by Liz Carlyle
“Because it was an accident,” murmured Cole. “She never meant to kill Mercer. She had no claim to his title, only Jonet’s. But after Mercer died, I daresay she took a secret pleasure in seeing Jonet vilified.”
“Yes, by God, I think she reveled in it! She wanted us to think her a silly, simpering spinster. But it was nothing more than a carefully crafted role,” said Delacourt softly.
“But why now? After all these years?”
Cole shook his head. “Ellen once said that heaven had no rage like love to hatred turn’d—”
“—nor hell a fury like a woman scorn’d,” finished Jonet softly, her gaze distant and unseeing. Slowly she glanced from David to Cole. “But she referred to herself, did she not? She felt scorned by the world, even by fate itself. She always envied me. And slowly, she came to hate me, didn’t she? She truly came to hate me.” Her words were edged with pain.
“I daresay a lifetime of envy finally drove her mad,” answered Cole softly, going down on one knee by Jonet’s chair and taking her small, cold hands into his own.
Jonet stared down at their entwined fingers. “Yes, I think you are right. Ellen’s aunt had become increasingly desperate to get her wed to someone. Not out of cruelty, mind you, but because she knew her own health was failing.”
“Yes,” interposed Delacourt. “But Ellen probably saw it as her last chance to seize what she wanted. Else she might be married off, and sent to live who knows where. And then, you and the children would have been beyond her grasp. The possibility of inheriting, of being able to live independently —and at Kildermore —must have tantalized her.”
Jonet gave a little cry, a sharp, agonizing sound. “Oh, I knew Ellen loved Kildermore more than I ever did,” she agreed, her voice tormented. “All my life, I have had to live with the fact that she envied my position as heir. A position I never even wanted! And so I tried ... oh, I tried so hard. To give her everything—money, society, sisterhood! But it was not enough!”
“No,” said Delacourt grimly. “Apparently not.”
“Good God, she meant to kill my children,” Jonet cried, her voice anguished. “She poisoned food, she hired thugs, and whispered her little insinuations. And then she stood in the wings and watched us all suffer! And for what? To inherit a title? A house? Oh, for that, I shall never forgive her!” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Cole’s.
“Do not fear that I shall grieve over her, for I shan’t. My children have been saved from a monster.”
“Good,” said Delacourt firmly. “And you need no longer worry about the opinion of the ton. After this, your position in society will be restored to you in full measure.”
“Oh, David, I hardly think I care!” Her gaze turned to Cole, softening. “But I do care about protecting my boys. What shall we say to them?”
“The truth,” Cole answered hollowly. “Or at least a carefully worded version of the truth. We will say that Ellen was... not well Unfortunately, we cannot shelter our children from all the world’s evil. Stuart and Robert have not only been left fatherless, they have been terrorized in a way no child should ever suffer. I’d gladly tarnish Ellen’s memory to give them peace, if I must”
Jonet looked up at him then, her expression measurably calmer. “Yes. Yes, you are right.” she said, her voice lifting. “This horrible nightmare is over, and we are safe. Now we must look to our future—one which will be bright and happy. I am sure of it.”
“Well! That, I daresay, is my cue,” answered Delacourt, jerking from his chair. “Having unintentionally flung myself upon your hospitality, Amherst, I am now for bed.” Swiftly, he bent down to peck Jonet’s cheek, and then, the viscount was gone.
Slowly, Jonet rose from her chair and closed the distance between them, taking Cole’s hands in hers. “You are wrong about something, my darling,” she said quietly. “My boys have suffered a great loss, yes. But I believe they have not been left entirely fatherless.”
Roughly, Cole pulled her into his embrace and gazed into her eyes for a seemingly timeless moment “Do you still mean to have me, then?” he asked softly.
Jonet looked at him in some surprise. “Oh, yes” she whispered. “I need you, Cole. And I most assuredly mean to have you. And I swear that I will do my best to be a good and obedient w—”
But Jonet never finished her sentence, because her husband-to-be was kissing the almost certain lie from her lips, worshiping her deeply and desperately with his mouth, and cradling her head between his big, capable hands.
And what did it matter, really? They both knew that Jonet would never be good. And probably never obedient—unless it suited her to do so. There were some burdens on this temporal earth which God simply expected a man to bear, Cole decided. And Jonet was his.
The fact that her mouth felt like his heavenly reward was not lost on him.
