by Tarah Scott
“Jeanine smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Potts.”
She and Miss Stone started up the walk.
“I must advise against your course of action once more, Miss Matheson,” Miss Stone murmured. “I feel certain his lordship can deal with Mr. Gordon.”
Jeanine shook her head. “He will advise us to ignore Lord Gordon. I cannot allow Grey’s reputation to be blemished on my account. If he wishes to marry Lady Claire, then we must help him.”
“I find it difficult to believe he wants to marry her,” Miss Stone said.
“Lady Guilford said they discussed marriage negotiations. Men don’t enter into marriage negotiations if they don’t want to be married.”
They reached the door and it opened before they could knock. A somber butler led them down the hallway and upstairs to the first floor. Jeanine spotted servants’ stairs to her left as they passed. Two doors down, they reached a parlor and entered.
Jeanine blinked against the glare of the room’s bright purples and blues. “My goodness,” she blurted, then looked at Miss Stone, whose expression remained bland. Only the hint of disdain in her dark eyes gave away her true feelings. Miss Stone was right. Lord Gordon’s taste was not as refined as Grey’s.
Two dozen people occupied the room, some at cards tables, some sitting on divans and chairs drinking tea, chatting.
“Miss Matheson.” Lord Gordon approached from her right.
Jeanine smiled, and hoped her shock at seeing a bright yellow waistcoat beneath his jacket wasn’t obvious. She forced her eyes to meet his and not linger on the ridiculously complex cravat that hung halfway down his chest. He reached them and grasped her hand, then pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
She froze the smile on her face and said, “You remember Miss Stone?”
He bowed, but didn’t take Miss Stone’s hand. “Of course. A pleasure to see you again, Miss Stone.” The words were proper, but Jeanine caught frustration in his voice.
He led them to a table, ordered a maid to bring tea and cake, then launched into inane chatter about the weather, food, and upcoming parties, until Jeanine wanted to scream. She had to break free of him and have a look around the house.
“The ball last night was quite fantastic,” he said.
Jeanine nibbled on cake and nodded. “Lady Guilford’s efforts made the party an enormous success.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Indeed. Do you play cards, Miss Stone?”
“No more than passably, sir. Miss Matheson is the expert card player.”
“Lady Melanie has despaired of being able to find players. Perhaps you would oblige and play with her.”
“As I said, sir, I play only a passable game. I doubt I would offer any challenge.”
“But you would,” he said. “Lady Melanie is a new player, so could use a patient player like yourself to lend guidance.”
“I regret that I must decline,” Miss Stone said. “I must remain with my charge.”
“Nonsense,” Jeanine said. “You have nothing to fear by leaving me to play cards. I will be nearby with Lord Gordon.”
Lord Gordon puffed out his chest like a ridiculous peacock. “There you have it, Miss Stone.” He rose. “Let me introduce you to Lady Melanie.”
Miss Stone glanced at Jeanine, and Jeanine noted genuine concern in her expression. This was the first time she and Miss Stone had disagreed. Shame wormed its way through her. Miss Stone’s concerns were founded.
“I must remind you, Miss Matheson, that his lordship instructed us to return after one hour.”
A total lie, and one Jeanine hadn’t prepared for.
Miss Stone looked at Lord Gordon. “You will forgive us if we don’t stay long. His lordship has dinner plans, and allowed us to leave only after extracting the promise that we would not be late.”
Irritation flashed in his eyes and he said in a too-genial voice, “Of course, Miss Stone. I shall make it my mission to escort you to your carriage within the allotted hour.”
Miss Stone rose, albeit, Jeanine knew, with reluctance, and accompanied Lord Gordon to a table in the far corner of the room near the balcony. The young lady at the table looked to be barely out of the schoolroom. As soon as Lord Gordon turned his back, Jeanine rose and hurried to the door through which they had entered. She slipped from the room, found the hallway empty, and sprinted in the direction they’d come. A second later, she reached the servants’ stairs and bounded up the winding staircase.
