Rebel Love (Heart's Temptation Book 2)

by Scarlett Scott

  “Is anything amiss, Mr. Whitney?” she probed, disrupting his thoughts.

  He cleared his throat, at a loss. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he’d been treating the wall like an enemy soldier. She’d think him mad. “Not at all,” he lied. “I apologize for the disturbance.”

  “I feared you were being attacked.”

  Jesse stared at the girl who was his daughter. She’d never before shown a hint of concern for his well-being. Her words sent a warm surge through his chest. Was it possible that she cared for him just a bit? He couldn’t be certain.

  “I had a dream,” he said, deciding to be at least partially honest with her. He little knew how to treat a daughter, but she wasn’t a child. She was old enough to nearly have her first ball. The mere thought of Clara being trussed up in the finest fashion and paraded before a gathering of randy males set his blood to boiling. He knew men. He was one, after all, and he didn’t want his innocent daughter falling prey to any of them.

  “What sort of dream?” Clara frowned, her small yet expressive face pinched with what he swore was concern. “I know you suffered similarly on the ship here. Are you well?”

  Ah, he thought he understood. She had already lost her mother to a prolonged illness. Now he was all she had remaining. She didn’t want to lose the last bit of permanence she clung to in her life, whether or not she despised him.

  “I’m as well as can be expected,” he answered, wiping his clammy palms upon his robe.

  She blinked at him, looking for all the world like a little forlorn owl. Her curls were trapped in a lacy cap, her feet shod in embroidered slippers. “Is it the war that’s disturbing you?”

  His knuckles ached. “The war has never been far from my side in all these years.”

  “Mama had nightmares,” she startled him by revealing. “For many years, she called out in her sleep, even after Papa died. I heard her asking for you by name, particularly after she took ill.”

  Her disclosure shocked him. He wouldn’t have expected Lavinia, selfish woman that she was, would have ever thought of him even once. Perhaps she’d possessed some small shred of conscience after all. “I imagine the war had the same effect upon us all,” he offered.

  Clara crossed the chamber to him, looking small and incredibly innocent. “Mr. Whitney, I don’t like England very much.”

  “You’ll grow accustomed to it,” he assured her. Christ, but he didn’t know how to be responsible for a young girl. He’d been a bachelor his entire life. It was damn difficult to grow accustomed to being a father, especially to a girl who was nearly grown. “I have embraced it as my second homeland, and I have no reason to think you won’t be able to do the same.”

  She crossed her arms and sent him a ferocious frown. “But it’s insufferably cold here.”

  He shrugged. “It’s winter, my dear.”

  “And it always rains,” she continued.

  “I lived here for some time before coming to you in Virginia, and I can assure you that it doesn’t always precipitate here,” he said firmly.

  Clara fixed a look upon him that was akin to hatred. “The fog is deplorable. It covers everything. Virginia was always bright and sunny.”

  “Clara,” he said at length, “I have a suspicion that you wouldn’t care to be in England even if it was declared heaven upon earth. I understand it hasn’t been easy to adjust to the notion of living in another country, but adjust you shall.”

  “I hate it in London,” she persisted, her tone stubborn. “I told you I had no wish to come here.”

  He inclined his head. “So you did, Clara. But you are now my ward, and as such, you must travel where I go.”

  “I don’t want to be your ward.” Tears slipped down her pale cheeks. “I never wanted you.”

  Well, sweet Christ, he certainly hadn’t wanted her either. He’d been living a perfectly glorious life, about to marry the woman he loved, when he’d first learned of her existence. By God, he had uprooted his entire life for his daughter, only to have her disparage him with every other sentence she uttered.

  Jesse sighed. He didn’t think he would ever become familiar with the rapidly altering moods of a young girl. He well understood that she missed Lavinia, that it was a difficult task indeed to weather a mother’s passing. But he had never once raised his voice to her. He had only been all too solicitous in meeting her every demand. He had paid for hundreds of books, dozens of her old dresses, and even a few pieces of—to his mind, anyway—hideous furniture to be transported to their new home in London in an effort to ease the transition for her.

