Desired

by Nicola Cornick

  Owen was silent for a moment. “You have been a good friend to Lady Emma,” he said. “It is not the first time you have helped a young woman in trouble, is it? I heard that when Tom Bradshaw ruined Lady Harriet Knight a few years back you also gave her your aid.”

  “Oh, yes.” Tess had forgotten about Harriet, who had married a very rich elderly squire and was no doubt creating havoc in the shires.

  “One might almost say,” Owen said, “that you have a compulsion to help people who are in trouble.” His tone had eased but Tess was not fooled. Owen was going somewhere with this, somewhere dangerous. A quiver of apprehension ran along her skin. This was a side of Owen she had seen that first night at the brothel, cold and relentless in pursuit of the truth. She had forgotten quite how intimidating was the ruthlessness beneath his equable exterior.

  “Two acts of charity do not make a compulsion,” she said.

  “Once again you are too modest,” Owen said. “I understand that you are most generous in your charitable giving. You donate to the Foundling Hospital and the Blackfriars School—”

  “You forgot the Magdalen Hospital,” Tess snapped. “For penitent prostitutes. Appropriate, is it not?”

  Owen laughed. “I hardly think so.” He paused. “You do admit to being a philanthropist?” Then, when she did not reply, he said, “You are unconscionably bad at answering my questions. Teresa.” Again there was exasperation in his voice. “I am not asking you to confess a thousand-guinea-a-week gambling debt. Why is it so difficult to admit to charitable giving?”

  The answer was that her philanthropy was intimately linked to her political causes and in admitting one Tess knew she would inevitably betray the other. But she could feel Owen’s gaze on her through the dark and she knew he knew the truth already. There was no point in dissembling.

  Her heart took a dive down into her slippers. She felt wretchedly sick. Owen was going to confront her about the Jupiter Club. Here. Now. She sensed it. Swept up in the pleasure of the time they had spent together, she had almost forgotten that it was all based on dishonesty. She felt empty and lost.

  “You know, don’t you?” she said, and she was not referring to her philanthropy.

  She felt him shift as he turned slightly towards her. “Know that you are Jupiter?” he said. “Yes, I do.” He took something from his pocket and laid it on the rug between them. In the faint light of the carriage lanterns Tess could see it was the cartoon of Lord Sidmouth as a balloon. Owen smoothed his palm over it.

  “It’s an excellent likeness,” he said. “Lord Sidmouth was not amused. He wants your head on a platter.” He looked at her. There was a long silence. Tess knew what was coming and her stomach tumbled. The feeling of sickness at her betrayal thickened in her throat.

  “Tell me,” Owen said. His tone had hardened. “When you first came to me proposing marriage, was that a deliberate ploy because you knew that as your husband I would be unable to give evidence against you?”

  Tess closed her eyes. Regret twisted inside her at the deception she had practised on him.

  I did not know you then….

  She wanted to cry out those words, but it was pointless to say them or to try to persuade Owen that she had come to like and respect him. He would never believe her. And what she felt for him was stronger than mere liking now. All of a sudden the tears stung her eyes.

  “I…I thought… It’s true that I…” She stopped again. She could feel Owen’s gaze on her through the dark and it seemed to strip her defences to the bone.

  “You thought that you would deceive me and use me as the perfect disguise to hide you from Sidmouth?” Owen said. His voice was very steady and very cold now.

  “When I came to you my most pressing concern was for Corwen’s threats and Sybil’s and Julius’s futures,” Tess said. Her voice faltered. She could hear the plea in it.

  “But any number of people could have helped you with that,” Owen said. “Your brothers-in-law, for example. Both Alex Grant and Garrick Farne are influential enough to force Corwen to hold his tongue.”

  “I needed to do more than that,” Tess argued. “I needed to repair my own reputation, for Sybil’s sake. Only marriage could do that.”

