Smiling bravely, he drew an X over his heart. “I shall never tell. I swear it.”
Later that morning, after a short carriage ride to the Penrith depot, she and Jamie followed Father aboard the train bound for Liverpool. In a few hours—if the earl was able to arrange it—she would see Rafe again. And tomorrow, once the race was run, she and Jamie would know in which direction their future lay—north, to Scotland—or west, to America.
She was almost dithering she was so excited.
• • •
“Where are we staying tonight?” she asked her father several hours later when the train pulled into the Liverpool station.
“Edgewood Hall. The host of the race, Lord Brantley, has set aside rooms for us. You and Jamie will be sharing one on the third floor near the nursery.”
“And where will you be?”
“Playing cards. And hopefully,” he added with a wink, “driving up the wagers on the race. I’ve touted it about that Pembroke’s Pride is stronger than ever. Many thought he could have won the Grand National had he not been injured and pulled from the race. They’re anxious to recover their losses.”
“Is it wise to wager everything on him?”
“I know what I’m doing, daughter. You’ll see.”
When they stepped onto the platform, a groom in gray livery came forward to greet them. After seeing that their luggage was loaded onto a heavy wagon, he directed them to a two-wheeled buggy pulled by a high-stepping bay. Obviously their host had an eye for horseflesh.
It was a lovely afternoon, and as the breeze tugged at her hair, Josephine felt a wild urge to lift her face to the sky and laugh with pure joy. Soon she would see Rafe. Soon she would be free and her new life would begin. Soon . . .
After a short ride, they turned onto a long drive that led to an imposing mansion surrounded by tall yews and lindens. As they circled to a stop by the front entrance, she noticed a sprawling stable to the left of the house, half-obscured by a stand of chestnuts and wild cherry trees. A number of well-dressed men and women moved along the paddock fences, studying the horses that would race the following day.
Rafe was down there. She could almost feel a change in the air because he was so near.
Lord Brantley’s butler, Kendricks, an older man with white hair, a hawkish nose, and such presence Josephine felt like curtsying when he introduced himself, escorted them to their rooms.
The one Josephine was to share with Jamie was spacious and well appointed, but not overly ostentatious. Obviously reserved for guests of the second tier. Before Kendricks left to see to their luggage, she asked him to inform Lady Kirkwell that Miss Cathcart would very much like to see her whenever it was convenient.
A short while later, he returned with Henny and a train of footmen bearing far too many trunks for a one-night stay. “We’re traveling on to Scotland,” she offered in explanation, then regretted doing so when Kendricks gave a condescending smile. Since her fall from grace, she felt nervous around unfamiliar servants, especially ones as haughty as Kendricks. But at least he couldn’t look down his nose at her, since she was several inches taller than he was.
“Lady Kirkwell,” he enunciated in funereal tones, “will be delighted to meet you in the back gardens in a quarter hour. One of the footmen will direct you. I am also to inform you that Baron Adderly has arrived and hopes to sit with you at dinner this evening.”
“Thank you, Kendricks.” She refrained from bowing.
As the door closed behind him, Henny rushed over to help her out of her traveling cloak and bonnet. “Faith, Miss Josephine, is this not a grand place? There are so many rooms, I fear I shall get lost.”
“How was the train ride?” Josephine asked, slipping behind a screen to change. “Was Pems any trouble for Gordon?”
“None at all, miss. And since Mr. Jessup arrived, he’s as happy as a lark.”
Josephine felt a bump in her chest. “Mr. Jessup is already here, then?”
“His Cheyenne friend, too.”
Glancing over the top of the screen, Josephine saw Jamie sitting on the broad windowsill, watching carriages come up the drive. “Is Mr. Jessup doing well?” she asked Henny in a lower voice.
“I think so, miss,” Henny whispered back. “With them under guard and such, I haven’t been able to speak to him, but he seems to be doing fine.” A final fluff of Josephine’s skirt, then she stepped back. “Blue suits you, miss. You look quite grand. Shall I stay with Jamie while you visit Lady Kirkwell?”
