm’s way.”
“Really? Explain to me how a man who claims to want only what is best for the child does not know the child’s name. Or whether it is a boy or a girl. Or even when it was born. Hardly a reassuring recommendation.”
“You would be wise not to cross me, Miss Foley.”
“I’m not trying to cross you, Lord Rainforth. I’m simply protecting one of my children from a questionable fate.”
Vicar Chadwick stepped out from behind his desk. “Enough, Miss Foley. Lord Rainforth, please, sit down.”
The marquess didn’t sit as he’d been asked, just as he didn’t release her from his piercing gaze. Finally, the vicar’s soft voice sifted through the hostile tension.
“If it’s any consolation,” the vicar said, clearing his throat, “I will promise to look into the matter personally. If I discover anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
The marquess gave a sharp nod in farewell then left the room. The door slammed against the frame with a loud thud and for a long time there was only silence in his wake.
Josie sank down onto a chair, her knees trembling. Damn him! How dare he march into her orphanage and demand one of her children.
“Ah, Josie,” Vicar Chadwick said, clicking his tongue as he was wont to do. “I can’t condone what you just did.”
“I saved a child from being torn from the only stability he’s known since his mother was taken from him.”
“With a lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” she whispered. “Exactly.”
“Wasn’t it? The boy is here and you know it.”
“But that isn’t what the marquess asked. He asked if the child was brought here after the accident. And he wasn’t. I took him home with me first. For more than a month. Until his nightmares lessened.”
“I don’t think that’s what Rainforth meant.”
Josie bolted to her feet. “What would you have had me do? Hand the boy over to one of the worst rakes in all of England? You know his reputation as well as I. His name has been linked to more scandals than anyone can keep track of. Tales of his debauchery and wild living have made it all the way across England. And those are only the escapades that can be mentioned in polite company. There are worse ones to be sure.”
“Such as the fact that his father was a traitor?”
Josie swiped her hand in dismissal. “That is certainly a black mark on the Rainforth name, but not of his doing. It was his father who betrayed his country and the blame for that can’t be placed on the son’s head. The marquess has enough to answer for on his own.”
“But the child is undoubtedly his. The eyes are the same. The face. His coloring.” The vicar shook his head. “You can’t keep the boy from him.”
Josie lifted her chin a little higher. “I won’t hand the child over to a man with Rainforth’s reputation. You don’t believe he really wants him, do you?”
The vicar furrowed his brows in contemplation. “You can’t know he doesn’t,” he said softly. Firmly. “And he won’t give up. He seemed a very determined young man.”
“Well, I’m a very determined young woman. Besides, the child can’t mean that much to him. If he did, he’d have been here long before now.”
With a swish of her skirt, Josie left the room, heady with the realization that she’d just stood up to a member of the nobility and won. She’d savor her victory, since something told her the marquess wouldn’t surrender the battle easily. He had too many weapons at his disposal. Money. Property. A title. Not to mention those indescribable gray eyes and that powerful physique—which had no doubt slain many a female heart.
But she would not be conquered so easily.
Jaded Moon
by Laura Landon
Ransomed Jewels Series Book Two
CHAPTER 3
The full moon rose in the cloudy night sky, sending down hundreds of long, silvery fingers that reflected in shimmering splendor as the waves rolled to shore. Ross pulled his heavy woolen cloak tighter and leaned back against a boulder near the edge of the jagged cliff where, for the past several hours, he’d kept watch.
Tonight was the third night he’d come to the cliffs. The third night he’d stayed hidden near the coastline to watch for any movement below.
From here, he could see miles in either direction and had a clear view of the water’s edge and any boats that might come ashore.
His view to every inlet and cove that dotted the coastline where St. Stephen’s stretched to the north and Clythebrook stretched to the south was perfect. If opium was being smuggled into England as Sam suspected, it had to be from somewhere near here. It was the logical spot. The shoreline on this part of St. Stephen’s and Clythebrook was dotted with a multitude of caverns and ideal hiding places.