  “But you chose me specifically,” Owen said. “I wondered about that from the start. It was because of my connection to Sidmouth.” Suddenly his hands bit into her shoulders. “Tell me the truth, Teresa,” he said. “No more lies.”

  “I didn’t lie!” Tess said. Desperation coloured her tone. She gulped in a breath. “Very well, I did seek to deceive you,” she said. “But you knew it, Owen. You suspected me from the first! I know you did. You only let me play out my game because you were waiting to trap me.”

  There was a loaded silence. Tess realised how much she wanted him to deny it. She knew he would not. They had both played the game. And now it seemed they had both lost; lost the burgeoning trust and the closeness and the promise that had been between them.

  “Touché,” Owen said, after a moment. “I did indeed.” His hands slid down her arms and Tess shivered. As his touch left her she felt very alone and utterly bereft. For a moment she thought she saw something in his face of regret, or disappointment, but as the shadows moved she saw only the coldness in his eyes and the harsh line of his jaw.

  “The Jupiter Club is disbanded,” she said. “We meet no more.” Her heart felt sore and bruised now that the truth was exposed between them. It made their relationship feel so hollow and empty when it could have been so much more. “If you could be generous enough not to pursue the other members,” she said stiffly, “I give my word that after our betrothal is broken I will not engage in further reformist activity—” She stopped as Owen put his hand on her wrist. His touch seared her like a flame, silencing her completely.

  “My dear Lady Darent,” he said, and all the smoothness was back in his voice, “I do not think you quite understand. Our engagement is not at an end. You are still going to marry me. You have even less choice than you had before.”

  OWEN WATCHED WITH AMUSEMENT as Tess struggled to assimilate his words. In the skipping darkness he could see the play of various emotions across her face: shock, puzzlement and a certain icy hauteur that suggested she disliked very much being dictated to. That, Owen thought, was too bad. He had had a difficult evening and he was in no mood to be chivalrous anymore. Tess was completely in his power now and that was where she would stay. He shifted, turning so that one shoulder was against the side of the carriage and he could see her face more easily.

  “There are things you do not know,” he said. “Specifically, Mr. Brooke, your political protégé.” He allowed his contempt of Brooke to colour his tone. “He is in discussion with Lord Sidmouth to join the government. He blows with the wind. He will never be the leader that you wish, the leader the radical cause needs.”

  He saw Tess’s face blanch in the lamplight, leaving it pale and drawn. “You must be mistaken,” she whispered. Her shock was too vivid to be feigned. Owen felt a faint easing of the tension within him. It seemed she had never known of Brooke’s betrayal; her allegiance to the reformers had at least always been true even if he still had to live with the bitterness of knowing that she had chosen him only to use him.

  “I’m afraid I am not mistaken,” Owen said. “I had it from Sidmouth himself. Brooke is ambitious. He will sacrifice anything for political power. Including you.”

  He saw Tess’s eyes narrow. “I do not understand,” she said. A little shudder racked her.

  “I think you do,” Owen said grimly. “Sidmouth wants to arrest Jupiter. Brooke knows who you are—”

  He heard her give a gasp of shock. “Justin would never betray me,” she said, but there was an undertone of uncertainty in her voice as though she was already afraid of the possibility.

  “I hope you are right,” Owen said, “but I would not lay any money on it.” He shifted. “So you see how vulnerable you are. If you do not wed me you will be utterly unprotected.”


  Tess was silent for a very long time. “You are very generous not to withdraw your offer of marriage to me,” she said, at length. Her tone was as cool and unemotional as his now.

  “I have my reasons,” Owen said. His reasons were simple. He still wanted Teresa Darent. He was angry with her and he felt betrayed by her, but he still wanted her in his bed.

  Her gaze on him was unreadable. “I shall have a great deal more money now that it will not be going to support the radical cause,” she said ironically.

  “And I shall have a great deal less,” Owen said, “since I no longer work for Lord Sidmouth.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “You resigned? But why—”

  “Give me credit for some principles,” Owen said shortly. “I cannot knowingly wed a woman I know is a criminal whilst working for the man who seeks to arrest her.”