At Josephine’s grateful nod, the Irishwoman turned to Jamie. “Would you like to see the nursery, Master Jamie? Faith, and I’ve never seen so many toys all in one place.”
“May I, Mother?”
Josephine nodded and blew him a kiss. “Mind Henny, dearest. I shall be back to see you before dinner. Be sure to lock the door behind you, Henny. There’s an extra key on the bureau.” Grabbing a shawl from her trunk, she hurried from the room.
A few minutes later, she stepped off the rear terrace into a lovely rose garden with pebble-covered paths bordering two large ponds. Maddie stood by the nearest one, tossing bits of bread to two stately swans.
“Have you been waiting long?” Josephine said, rushing up.
“Not at all.” After tossing the last of the bread into the water, Maddie looped her arm through Josephine’s and together they strolled down the path.
“How was your trip?” Josephine asked. “Any difficulty with the horses?”
“They were angels. Rayford did a fine job preparing them for travel.” Tipping her head to the side, she regarded Josephine with a coy smile. “He’s here, in case you were wondering. He’s taken over the stallion’s training since he arrived, and they both seem in fine form.”
Josephine couldn’t hide her excitement. “You’ve talked to him?”
“No, but Ash has. He says both he and Thomas look much better than they did when last we saw them, although the cuts and bruises might have brought an unexpected benefit.”
“In what way?”
“It proves they can take punishment. Ash says this race is as hard on the riders as the horses, and Rayford’s size and battered face are having an intimidating effect on the other riders.” Reaching into an inside pocket on her fur-trimmed pelisse, she pulled out a folded paper. “Rayford asked Ash to see that this reached you.”
Josephine almost snatched it from Maddie’s gloved hand. She quickly opened it and saw the same bold handwriting she had seen on the tablet in the loft.
I need to see you. Rafe.
She almost laughed aloud. The man was as stingy with words on paper as he was in speaking. Folding the paper, she slipped it down the neckline of her dress since she was wearing a shawl and her dress had no pockets. “Where are he and Thomas staying?”
“At the stable. As they are still in custody, they are sharing a room with one of the constable’s men.”
“How is that going?”
“Swimmingly . . . for everyone but the poor guard.” Between chuckles, Maddie explained. “With Rafe needing to take Pems out for exercise runs, and Thomas wandering off at every turn, the poor man is run ragged. However, once Ash assured him that he wouldn’t let Rafe escape, the guard agreed to stay behind to watch Thomas. Which is fruitless, of course. The Cheyenne can disappear in the blink of an eye. It’s amusing, really.”
“So Pems has been able to continue his training?”
“Just so. In fact,” Maddie added with that coy smile, “they should be taking a second run even as we speak. Toward those trees over there, if one were inclined to watch them ride by.” Grinning, she pointed to a thick stand of beeches.
“Truly?” Grabbing the countess’s gloved hands, Josephine gave them a quick squeeze. “Oh, thank you, my lady. Thank—”
“It’s Maddie. Now go.” Laughing, Maddie gave her a push. “You mustn’t keep them waiting.
Ash is an impatient sort, you know.”
Josephine almost flew down the path. Just as she rushed into the trees, strong arms grabbed her and lifted her off the ground.
“Josie,” Rafe said, pulling her hard against his chest. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth found hers, and in an instant all her fear and worry and doubt dissolved in his kiss. She couldn’t keep her hands from wandering over him, touching his beard-roughened cheeks, his silky hair, the muscles across his shoulders. She was falling, sinking into him, and couldn’t get close enough.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured against her lips, after that initial hunger gave way to a gentler assault. “I need you. These last days . . .” Words gave way to deeper kisses. His grip tightened until she could scarcely breathe.
