Second Chance Marquess (Second Chance Series Book 1)

by Jessica Jefferson

  George struggled to find comfort given the current state of his breeches, now uncomfortably tight on top of being completely soaked through, and the woman in front of him. If he dared edge any closer, she was bound to feel just how much he enjoyed watching her attempt to hoist herself out the top of the carriage. A true gentleman would have turned away, offering help in the most discrete way possible.

  But he wasn’t a gentleman by any definition of the word. He’d proven that dozens of times before, and today was just one more example of why he didn’t deserve the love of a woman, this one or any other. He couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing, it just wasn’t in him. He always knew what the right thing was, his judgement was never the real issue. He understood the concepts of valor and virtue, trust and integrity. He just didn’t care enough to actually apply them to any part of his life.

  On a typical day, he’d wake well after noon, review his work from the day before, ate what he liked, drank what he could, and then proceed to White’s where he’d gamble a bit before heading off to another club or hell to gamble some more. When he grew bored with that, he’d dine with friends, then settle down with a lady, purchased or otherwise, and eventually wander back to his own bed only to repeat the cycle the following day.

  Just as the sun rises in the east, sets in the west, and is replaced by the moon, his days went on, unchanged. Just the way he liked them. There was no pretense, no faux modesty. He knew full well he was handsome as the devil and rich as sin—why wouldn’t he bask in the sun of his own good fortunes?

  Yet tonight, he’d been reminded of a time that he didn’t think this way. His father had certainly guided him down that path, but at the age of four and twenty, Willie had led him astray. Under her influence, he had diverted from what promised to be a life full of debauchery and become a man with some modicum of decency…

  She’d been so poor, so unfortunate, and still so brilliant and so very beautiful. She had no family to speak of, aside from her sister and great aunt. Of course, Lady Whitehead had done quite all right for herself, but Willie would never be one of them, someone like him. And that’s what he loved about her, her lineage may have been common, but she’d been anything but.

  “How far?” she asked.

  He struggled to hear her small voice with the wind howling around them.

  “It was at least an hour from the bridge. I’d hoped to move faster on horseback, but the road is so wet. It’s like traipsing through a marsh. I’m afraid my horses aren’t too acquainted with such strenuous activity.”

  He felt Willie’s shoulders jerk, racked with sobs. “Is there something I can do? Is it your head? Is it hurting?”

  And despite the wind he heard her. She wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t crying in the least. She was giggling, plain as day.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Of course,” she said, her entire body convulsing, enjoying the good laugh at his expense. “Who else would I be laughing at?”

  She’d always been more serious than he had. Willie was the one who started the conversations, it was his antics that usually distracted them both from whatever they’d been discussing. He supposed her role as the grounding force was inevitable given her numerous brushes with tragedy during such a short duration of time. Knowing all of that, it made her laughter all the more rewarding. “And what exactly have I done to cause such hilarity?”

  “I just found it amusing that your horses are so much like you. Of course, you’ve taken an animal and spoiled it rotten to the point that it doesn’t like exercise and dirt.”

  “Are you insinuating that I don’t like exercise or dirt?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m flat out saying it. Your horses are dandies, just like you.”

  “I am not a dandy!”

  “Close enough.”

  “Now, vain and lazy, those are insults I can tolerate. But dandy – even you wouldn’t be so cruel.”

  He felt her relax and he hoped she was smiling.

  “Like I’ve told you before,” he continued, “I am but a product of my humble upbringing.”

  Willie laughed, the reaction he’d hoped for. “Humble? Not a word that comes to mind when I think about the Bartlett family. No offense, of course.”

  “Yes, humility didn’t quite make it to our coat of arms, did it?” He felt her stiffen again, grateful she was sitting so close he could feel her mood change.

  “I never told you I was sorry,” she said, her tone serious again.

  “For what?” he asked, truly curious. He could think of at least a half dozen reasons for the apology, but hated to assume. Certainly, this couldn’t be the big apology he hadn’t held his breath for after ten years.

  “For your father. I never told you how sorry I was to learn of his passing. Was it long ago?”

  “Yes,” he answered curtly. The subject of his father had never been one easily broached with Willie.

  “Well, I know your father and I had our differences, but I do hope his was a peaceful passing.”

  Differences? That was an understatement if he’d ever heard one. His father hated her, and the feeling was likewise. His father was a snob, as was his father, and his father before that. Snobbery was as instrumental to his upbringing as any text or lesson. The former Marquess of Chesterton, started spitting his vitriol shortly after meeting Wilhelmina. It was bad enough that the widowed Lady Whitehead, who’s connection to Society was tenuous at best, had rented a small country estate bordering on their property, but she’d had the gall to take in her poor relation and pass them off as equals. Her family wasn’t pure enough, her money not old enough.

  “He didn’t suffer overly long. It was quick.”

  “A blessing,” she replied, undoubtedly reflecting upon her late husband’s lingering death from the wasting disease.

