Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02

by Where the Horses Run

  “Wait.” She lifted a shaking hand. “You’ve had it for years? Am I . . . because of our involvement, will I . . . am I at risk?”

  “No. Absolutely not.” He took a step toward her then stopped when she drew back, unable to hide her aversion. “You’re quite safe. I contracted it after Neddy was born.”

  After? Thoughts jumbled in her mind. “Does that mean your wife . . .”

  “Yes.” That look of shame again. “I passed it on to her before I knew.”

  Horror gripped her. “Is that why she lost her babies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why she took her own life?”

  “Yes. But she overreacted—”

  “Overreacted!” Rage exploded inside her, drove the air from her lungs. Rage for his innocent wife. For the poor lost babies. For herself for ever considering this man worthy of her love. “And now . . . after causing your wife’s death . . . you propose to cause mine?”

  “No!” He moved toward her. “It’s not like that! I would never—”

  “Stop! Stay away from me!”

  He stepped back, his mouth twisting into bitter lines. “Don’t worry. Gonorrhea isn’t like leprosy. You can’t catch it through casual . . . touching.”

  She wanted to run from him, from this terrible revelation, but didn’t think her legs would carry her.

  “Josephine, please . . .” He lifted a hand, saw her flinch, and with a look of regret, let his arm drop back to his side. “I would never infect you. I couldn’t. I’m . . . impotent. Incapable of . . . of sexual congress.”

  Then why marry her at all? She knew he didn’t love her, despite his pursuit. And if not for love, or children, then why . . .

  The answer almost buckled her knees. Jamie. The proposal, the sudden attention after so many years, all his grand promises, were simply to get Jamie.

  Dear God. She clutched at the balustrade, fearing her legs would give way.

  Numbly, she heard him speaking in that wheedling tone again. “I know you don’t love me, Josephine. And after the way I treated you, I don’t blame you. But we can make this work. I’m a rich man. I can cover your father’s debts. Protect you. Give Jamie all the advantages due him as heir to a barony. I could never consummate the marriage, so you wouldn’t be at risk. And if you were discreet, I would even allow you to take lovers if that’s what—”

  “William, stop!” She couldn’t bear to hear more. “Listen to what you’re saying. How can you speak of Jamie as the heir while Neddy is still living? How unfeeling are you?”

  He stiffened. “I am simply trying to do my duty, Josephine. To you. To Jamie. To the barony. Try to understand.”

  “I cannot. And I never will.” She could scarcely even look at him. Yet in the midst of the chaos in her mind, one thought rose to the surface. One that was every bit as horrifying as his revelation. “Does my father know?”

  “I . . . he . . . may have heard things. But we never . . .”

  Clapping a hand over her mouth, she fled from him into the house. Seeing a footman in the entry, she had him show her to an unused salon, then told him to find Horatio Cathcart and send him to her immediately.

  As he hurried away, she clasped her arms around her trembling body and struggled for calmness, wondering to what depths her father had sunk. Her lips felt numb. Her heart seemed incased in ice. Bad enough that he would offer her to the highest bidder, but to knowingly push her into a sham marriage that would be no marriage at all?

  Father . . . how could you?

  The door opened and her father walked in, scowling in impatience. “What is it, girl, that you must pull me away from a winning hand?”

  “Did you know?”

  Something in her tone must have alerted him. He turned to close the door, then faced her again, his expression guarded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “When you fostered this unholy alliance with Adderly, did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That he’s diseased!” She shrieked the word, not caring who heard.

  “Lower your voice! Do you want the servants to hear?”

  “Answer me! Did you know he has a venereal disease?”

  He didn’t have to speak. She saw the telltale flush, the sidewise slide of his gaze. She knew all his signals when he lied. She had seen them endless times.

  It left her breathless. She didn’t know whether to scream or weep. She didn’t know how her heart continued to beat. Her own father. The man who was supposed to be her protector. Who was supposed to love her.

  She shook her head, still reeling from the blow. “I know I brought shame to you. I know I wasn’t the daughter you wanted. But, Father . . . to do this? Why?”