She could feel the beat of his heart against her breasts. Hear the urgency in his voice as he murmured how sweet she felt, how perfectly she fit against him, how much he’d been wanting to hold her like this. When finally they ran out of air, he pulled back as far as his hands on her shoulders would allow and looked into her face. He no longer smiled, and the laughter was gone from his beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry, Josie. I’ve made such a mess of things.”
At the finality in his tone, a chill wrapped around her heart. She had hoped for a true proposal, but this sounded more like good-bye.
Releasing her shoulders, he dragged a hand through his sun-streaked hair. “I wanted to talk to you after you came back from the weasel’s, but then Ash sent me to find Thomas, and . . . well . . .”
Just say it, she begged silently, tears burning behind her eyes. Say you love me or say good-bye.
He stared off into the distance for a moment, then blurted out, “Don’t marry Adderly, Josie. I may not have a title or a fancy house, but I can give you more than he ever could. I can love you like you deserve. I can be there for you and Jamie. I can—Jesus, why are you crying?”
“Are you finally proposing to me, Mr. Jessup?”
A great sigh escaped his chest. The crooked smile she loved spread across his weathered face. “I am, Miss Cathcart.”
“Then say it.”
Something raw and hungry built in his eyes.
She felt the heat of it low in her belly. Then lower. A shivery, tingly sensation racing along the nerves under her skin.
“I’m not much of a talker.” Eyes locked on hers, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across her cheek, along her lace collar, then down the buttons of her short jacket to her waist. “Wouldn’t you rather I show you?” His thumb brushed over the puckered nub pressing against the cloth of her dress.
Her legs went weak. Her lungs faltered. Trembling and breathless, she leaned into his hand. Yes . . . show me. No. Ask me, then show me. Now.
Frowning, he drew back. “What’s that?” He poked a finger at her chest. “Is that paper?”
“It’s your note. Continue with—”
“You kept it? That’s sweet.”
“You were saying . . .”
Grinning, he dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her closer. “Ash has offered me a position at his ranch in Colorado.” He grinned and gave her a hard, fast kiss. “We’ll have a home.” Another kiss. “Enough money to send Jamie to a good school.” A slow lick along her bottom lip. “Maybe even a—”
“Stop.” She pushed him away while she still could. “You’re proposing to me because you have employment?”
“Well . . . partly.”
“Not because you love me.”
“That, too.”
“Or because you can’t bear to live without me?”
He let out a deep breath. “Hell. I did something wrong, didn’t I? Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it.”
“Ask me properly, that’s how you can fix it. Tell me that you love me. That you need me. That I’m as necessary to you as the air you breathe. I’ve never been proposed to before, and I want it done properly.”
A smile broke over his face. One that dazzled her anew and brought more tears to her eyes. “Marry me, Josephine Cathcart, and I’ll love you ’til I die.”
Near enough. “I would be honored, Rayford Jessup.”
“About time,” Lord Kirkwell said, stepping out from behind a tree.
Josephine almost fainted.
“Evening, Miss Cathcart. Congratulations, Rafe.”
“Jesus, Ash. Can’t a fellow have some privacy when he’s proposing?”
“Not when his jailer is headed this way. He looks mad, so he does. Give her a kiss, lad, then let’s head him off. Apparently Thomas has escaped again.”
• • •
Spirits were high at dinner that night. Lord Brantley, an older man with an overabundance of energy and a timid wife, was a gracious and jovial host, and his guests were as excited as he seemed to be about the race the next day.
Josephine could scarcely eat and passed most of the meal in a daze.
She was marrying Rayford Jessup.
She and Jamie were going to America.
Not even Adderly’s officious attentions could dim her joy. If it hadn’t been for Maddie’s effusive well wishes earlier, and Lord Kirkwell’s insistence that it was all his doing, she might have thought she’d dreamed it up. Although she was anxious to share the news, she wanted to wait until Rafe could be by her side before she told Jamie. Nor had she told Father. Anticipating an unpleasant scene, she thought it best to tell him after the race.