Epilogue
The Very Ecstasy Of Love
The afternoon sun was setting, casting a warm, pink glow over the westerly sky. One hand set at his hip, Cole stood alone at his bedchamber window, drinking in the brisk spring air and gazing at the burgeoning swath of yellow that had recently brightened his garden. In his left hand, he held open a book, the phrases running absently through his head.
“To everything there is a season—?” he muttered, staring over his spectacles as Stuart went ripping through the bed of daffodils. Robert and the dogs followed on his heels, howling wildly.
“Ugh! That theme is overused!” Cole shook his head, then pensively, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried again. “Easter, a new beginning —? No, no... too trite.”
Suddenly, two very warm hands encircled his waist and ran up his waistcoat. “What is too trite, my darling?” asked Jonet lightly, pressing her cheek against his back.
Cole’s attention snapped back to the present. With great care, he set aside the book and spectacles, turned gently in his wife’s arms, and smiled down at her. “Never mind,” he said, his eyes taking in the deep green silk of her dress. “My dear,” he said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, “you look the very image of springtime. That gown is most becoming.”
Jonet looked coyly up at him from beneath a sweep of black eyelashes. “Most becoming?” she echoed, her voice suddenly dark and sultry, her busy fingers now massaging the back of his shoulders. Beyond the window, the boys’ happy shouts filled the air.
Cole set his wife a little away horn. him. “Jonet?” he said, tilting his head to study her suspiciously. “What are you up to?”
In response, Jonet let her hands drift down to the small of his back and drew his hips into hers. With a sigh, Cole let his eyes drop shut as she skimmed her warm mouth up his throat and along the curve of his jaw. “Umm,” she moaned invitingly when her lips reached his earlobe. “Come with me, sir, and I will show you.”
Lending urgency to her request, Jonet’s fingers brushed lower still. Cole opened his eyes to look down at her, trying to maintain a sober expression.
“Come with you where?” he asked warily, pulling back to study her. “Jonet, you are very wicked. I am trying to work, and you are tempting me to neglect my obligations.”
Jonet’s mouth formed a perfect pout. “Is marriage not an obligation?” she asked sulkily, one finger coming up to lightly brush his bottom lip. “Some men would say it is the worst sort of obligation, you know! And why is it wicked when a wife wishes a moment alone with her husband?”
It was on the tip of Cole’s tongue to say that, after almost a year and a half of marriage to her, the word obligation had never once sprung to mind. But his retort melted in a rush of desire, because by then, Jonet had him by the hand and was leading him—not completely against his will —across the floor of his bedchamber and into the dressing room.
With the skill of a man who has had much practice, Cole easily kicked the door shut behind him, plunging them into utter darkness. And then, Jonet’s mouth was on his, warm, eager, and infinitely comforting. Just as it always was. Instinctively, his arms banded
her to his chest “My darling,” she whispered, barely lifting her mouth from his, “remember when you promised me that we would make love in every room at Elmwood?”
“Yes?...”
“Well, we missed one.”
“Did we indeed?” he managed to murmur, finally certain he knew what she was up to, and knowing there was little point in arguing. Pausing long enough to ensure her door was also shut, Cole slid out of his coat and began returning her fervent kisses, his temperature quickly ratcheting up. Desperately, Jonet’s hands tugged free his shirt, then slid beneath the fabric, making him moan her name into the sweet recesses of her mouth. He jerked her harder against him, and in one smooth motion, rucked up a fistful of green silk and let his palm slide beneath the soft swell of her buttocks, expecting to feel the fine lawn of her drawers. But Jonet had already taken them off!
He sighed with pleasure at the feel of her. Of course, it was sheer folly to be fondling one’s wife in the middle of the day, but Cole had long ago given up trying to reason with Jonet And after all, he had promised. Jonet pressed a little closer, until suddenly, a little alarm bell went off in the hazy recesses of his mind. He tried without success to push her away. “Jonet,” he whispered urgently, “what about the baby?”
“Napping,” she murmured desperately against the hot flesh of his throat.
Cole tried to shake his head. “Not Arabella!” he insisted, wedging one hand between them and smoothing it over her stomach. “This one.”
Jonet had the audacity to giggle. “Oh, come here,” she whispered urgently, ignoring his question and pulling him toward the chair in the corner. Halfway across the floor, Cole tripped over something—it felt like Jonet’s riding boot—and muttered a soft curse.
He struggled to regain his balance, only to find himself being summarily shoved into the chair. In the darkness, Jonet’s fingers worked feverishly at the lose of his trousers. No longer able to maintain even the pretext of resistance, Cole groaned deeply when at last Jonet took him, hot and throbbing, into her strong, capable hands.