  And still she remained despondent. He was beginning to suspect that there was no way he could ever make his daughter happy. “While I understand that you never wanted me in your life, I am nevertheless the only family you have. Like it or not, Clara, I’m your father. I’ve sworn to protect you and take care of you as best as I am able, and I don’t take that vow lightly.”

  “Not as lightly, I suppose, as your vow to love Mama,” she hissed, her face twisted with anger. “She told me how you asked to wed her and then ran off with another woman. Thank heavens she found Papa, who was man enough to try to make up for your sins.”

  Oh hell. He didn’t even know how to deal with such an unreasonable person. He crossed the room and took his daughter’s arm firmly in his grasp. “While I know it isn’t advised to speak ill of the dead, what I’m about to say to you is nothing but honesty.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Your mother lied to you. She claimed to love me, and then she secretly met your stepfather without my knowledge. It was she who betrayed me, and I’m the one who ended up with a bullet in my back.”

  Clara shook her head, her blue eyes wounded. “No. I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true,” he pressed on, tired of having to pretend that Lavinia was someone she had never been. “Your mother made certain that her lover, Mr. Jones, would shoot me. While he meant to kill me, his aim was off. He shot me in the back, but I survived. He didn’t know it then. He believed that if he wounded me, I would either be dead or be captured. I was nearly both, but I escaped.”

  “That isn’t the story my mother told me,” his daughter denied, her tone still upset as ever. “She wouldn’t lie to me about that. I know she would never have encouraged Papa to shoot you.”

  Each time she persisted in referring to Mr. Jones as “Papa” sent a dart of pain directly to Jesse’s heart. He was Clara’s father, not Lavinia’s no-account husband. As awful as his tribulations had been at the time, he’d never once imagined that they would result in his almost-murderer raising his child as his own. The agony of it was unspeakable.

  Talking about what had happened all those years ago took him back to a dark place in his mind. Once again, he could hear the rumble of the cannon, the drums. He could smell the awful scent of decaying flesh. He’d lain in a field all night long, listening to the war raging around him. His only accompaniment had been the dying and the dead bodies strewn about the outskirts of Richmond. It had been torture.

  He wanted to hit something. How dare that bastard take his daughter from him? How dare he try to kill him and then take Jesse’s flesh and blood as his own? “That man,” he said slowly, “was not your father. I am your father, Clara.”

  “He was the only father I knew,” she argued, lips pursed in resentment.

  He took her arm in his and began guiding her from the chamber before he completely lost his mind. “I have a new rule for you, Clara. I don’t care who raised you. I don’t care what man your mother married after she betrayed me. But I will never have you refer to that bastard as your father ever again. Are we understood?”

  “But he was my Papa,” she protested, stubborn to the end.

  “I don’t give a goddamn,” he all but hollered at her, not proud of raising his voice but unable to help himself. She pushed him further than anyone had ever done in his life. “From this point forward, you may call me your father, or you will not call me anything. That is an order.�
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  She flinched, her arm stiffening beneath his touch. “As you wish, Father,” she said.

  He swore she was mocking him still. But he didn’t have the heart to address it. “Thank you. Now go to bed. We’re rising early tomorrow to travel to the country.”

  At long last, he was returning to Marleigh Manor. The time had come to see Bella and find out why in God’s name she hadn’t answered a single one of his letters. He could only pray the reason wasn’t what he suspected. If he lost her, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

  ella?”

  She paused in the act of penning her response letter to the Duke of Devonshire and looked to her chamber door. It was highly unusual for her brother’s wife to seek her out. While they weren’t precisely enemies, they weren’t yet friends either. She frowned, wondering what Cleo could want from her, and put down her pen.

  “You may enter,” she called.