  “Thank you for that. I know how you felt about my father, but I do appreciate your kind words.” The late marquess had warned him once that women like Wilhelmina were good for one thing and one thing only. A comment like that was bad enough on its own, but coupled with the fact he’d done it directly in front of her, his words had annihilated any potential for mutual respect between them.

  “Do you think me so awful that I would have wished death upon your father? No, cruel as he was, I believe the death of a loved one is far crueler. I would never have wanted you to experience something so tragic, inevitable as it is. No matter what you might have done in the past, you don’t deserve that. No one does.”

  What he’d done? “Have you exonerated yourself of all culpability then?”

  She sighed. “I hardly believe I’m to shoulder any of the blame. After all, it was your actions that led us down such a destructive path.”

  “My actions?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. To think, he’d almost believed her to be changed. She’d been the one to give him the cut direct at a public dance, humiliating him in front of the entire county. She was the one who’d cut off all contact, ignoring his letters, refusing to come down when he called on her. Lady Whitehead may have been the one to shoot him, but it was Wilhelmina who’d done the real damage.

  George had spent the entire duration of his love affair with Willie fighting for her, for them. She was the one who quit. It took weeks to recover after being shot, the fact that he’d survived at all had been a miracle considering how close the ball had come to his artery. But every day his father visited, partly out of concern for his first-born son and heir, but also to remind him who’d been right all along. And as George laid there, hurting, more so in his heart than his leg, his father offered him a single piece of advice that he’d carried with him all the years since.

  Brandy heals almost all wounds, inside and out, except for one…and that’s the pain only a woman can cause. For that, brandy may dull the discomfort, but it never actually goes away. And given the chance, women will always hurt you. So, if you simply deny them any and all opportunity, then you’ll never suffer again.

  *
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  By the time they’d arrived at the inn, she was so cold she couldn’t feel her feet. Or her hands.

  Hell, she couldn’t feel a thing. Self-preservation or frostbite, she wasn’t certain anymore.

  The moments of unexpected tenderness had almost convinced her that perhaps he was redeemable. Fortunately, he had an uncanny knack for destroying any sliver of light that escaped from his otherwise dark soul. All he had to do was open his mouth.

  He held out his arms for her to slide off the horse. She was stiff, her bottom quite bruised from the unforgiving ride. It had been years since she’d ridden astride, let alone bareback. Willie allowed herself to fall into his arms, knowing good and well there was no way she could get down from the giant beast unassisted.

  His hands fell right below her breasts, his thumbs resting at that very spot where they met her ribcage. She slid down his body, every part of her rubbing against him, causing a friction that set her core on fire. The wet clothing clinging against their sleet-caked bodies only accentuated every inch of his hard frame. As much as she detested him, especially the man he’d become, there was no arguing his potent virility and its effect on her.

  Then all too soon, and still moments too late, her feet hit the ground.

  He was staring down at her, his piercing blue eyes haunting. He hadn’t a face for cards, always wearing his emotions plain as he would any waistcoat. He was struggling, just as she was.

  How do you reconcile the person you knew a decade ago with the person in front of you now? Why would anyone feel such a strong attraction to someone who’s hurt them so badly? And why does it still feel so fresh, so painful, when she could have sworn that she’d gotten past it all?

  Willie truly believed her wounds had healed. She’d spent years working to put her past behind her and focus only on moving forward, to put other’s needs above her own. And now, well, it didn’t feel as if she had moved very far. She knew there would be scars, there always were after something so deeply traumatic. But scars didn’t just come open – what if she’d never really healed at all? What if she’d been lying to herself all this time?

  George took a step back, effectively interrupting her revelations. “We need to register. I’ll see you to your room and then send a coach back for the others. I’ll have them stop back here and drop our trunks on their way back to London.”

  “And then what will we do?”

  “We will take another coach as soon as the road is passable. It’s a busy road, I’m certain they’ll have the bridge repaired post haste.” He looked up toward the dark sky, the sleet having been replaced by large, wet snowflakes.

  “Tomorrow then?” She wanted to get to her sister. At least that’s what she told herself.

  “I should hope so,” he reassured, again looking just as concerned as she felt.

  “Can I sleep now?” The excitement coursing through her blood after the accident had dissipated leaving her with nothing left.

  His brow gathered. “I suppose so. But I should check on you.”

  “Fine. I suppose if we’re truly stuck here, then we might as well settle in for the evening. I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in having a warm bath and getting a good night’s rest.” Though nothing ornate as in London, from what she could see, the inn was clean and orderly.

  “This way.” He started toward the main house and she followed, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

  “You said you’ve passed this inn before,” she mentioned casually, trying to divert herself from her aching rear and freezing hands.

  “Yes, many times. There are only two roads that lead to Chesterton. This is one.”

  She took a quick appraisal of the grounds. “It looks to be suitable.”

  “It’ll get us through the night,” he agreed. “It’s not like anything you’d find in Mayfair, but it’s clean and the food is decent.”

  “Have you stayed here then?” Willie felt better having his first-hand knowledge of the sanitation.

  “A few times.” He grinned over his shoulder at her.