  “Josephine—”

  “No! I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ve heard them too many times, and your actions speak loudly enough.” Drawing on the remnants of her tattered pride, she hiked her chin. “It is clear to me that I am only a pawn in your endless quest to further your own interests. I understand and accept that. Perhaps, I even deserve it for the embarrassment I have caused you. But Jamie is innocent in all this. And I will not allow you to use him as callously as you’ve used me.”

  “You’re being overly dramatic.”

  “Am I?” She hated that she couldn’t keep her voice from shaking, that this man still had the power to disappoint and hurt her. Even now, he looked at her with that bored, condescending expression he reserved for women behaving in what he considered an unreasonable, overly emotional, irrational manner.

  She would tolerate it no more. She would tell him everything and be done with it. The lies, the secrets, the hidden purposes were over.

  “I have refused Baron Adderly’s offer of marriage, Father, and have, instead, accepted Rayford Jessup’s. Jamie and I will leave with him for America immediately after the race tomorrow. We will not return.”

  His expression shifted from shock to fury, that vein in his temple pulsing like a parasitic worm moving beneath his skin. “The wrangler? You would turn down a title—legitimacy for your son—wealth and position—for a horse wrangler?”

  “I already have.”

  “What about our debts? The baron could save us from bankruptcy. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  She shrugged. “I am sad for it, but they’re your debts, Father. Not mine.”

  “You benefited, too.”

  “I did. And I thank you for that. But I’m weary of being dragged into your delusions, and serving as a lure to bring wealthy investors into your latest scheme. I am done with it.” She started to move past him, then stopped and looked him hard in the eye. “I suggest you bet wisely tomorrow, so at least you might gain the means to flee your creditors.”

  “You’re a selfish fool.”

  “Good-bye, Father.” Head high, she walked from the room. But once in the hall, bravado deserted her. She felt adrift, suffocating in a sea of emotion. She didn’t know where to go. What to do. She needed Rafe, but he was under guard in the stable.

  Then a new thought burst into her mind, and fear closed like a fist around her heart. Surely neither Father nor William would try to take Jamie from her. Would they?

  Breathless with terror, she raced up the stairs.

  Flinging open the door of the bedroom she and her son shared, she saw Henny pulling the curtains closed and Jamie already asleep. Thank goodness he was such a heavy sleeper or her abrupt arrival might have awakened him.

  “Henny, we have to get Jamie away,” she whispered.

  After briefly explaining Rafe’s proposal and how Father and the baron had reacted to it, she bundled her sleeping son and lifted him from the bed. Motioning to the maid to grab the reticule containing the money from her pawned jewels, she followed Henny into the hall, hovering beside her as she locked the door. “I’m probably being overly cautious,” s
he whispered as they hurried down the servants’ stair. “But if you had seen the baron’s face when I said I wouldn’t marry him . . .”

  “Faith, miss,” the maid whispered back. “I’m just happy you’re marrying Mr. Jessup instead of Adderly. He was never right for you, if you don’t mind me saying. And what an adventure the four of us will have in America. Come along now, our Jamie will be safe in Gordon’s and my room.”

  Josephine’s arms were aching from Jamie’s dead weight by the time Henny stopped before a closed door. Knocking softly, she opened it just enough to peer inside. “Are ye decent, love? I’ve brought the miss and Jamie.”

  Luckily, Gordon was as happy as Henny about Josephine’s news, and just as ready to help hide Jamie in case Father or the baron tried to prevent her from taking him to America. “I doubt they will do anything,” she told them as she laid her son down on a pallet of blankets Henny had hastily spread in the corner behind a screen—thank God he was still asleep—“but until I can talk to Lord Kirkwell about what to do, I want him in a safe place.”

  “’Tis no trouble, miss,” Henny assured her. “Sure, and Master Jamie is like one of our own. He’ll be safe here for the night.”

  Gordon nodded in agreement. “We’ll watch over him until you come in the morning before the race.”

