by Alice Gaines
“I promise.”
“Not that lightly,” she said. “Your most solemn promise.”
“Out with it,” he ordered.
“Lady Rushford and her friends are novelists.”
He waited for more, but she stood there as if that pronouncement ought to have cleared things up.
“Lots of women write novels,” he said.
“Not the kind they do,” she said. “They’re Jack Sterling.”
Sterling. He knew the name from somewhere. Someone in his regiment? One of the dandies he’d met in London?
“You know who Jack Sterling is,” she said. “I read his novels all the time.”
“Lord, not that fellow who writes the ghastly stories about the pirate.”
“Foul Walter.”
Ah yes. The awful nonsense she devoured from the page and repeated at family dinners. “Lady Rushford writes that tripe?”
“And Miss Pembroke and Mrs. Thornton, too.”
“What does this have to do with Montgomery?”
“He intercepted some of the pages I’d written—”
“You?” His jaw dropped. “You wrote some of that rubbish, too?”
She bristled. “It’s not rubbish.”
“I don’t care what you call it.” He did his best to tower over her. “You can’t write that sort of thing. What were you thinking?”
“I discovered what they were doing the night we went for dinner,” she said. “I begged them to let me write with them. I love Foul Walter.”
“By everything holy, you can’t love someone named Foul Walter.”
She gave him a look that said she’d never heard anything so stupid. “You know what I mean.”
“What if you’d been found out?” he said. “That could ruin your reputation.”
“Mr. Montgomery did find out.”
“Oh, Lily.” He sank back against the desk. What a disaster. Montgomery hadn’t said anything to disgrace Lily, but he could at any moment if he could gain something from it. Merely getting revenge at Jason for his slights could be enough.
Damn the man. Jason should have had a servant follow Montgomery, after all, or done it himself if he had to. Now, because of his carelessness and his sister’s foolishness, Bess had had to attach herself to a man she loathed. What a bloody mess.
“It wouldn’t just be my reputation at stake,” she said. “There’s also Lady Rushford and the others.”
Quite a scandal. All of London would hear of it. Bess wouldn’t care, of course, but it would matter to the others.
“So she agreed to marry Mr. Montgomery in exchange for his silence,” Lily concluded.
Would she really do that? An absurd question. Of course she would. The woman was big-hearted enough to care for that old fool Whitby who had been making a spectacle of himself the first night Jason had met her. She’d sacrifice anything for the people she loved. Good Lord, she’d have to share Montgomery’s bed when she couldn’t even bear having him close. One way or another, Jason would have to fix this.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “I have to do something.”
“Bless you.” Lily threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “I knew you’d rescue her, brave soldier that you are.”
“I guess I’d better polish my armor if I’m to slay her dragon.” Only how in bloody hell he could manage such a miracle completely escaped him at the moment.
*
Jason sat in the darkest corner of the inn’s pump room, far away from the fire so that he could observe the comings and goings without being seen. Peter sat next to him, now well through his fourth pint and on his way to happy drunkenness. Jason had matched him drink for drink and wasn’t far behind, and he still had no idea what to do about Roger Montgomery.
“If we’re going to spy on that Montgomery fellow, shouldn’t we come when he’s actually here?” Peter said.
“He’ll show his face at some point. He has no place else to eat.”
Peter hefted his tankard. “Or drink.”
“Or drink.” Jason swallowed more of his ale and then set it away from him. He’d need to keep some of his wits about him for whatever arose. Whenever it arose.
“What are we looking for?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know yet. Maybe he’ll meet someone he oughtn’t to. Maybe he’ll do something he shouldn’t.”
“What will you do then?”
“I don’t know that, either,” Jason said. “It’ll depend on what we discover.”
“Fool’s errand, if you ask me.” Peter let out a long belch. “But as long as you’re buying . . .”