  He heard her breath catch to hear herself described in such brutal terms. “I suppose not,” she said. “Well, then…” Her tone was dry. “You may take my money as recompense.”

  He would take her as recompense, Owen thought. For a second he was wrenched with sorrow that their marriage would be so shallow, the very fashionable affair that she had claimed she wanted. He had sought more than that in his wife, had wanted more, more of trust, more of belief, more of respect. But with their mutual deceit uncovered now it felt impossible.

  “There is another price for my protection,” he said.

  He saw her look sharply at him. “A price,” she said dully. “Yes, of course there would be. There always is a price.” She sounded very tired all of a sudden, disillusioned.

  “You have to give me your word of honour that you will never draw political cartoons again,” Owen said, “or take an active role in the reformist movement.”

  He waited. She did not respond. She was fidgeting with the braiding on her cloak. Suddenly he was shot through with regret and bitterness. He had not wanted it to be like this.

  “Teresa,” he said, a little roughly, after a moment. “It’s too dangerous. Sidmouth will hunt all reformers down. Give me your promise.”

  Her head came up. He saw a tiny spark of warmth come back into her eyes to hear the ring of genuine emotion in his voice. It was such a small thing when the truth had torn apart the relationship they had only just started to build, but Owen knew in that instant that it had not all been pretence for either of them.

  “Very well,” she said, very quietly. “I give you my promise.”

  Owen felt his tense muscles relax. “Thank you,” he said.

  She turned her face away but not before he had seen the glint of tears in her eyes. Pity wedged in his throat; she was not the sort of woman to let him see her tears. She was not the sort of woman who willingly took help or comfort from anyone.

  “Why do you cry?” he asked, and was almost amused when the look she shot him in return was pure anger rather than sorrow.

  “Because of what I am losing.” Her tone was crisp. “My drawing…” She rummaged in her reticule and withdrew a ridiculous scrap of lace, which she scrubbed fiercely at her eyes. “It matters to me. You wouldn’t understand.”

  He did, actually, or he suspected he did. When he had taken his title he had given up his previous way of life, given up the sea and the exploring and the life that had made him the man he was. Like him, Tess was losing her passion and she would have to find a different way of living. He felt an impulse to tell her, to reach out and comfort her, but her shoulder was turned against him and she was staring fixedly out into the blind dark.

  Owen sighed. “Are there any other secrets I should know before we wed?” he asked, and he did not miss the very slightest hesitation in her before she shook her head.

  “No,” she said, her tone quiet and unemotional again. “Of course not.”

  Almost he pressed her on it but in the end he let it go. Her shoulders were slumped now and for a moment she looked so small and poignantly alone that he had already put out a hand towards her before letting it fall again.

  He wondered what it was that Tess was not telling him. It was nothing to do with the Jupiter Club or her radical politics. He was certain of that. She had been very candid about her identity as Jupiter and he had appreciated that honesty even whilst he had been angry with her for her earlier deceit. There was still much to admire in Teresa Darent, he thought. She had a loyalty to those she cared for, whether it was Julius and Sybil, or the foundling children of Blackfriars, or the members of the Jupiter Club.

  He thought this final secret must be something to do with her choice of philanthropic causes amongst the poor and the dispossessed. They all involved women and children, those who had fallen from grace or been born out of wedlock. Had she perhaps had an illegitimate child during those wild early days after Charles Brokeby had died? There were those shocking nude paintings of her which, coupled with the stories of Brokeby’s famous debauchery and Tess’s uninhibited drinking and gambling after his death, all pointed to a phase of her life that had been recklessly out of control. Owen had been no saint himself and had a past as chequered as a draughts board, so he could not lay blame, but he did wish Tess would confide in him. Some people preferred not to expose the truth of the past, but in his experience it almost always came out anyway, and usually in the most painful way possible. But he had known Tess so short a time, and if he truly wanted to unravel all her secrets he would have to wait now. They would have to start to build again, slowly and carefully, on the foundations they had laid before. And this time there must be no deceit or betrayal.