Light spilled around a curve up ahead. Heart pounding, Jeanine raced up the final stairs and burst into a well-lit hallway. She halted, breathing hard, and strained to hear above the rush of blood in her ears. She saw no one. Not surprising. This had to be Lord Gordon’s private chambers. At this time of day, servants might not be allowed on this floor, and most were likely busy with the party.
She tried three doors, found a bedchamber she assumed was Lord Gordon’s, but nothing to indicate what he’d meant when he told her he had a plan to cast Grey out of Society for good. The next door opened to a private study. She headed for the large mahogany desk at the far end of the room. She had been away from the card room fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. By now, Lord Gordon would believe she had left—or perhaps gone to the garden, if he had one. Miss Stone would have joined the search for her. It was unlikely he would think she’d come upstairs, but anxiety knotted her stomach, nonetheless.
She sat down at the desk and began searching through drawers, but found only paper, pen, personal correspondences that seemed meaningless, and business papers concerning properties he held in the north of Scotland. She opened the bottom right drawer and found several envelopes bound together by a ribbon. Jeanine slid aside the bow that covered the center of the top envelope and started at sight of Grey’s first name on the envelope.
With shaking fingers, she tugged the bow free, then untied the ribbon and withdrew the top letter from its envelope.
My dearest Valan,
As usual, I find it easier to put down on paper the words I cannot say. Since becoming your ward, my life had taken on new meaning. It matters not to me what the future holds, so long as we are together. I care nothing for what Society says. I am yours as long as you will have me.
Yours,
Jeanine
Her heart pounded so fiercely, she became lightheaded. She opened a second letter written in a different hand.
My darling Jeanine,
Forget Society. They have never been a friend of mine. I will take you away from here where no one will know us. Never fear, I will not allow harm to come to you or the child you carry… Our child.
Yours forever, Valan
Our child?
Anger twisted through her. She hadn’t written these letters. Since she hadn’t written these letters, it only made sense that Grey hadn’t written the others. And the child that she carried? There was no child. They had never…
Lies. Terrible, vicious lies.
She remembered Lady Fletcher and the girls who had spoken so ill of her and Grey. How many lies were being told about Grey? Now this? But why this?
Then she understood. Lord Gordon had created these terrible lies with the intention of ruining Grey. But why? No one would believe them. Miss Stone lived with them. She could attest to how proper their household ran.
She was not with child. That would prove these were lies. But Grey’s reputation would be destroyed before anybody knew they were lies. A mixture of rage and fear brought tears to her eyes. She would not let Lord Gordon do this.
Jeanine quickly gathered the letters and retied the bow. Grey would know what to do. She stood, then hesitated. She couldn’t give him the letters. He would be furious. Not because Lord Gordon tried to ruin him, but because Lord Gordon’s plan would have ruined her. She didn’t know him well, but that much she did know.
The letters had to be destroyed. But that wouldn’t be enough, she realized with rising panic. Lord Gordon would only write more. How could she stop him?
She s
wiped at a tear.
She couldn’t. Jeanine thought of Lady Claire. Grey wanted a respectable marriage. She couldn’t allow anything to get in his way, even her.
She hurried toward the door. Two steps from the door, it opened. Jeanine came to an abrupt halt. Lord Gordon stood in the doorway. His eyes dropped to the letters she held.
He stepped inside the room and closed the door. “The entire household is searching for you. It never occurred to me you might be here.” He took a step toward her and she retreated. He stopped. “There is no need to be afraid. Remember what I told you, that I hoped you would understand why I had to do what I did?”
Jeanine said nothing.
“I will care for you. You will never want for anything. I will marry you.”
“M-Marry me?” Jeanine shook the letters in front of her. “I will b-be ruined.”
He frowned. “Do you have a speech impediment?”
“Aye. You cannot want a woman who s-stutters.”
His frown deepened. “We can deal with that later.”