  Cleo rushed into the room, her cheeks flushed. Beneath her navy silk morning dress, the evidence of the reason for her hasty marriage with Thornton was becoming increasingly pronounced. Bella jerked her gaze back up to her sister-in-law’s face, trying to tamp down the rise of envy within her. Sometimes, it hardly seemed fair that she should have to watch Cleo’s happiness with her brother when she remained alone and miserable.

  “Bella, my dear, you must prepare yourself,” Cleo said, wringing her small hands in distress as she crossed the chamber.

  She’d never seen her sister-in-law in such a frenzied state. Worry crept to life within her. “What on earth can be the matter? Has something happened to Thornton?”

  “No,” Cleo hastened to assure her, her expression still strained. “Your brother is fine. It’s Mr. Whitney, Bella.”

  Pain slammed into her at Jesse’s name, followed by fear. “Mr. Whitney? Has something befallen him?”

  “Quite the contrary.” She placed a calming hand on Bella’s arm. “He’s alive and well, and he’s here at Marleigh Manor.”

  Oh dear God.

  The air fled from her lungs in one big rush. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Jesse had returned? What could it mean? And why now, just when she’d begun to slowly regain her sense of self? He’d had months to come for her.

  “Bella, are you well? You look frightfully pale.”

  Cleo’s concerned voice tore her from her wildly vacillating thoughts. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Has he said why he’s come?”

  “I haven’t any idea. Your brother told me just this morning that he’d written ahead and he was expecting him today. I didn’t want to press the matter and give him cause for suspicion.” Cleo gave her a quick hug about the shoulders. “You needn’t worry. He still doesn’t know about you and Mr. Whitney. I would never betray your confidence.”

  She nodded, her mind digesting what her sister-in-law had told her. “There is that, at least. Thank you, Cleo, for being such a good sister to me. I know I haven’t always been a good sister to you in return.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll not hear another word of it. The past is precisely where it belongs, in the past.” She paused, worrying her lip. “But I’m afraid there is something more you ought to know, my dear.”

  While she was grateful for Cleo’s understanding, her sister-in-law’s words had caused another arrow of dread to shoot her directly in the heart. “Whatever can it be?”

  “He has brought a female companion with him.”

  Blessed angels’ sakes. She hadn’t been prepared for such an awful, heartbreaking possibility. A female companion. Perhaps she was someone from his past, his reason for leaving in the first place. A horrid thought occurred to her. She closed her eyes, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. “Is she his wife?”

  “I don’t know, my dear. You mustn’t read too much into this. I’m sure she’s a relative of some sort. She appeared awfully young to my eyes.” Cleo paused. “It is merely that I wanted you to be prepared.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Cleo.” She opened her eyes and gave her sister-in-law a tremulous smile. “I do appreciate your kindness.”

  “I know how very difficult the last few months have been for you. Don’t forget there was a reason you loved him. No one understands how destructive basing your life on a misunderstanding can be better than I.”

  She smiled sadly and Bella knew she was speaking of the years she’d spent apart from Thornton. Watching the two of them together had proven to her that their love was true. It had given her a measure of comfort to know that love was possible after all.

  “Misunderstandings are a different matter entirely.” She stood, deciding her letter to the duke would have to wait. She couldn’t spare a thought for him now. She was brimming with a complex blend of anxiety and excitement. “I cannot think of a reason why he would disappear for months without a word, leaving me when I needed him most.”

  “I can’t either, my dear. It doesn’t sound like the Mr. Whitney we know, does it?”

  “No,” she whispered, helplessness threatening to overtake her, “but I’ve begun to think I never knew him at all.”

  Jesse was beginning to feel like a caged monkey at the zoo. He’d been back at Marleigh Manor for two hours already, and he hadn’t seen a sign of Bella anywhere. With the way news traveled in big country houses, he hadn’t a doubt she would already know of his arrival. But she was nowhere to be found. The silence was ominous. He’d seen Clara settled in her rooms and gone in search of Thornton. Instead, he nearly collided with his friend’s wife in one of the many halls of the east wing.

