by Holt, Cheryl
He continued on to the theater. He’d had enough drama for one evening, and he could use the humor of a comedy to lighten his mood. He arrived and was climbing the stairs to the boxes when he rounded a corner and came face to face with his wife, Desdemona.
He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, having banished her to the country after his cousin, Sarah, had tattled about her antics in Bath. Though Desdemona had vehemently denied it, she’d been carrying on an affair with the notorious roué, Nicholas Swift.
Jasper had asked numerous acquaintances about it, and they’d all verified Sarah’s story.
Swift was a sneaky, cunning gambler, who cheated to win, and Jasper owed him more money than he owed to anyone. Swift was also handsome, sophisticated, and urbane in all the ways that Jasper was not. It was the very last straw for Des to have trifled with the infamous Romeo.
To his delight, she blanched when she observed him.
“Why are you in town, Des?” he fumed.
“Why are you at the theater?” she shot back. “You hate the theater.”
“So you thought you could slither in, and I wouldn’t find out?”
“No! I was eager to socialize with my friends. I haven’t seen them in ages.”
“You’re in London, Des. Did I—or did I not—order you to tarry in Scotland for a few months?”
“It’s too cold and rainy there.”
A group of drunken theater patrons lurched by. It was obvious he and Des were arguing, and the inebriated sots were snickering, peeking over their shoulders.
He clasped her arm and dragged her down the stairs, through the lobby, and out onto the street. He hustled her down the walk and into an alley where, hopefully, they’d have a bit of privacy.
He halted, and she yanked away and snapped, “You’re being a beast. As usual.”
“You’re lucky I’m not a man to beat a woman.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Jasper.”
“You should be,” he warned, but it was an idle threat. He might bellow and rage, but he’d never hit anyone in his life, and he wasn’t about to start—despite how she provoked him.
“I have no idea where you’re staying, Des,” he seethed, “but you will hurry there, pack your bags, and leave town immediately.”
“I want to go to Middlebury.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s my home as much as yours. You can’t keep me away from there.”
“Just watch me.”
It was a petty act, and she didn’t even like Middlebury. She was merely insistent about returning there because he’d specifically told her she couldn’t.
“Where am I to go then?” she asked.
“At the moment, I don’t care. You shouldn’t be anywhere in the vicinity of where I intend to be.”
He was being an ass, but he wasn’t concerned about it. He’d been married to her for twenty years, and he’d been a lenient husband. He’d let her run all over him without objection. Even when she was being a shrew. Even after she’d proved herself completely incompetent at any task.
He’d allowed her to enjoy her vices and her male hangers-on, and he never chastised or protested. Her excesses were worse than his, her spending out of control, and her passion for the opium pipe was a significant issue.
He’d tolerated every irksome habit, but her being enamored of Nicholas Swift was too much.
She’d been aware of how much he despised the man, and she’d flirted with him anyway. She’d done it blatantly, publically. He couldn’t blink without some oaf mentioning it. Everyone was anxious to be sure he knew. Yes, he bloody well knew, and until he calmed down, she should remain out of sight.
“Goodnight, Des,” he sharply said. “I shouldn’t cross paths with you again until I’ve decreed your banishment to be over.”
“Or what?”
“Or…you’ll discover what I’m capable of when I’m angry. You haven’t ever really seen me angry, but I’d love to show you how riled I can become.”
“Honestly, Jasper, how long will you punish me? I didn’t do anything!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Have you read the newspaper today? Sarah married Nicholas Swift.”
He scowled. “She what?”
“She wed Nicholas! If I was having an affair with him, why would he marry her?”
Maybe because she’s beautiful and poised and gracious. Maybe because she couldn’t be a shrew if she had lessons for a year. Maybe because she was raised to greatness and had been taught how to behave in every type of situation…
He suffered a spurt of optimism. Perhaps with Sarah as Swift’s bride, she could convince him to cancel some of Jasper’s gambling debt. Perhaps it wasn’t a catastrophe.
Still though, he sulked. “She better not have married him.”
“What’s it to you one way or the other?”
“I’m head of the Henley family, and she didn’t ask for my blessing.”
Des scoffed. “She’d never let you have an opinion, Jasper. She and her sisters can’t abide you. Or me. When will that fact wedge itself into your thick brain?”
He wouldn’t debate his Henley cousins with her. They were pretty, sweet, and kind, and he and Des had been horrid to them. He didn’t feel particularly guilty about it though. After he’d ascended to the title, he would never have supported them.
As earl, the estate wealth was his wealth. Not theirs. Des had reminded him often enough. But he liked his cousins, and he was desperate to receive their approval, desperate for them to admit he deserved the station that had been bestowed. It was ridiculous to pine away and yearn for their esteem, but he couldn’t stop trying to impress them.
“I need some money,” Des whined.
“I don’t have any.”
“Well, sell something or trade something. I need funds. You demand I depart for Scotland, but how am I to pay for the trip?”
“How would I know?”
“Ooh, you ass, you spineless cur. I despise you.”
“The feeling is mutual, Des. Now get out of London.”
