Fairchild Regency Romance

by Jaima Fixsen

  “But what about Laura?” he asked, pulling free. “I’ve come to rescue her.” The shouts—the pitiful screaming—“What are they doing to her?” He would kill them.

  “Bless you. Your lady’s not been harmed. That’s one of the other patients who your lady set free. The duke’s men found this one and brought her back, but there’s still another loose. This one—that can’t stop yammering—is mad as they come, but no one’s hurt her. They’ll lock her in her room while the duke and Dr. Matthews decide who’s to blame. They’re about ready to murder each other.”

  Hence the shouting. A fitting end for them both, but Jasper wouldn’t bet on it. “Where’s Laura?”

  The harried woman rubbed her forehead. “It’s such a tangle. She’s on her way to Bristol to meet you.”

  “Bristol?” he asked, sure she must be mistaken. Not only had he never mentioned the place to Laura, he’d never had any desire to go there. Moreover, while he had just cause to be in a right fury, he couldn’t see why this woman should be on the brink of tears.

  “Yes, to your ship,” she said.

  Jasper looked about, unsure if it was wise to be so close to her. This was a madhouse, after all. Perhaps she was another escaped patient? Not that he was complaining, exactly, but it seemed irresponsible to let real lunatics wander about.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come,” the woman sniffed. “You must hurry and catch her. If anything should happen to her or harm the baby—”

  “Baby,” Jasper echoed, stunned and flat.

  “Yes.” She glanced again at the house. “But the duke doesn’t know yet. I had to help her, when she told me he would kill her once he discovered she was carrying his bastard.” Eyes shining with frenzied zeal, she babbled on. “Dear Captain, she is so fortunate in you. To be so understanding, willing to stand father to that villain’s child…bless you, sir. Bless you forever.”

  Poleaxed, Jasper reached for his pocket, but found to his chagrin that he was without a handkerchief. No matter. This woman was content to weep all over his hands.

  “Did Laura tell you…everything?” Jasper suspected this tale was too involved to be the creation of a weakened mind.

  “Yes, everything. Your secret engagement, how the duke raped her, the failed escape…”

  Good heavens.

  “But you must not delay. Any moment the duke will finish shouting at the doctor and then I expect they’ll both rejoin the search. She is alone and on foot—”

  “I’ll find her,” Jasper said, stepping into his appointed role. “And if Saltash dares follow, I’ll beat him as he deserves.”

  “Bless you,” the woman said again. Emboldened by his words or perhaps his gallant pose, she planted her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.

  “No, bless you, madam,” Jasper said, bowing and drawing a smile from her withered lips. “I owe you my life.”

  “That way,” she pointed, before he rode off in the wrong direction. Saluting her, hoping he’d gotten the gesture right, he spurred his horse and bounded through the gardens and over the hedge. Now to find Laura. He hoped—most sincerely—she wasn’t really going to Bristol.

  *****

  Laura was thirsty. She had a cramp in her side, her wrists smarted, and she couldn’t remember what she’d last eaten. Whatever it was, her stomach was long finished with it. Shifting her bundle to ease the burn in her shoulders she ducked into a thicket of trees, straying a little further from the road in the hope of finding some water.

  She didn’t dare stop. Fearing pursuit, she started at every noise. The pebble on her tongue wasn’t working any moisture into her mouth, yet she felt like laughing aloud. She’d escaped. Yes, she would have a devil of a time getting back to London and Matthews’ shoes were no doubt giving her blisters, but she wasn’t trapped at his Home for the Emotionally Disturbed chained to a chair and being doused with water. No one had applauded, but Laura was convinced she’d just given the performance of her life. The euphoria of it sped her steps over the rough ground, freshening her when she knew by rights she should be weary. She must find out where she was and how to get back to London.

  Using a man’s voice and keeping her hat pulled low, she stopped at a cottage to beg a drink of water and directions to Whitecross, then hurried on, moving closer to the road. Hiding every time she saw a rider or a carriage, she made steady progress, passing farms and a squalid inn. This time she didn’t stop. Safer to ask for directions again once she’d put more ground between her and Saltash. She couldn’t have walked more than a few miles, but if she kept to the road she was sure of ending up somewhere.

  After stopping again to adjust her shoes, Laura strode on, keeping a wary eye on the road. Spying a horseman, she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and slouched, wishing she wasn’t caught out in plain sight. She ambled along, telling herself that at this distance she’d look like any country gent out for a wander. Except the horseman slowed. Stopped.

  “Laura!” he shouted.

  She shot a panicked glance beneath the brim of her stolen hat, ready to run but knowing she’d never escape a mounted rider, not in this open field. Already he was off the road and halfway to her.