  “Bless you both. I’ll tell you if there’s a change in plans.”

  Several minutes later, she knocked gently on another door, this one with gilt trim and located on the top floor of the wing reserved for the loftier guests.

  Maddie opened the door. One look at Josephine, and she pulled her into the room. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hopefully, nothing. Is the earl here?”

  “He’s down in the billiards room, entering Rafe’s wager in the book.”

  “I need a bet placed, as well.” She set her reticule on a table beside the door. “But that’s not why I’m here. I need your advice.”

  “Certainly. Come sit by the fire and tell me how I can help.”

  Out of a last lingering loyalty to her son’s father and the man she had once loved, she didn’t mention William’s disease, but did tell Maddie about his and Father’s strong reactions to her decision to marry Rafe instead of Adderly. “I worry that they might try to prevent me from taking Jamie to America.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Truthfully, I don’t know what they might do.” Too agitated to sit, Josephine rose and paced before the marble fireplace, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. “He’s safe with Henny and Gordon Stevens for now. But I wonder if it would be better if he were away from here altogether. Perhaps Gordon could hide him on the ship we’ll be taking to America. Or on the earl’s freighter. No one would dare search that. I would go with him, but it might arouse suspicion if I went missing, too, don’t you think? Oh, I do wish I could talk to Rafe. He’s so calm and levelheaded.” She stopped before Maddie. “What do you think Lord Kirkwell would advise me to do?”

  “Let’s send for him and see, shall we?” Rising from her chair, Maddie crossed to the bellpull beside the door, gave it a tug, then stood waiting. “Before he joined the Hussars, Ash was a forward rider with the green-jacketed Riflemen, and this is precisely the sort of intrigue he adores. I’m sure he’ll have a solution.”

  After an interminably long few minutes, Lord Kirkwell’s man, Pringle, knocked on the door then entered, his necktie askew, his white hair in disarray, and pillow creases on the side of his face. “Yes, my lady,” he said with a ponderous sigh.

  Maddie told him to fetch Lord Kirkwell from the billiards room straightaway, adding, “He might be upset at the interruption, but tell him I insist.”

  Cheered by the prospect of putting a twist in his employer’s plans for the evening, Pringle bowed graciously and, with a happy glint in his bleary eyes, shuffled from the room.

  “Those two,” Maddie muttered, returning to her chair. “It’s as if they were still in the nursery, the way they go at one another.”

  A few minutes later, the door burst open and the earl rushed in, his face ashen with fear. “Is it the babe? Are ye well? Pringle said it was an emergency.”

  “He exaggerated. But Jamie and Josephine need our help.” The countess waved him to the chair Josephine was too nervous to use. “Do stop blustering and sit down. She’s upset enough as it is.”

  After a series of muttered threats relating to his valet, the earl finally settled enough to listen as Josephine went over it yet again. With this, her third recitation, the situation had lost much of its urgency and she wondered if perhaps she had overreacted. But unwilling to risk Jamie, she plowed on.

  The earl listened without interrupting. She could almost see the plans and strategies forming behind his intense green eyes. When she finally finished, he nodded once then rose.

  “You’ve done well, lass. The bairn should be safe with Stevens. But just in case, I’ll have my men watch their door and yours. I will also post a lookout for Adderly and your father.”

  Josephine nodded, not sure she trusted that grin on the earl’s rugged face.

  Whistling through his teeth, he started toward the door.

  “Oh, and Lord Kirkwell.” She hurried to the table beside the door. “Could I prevail upon you to place a wager in my name?” Opening her reticule, she pulled out all the money she had and put it into his large hand. “On Pembroke’s Pride, please. To win.”

  The Scotsman frowned at the sheaf of bills bound with a blue ribbon. “’Tis a great deal of money, lass. Are you that certain the horse will win?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I pray ’tis so.” He slipped the money into his coat pocket, then flashed that brilliant smile. “Now return to your room, and dinna worry. Our battle plan is sound.” As he stepped into the hall, he turned back to his wife and in a carrying voice said, “Dinna wait up for me, love. It will take a while for Thomas to skin a man as fat as Pringle.” Laughing softly, he shut the door.