“To where? Tell me that—if you can!”
“Stay with your mother.”
“My mother! I loathe her!”
“I bought her a grand house. You pestered me until I broke down. Make use of it for once.”
“Fine, I’ll stay with my mother, but this fit of pique has to end.”
“I’ll send you a letter when it has.”
“Bastard,” she spat, and she huffed away.
He watched her slink off, then he followed until she climbed into a rented carriage and drove away.
She carried on exactly as she pleased, and he had so little power over her. She was flaunting his authority as her husband, and the notion was too galling to contemplate. He took several deep breaths to soothe his nerves, then he headed into the theater. The night was young, and he required amusement more than ever.
He entered the lobby and went up to the boxes, peeking through the curtains. He slipped into one, and there were a few hellos, but mostly he was ignored. He couldn’t count anyone as a genuine friend. To his chagrin, he was viewed as a usurper to his title, an interloper who shouldn’t have been permitted to up-jump into his role as earl, and he’d never been able to change many attitudes.
The play hadn’t commenced yet. There were jugglers and acrobats putting on a show, the theatrical presentation still coming.
He found an empty chair and slid into it, being thrilled when he looked over and noticed there was a gorgeous woman sitting next to him. She had auburn hair and big green eyes, and she was incredibly voluptuous in a way he relished. The neckline on her gown was cut very low, exposing a fascinating amount of bosom.
She smiled flirtatiously. “Aren’t you Lord Middlebury?”
At being recognized, he was startled. “Why, yes. Yes, I am.”
“We have many acquaintances, but we’ve never been introduced.”
>
“Yes, you seem very familiar. What’s your name?”
“Camilla Robertson.”
He tamped down his surprise. She had been mistress to the felonious criminal, Alex Wallace, but there had been gossip of a recent split.
Wallace was expecting to marry Jasper’s cousin, Abigail, but Jasper refused to allow the match. Wallace had once dueled with Abigail’s brother, Hayden, and almost killed him. It was preposterous for Wallace to imagine he could glom on to Hayden’s sister, and Jasper had sent his cousin, Catherine, to Wallace Downs to vehemently apprise him of that fact.
Was Abigail the reason Wallace and Miss Robertson had parted? Were they separated? With Jasper discovering how beautiful Miss Robertson was, he was curious about the answer to that question.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” he said.
“I hope all of it was good.”
“It was all very good.”
“Perfect,” she purred. “I have the feeling you and I are going to be great friends.”
“I’m sure of it,” he agreed.
“Rumor has it that your wife is out of town,” she slyly mentioned.
“Yes, I was weary of her, so I kicked her out of the city. She’ll be in the country for ages—until I can bear to have her in London again.”
“So…you don’t have to be home anytime soon? You don’t have a tedious spouse impatiently waiting for you to arrive?”
“No. I don’t have to ever go home if I don’t wish to.”
“I love a man whose time is his own.”
“Then you’ll love me,” he boasted.
“It’s awfully crowded in here.” Brazenly, she suggested, “How about if we find a spot that’s a tad more private?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Jasper clasped her hand and led her out of the box and out of the theater. At having such a stunning female hanging on his arm and titillated by his every word, he preened with satisfaction.
* * * *
Robert Stone was leaned against a palm tree, smoking a cheroot and lurking in the shadows. The moon wasn’t up yet, so it was dark, but there was enough light to see his oldest son, Will, walking on the beach with Becky Barnes.
They’d strolled off before he’d realized their scheme. If they’d sought his permission—which they hadn’t—he supposed he would have consented. They were both sixteen, and they weren’t in England where a girl had to be chaperoned every second. Considering his own history, he was hardly in a position to tell Will how to behave.
It was just that Miss Becky oozed trouble. She was shamelessly forward and obviously searching for a husband, but it would never be Will. He was much too young to wed, and when he was ready, he wouldn’t wind up shackled to a tart like Becky.
While Will’s mother had been a common woman, Robert’s ancestry was actually quite high, certainly higher than warranted his eldest boy marrying a lowly vicar’s daughter.
One of Robert’s cousins was a baron back in England, so his father had come from lofty circles. He’d been estranged from his relatives though, choosing instead to forge his own road as an explorer who’d journeyed across Africa and Arabia. Robert had been reared at his father’s side in the wild, desolate places they’d cherished.
His sole stint in England had begun when he was sixteen and had been sent there to attend university. He’d planned to complete his studies, then return to Africa, but his father had been killed there while he was away at school.
He’d been stranded in London, left penniless, with no connection to his kin, and no funds to travel back to Africa. He’d never even been to his father’s grave.
With his being alone and adrift, he’d grown cordial with a classmate and had spent his holidays with the boy’s family at their country property outside London. They’d been wealthy and settled, and they’d had a pretty daughter, Mildred, who’d tantalized him. He hadn’t been able to resist her.
Despite her already being betrothed—to a fellow her father had selected for her—they’d pursued a secret affair. Ultimately, they’d tried to elope to Scotland, but her father had caught up with them and dragged her home.