  “You mentioned it was two days’ travel to your estate. Is this where you take your night’s rest then?”

  “Sometimes. Other times it was simply out of convenience.”

  “Why ever would you need to stay at an inn in such an obscure location for any other reason but travel?” It was almost an entire day’s ride outside of London. She couldn’t imagine any situation that would necessitate lodging in such an isolated location.

  He said nothing, instead, he looked back at her and winked.

  Chapter 10

  George deposited Willie in a highbacked chair by the fire. They were both soaked and chilled to the bone. They hadn’t anything to change into immediately, but with any luck he could have a coach deployed and they’d have their belongings in just a couple hours. In the meantime, they could retire to their respective rooms and warm up in a bath. He could see her tremble from across the room, keeping a watchful eye over her as he explained their situation to the man of the house.

  He should send her back to London. She’d be lucky if she didn’t catch her death from the exposure she’d suffered. It wasn’t his doing, the accident was no one’s fault. In fact, it was the quick thinking of his coachman that saved them from continuing across the damaged bridge and being sent down a ravine into a rushing stream. But he still felt responsible. And it was no longer his brother Harry and Harry’s poor judgement that had him worried, it was Willie.

  “We do have one room left for you and your wife,” the man announced after hearing the story.

  George startled. “One room? But you always have rooms available.”

  The man shook his head. “Not today we don’t. The last of winter decided to rear its ugly head one more time, despite it being spring. I haven’t seen it snow this late in the year for at least twenty years. We’ve had a steady stream of coaches and guests. Those who did decide to brave the elements were swiftly thwarted at the bridge. We have a room for your family, and we can find something for your men, but that’s all.”

  “They won’t need lodging tonight, they’ll be heading back to London.”

  “Not in one of our coaches. No one’s leaving here tonight. We’ll send out a wagon to bring them back here, but until the weather eases up and the road becomes passable, I’m afraid everyone’s staying put.”

  “But, we’re travelling north and need to get on the road as soon as possible.”

  The man pursed his lips. “I wish there was something I could do. But I’m afraid we have just the one room available for you and your wife.”

  There he went with that wife business again.

  “Surely, there must be something. Perhaps another guest would be willing to share. I could make it worth your while. I’m a marquess, I assure you money is not an issue.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Please forgive me, my lord, but in times like these, we are all in the same predicament no matter who we are. Mother Nature does not discriminate based on rank.”

  If he didn’t know better, George would have thought the man just put him in his place. Thankfully, Willie was beyond earshot or she’d be having quite a laugh at his expense.

  He caught a glance of her out of the corner of his eye. The amber light from the fire illuminated her features – her nose, slightly upturned on the end, her high cheekbones, and the full lips resting in a seductive pout. Even her forehead, tall and proud, was shaped to perfection, as if she were more porcelain than person. For a moment, his mind wandered to her other magnificent features which were justly hidden from the public’s eye. He’d been privileged to have been the first man to have seen all of her, but his ego felt a jolt of jealousy knowing he hadn’t been the last. He shared that distinct honor with her late husband, something that filled him with a sort of poignant regret.

  “Oh, no need to be so hasty, husband.” An older female approached them. “I’m Mrs. Follmer. We have a couple parties that could be persuaded to room together s
hould the price be right. If you’re set on having separate accommodations from your wife, I’m sure I can arrange something. Just give me the word and it will be done. It’s not every day we house such distinguished guests at our humble inn.”

  He opened his mouth to give them the go ahead, but something stopped him short of uttering the words. Willie told him once that nothing happened without a reason, that somewhere there was a plan waiting for each and every one of them. At the time, he’d dismissed the simplistic idea. Faith had always been difficult for him to swallow, but he supposed when you didn’t have much else, faith was something easy to cling to. It was far more comforting to believe tragedy happened by design in order to accomplish something greater, than simply happening by chance and for no reason in particular. But at this moment, the idea intrigued him.

  It was so unlikely, having to meet Willie under such unusual circumstances. And to be trapped in the same room overnight, with no possible way of escaping the truth? Well, it couldn’t have been by happy accident alone, could it?

  Perhaps this was the chance to find resolution for what had happened ten years ago, to finally achieve some sort of closure. He could ask the questions that had haunted his thoughts and have the answer to what really plagued him– why? All he wanted to know was why, and this would be his best chance of ever finding out.

  He looked back toward the fireplace again. Willie’s head was resting on the cushioned arm of the chair she’d fallen asleep in, the light from the fire reflecting off her hair, glowing around her. She looked like an angel.

  The woman leaned closer now, her breath rank of stale bread and sour beer. “What will it be, my lord? One room or two?”

  *

  Slowly, she opened one eye, peered around the room, and then opened the other. With both open, she could properly assess her surroundings. It was a smaller room, shabbily decorated. She was in a bed, the blanket pulled up around her was stiff and rough against her skin.

  And she was naked.

  She recognized her gown and chemise hanging near the fireplace. There was a half-burned candle on the table next to the bed so she hadn’t been alone for long.