“I can.” Sophia uttered those two words with such chilling certainty that Jerome felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
“However,” Sophia continued, her voice hardening, “after you have made such a mull of it, it will not be easy for me to persuade her. She is furious that you kicked her dog.”
“Ugly beast,” Felix complained. “I hate dogs. I tell you she will not have him or any other after we are married. I forbid it.”
“Well, don’t tell her that until after you have exchanged your vows!” Sophia warned. “You are causing me a great deal of trouble that I did not bargain on when I agreed to our arrangement. I shall require additional compensation for it.”
“How much more?”
“Twice the amount we agreed upon, the entire sum to be paid on your wedding day. You are still getting a bargain, my lord.”
Felix, whom Jerome knew was used to paying outrageous prices for whatever he desired, did not quibble. “You will have it.”
Revolted, Jerome thought of telling Alfred Wingate about his wife’s agreement to sell his niece to Felix, but he would be wasting his breath. Jerome had seen enough of Alfred since he had been at Wingate Hall to know that sorry excuse for a man would not dare oppose his wife in anything.
Silently Jerome went back up the stairs to his bedchamber. With a disgusted curl of his lip and a furious glint in his eyes, he sat down at the writing table there to pen a letter.
The next morning, Jerome strode down to the stables and handed his sealed, franked letter to Ferris. “Take this into the village, and post it at once.”
His groom glanced down at the letter directed to Captain George Wingate with the British Army in the American colony of New York He gave Jerome an inquiring look.
“Sophia Wingate handles all the mail that goes in and out of Wingate Hall. I have no desire to explain to her why I am writing her nephew.”
Nor would George be pleased by the message when he received it. Jerome had outlined in blunt language what Sophia was doing to Wingate Hall and to Rachel. He had added a scathing indictment of George’s dilatoriness and irresponsibility then demanded that he return home to take control of Wingate Hall before Sophia destroyed it and his sister.
After Ferris rode off, Jerome strode back toward the house. His letter should bring the heedless Wingate back to England post-haste.
But it would take anywhere from one to three months for it to reach America and a like length of time for George to sail back to England. Jerome hoped that Rachel would be able to stave Felix off for that long. If she could not, what, if anything, could Jerome do to help her? He was sickened by the thought of her being forced to marry that disgusting little fop.
Late that afternoon, Jerome stood at the window of his bedchamber, looking out at a sky that was growing increasingly ominous. A storm was brewing. He glanced down at the maze beneath his window, and a bright splash of yellow against the green drew his attention.
Lady Rachel was crouched down beside one of the tall boxwood hedges that formed the interior of the labyrinth. What the devil could she be doing?
Jerome’s curiosity got the best of him. He hurried downstairs and out to the maze. When he came up behind her, she was still crouched beside the hedge.
“What have you there?”
Rachel started at the sound of his voice and turned her head toward him, her violet eyes wide and her lovely mouth half-open. She looked so irresistibly kissable that he was hard-pressed not to take her into his arms and do just that.
“You frightened me,” she complained. “I was afraid you might be Sophia. I do not want her to see these.”
He looked down and saw that she was playing with two tiny calico kittens.
“I hid them here because Sophia would order them killed if she knew about them. She considers cats and dogs a nuisance.” Rachel stroked one of the little balls of fur gently. “Their mama has disappeared.”
Jerome noticed the saucer of milk beneath the hedge. “And you have been feeding them.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
Smiling, he knelt down beside her and picked up one of the little puffs of fur, holding it in one hand as he caressed it with the other. It mewled, then curled up in his hand, contented with his stroking.
Jerome glanced up at Rachel, Her extravagantly thick lashes, black and curling, shadowed her violet eyes and, as she watched him with the kitten, a delighted smile tugged at her delectable mouth, revealing her dimples.
God, but she took his breath away.
Rachel asked, “Are they not the sweetest little things?”
“Yes,” Jerome agreed. Almost as sweet as you. He remembered her passionate response to his kiss and the startled, innocent wonder her face had betrayed.
Rachel dipped her index finger into the bowl of milk and held it out to the kitten still on the ground. It began licking the tip of Rachel’s finger.
It made Jerome think of other parts of Rachel that he would like to be licking, and his body hardened with desire.
He wanted her, ached for her.
He could not resist her.
Jerome’s defences against her had been under assault for days. Now they crumbled all together. He could no longer fight his overwhelming attraction to her.
No longer wanted to.
Rachel was the woman he yearned for, not Emily Hextable. Shocked by the strength of this feeling, he tried to remind himself that although he had never formally offered for Emily, it was expected, especially by her, that he would.
Hastily, he laid the kitten on the ground and got to his feet before he succumbed to his longing to kiss Rachel’s lovely mouth.
Startled by his sudden movement, Rachel started to rise, too. He automatically gave her his hand to help her up. As she stood, she took a step forward to balance herself, tripped on her hem, and stumbled, He caught her in his arms.
The press of her soft, curvaceous body against him was more provocation than his own could withstand. So was that lovely, smiling mouth only inches from his own.