Robert had been arrested for kidnapping her and interfering with her engagement. While languishing in jail, her father’s lawyer had visited. He’d had a letter from Mildred, informing him she’d decided to obey her father. She’d wed her fiancé and was suddenly a bride. She’d apologized for the problems she’d caused, and she’d begged him to forget her, to be happy without her.
He snorted at the memory. Her hasty marriage had changed his attitude about women. He liked them, but he didn’t trust them. He viewed them as fickle and unpredictable, and the long-ago incident had been a boon in disguise.
The lawyer had dumped a purse of gold coins on the table and told him he could have the money if he departed England immediately and never contacted Mildred again. And what would have been the point of contact?
Her father had bested them. He’d stopped their elopement, and she’d been forcibly wed to another. There had been no means to alter that conclusion. Robert had glumly agreed, and the lawyer had had him released from jail. The next day, he’d sailed away on a merchant ship bound for the Orient, and he’d never looked back.
Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. He thought about Mildred frequently, wondered how her marriage had gone, wondered how she’d weathered the intervening decades. She’d been funny, vivacious, and spirited, and she’d deserved to have a manly man for her husband. Her betrothed had been a stuffy, dull clerk who’d toiled away in her father’s company.
Such a feisty sprite could never have been satisfied with a fool like that, but her father hadn’t realized it. He’d doomed her to a life of misery and regret.
Had she had children? Most likely. How many? Was she a grandmother? Was she a great grandmother? The path she’d picked was far removed from his. Was she content with her choice?
He’d been mostly content with his. He’d sailed the globe and had thrived in a dozen different ways, but it had been very difficult. His body was worn out, his hands swollen with rheumatism. His hips and ankles ached unbearably when he was on his feet too long.
He’d wallowed with sailors and whores in port towns and isolated camps on the edge of the Earth. Occasionally, he’d been lucky and had allied himself with amazing men like Hayden, but more often than not, it had been with dangerous brigands and criminals. He’d rampaged with pirates and skulked with smugglers.
He was ready to return to England, to the quiet safety he’d find there. Or at least he presumed he was. Perhaps he’d be bored to tears, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he tried. Most times, it sounded like a little slice of Heaven. Other times, it sounded like the most dreary, tedious existence he could possibly imagine.
He was very rich now. The last vessel where they’d served on the crew—the Nine Lives Hayden had claimed for his own—had been a pirate ship. The prior owners had died of a terrible plague that swept through their camp. Hayden and Robert were two of the only ones who’d survived.
They’d scooped up the gold and other items of value accumulated by their captain. They’d taken charge of the remaining sailors—with threats to leave them behind if they weren’t willing to work the sails—and they’d glided away.
After all their travails, adventures, and mishaps, it had been as simple as that. They were free of any indenture, bondage, or contracts, free to behave however they pleased. Hayden was anxious to assume his rightful place, and Robert was eagerly prepared to help him.
Robert had accrued an unanticipated fortune, and he had a close connection to Hayden Henley, so his situation was on an upward track. Once they arrived in England, Will could have his choice of girls. He didn’t have to settle for a flirt like Becky Barnes.
The amorous duo approached, and he tossed his cheroot on the ground and stepped out of the shadows to greet them.
“Hello, Father.” Will had eyes like a haw
k and had noticed Robert.
But Miss Barnes was startled. “Mr. Stone! I didn’t see you there. You scared me.”
“How was your…walk?” He was more sarcastic than he should have been.
“It was lovely,” she said.
“Your sister is back from her ride with Nine Lives. She’s been searching for you. Why don’t you head to your tent?”
For a moment, she hesitated as if she might refuse to heed him. She was just that brash, and he had no power over her really. If she declined to oblige him, what could he do?
Her impudence was a sign of her low character and lack of supervision growing up. She didn’t respect male authority, but then, by all accounts, her father had been a wastrel. What kind of daughter would such a rogue create?
One like Becky Barnes, that was for certain, and Robert couldn’t figure out how she and Helen Barnes could possibly be related. Helen seemed decent and ethical and morally-inclined. Clearly, Becky shared none of those attributes.
“I will go to Helen,” she ultimately responded. “She’s such a worrier. She’s probably been fretting as to my whereabouts.”
She winked at Will, then she strolled off, her shapely behind swishing under her skirt. Will couldn’t stop watching her.
They stood together, dawdling as she vanished from sight.
Robert didn’t know his boys very well. He’d married their mother, Marguerite, after he’d been stranded on Tenerife for several months. He’d been sick and injured, and he’d paid her to nurse him.
She’d been beautiful and loose, and he’d accepted what she’d offered—that being the comfort of her voluptuous body. But he hadn’t been careful, and his seed had caught in her womb, so he’d had to break down and wed her. He hadn’t stayed for long, but whenever he’d been in her part of the world, he’d visited her, and he’d been reckless enough to sire a second child.
In light of his advancing age and the fact that he’d never put down any roots, he was glad to have them. When he’d learned of Marguerite’s death, he’d hurried to fetch them. They would travel to England with him, would become Brits and would enjoy the fruits of his many decades of hard labor.