What a preposterous situation. He never did anything without a plan. He’d had his men’s lives in his hands more than once, and now, he had Bess’s happiness at stake, as well as the reputations of three other ladies, one of them his innocent sister. Even as puzzled as he’d been that she’d agree to marry Montgomery, he’d never considered that she might be sacrificing herself. He should have, knowing her generosity. The news had stunned him and, yes, cut him deeply. After a second night of passion with her and now discovering how far she’d go to help her friends, what had started as a general lightness around his heart every time he set his gaze on her had blossomed into true love. The kind Lily believed in. The kind that would make the rest of his days long and happy if only he could have her forever.
Peter’s gaze unclouded long enough for him to train an assessing eye on Jason. “Are we here to save Lady Rushford from marrying the bastard?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“I see.” Peter reached to clap a hand on Jason’s shoulder, missed, and tried again with more success. “She isn’t just a passing thing with you, is she?”
What could he say to that? That she owned his soul? That her smile could part the clouds to reveal the sun? That he thrilled at every word that dropped, like a pearl, from her lips? If he tried anything, he’d end up sounding like a bloody sonnet. So he drank some more of his ale and kept the poetry to himself.
“Marry her, then,” Peter said. “We’ll get rid of Montgomery, and you can wed her and bed her until neither of you can walk straight.”
“Watch your language, will you?”
“Suddenly the prude, eh?” Peter chuckled. “Still, my question stands: why can’t you take her as your wife?”
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.” Bess, morning, noon, and night. Her face on the pillow every day when he awoke. Riding with her, laughing with her, and making love to her whenever he wanted. Good Lord, he was besotted.
“Then do it,” Peter said.
“I’m engaged to Miss Swan. I won’t hurt her reputation by breaking it off with her.”
Peter leaned close to Jason, or, rather, weaved. “Then we’ll find some way for her to reject you. You’ve plenty of faults. We’ll make sure she sees every one.”
At that moment, the door opened and a tall figure strode inside. Though he was silhouetted by the dying light of the late afternoon, Jason identified him immediately as their quarry. The innkeeper, Mr. Scruggs, emerged from the kitchen to greet his new customer, and Jason was able to catch his arm as he went past their table.
He pulled Scruggs into the shadow. “Do you still have a bottle of really good spirits?”
“I do, sir,” Scruggs answered. “A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Scotch.
“Give it to that new chap and tell him . . .” Jason surveyed the denizens of the bar looking for one to indulge in some truly heavy drinking and encouraging Montgomery to do the same. He spotted a likely candidate, a rather scruffy man sitting alone in a corner that he’d clearly made into his own territory. Jason pointed to the man. “Tell him that fellow over there paid for it.”
“Jonesy?” Scruggs said. “He don’t have that kind of scratch.”
“The stranger won’t know that.”
“Very good, sir.” Scruggs went about his business, stepping behind the bar. He bent beneath it for a moment. When he straightened, he had
a dusty bottle in his hand. After wiping it with a cloth, he pulled out the cork and set it in front of Montgomery. “Courtesy of Mr. Jones, sir.”
“Jones?” Montgomery repeated.
Scruggs inclined his head to where the inn’s most frequent customer sat with a tankard of ale in front of him. Montgomery stared at Jonesy for a moment and then turned back to Scruggs. “Thank Mr. Jones for me, but I don’t drink spirits.”
“It’s a fine, old Scotch. You won’t find any better in all of England. Most parts of Scotland, too,” Scruggs said.
“Perhaps a taste, then,” Montgomery said.
Scruggs produced a tumbler and poured a great deal more than a taste into it. After taking a healthy sip, Montgomery smiled. “It is, indeed, excellent.”
“That bottle’s going to cost you,” Peter said softly.
“I can afford it,” Jason said. “Let’s hope it loosens his tongue.”
By now, Montgomery had finished his first sip and poured himself a bit more. This time, he lifted his glass in a toast toward Jonesy. “Thank you, Mr. Jones.”
Jonesy, of course, had no idea what Montgomery was talking about, but he happily lifted his tankard in reply.
