by Liz Carlyle
In short, he wanted to do whatever it might take to somehow alleviate any pain that his plain words might have caused. But Jonet did not appear to be in any pain. Her face was smooth and emotionless. Illogically, he felt a stab of disappointment “Of course you are right,” she said evenly. “But you are a delightful lover. Thank you for sharing a part of the evening with me.” She turned her head on the pillow, her lips curving into one of her wicked, mischievous smiles. “And for giving in to a lady’s whims with moderate grace. Can you find all your clothes, do you think?”
Her dismissal could not have been more gentle, nor more cutting. Was that what he had been? A lady’s whim? Well? Well—? What the devil had he expected?
Reluctantly, Cole pulled his fingers from the tangle of her hair, rolled to the edge of the bed, and began to dress in silence. He kept waiting for her to reach out and touch him. He kept hoping that she would retract the words she had so coolly spoken, and plead with him to return to her bed and hold her in his arms until dawn. That, to Cole’s way of thinking, had been an inherent part of their bargain, the most integral part of making love. Anything less was just having sex, and there was a big damned difference to him. But Jonet said nothing, and Cote was once again left feeling bitter and a little used.
Well. It seemed that they had simply had sex after all. He could hardly complain. It wasn’t as if Jonet had taken him by force. Ha—! He’d been hot, hard, and ready to shove up her skirts since the first day he’d met her. Indeed, he hadn’t even liked her—and he’d still wanted her. But now, Cole had discovered that, most of the time, he liked her tremendously. That he loved her always. And that what he now wanted to do was to make love to her until the day they nailed his coffin shut.
But he had been a fool to come here. He had always known that it would be a mistake to touch her. Her reputation as a femme fatale was justly earned. And in his wild anger and uncontrollable passion, he had completely forgotten about Delacourt. He had lain with a woman who, by rights if not by God’s ordination, belonged to another man. He had forgotten, too, about Stuart and Robert. Just as he had ignored his own family duty, he had ignored his duty to Jonet’s children. The disappointment and despair began to twist in his stomach, sickening him.
If Jonet’s sin was arrogance, his was surely selfishness. He had wanted her, and so he had simply taken her, sparing no thought for the consequences. That she had offered herself—indeed, pushed herself upon him—made not one whit of difference. And now, her question haunted him. What if she did become with child? It had been irresponsible of him to simply take her word that she would not. What would he do? Implicit in her question had been the suggestion that she would wish to wed him. But undoubtedly that remark had been casually made, born of that sweet, drowsy sense of intimacy that inevitably lingers in the aftermath of good sex.
Their marrying would, of course, have been out of the question, just as he had said. No. His words had been a lie, had they not? If she conceived, Cole would force the issue to the depth and breadth of his ability. Given Jonet’s wealth and titles, it could even prove difficult, depending upon her mood. But Cole would set aside both his pride and her happiness before he would bring another unprotected child into this world. Oh, yes. Marry him she surely would, even if he had to threaten her to get the job done. But no doubt she was right. Jonet was no green girl. Already she had demonstrated that she knew her own body unfailingly, as a virtuoso might know his violin. He must simply trust her word, and pray that... pray that what?
With a swift snap, Cole jerked his wrinkled cravat from the carpet, picked up his coat, and turned to face her. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he would ruin her life by marrying her, were there no other alternative left to them. Perhaps he ought simply to tell her and have done with it.
“Jonet, I—”
But Jonet was asleep, the perfect oval of her face smooth and tranquil in the lamplight, her mass of dark hair trail ing over both her pillow and his. She lay halfway onto her side, one leg tucked high, the sheet rucked up beneath it, with the lamplight casting a sheen across the perfect turn of her breast and shoulder. Naked, beautiful, and unmistakably asleep.
And what had he been about to say anyway? Cole did not know. His lessons in gentlemanly deportment had taught him no words appropriate to this sort of situation. Slowly, he made his way around the bed, blowing out the lamps as he went. In the utter darkness, Cole gingerly made his way across the bedchamber to the door that opened onto the sitting room.