  He looked at Tess, at her profile turned away from him, so pure and clear. Every line of her body was taut and defensive, keeping him at bay, forbidding his touch.

  He wanted her more than ever.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY MARRIED TWO DAYS LATER at Southwark Cathedral.

  Lady Martindale’s brother was Bishop of Southwark, a fact that Tess considered both convenient and marvellously respectable. It also solved the difficult issue of venue. Tess had been uncertain which London church to choose for her fourth trip up the aisle. She had certainly not wanted St. George’s in Hanover Square, fashionable as it was, since she had married Brokeby there.

  Her second wedding had been a huge affair even though she had been a widow and good taste might have suggested that she settle for something smaller. Brokeby, of course, had been a stranger to good taste. He had wanted to show off his beautiful young bride to the entire ton. It had been a bright May morning with resplendent sunshine and the cherry trees in blossom in the square. Within an hour, however, the brightness had turned hazy and the spring rain had started to fall heavily, washing away the blossom. Tess thought she really should have recognised the omen for what it was.

  On this particular day the sky was a pearly grey with snow clouds blowing in over London like smoke. It felt chilly and raw. Tess tried to ignore the cold, tried too to banish the chill from her heart, which felt frozen with a chip of ice. The confrontation with Owen, revealing their mutual deception, had left her feeling like she had lost a true friend. Somehow, despite her intentions of making no more than a marriage of convenience, she had come to value Owen a great deal. And then she had lost him. The hollow sensation in her heart made her want to cry and she did not understand why.

  It was fortunate that Southwark Cathedral possessed a very small chapel since the wedding party was sparse. Joanna was there, dazzling in cherry-red silk with a saucy hat. Merryn was in sapphire-blue. Both Tess’s sisters sported the definitive accessory of a handsome and adoring husband. Joanna even had the ultimate trophy of a beautiful little daughter. Tess tried hard not to feel jealous and failed comprehensively. Rampant adoration of her sisters was all very well, she supposed, but not at her wedding when she was making a marriage of convenience. The contrast seemed too bleak.

  It was not that Owen did not look handsome. In fact, when she had first seen him waiting for her at the altar, Tess had experienced a very peculiar fluttering sensation in her midriff. Owen
had paid her the compliment of being immaculately turned out, unlike Darent, who had arrived late for his own wedding with his shirt hanging out. And Owen was not drunk, unlike Brokeby, for whom it had almost been a permanent state. In fact Owen did not take his eyes off her all the way up the aisle—she was alone because she was damned if anyone was going to give her away other than herself—and there was something in his gaze that made her feel very hot even though it was snowing outside.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered to her when she reached his side, and for a second she had felt as though it was summer and the sun was out.

  But her feeling of pleasure was fleeting and shallow. One glance at her sisters shot her through with another pang of envy so sharp and painful she almost caught her breath aloud. The longing tightened in her gut like a knot, and she did not even know what it was she coveted. She glanced at Owen again but he was concentrating on the bishop’s words.

  There were no smiles on Owen’s side of the church where the Ladies Martindale, Borough and Hurst sat like a vast wave of disapproval with Rupert Montmorency sandwiched between them, his shirt points so high he could barely turn his head without impaling himself. Tess was surprised that the ladies had not worn mourning dress.

  The bishop spoke the words of the marriage service but Tess did not really hear them. She made her vows.

  “To have and to hold…” Her voice faltered a little over the words and she felt Owen’s fingers tighten on hers. She looked up and met his eyes. There was something very steady and reassuring in them.

  Owen made his vows too, his voice a great deal firmer than hers.

  “With my body I thee worship…”

  A fierce shudder went through Tess as she remembered Charles Brokeby slurring the same words, remembered his hands hot on her body, grasping, brutal hands reaching for her, his lust plunging her into the depths of horror.