“Would you care to join me, Mr. Jones?” Montgomery asked.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Jonesy got up from his table and ambled toward the bar, scratching the stubble on his chin as he went. Montgomery seemed to have developed an amiable streak to invite a fellow so rough around the edges to drink with him. Perhaps the Scotch was already taking effect, and perhaps Montgomery had a weakness for it. That would explain his comment that he didn’t drink spirits. Except he was doing so right now. This could prove interesting.
Scruggs placed another glass on the bar and then stepped away, no doubt to avoid questions of who had actually paid for the Scotch. He paused on his way back to the kitchen long enough to give Jason a wink as he went. That left no one in charge of the actual bottle, a void Jonesy happily filled by pouring two stiff drinks and offering another toast. “To . . .”
“To matrimony,” Montgomery supplied. “To the wedded state. To connubial bliss. Especially the bliss part.”
“So you’re to be married soon, sir?” Jonesy asked.
Montgomery thrust out his chest, either because of the effect of the liquor or at being called “sir.” No one but the servants had done that at Hollyfield. “I am. You may know my bride-to-be. She lives at Carlton House.”
“Lady Rushford? Why bless my soul, I never thought she’d have a go at it again after the old earl died,” Jonesy said.
“You knew him?”
“Mostly by reputation,” Jonesy answered. “We all thought him a lucky chap to have such a young skirt for his own, but that’s the way of their class, isn’t it?”
“So they think, but I’ve turned the tables.” Montgomery leaned toward Jonesy, perhaps a bit too far, but he easily corrected. “I’ll be plowing his furrow before the season’s out.”
Bastard. No one spoke like that about the woman he planned to marry. Most especially not in public and not in an inn in front of a group of men who’d all been drinking.
Sure enough, a murmur of laughter went up and heads turned toward the bar. Jason rested a fist on the table and started to rise, but Peter grabbed his arm and held him in his seat.
“What are you going to do?” Peter whispered.
“I’m going to beat his face to a bloody pulp,” Jason whispered back.
“What good’ll that do you?” Peter asked. “You haven’t discovered anything you can use against him.”
“You’re right.” Jason gritted his teeth and remained where he was. He’d limbered Montgomery’s tongue, all right. He’d have to sit and wait until the man made a real blunder.
“Course, she’s older now but still the looker,” Jonesy said. “If you like them on the plump side.”
“I do. I could suffocate myself between those breasts,” Montgomery said. “And the arse . . .”
That got him a round of real laughter from the crowd, even a soft hoot or two. Jason’s stomach soured, and he just barely managed to keep himself in his seat,.
“The lady’s a bumptious lass, sure,” Jonesy said as he poured yet two more drinks. They’d made substantial progress toward emptying the bottle, and Jason at least had the satisfaction of knowing they’d have the heads to prove it in the morning.
“She’s not a lass,” Montgomery corrected. “She’s a woman, full and ripe for the plucking.”
“Or something that rhymes with pluck,” Jonesy said, and burst into laughter at his own cleverness. The rest of the patrons enjoyed it, too, as they guffawed right along.
“That should be enough,” Peter said. “Tell her about this, and she’ll break it off.”
“But she won’t,” Jason said. “That’s the problem.”
“She’s more open-minded than most, but no woman can tolerate this.”
“She’s not marrying him because she wants to,” Jason said. “Trust me. We need more.”
“I’m sure we’ll get more. Do you want to listen to it?”
Jason glared at Peter with all the fury burning inside him. In reply, Peter shrugged and turned his attention to his ale.
“I’m going to pluck her until she squeals, and then I’ll turn her over and do it some more,” Montgomery declared.
Jonesy lifted his newly refreshed drink in a gesture that included the rest of the patrons. “And he’s just the man can do it, eh?”
Agreements went ’round along with more laughter and fists pounding the tables. This had gone past disgrace to spectacle, and all about the woman he loved. Damnation. He’d kill the bastard. He really would.