Briefly, a shaft of light cut through the gloom and across Jonet’s bed, and then the lock clicked quietly shut, plunging the room back into darkness. Jonet turned her face into her pillow and dragged it against her body, her fingers clawing into the softness as if she were drowning in it. When the crying finally began, it was a letting go like nothing she had known before, as if the ice that had long shrouded her heart had finally melted and was coming up as tears. The air dragged from her lungs and pulled at her heart in great, heaving sobs.
Jonet cried until her pillow was wet, and then she cried until dry heaves racked her chest, forcing her to crawl from her bed in search of the chamber pot. She cried as she had not cried in all these many dark months and days, when her soul had been perched on the edge of despair. She cried because now she had gone over that black, black edge. And still, she could not stop.
Chapter 11
In Which Lord Delacourt Is Sadly Abused
The following day, a restrained and heavy silence descended upon Mercer House. Cole took great pains to avoid Jonet, and followed his usual custom of taking luncheon with the boys in the schoolroom. His afternoon, thank heaven, was to be free, since Nanna had arranged for the tailor to call upon Lord Mercer and his brother, in order that they might be fitted with half-mourning for the late summer months. It fell in perfectly with his plan to escape Mercer House and the painful memories of the preceding night, if only briefly.
Today there was to be an alumni match at Lord’s. Nothing more man an informal game, but Cole was in the mood to work up a sweat doing something besides staring at Jonet. The rigorous exercise would suit him perfectly, and with any luck at all, the Eton alumni would pound the infidels to flinders, providing him with an outlet for at least a bit of his masculine angst Cole dressed carefully for the match, then rummaged rather violently through his large trunk for his bat.
Days ago, Jonet had made it plain that the boys would not be permitted to accompany him to any sporting events, and Cole no longer had the will to argue with her. In truth, today he needed to be alone. There was much he needed to consider. And so he went swiftly downstairs, his bitter mood very little improved, only to find Jonet standing in the hallway, dressed in a green riding habit that was so dark it might have been black, and pulling on a pair of snug kidskin gloves. A gossamer black veil was rolled away from her face, which was pale and drawn, as if she had not slept at all. One of the dour Scottish grooms stood at her elbow, holding her whip.
She watched Cole descend, her eyebrows going up in mild surprise as her eyes settled on the bat he held loosely in his hand. “I see you’ve put on your whites, Captain Amherst. Do you mean to play today?” she asked politely, as if they were barely acquainted.
Cole came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the steps. “Indeed, yes. With a few old schoolmates.” He forced a polite smile. “And yourself, ma’am? It appears you mean to have a ride. You’ve chosen a splendid day.”
“Yes,” she said a little grimly. “I find I have a desperate need for exercise this afternoon. I simply cannot stay trapped inside these four walls any longer.”
Cole gave her a civil nod and shifted his weight as if to go. “I comprehend your situation precisely, ma’am. I hope you enjoy your afternoon.”
Damn it, thought Cole, the whole tone of the conversation was beginning to upset him. They spoke as if they were total strangers. Was this what his relationship with Jonet had come to? Had their deep intimacy merely served to drive them further apart? Would his one night of bli
ss in her arms now cut him off from the friendship he had begun to value so greatly? Certainly, it seemed so. And undoubtedly it was for the best Her casual dismissal last night had wounded him too deeply.
Jonet gave the second glove a ruthless little tug and looked at him with a sharp, sidelong glance. “Do you go up to Saint John’s Wood, then?” Suddenly, she stared directly at him, her eyes searching his face, and making his heart lurch forward in his chest. Something which looked like despair passed over her eyes. “I mean, if you do, I wonder ... would it be terribly rude of me to accompany you? Merely to sit on the hillside and watch?”
Cole was taken aback. “Why, I cannot think that you would—” He cleared his throat and began again. “What I mean to say is that, of course, you would be most welcome.”