As for the baron, although she wouldn’t mention Rafe’s proposal unless necessary, she couldn’t, in good conscience, allow William to continue in his misconceptions about their relationship. Toward that end, and with some trepidation, she asked him to walk with her after dinner.
Lanterns on the balustrade lit their way as they strolled along the terrace. Down below, evenly spaced along the garden paths, flaming torches cast dancing reflections on the still water of the ponds.
The night was cool but clear, which boded well for the race. Although now, with his employment in Heartbreak Creek secure, it wasn’t as imperative for Rafe that Pems do well. Still, she wanted the two of them to win, not only for the prize that would bear their names, but to show the world the miracle Rafe had wrought.
“There was something you wished to say to me?”
Startled from her reverie, she glanced at the man walking beside her. She guessed by his complacent smile that William expected her to say she was accepting his proposal. The thought of how closely she had come to doing just that sent a chill through her.
When they reached the far end of the deserted terrace, she stopped and faced him. “I am honored that you asked me to be your wife, William, but I cannot marry you. Not even to give Jamie your name, and certainly not to save my father from his creditors. I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll go. Perhaps to Scotland. Perhaps to America. But I will not stay here in a loveless marriage. I’m sorry.”
She braced herself, not knowing how he would take her refusal. Disappointment. A few harsh words. An argument perhaps. But nothing could have prepared her for the startling reaction he gave.
Twenty-four
“America!” The word burst out of him with a fervor that took her aback. “You can’t go to America!” He stepped toward her, his face twisting in fury. “I will not allow you to take my son away from me!”
“He was never your son, William. By your choice, not mine.” She’d done her best to be civil, but if he was determined to be difficult, she wouldn’t stay to be browbeaten. “Good night.” Whirling, she started for the terrace door.
“Wait!” His hand caught her shoulder, whipped her back around. She stared into a face she scarcely recognized. “Leave if you must, Josephine, but don’t take Jamie from me.”
“Take him from you? You never had him. Nor will you.”
“No, you’re not listening!” He shook her roughly, his fingers diggi
ng into her arm. “You mustn’t do this! I need him!”
His vehemence shocked her. William had never before been violent with her. “Release me,” she ordered in an unsteady voice.
He seemed not to hear. “The barony needs him.” His voice wheedled, but his grip remained tight on her arm.
“You’re hurting me, William.”
“You’re young. You can have more children.”
“So can you. Stop or—”
“No, I can’t! Would I be begging you like this if I could?” With a curse, he abruptly let her go and stalked away, fists at his sides.
She stared after him, held motionless by shock. “What are you saying?”
“Oh, Christ.” Stopping by the balustrade, he pressed a hand over his eyes. “Just . . . don’t. Don’t take him away. Please. I’m begging you.”
She heard the tremor in his voice, and knew something was terribly wrong. “Why can’t you have more children, William?”
Jerking his hand away, he rounded on her. “For God’s sake, Josephine! Why are you pushing me like this? Can’t you simply believe me when I say Jamie is my last hope?”
“Last hope of what? What’s wrong?”
“Bloody hell.” He gave a broken laugh. “I forgot how persistent you can be.” Blinking hard, he lifted his face to the starlit sky. He looked defeated. Beaten. A shadow of the prideful man she had once known. After a moment, he took a deep breath and faced her again, his expression bleak. “I’m diseased.”
Diseased? What did that mean? “Are you dying?”
“Better that I were.” He looked away. “I have a venereal disease.”
The words churned in her mind. Venereal disease. She was ignorant, but not that ignorant. She knew such infections were common among prostitutes. But she had never thought William dissolute enough to make use of such a creature.
“It’s called gonorrhea,” he went on when she continued to gape in mute disbelief. “I’ve had bouts of it on and off for years. The doctors have dosed me with turpentine, extract of cubebs, copaiva, even solution of mercury. It helps for a while, but never seems to cure it completely. They say I will never sire children again.” He laughed bitterly. “I’m not sure if that’s because of the disease or the cure.”
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