Ross lifted his head to look around, then, after he was assured the coastline was still clear, he pulled his collar tighter around his neck and sank back down into the tall grass that concealed his hiding place. The hours spent in the chilly, early spring air cleared his head and gave him time to decide what action he had to take to discover the whereabouts of Carrie’s child—of his child. A child whose whereabouts Miss Foley knew considerably more clearly than she was telling.
Well, he’d be damned if he’d let his son or daughter be foisted off onto some poor tenant farmer to be slave labor as he knew was all too common. He’d find his child if it was the last thing he did.
Ross tried to relax the taut muscles that bunched across his shoulders every time he remembered his conversation at the orphanage. She wasn’t at all like he thought she’d be. He envisioned her somewhat older and more severe looking. Instead, he guessed she couldn’t be much more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and she was far from ugly. In fact, she was—
Ross turned his attention back to the shoreline. He refused to remember the delicate frown that deepened at the bridge of her pert little nose, or the mass of golden blond hair that framed her heart-shaped face, or the unfathomable depth of her deep blue eyes and how they turned even bluer when she became angry. He couldn’t think of any of that. He could only remember that she had his child and refused to give it over. She said the reason was because she objected to his reputation, but he didn’t believe her.
Children and kittens. There always seemed to be a never-ending supply of both. One would think she’d be glad to rid herself of one more mouth to feed and another growing body to clothe. Instead, she placed herself in the middle as if his child needed protection from him.
He sucked in a harsh breath. He’d be damned if he’d let his child go to bed each night tired and hungry and frightened. Damned if he’d let her keep his child away from him. Waves of angry desperation slashed through him and he slammed his fist against the ground in frustration.
With a sigh that exemplified his helplessness, he brushed the thoughts of Josephine Foley to the back of his mind and lifted his head. His gaze froze on a spot in the distance. One skiff, at first a small dot on the water, then growing larger, skimmed toward shore several yards to the south. The craft seemed to move effortlessly as two burly men rowed through the rolling waves. The boat didn’t sit terribly low in the water, and by peering through the eyeglasses he’d brought with him, he could see the boat was otherwise empty.
Keeping low to the ground, Ross made his way southward until he was directly above where they’d pulled ashore, then crawled closer to the cliff’s edge. He watched as the two sailors secured their boat then moved up the beach. Suddenly, a tall third man wearing a hat and long overcoat stepped out from the shadows. Ross strained to get a glimpse of the man but his face was hidden by the rim of his hat and his up-turned collar.
The three talked for a few seconds, then the tall man handed over a packet. One of the sailors c
hecked the contents of the envelope then stuck it in his jacket pocket. After a few more seconds, the two sailors stepped back into their skiff while the third man disappeared into one of the caves. Ross knew in that short span of time arrangements had been made concerning the next shipment of opium.
His heart beat in anticipation. This was the first concrete piece of evidence he’d been able to gather. He knew now there would be another shipment. And he knew where it would come ashore. That was something.
He watched until the small boat was out of sight and the shore below him deserted, then rose to leave. He looked around, memorizing the landmarks so he knew precisely where to return. With a start, he realized he wasn’t on St. Stephen’s property any longer. He was on Clythebrook land and the caves the smugglers were using to hide their contraband weren’t that far from the orphanage.
Ross tried to formulate a plan, realizing he’d have to investigate this area closer later. He’d find a reason to come back tomorrow after he’d had a few hours’ sleep and his mind wasn’t so muddled. For now, he’d have to be satisfied with what he’d discovered.
Ross took one last look over the edge of the cliff to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then retraced his steps to the north until he was certain he was back on St. Stephen’s property. When he was safely out of sight, he stopped to catch his breath. He’d finally learned at least something that would be useful. Not enough, but at least something.
A feeling of satisfaction washed through him as he continued on his way home. He’d just entered a grove of trees when something to his left caught his eye. He stopped short.
He wasn’t sure exactly what it was for a few seconds because the darting figure stayed mostly in the shadows as it rushed through the woods, but he knew eventually it would have to come out into the open. As quietly as he could, he circled behind a large tree and waited.
For several long, tense moments, time seemed to stand still. The only sound he heard was the gentle slapping of the waves in the distance and the hollow hoot of an owl in the trees. But he knew the fleeting figure was out there, steadily moving closer. He could feel it.