Jonet’s lush mouth curved into a ghost of a smile as she reached out to take her whip from her groom. “Rest assured, I have no wish to socialize. I will simply sit quietly while you play. I shan’t be any inconvenience, nor cause any embarrassment.”
“Do not be foolish,” Cole answered, his voice roughening despite his best effort to steady it “You could never be an inconvenience, nor any sort of embarrassment”
———
And so it was that Jonet found herself feeling just a little shameless while riding through Mayfair in the company of Captain Cole Amherst Although a cricket match was quite different from a cotillion, she still had no business going out, particularly in the company of a man hike Cole. But if anyone recognized her sleek black gelding, they gave no indication. One or two gentlemen of military bearing tipped a hat to them, but it was plain that it was Cole, and not her, whom they acknowledged.
Cole rode quietly beside her on the huge bay she’d watched him take out almost every morning since his arrival in Brook Street. No doubt he had been unaware of her observation, but Jonet had been unable to resist staring out her bedroom window, given its expansive view overlooking the mews. And in her rather discerning opinion, Cole sat a horse as well as any man of her acquaintance. It seemed that his long years in the cavalry had made him one with his mount, and Jonet found it an aesthetic joy to watch him ride with such grace and ease.
The distance through Mayfair and north to Lord’s Cricket Ground was not long, and Cole at first seemed disinclined to conversation. Several yards behind, her groom followed. Cole had insisted upon it, explaining that heat and boredom might prove too much for her, and that he wished her to have a suitable escort with which to return. With airy good grace, she had agreed rather than argue, but Jonet had grown up in the saddle, and it took a good deal more than a little heat to put her under. And a woman would have to have ice water in her veins to become bored watching him. But let him think her delicate and feminine, if he would. Last night, his appreciation had been obvious.
As had his views of their future together. A little despairingly, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. Why in heaven’s name had she asked to accompany him today? Did she mean to deliberately torture herself? But there was no ignoring the almost unbelievable passion that had exploded between them last night. She simply would not go on behaving as if nothing had happened.
“Cole—?” she asked, her voice low and controlled. “Do you not think we ought to talk about it?”
Cole looked at her with a startled expression, the reins looped loosely through his long, elegant hands. “What is there to say, Jonet?” he asked gruffly.
Jonet would not be cowed. She had spent half the night sniveling pathetically, and she was done with it. “A great deal, I should think, given what we have shared,” she retorted. Deliberately, she turned in her saddle and lifted her chin to stare at him. “I do not play simpering games, Cole. I think you know that. I have no hesitation in saving that you were—that you are... simply magnificent”
“In bed?” Cole said archly. “Is that what you mean?”
Beneath her dark veil, Jonet felt the heat rush up her face, and she was inordinately glad he could not see how deeply the memory affected her. “Yes,” she answered, her voice unnaturally throaty. “And as I said last night, I need you for... more than one night.”
The grim angle of Cole’s jaw went even more rigid. “You wish for a long-term affaire? Is that what you are saying?”
“Cole, I...” Beneath the veil, Jonet squeezed shut her eyes. He had already made it plain he wouldn’t wed her, and she would sooner die than beg. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, that is what I want.”
“No.” Cole said the word softly, the one syllable strong and certain.
“No—?” The pain in her voice must have been apparent. Cole turned to look at her, the lines of his face softening ever so slightly. “No, Jonet. I am mindful of the compliment you pay me, but that is not the way I choose to live my life.”
“I see,” she said stiffly, her fingers tightening on her reins. In protest, the black snorted and skittered sideways, all too aware that his mistress knew better than to be so careless with his mouth.
Jonet easily reined him in, slackened her grip, then shifted her gaze to Cole. “Then I must thank you for your ... your generosity of last night. In many ways, the evening was the most pleasurable of my life. I hope to always have your friendship, if that’s all you can offer.”