Her mind raced. “I will be ruined. Surely, you c-cannot want to marry a woman whose reputation was ruined by the Marquess of Northington.”
“Northington will be blamed,” he said. “He is not called The Morning Star for nothing. People will understand, and they will draw you into their hearts once you have married me.”
“I will no’ m-marry you,” she spat.
He smiled in what she knew was meant to be comforting, but the effect was undone by the anger that blazed in his eyes. “You do not understand. I know what’s best.”
Jeanine straightened. “I wish to leave.”
He went to a small table beside the door, opened the drawer and withdrew a key. Jeanine watched in horror as he closed the drawer, then locked the door and slipped the key into the front pocket of his waistcoat.
He faced her. “This is for your own good.”
He advanced. Jeanine backed up. The back of her leg bumped something. She leapt aside and glanced at the table she’d bumped. She’d retreated nearly to the hearth. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the poker resting against the brick. Her heart leapt into her throat. She yanked her gaze back on to Lord Gordon. He stood a foot away.
“Miss Matheson—Jeanine—you need not fear me.” He halted. “I understand. Forgive me, dearest. Northington has mistreated you and now you fear all man. I promise, I will be gentle. Come,” he grasped her arm.
She started to pull away, then another plan struck. Jeanine tripped and collided with Lord Gordon. She seized his cravat in an effort not to fall—he wasn’t quick as Grey had been in catching her—and slipped her fingers into the front pocket of his waistcoat. She fisted the key as he grasped her shoulders.
She thought he would set her back from him, but his hold tightened, and she realized he intended to kiss her. Revulsion turned her stomach. Could she pretend to like the kiss? Wait, he believed she was afraid of Grey. His mouth neared hers. She whimpered.
He froze. “He really has hurt you.” The dangerous light of fanatical righteousness flared in his eyes. But, to her relief, he released her. “Sit down.” He indicated the nearby chairs. “I will fetch you a sherry. It will be good for your nerves.”
He turned, and Jeanine gauged the distance to the door. It was too far. She could never reach it and unlock the door before he set upon her. She would not allow him to trap her. If she didn’t escape, then his plans to ruin Grey would succeed. She looked at the poker leaning against the brick of the hearth. Dare she?
“We can live in France, until the worst of the scandal dies down,” he went on. “Have you ever been to France? You will love it.”
Jeanine edged to the poker and snatched it up. He filled the first sherry glass, then a second. She had little time. He replaced the lid on the decanter. Jeanine took three steps and lifted the poker with her right hand, while clutching the letters and the key in the other. She swung at his head. He cried out and dropped the sherry glasses. They shattered against the sideboard.
Jeanine dropped the poker and stumbled back two paces. He grabbed the side of his head and swung toward her. She whirled and lunged for the door. Hard fingers seized her arm. She cried out. His fingers dug deeper. He yanked her toward him and she brought her fisted hand up. He grabbed for her and caught the letters. She yanked them free from his grasp. The key struck the carpet.
She stumbled backward as he fell against a chair. Jeanine dove for the key, scooped it up, then raced for the door. Her hands shook so badly she feared she couldn’t fit the key into the lock. A moan behind her caused her to glance over her shoulder. He was struggling to his feet. She faced forward, commanded calm, thrust the key into the lock, then turned. The lock clicked. She threw the door open and raced down the hall to the servants’ stairs.
She forced herself to slow enough not to fall headlong down the corkscrew stairs. At the bottom, she raced toward the parlor. A shout went up in that direction. Jeanine whirled in the opposite direction and pumped her legs faster. She reached the stairs they had ascended when the butler had shown them in and descended as quickly as she could.
At the bottom, she spun left, toward the front door. Pounding footfalls on the front steps sent her into a panic. She turned right, ran down another hallway that twisted around, and burst into a storage room. Folded linens lined the high shelves. Sacks of fruit and barrels of oats, or maybe flour, encircled the room. She hurried through the small room and nearly cried aloud at sight of a side door. She found the door unlocked, and raced outside into an enclosed garden. Jeanine kept going toward the wooden door on the left side of the stone wall.