Caught up in the spirit of the moment, Montgomery also lifted his glass. “Gentlemen, I invite you all to come witness her twirling on the end of my rod.”
“That’s it.” Jason pounded the table and shot from his seat before Peter or good sense or anything else could stop him. In a second, he stood next to Montgomery and shoved his nose into the man’s face. “Take that back.”
This time, Montgomery hooted, and no wonder. He positively reeked of liquor, and his eyes had taken on the unfocused glow of a man well in his cups.
“Why, look what we have here,” Montgomery. “The young whelp who thinks he can take the lady from me.”
“I mean it, Montgomery. Apologize now and then shut up, or I’ll rip your tongue out.”
“You see, here’s Northcross’s problem.” Still grinning, Montgomery placed a finger alongside his nose. “He has a sapling in his pants that can’t compete with my tree.”
That got another round of laughter and some whistles.
“This has nothing to do with me,” Jason said. “You’ve demeaned Lady Rushford. Retract your words or suffer the consequences.”
Montgomery laughed, actually laughed. “This fool thinks the lady fancies him.”
“You know she does.” Jason stopped himself before he added any details. He’d never find the stomach to discuss the love he’d shared with Bess with the likes of Roger Montgomery. Pearls before swine. And yet, he might get the smile off this bastard’s face if he could rub his nose in the fact that Jason had known his wife-to-be in just about every way a man could know a woman. “Ask her if you doubt me.”
“Go away, you young fool,” Montgomery said. “No one’s interested in your fairy tales.”
“I may be younger than you, but I’m twice the man you’ll ever be,” Jason said. “In all the important ways, if you get my meaning.”
“So tell me, Northcross, did she change your nappy after you swived her?”
“I’ve traded enough words with you. Defend your honor, if you have any. I’m challenging you, Montgomery.”
Quiet settled over the crowd like a blanket. They’d all heard of duels, but no one in the village had ever witnessed one. Though duels were technically illegal, men occasionally did challenge each other. If ever there had been a reason for one, this would be it.
/> Montgomery stared at Jason for a moment, the wheels in his head turning. He seemed to sober for a moment, and then turned back to the bar, giving Jason his back. “Go away.”
“I don’t have a glove, so this will have to do.” Jason grabbed the man’s arm and spun him around. He opened his fist and slapped Montgomery soundly across the face. Because that felt so good, he repeated it with the back of his hand. A gasp went up through the room. It was one thing to throw a punch, and quite another to hit him the way one did a child. An insult too vile for even Montgomery to ignore.
Fury entered the man’s eyes. “Challenge accepted.”
“Swords or pistols?”
“Pistols,” Montgomery said. “Name your second.”
Peter stepped up next to Jason. “I am.”
“And you?” Jason said. The man didn’t have a friend in this part of England as everyone well knew. Another step down for him.
“Mr. Jones, will you serve?” Montgomery asked.
“‘Course, I’ll stand up for my friend—” Jonesy paused. “Say, what’s your name?”
“Roger Montgomery,” he said from between clenched teeth.
“I’m your man, Roger,” Jonesy said and then hiccupped.
“The stand of oaks behind Hollyfield,” Jason said. “I’ll see you at dawn.”
Chapter Sixteen
Although Jason had never imagined himself in a duel, the morning he’d chosen fit the romantic picture of a battle on the field of honor. The grass held moisture from dew that had settled on it overnight, and a slight breeze made the leaves of the oaks whisper. A bird called in the distance as the small company assembled—Montgomery and Jason coatless, their shirts billowing white. Their seconds stood close by, and off a short distance clustered a group of customers from the inn who’d watched the argument the night before and had come out of curiosity. With any luck, they’d witness some excitement now, but nothing particularly lethal.
Of the four participants, Jason had the clearest head of all, having consumed the least liquor the previous evening. Of course, Jonesy had become used to the aftereffects of heavy drinking over the years. During their service in India, Peter had survived a few evenings of debauchery and managed to report for duty the next day, although Jason had seen him steadier than this morning.