She smelled of lavender and roses, and she felt so good in his arms that he could not force himself to release her. The urge to taste her lips again was so strong that it swept away on its tide both his good sense and years of iron, self-imposed discipline.
He bent his head and kissed her, caressing her face with his fingertips as tenderly as he caressed her lips with his mouth. It was a long, slow kiss as he skilfully coaxed from her the same passionate response that she had given him the first time they kissed.
With a low moan that sent fire coursing through his blood, she clung hard to him as she unconsciously parted her lips for him and returned his kiss.
His tongue began a quick, tantalizing dance, and she moaned again. His fingers buried themselves in the luxurious silk of her hair. His mouth grew more insistent, and her own answered in kind. Hot and hungry
His passion ignited, and it was all he could do to keep from lying her back down and making love to her. If he did not stop now, he soon would not be able to.
He forced himself to pull away from her. It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done.
She stared at him, her eyes dazed with passion, her cherry lips still slightly parted. “You... you make me feel so strange,” she murmured.
He turned away from her to hide the effect her innocent confession had on him.
Jerome had tried to tell himself that Emily, to whom he felt committed, was the best wife he could hope to have, one who would always be faithful to him. But he realized with searing pain that he would never want her the way that he wanted Rachel.
He no longer trusted himself to be alone with her in this far-too-private spot. “Come,” he said gruffly, “we must get back.”
As they strode along the path that led to the house, a tall, strikingly handsome man came toward them. Jerome recognized Anthony Denton with a rush of dislike and dismay. What was the bastard doing here?
Whenever Denton looked at a beautiful woman,
his bedroom eyes were full of tantalizing promise. His multitude of conquests among the fair sex had long ago won him the nickname, the prince of rakes. It was said he could charm even the primmest and most virtuous of ladies into his bed.
Jerome’s face hardened into a bitter scowl. Certainly Denton had no difficulty coaxing Cleo into it.
Rachel had not yet noticed Denton, but at that moment he called to her.
Jerome had never seen such a look of jubilation and happiness as crossed Rachel’s face when she recognized Denton. She ran down the path toward the newcomer, crying elatedly, “Tony, Tony!”
For a moment Jerome was incredulous. It was as though he were reliving again that awful moment of a decade ago.
The man was the same, the woman was different. But Rachel was even more beautiful than Cleo. At least she was not in bed with Denton as Cleo had been. But, damn it, if Rachel’s ecstatic greeting to him was any indication, she would be within a few hours.
The pain in Jerome’s heart was almost unbearable and so was his mortification. He had been fooled into thinking that Rachel was different. But now he knew the truth. She was like every other damned, faithless beauty, and she could not resist Denton’s polished, lying tongue.
Thank God, Jerome had discovered it in time.
He did not trust himself to greet Denton civilly. To avoid smashing his fist into the reprobate’s handsome face, Jerome turned away and headed for the stables.
As Rachel ran toward Denton, she had only one thought in her mind. Her brother Stephen. Tony, his dear friend, had promised her that he would by to find her brother and that he would come to tell her the moment he had any word that the missing earl might still be alive.
Certain that was why he was here now, she took Tony’s outstretched hands in her own. “Where is Stephen?”
For an instant, Tony looked confused. “I have no idea, my lovely. Why would you think I do?”
Rachel, her bright hopes dashed, said brokenly, “I thought that was why you came. You promised me you would try to find him and would tell me the moment you had any word.”
For the briefest of instants, Tony looked discomforted, then he said hastily, “Ah yes, I did. Unfortunately, I have been able to learn nothing more about him.”
Because he had not tried, Rachel thought. How like him to have promised her to hire someone to search for Stephen and then not given it another thought. She had seen enough of Denton that she should have known better than to believe anything he said. Empty promises fell from Tony’s lips like raindrops in a spring shower. And he had been one of Stephen’s friends that she had overheard ridiculing her father for his fidelity to his wife when he could have had many women.
She asked curtly, “Why are you here then?”
He gave her a charming smile. “I was passing through the neighbourhood. Your brother always insisted that I stop to see him when I was in the north.”
“But you know he is missing.” Rachel could not imagine why Denton would want to stop when Stephen was not here.
Tony said casually, “I hear Wingate Hall has another visitor, the Duke of Westleigh.”
“Yes.” Rachel had momentarily forgotten him and everything else in her burst of happiness at the thought that Stephen had been found. She looked around for the duke, but he had vanished. She frowned, wondering where he had gone.
“Why is Westleigh here?” Denton asked. “No, let me guess. Aunt Sophia invited him. Is she having success with him?”
Rachel looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
He laughed. “What a delightful innocent you are. Is it too much to hope that you would dislike Westleigh as much as Stephen does?”
“What a peculiar thing to say.” The way Denton was looking at her, as though she were some tempting dessert, made Rachel uncomfortable. “Why would you hope that?”
“You are asking me a question, instead of answering mine,” Tony pointed out.
“The duke is very different from what Stephen said.” Rachel did not like the way Tony’s suddenly narrowed eyes were studying her so assessingly. “I must get back to the house.”
Tony protested, “No, don’t leave.”