Please do not be locked, she prayed. She reached the door, drew the latch, and raced into the alley.
Chapter Twelve
One leg crossed over the other and an arm stretched along the top edge of the divan, Valan stared at the emerald ring he wore as he listened to Peigi ramble on about last night’s party.
“I had no opportunity to tell you that she invited Lord Gordon,” she said. “Of course, with so many last-minute preparations, I then forgot until I saw him enter the ballroom. He had her cornered. I vow, Valan, he all but made violent love to her.”
Valan lifted an eyebrow. “I suggest, my dear, that, if you think Jeanine would allow Lord Gordon to make violent love to her in public, that it has been some time since Richard has made violent love to you.
She stiffened. “I beg your pardon. Richard makes violent love to me on a regular basis. I tell you, Lord Gordon was unacceptably fervent.”
“Lord Gordon is often fervent,” Valan reminded her.
“I don’t like it by half,” she said. “I wouldn’t be one bit surprised to discover that he is trying to talk her into running off with him.”
Valan noticed a scuff on one boot. He would have to have a talk with Baldwin.
“Are you listening, Valan?”
He straightened and picked up his teacup from the table. “Of course. I don’t think we have to worry about Jeanine running off with Gordon.” He sipped his tea, then rested the cup on his leg and leaned back against the cushion.
“What if he attempts to force her?”
He laughed. “I doubt he has the courage.”
“That meeting in the park was no accident,” Peigi said. “He asked if he could call on her.”
Valan chuckled, the imagined scene vivid in his mind’s eye. “What was my ward’s response to his advance?”
“She didn’t respond. I informed him that he must speak with you.”
Valan looked sharply at her. “I appreciate your concern, Peigi, but you might allow Jeanine to speak for herself next time.”
She frowned. “Next time? You think he will ask again?”
“I think he cannot help himself.”
“You would let him court her?” Peigi demanded. Then before he could answer, she added, “So that’s your game. This is low, even for you, Valan.”
“What is low even for me?” he asked.
<
br /> “Using the girl to get even with Gordon. That pistol incident happened twenty years ago. Even you should have forgotten it by now.”
“Do you think so?” he asked. “I feel certain Gordon has not forgotten.”
Peigi regarded him in that way women do when they are puzzling something out about a man, which that man would rather they didn’t know. “Perhaps the girl is using you.”
“Do you really think so?” He considered. “That would be a novel experience.”
Peigi shrugged. “You bought her a whole new wardrobe. She lives here, in one of the most luxurious homes in Edinburgh. She travels in the highest of style. Servants cater to her every whim. Women have used men for far less.”
“I cannot contradict you on that matter,” he said. “In Jeanine’s case, however, she asked for none of it.”
Peigi snorted. “Lord, but I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that you could be so naïve.”
“Naïve?” he said. “Today is truly a singular day. First, I am being used by a woman, now I am naïve.”
“What woman wouldn’t love living the lifestyle you’ve provided?” she asked.
“Why shouldn’t she love it?” He sipped more tea, then returned the cup to his leg.
Her gaze sharpened. “I have never seen you like this with anyone.”
“Like what?” He laughed.
“What if she develops true feelings for Lord Gordon?”
“Jeanine is far too sensible for that. Besides, she wants an elderly gentleman who is facing his next reward.”
“So that she can use his money to open a school for young ladies,” Peigi said.
He stared at the teacup, remembering the night in the garden when Jeanine revealed her plan to him. “Quite a plan, don’t you agree?” he asked.
“I wish she could return home and marry the young man who’s in love with her.”
Valan looked up. “What young man?”
“Joshua. He drove her here in his wagon—with her younger sister and brother-in-law as chaperones.”
Valan nodded slowly. “Today truly is a singular day. That is an eventuality I hadn’t considered. It is, of course, only natural that some young swain back home would have fallen prey to her charms. What do you know of this young man?”