Cole’s eyes flared wide, as if from shock or pain. His hand lashed out in an instant, jerking her horse to a halt and drawing his close alongside. “Always,” he said roughly, leaning halfway off his mount to look at her. On the cobblestones, their horses pranced uneasily, but Cole skillfully held them both, all the while keeping one eye on the groom to be sure he kept his distance.
“Listen to me, Jonet! You will always have my undying devotion. If ever you have need of me, I will be there. In any way but that. Do you understand?”
Jonet was shocked at the vehemence in his tone. “Yes, I understand,” she answered hollowly. “And I thank you. I will take what I can get, since I find my friends are few and far between of late.”
“Then we are agreed,” he answered, and urged the horses on down the street.
They rode along in silence until they had crossed over Oxford Street. But Jonet simply could not leave the awkward silence hanging between them. She began again in a more conversational tone. “Tell me, Cole—where do you go with your life after Mercer House?”
He paused, as if weighing his response. “I am not sure I perfectly understand your question.”
“In the autumn, when you return to the army, do you go on to India? Or somewhere else?” With an upward brush of her arm, Jonet lifted her veil just enough to let him know that her smile was teasing. “I ask, you see, so that I may know where to send word if you are needed—as you said I might.”
Cole nudged his horse around a parked dray, his leg brushing against the pleats of her habit. “I am thinking of giving it up altogether,” he said absently, as if the idea was just now taking shape in his mind. “I am a little tired, I think, of being away from England. And I begin to fear that I have wandered too far from my proper path in life, if that makes any sense.”
Jonet regarded him in silence for a moment. “Indeed, I believe I understand all too well,” she mused. “But tell me, where will you go to rejoin this path you seek? Not London?”
With a wry smile, Cole shook his head. “No,” he agreed. “I suppose I must go home. To Cambridgeshire.”
“Ah—to Elmwood Manor?” she asked lightly.
Cole looked at her in some surprise, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I took the liberty of making inquiries before permitting you inside my house. I needed to know your circumstances. Surely you can understand?”
After a long moment, Cole seemed to relax back into his saddle. “Yes, of course. And you are correct. I will go home to Elmwood.”
Jonet tried to keep her voice light and conversational “And what does your future hold for you there, Cole? What are your hopes and your dreams for this life you will lead at Elmwood? What is it th
at you feel passionate about?” She dropped her voice
to a teasing tone. “I should very much like to know. After all, we are friends now. Can you not tell me?”
Again, Cole looked as if he had not fully considered it “I daresay I shall resume some of my studies. I suppose I might even return to teaching.” He paused for a long moment, his eyes suddenly unfocused and far away. “But I had thought one day to take up the vicariate of St. Ann’s. I know that the bishop yet hopes that I will do so, St. Ann’s was, as you may recall, my father’s parish.”
Jonet was astonished. “Yes, I did know it—but you ... you have taken orders?”
“Yes, shortly before my marriage, but I fear I became rather unsure of my life’s purpose.” He smiled at her grimly. “Jonet, did you not understand? I tried to tell you when first we met.”
Jonet shook her head as if trying to clear her vision. “I daresay you may have done ... but I believe I did not fully grasp the—the reality of it all.”
“Or perhaps you were too angry to listen,” Cole mumbled under his breath. But Jonet barely noted the teasing sarcasm in his tone. Her mind raced. Cole had been intended for the church? She had never considered it, but it explained a great deal.
And made a great deal more impossible.
Jonet Rowland aspiring to be a vicar’s wife? That was truly laughable. She was considered the scourge of London. Cole certainly could not be saddled with a woman of her repute, particularly with the shadow of Henry’s mysterious death hanging over her head. But she would have given up her status as the Marchioness of Mercer in a trice, she realized in some surprise, would Cole but ask it of her.
Jonet had hardly wanted her own position, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to wed Henry. But Cole’s feelings for her were quite plain. Why was she dreaming? He desired her, perhaps he even liked her at times. But if he married again, and she was not at all sure he would, it would be to a woman like... like that Louisa person.