  “Lady Thornton,” he greeted, genuinely happy to see a familiar face that didn’t belong to a servant. “I understand my felicitations are in order on your recent nuptials.” He couldn’t say he was shocked to hear that his friend had wed the woman he’d loved for years, and he was genuinely happy for Thornton to have finally found contentment.

  She inclined her head, beautifully regal. “Thank you, Mr. Whitney. Welcome back to Marleigh Manor. I’m sure my husband would have greeted you himself, but unfortunately he’s away this afternoon on business. I do expect him to return before dinner, however.”

  While her words were purely convivial, he couldn’t shake the impression that her voice lacked warmth. Something was odd here. It was just his rotten brand of luck that his friend wasn’t at home for his arrival. Dinner loomed hours away, and now that he was under the same roof as Bella, he didn’t want to see her for the first time while the dowager scowled at him over the soup course.

  “I wonder if you might assist me, my lady,” he began, thinking that perhaps she was his best ally in this odd game he played of attempting to reunite with the woman he loved. Cooling his heels in his chamber simply wouldn’t do. It was Bella who he longed to see, Bella who had haunted his every waking hour for the last few months, and he wanted nothing more than to touch her again, reassure himself that she hadn’t somehow disappeared from the earth before he had returned to claim her.

  She raised a brow, her expression turning cautious. “Indeed, Mr. Whitney? How may I be of service to you?”

  He hesitated, unsure of how much he could reveal to her. “I’m merely wondering after the welfare of Lady Bella.”

  Lady Thornton’s Cupid’s bow mouth thinned into a frown. “She is as well as can be expected.”

  Her response brought a wave of alarm crashing over him. “Is something amiss? She hasn’t taken ill, has she?”

  “She isn’t ill any longer,” she said, casting a look about the hall, he reckoned, to ascertain that they were yet alone.

  “Any longer?” Her lengthy silence began to make sense. “Dear God, what was it? Has she recovered?”

  “I daresay I ought not speak for Lady Bella.” Lady Thornton clasped her hands together at her waist, looking as if she were about to say more before thinking better of it.

  “Where is she?” he asked, desperate to go to her.

  She sighed, seemingly struggling inwardly. “Mr. Whitney, the particular illness that ailed Lady Bella
was of a most personal nature. No one other than myself and Lord Thornton were aware of her…condition.”

  He stared at her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” But in truth, he was all too afraid that he did. A personal nature of illness, kept secret from the household, could only mean one thing. And there was one reason why Lady Thornton was divulging the information to him now.

  “You understand my meaning perfectly,” she said, her voice low. “I know, Mr. Whitney. My husband does not, else you would likely be a bruised and bloody carcass in the drive instead of a respected guest in his household.”

  She knew. Dear God. The hints she’d been giving him came together to at last form an ugly picture. Bella had not suffered from an illness. She’d been carrying his child. Christ, he hadn’t thought it even a possibility, hadn’t for a moment believed that their one night of passion could have led her to such a fate even though he’d warned her of the selfsame outcome. His emotions roiled within him, shock mingling with self-loathing. He’d left her alone when she’d needed him most. Little wonder she hadn’t written.

  And then, like the end of a carbine crashing into his gut, the full meaning of Lady Thornton’s words struck him. She had spoken of Bella’s illness as if it were a thing of the past. There hadn’t been enough months for her to carry a child.

  “Jesus,” he hissed, his voice hoarse. “Are you saying what I think you are, my lady?”

  “I am,” she confirmed. “Her condition is a thing of the past.”

  The affirmation hit him with the force of a physical blow. Dear God, no. Bella had carried and lost his child, and he had not been there to help her through it all. “Where is she?” he demanded, not willing to waste another minute without going to her side.