“Oh, have mercy, Jonet,” he moaned, his hands going to her waist and dragging up her skirts. “I love you more than life itself, but if you mean to do this, hurry up!”
Without another word, she straddled his knees and laid her hands lightly atop his shoulders. Urgently, Cole guided himself toward the warm welcome he knew he would find, but Jonet, too, was impatient. She slid onto him hard and fast, drawing in her breath on a deep, hungry gasp. “Oh, Cole—/” she moaned appreciatively as he buried himself up to the hilt With his hands, Cole circled her waist, which was only now beginning to thicken with pregnancy. Gently, he lifted her, reveling in Jonet ’s soft sounds of pleasure. She moved against him, slowly at first, until eventually her motions took on a wild urgency.
With a mindless silence, Cole thrust inside her, the utter darkness of the room serving to heighten his sensual awareness, fanning the flames of his desperation to lose himself inside his wife. He thought he would die from the pleasure. With Jonet, he always did. But he hadn’t—not yet, anyway. He thrust inside her again, feeling that sweet edge of release slide near them both.
The knock on the door came out of nowhere.
Cole froze in midmotion, grappling for reality. He glanced across the room to see a shadow darkening the shaft of light that shone beneath Jonet’s door. On his lap, Jonet whimpered and shifted her weight. “The boys?” she asked witheringly.
“They’re outside,” Cole responded, his mouth pressed to her ear.
Beyond the door, heavy feet shuffled uneasily. “My lady—?” Donaldson’s whisper was hesitant, yet urgent. “My lady? Are you in there? Verra sorry tae disturb you, but his lordship is below.”
“Oh, God, what now?” muttered Jonet, in a tone loud enough to be heard beyond the door.
Donaldson shuffled again. “He’s in quite a bad state, too, ma’am. A wee bit drunk.”
In the darkness, Cole rolled his eyes, and Jonet’s head fell forward to touch his. Her exasperation was understandable. During the first year of their marriage, Delacourt’s escapades had become legendary, and Jonet’s role as elder sister had been mightily taxed.
Of course, society—deprived of Jonet in the role of murderess—had cast her in the role of Delacourt’s tragically lost love. That, combined with the utter humiliation of being bested by a quiet cavalry officer, was said to be the root of Delacourt’s misbehavior. Cole suppressed a snort of amazement.
“My lady—?” Donaldson sounded pitiful.
“Oh, what does he want—?” repeated Jonet, her words ending on a frustrated wail.
Donaldson hesitated. “He says he has urgent business with The Reverend Mr. Amherst—his exact words, ma’am—and says I’m tae fetch him doon straightaway” he answered through the heavy oak. “Says he has need of a parson. And he’s in a rare foul temper, that he is.”
Nothing rare about his temper, thought Cole grimly. He was always in one. Worse, his visits inevitably heralded some impending disaster, but this time, the viscount’s search for sympathy was particularly inconvenient. And this time, he had not asked for Jonet...
“Oh, all right, Charlie!” Jonet answered peevishly. On Cole’s lap, she stirred ever so slightly, tightening on his shaft, then with a resigned sound, began to lift herself off.
Stubbornly, Cole tightened his grip around her waist and growled in the bade of his throat. Delacourt could bloody well wait! Jonet sighed with pleasure and glided back down. And then up. Snug, silken heat flowed over him. Beyond the door, Charlie waited.
Jonet rose up once more, and Cole could not restrain his hands from going to her bodice to tug downward on the green silk to expose the swell of her breasts spilling out of her stays. Jonet’s head tipped back as a deep shudder coursed through her.
“Ahh—” she softly breathed.
“M’lady?” whimpered Donaldson. “What am I tae do w’ his lordship?”
Jonet snapped back to attention, her body jerking taut “Oh, for pity’s sake!” she screeched. “Tell him to go straight to—”
“—the drawing room,” interjected Cole, swiftly clapping a hand over her mouth. “She wants you to send him straight to the drawing room,” he repeated.
Jonet’s tongue came out to tease at the palm of his hand. Very deliberately, she tightened on his shaft and slid partway up.
“Yes!” said Cole loudly. “Tell him that I... I will attend him there... soon!”
“Soon, did ye say?” asked Donaldson anxiously.
“Very soon!” confirmed Cole, falling deeper in love with Lord Delacourt’s sister with every passing moment.