  “Well,” Maddie said with a troubled look. “A battle plan. That sounds rather . . . ominous, don’t you think? Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”

  Josephine smiled weakly. “Yes, let’s.” But she was more worried about Pringle.

  • • •

  Rafe slouched on his cot, wondering how long it took a man to drink himself senseless. He had never tried it, himself. But Ash had been working at it for well over an hour—pouring glass after glass of Northbridge Whisky—offering up endless toasts to big-breasted women of negotiable morals, the queen, their fallen brothers, and any other excuse he could come up with to raise a glass.

  Yet their guard, Henry Hicks, remained conscious.

  Thirty years ago, before a musket ball through his knee had ended a promising career, Hicks had been in the infantry—which was probably where he’d learned to hold his liquor so well. Now, instead of drinking and killing men in foreign places for the crown, he drank and hunted men at home for the magistrate. But even Ash, a veteran of many a skirmish, was showing red in his eyes, and he’d swallowed less than half of what ex-Private Hicks had consumed.

  Rafe was becoming impatient. Earlier, when Hicks had stepped out to relieve himself, Ash had relayed what Josie had told him and explained her concerns for Jamie. Seeing Rafe’s determination to go to her, the earl had quickly warned him to patience, saying he had a plan. That was over an hour-and-a-half ago, yet here they still sat, watching a man down enough whisky to level a regiment, while they did nothing.

  “It were hot enough to melt the hinges off the door to Satan’s lair,” the guard slurred. “A march across the sands of Araby at high noon would have been like a traipse in the park compared to the cursed heat o’ that blighted day. All around me, men were dropping like singed flies, poor buggers.” A deep swallow, a wet belch, and a heartfelt sigh. “War is a hellish thing.”

  “Aye, so it is.” While Hicks stared morosely
into his cup, Ash turned his head and spit a mouthful of expensive alcohol into the corner.

  Across the room, Thomas snorted, and Rafe knew he’d be in for more snide “white people” remarks when this was done. Not that it wouldn’t be warranted this time. Unlike Ash, Hicks knew nothing of war. He’d been injured in a training exercise two weeks after he’d enlisted, when the man beside him had fainted and accidentally discharged his musket when he fell. But it made a good drinking story, which fit neatly with their goal of getting Hicks so drunk he wouldn’t remember that Thomas had been gone all afternoon and would be leaving again soon, or that Rafe would be absent until dawn.

  Finally, after another half hour, a gentle thud announced the brave warrior’s slide from his chair to the floor, where he lay like a heap of dirty laundry, his whiffling snore rising to the rafters.

  “Aboot time,” Ash muttered.

  Rafe had noticed that with each swallow of whisky, the Scotsman’s accent had grown stronger. Another glass, and he’d be speaking gibberish.

  Muttering, Ash dug through the guard’s pockets. Pulling out a key, he stumbled over Hicks and unlocked the manacles chaining the runaway Indian to his bed, then returned the key to the guard’s pocket. Being the more trustworthy of the two prisoners, Rafe hadn’t been consigned to chains.

  “Tae yer post, ye bluidy savage. And stay alert. If Cathcart or that buggerin’ baron go nosing aboot, come tell me. And no killing, ye ken? Rafe, go in through the servants’ entrance. Tell Gordon and Henny I’ll come fer the bairn ’afore the race. Now off ye go, lads. And Rafe,” he added as Thomas slipped out the door. “Best get some sleep tonight. The lass has risked a great deal on yer winning the race tomorrow. Ye’d no’ want tae disappoint her.”

  Rafe grinned. “I don’t intend to.”

  Twenty-five

  As ordered by the earl, Josephine went back to her room and prepared for bed. But after changing into her gown and brushing out her hair, she was still too agitated to sleep. Pulling on her heavy robe, she paced the small bedchamber as best she could with all the trunks and valises stacked against the walls.