But Rachel was already hastening up the path away from him.
In the drawing room after dinner, Jerome was cynically amused by the stratagems of various members of the company. Sophia tried to pair off Felix and Rachel but was circumvented by her niece. Both Tony and Felix vied for Rachel’s attention, but she seemed to want only Jerome’s.
Perhaps he had misjudged Rachel’s feelings for Denton since she seemed to be ignoring him tonight. Jerome was entertained by the furious, jealous looks Denton was casting in his direction. At last, the rake was getting a tiny taste of the misery he had caused other men.
The butler Kerlan came up, his face grave, “Lady Rachel, may I speak to you for a moment.”
She allowed him to lead her away from Jerome. The moment she was gone from his side, Denton strode up, his dark eyes full of malice and dislike. “I see, Westleigh, that we are once again after the same fair prize.”
Jerome could not resist retorting, “And this one dearly favours me.” He ignored the flash of anger in Denton’s eyes and continued smoothly, “However, Sophia Wingate no doubt will be delighted to entertain you.”
Denton looked offended. “As though I would let her. Bloody hell, even I have my standards.”
Jerome raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Do you indeed? What a surprise.”
“Yes I do. What is the challenge, I ask you, of bedding a female who will lay anything in breeches? The bitch tried so damned hard to bed me, and I rebuffed her. Since then, she has done everything in her power to keep me away from her niece.”
Denton always brought out the worst in Jerome, and he could not help observing sarcastically, “That must not be difficult since Lady Rachel clearly does not care for your company.”
The jibe obviously infuriated Denton but, when he spoke, his voice was controlled. “You delude yourself, Westleigh. What she is doing tonight is all show”
“Show? To what end?”
“Rachel wants you as her husband; she wants me as her lover.” Denton’s mouth twisted in a malicious smile. “I assure you, Westleigh, you will be no more successful against me this time than you were the last. Rachel will marry you to become a duchess, but she shall be mine for as long as I want her.”
Denton turned on his heel and stalked away before Jerome could smash his fist into the scoundrel’s mocking face.
Tony went up to Rachel as she turned away from Kerlan. He led her to a quiet corner where they talked for a few minutes, nourishing the doubts that Denton had planted in Jerome’s mind.
Then Rachel came over to Jerome to tell him good night.
“Retiring rather early, are you not?” Jerome asked suspiciously.
“I am tired.”
“Before you leave, my dear, tell me one thing:
Have you ever lost your heart to a man?”
His question caught her by surprise. Her eyes widened, and colour flooded her face.
Her response betrayed that the answer was yes.
Jerome demanded brusquely, ‘Who is he?”
Rachel, usually so forthright, dropped her gaze and her colour deepened. She stammered, “I shall not answer such an impertinent question.”
“I see.” Jerome was convinced that had he been the recipient of her love, she would not have passed up this opportunity to signal her interest in him. His mouth hardened, Denton was right. “Good night, Lady Rachel.” He turned and walked away from her.
Rachel had been gone from the drawing room no more than two minutes when Lord Denton also begged to be excused.
“So early?” Jerome inquired.
“The company pales once Lady Rachel is gone.”
That was quite true. Jerome, too, was anxious to escape, and he managed to do so only a minute after Denton.
Upstairs in his bedchamber, Jerome strode over to the windows. Seething g
ray clouds covered the sky, and in the distance lightning flashed, followed a minute later by the low rumble of thunder. The storm appeared to be moving toward Wingate Hall. It was not a night to be out.
That was why he was startled to see a figure come out of the side door and hurry down the path toward the stable. Jerome would have known that it was Anthony Denton even if he had not glanced back toward the house, revealing his face.
Where the hell was he going?
Jerome’s mind was a seething cauldron of emotions and suspicions.
No more than two minutes later, his worst fears were confirmed when a second figure slipped out the door. This one, too, was distinctive. It was Lady Rachel, wrapped in a heavy cloak. He watched her disappear down the hill.
Jerome unconsciously gripped the heavy brocade draperies that framed the windows at the realization that she was sneaking out to meet Denton.
A few minutes later, a sheet of lightning illuminated in the distance two figures on horseback, one using a sidesaddle.
Jerome turned away from the window in disgust. Once again, his bitter distrust of beautiful women had been justified. It was said that no woman could resist Denton. Cleo had not been able to. Why had he thought Rachel would be any different?
Her flattering attention to Jerome tonight had been exactly what Tony had said, a charade designed to win an offer of marriage from Jerome. Like Cleo, Rachel wanted to be his duchess and Tony’s lover.
Jerome felt as though a broadsword had been plunged into his heart and then brutally rotated.
Chapter 12
Rachel rose from Gentleman Jack’s bedside, satisfied that he was in no danger.
Alarmed after the highwayman’s chest had become congested and his fever had risen, Sam Prentice had come for her. But in the three hours since she had ridden with Sam to the lodge, Gentleman Jack’s fever had dropped again, thanks to her remedy. The poultice that she had applied to his chest had loosened the congestion so that he was now coughing it up.
She had also checked his wound. It was clean and still healing nicely.
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