  But it wasn’t Saltash, riding straight as a ramrod on a suitably magnificent horse. It was Jasper, coated with dust and riding like a man half-asleep on a horse even she could tell wasn’t quite second-rate. Her bundle dropped to the ground.

  “Laura!” he called again, hastening over the dry stubble, his shadow rippling behind him. Suddenly, though Laura knew she hadn’t an ounce of extra water inside her, her eyes dripped tears—hot, fast ones that streaked down her cheeks as her legs went wobbly, succumbing at last to the strains of fear and fatigue. Speech was impossible; mere breathing required a conscious nudge, her lungs heaving into action again like rusty ironworks.

  He was hatless, reddened by the wind with baked runnels of salt and grime lining his face. Drawing rein, he was off his horse in an instant, catching her before she tottered—she was bruised enough without slicing herself up on this field of stubble. Without meaning to, Laura found herself crying into his dusty, sour-smelling coat, pressing her hands to him like she could soak him up through her fingers.

  “Steady, my girl,” he said and she realized he wasn’t talking to the horse. She dared a glance up. His eyes were suspiciously bright. “What a heroine you are. Shh—shh. All’s well.”

  Laura shook her head, helpless against the flow of tears and the sobs shaking their way out of her. “I’m thirsty, I’ve had the fright of my life, my feet are covered in blisters—”

  “Ah,” Jasper said and smoothed her hair. “It took me such a long time to find you. I was so afraid.” His arm tightened about her shoulders and her sudden cloudburst lightened to feeble sniffs.

  Pressed into his chest she mumbled, “I didn’t want to cry.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” he said. “I’d hoped to kiss you, but even I’m not heartless enough to try it while you’re watering my shirt.”

  “I expect my tears are among the least of the damage,” she retorted. The way he looked, no wonder she hadn’t immediately recognized him.

  He raised her chin to study her. “Very well. A moment, if you’ll forgive me.” He raised his sleeve, using it to wipe her wet nose. “I seem to have lost my handkerchief.” Hot with embarrassment, Laura felt the air solidify around her.

  “May I kiss you now?” he asked.

  “Please.” Still mortified, the word came out a trifle crisply, but Jasper wasn’t put off. The arm at her waist tightened, his mouth closing on hers with an obliterating focus that told her something of his desperate search.

  “You—” he began, but Laura wasn’t ready for talking. Her fingers traversed his shoulders and slid into his sweat-roughened hair. His bottom lip—she must make it clear she possessed it, though he could keep it for her when she had other things to kiss, such as this ear. As she nipped the edge his breath ran down her neck in a frosty shiver.

  He tried words
again. “You—are like to be the death of me.”

  “Le petit mort?” she asked, feeling that nothing could be sweeter than this urge to flame and extinguish together.

  He gave a shaky laugh. “That also I hope. Laura, never in my life have I passed such a span of worried hours.”

  She swallowed, focusing on a patch of unshaven jaw. “I know.” Just now, she’d rather not think of it.

  “I can’t let you go. You know that.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers. When he spoke his words rose up on notes of poorly suppressed triumph. “And I’ve been informed by one Mrs. Stoke that we are engaged—in fact, that you are counting on me to make an honest woman of you.”

  Laura shifted. “That was only—”

  He shook his head, which rubbed their noses together, then pulled away so he could smile at her. “Unless you’re willing to go back and tell that woman how shamefully you’ve deceived her, I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep your word.”

  “Jasper—” He couldn’t possibly…

  “I never imagined you conveying your acceptance of my proposal in such interesting fashion, but you’ll notice I am good enough not to complain—think what an agreeable husband I’ll make! Besides,” he glanced down at her, widening his smile as he spun her in his arms. “This is terribly compromising. What a picture we must be.”

  She let him swing her around, rollicking over uneven stubble and clods of earth. “But there’s no one here.” Laura laughed. “Not for miles.”

  “I’ll summon that haystack as witness, if necessary,” Jasper said. “And don’t forget Mrs. Stoke. You must have spun her quite a yarn, my star. Sometime you’ll have to tell me the entire story. I regret that I can’t fulfill your wishes for a sea captain, but I am willing to marry you and stand father, if need be, to Saltash’s baby.”

  Sea Captain? Baby? “Oh—” Laura blushed scarlet and dropped her chin, but he was too quick for her, ducking in to kiss her ear. “I’m hoping all you fancy is the uniform. I could arrange that for you privately, I suppose, but I think I’m ill-suited to a life at sea. Besides, I’ve no wish to be parted from my wife.”

  “You mean me?” she asked, struggling to keep up with him.

  “Indeed,” he said. “And I warn you, if you attempt to break our engagement, I’ll take you to court and sue you for breach of promise. Mrs. Stoke will testify to that.”

  “You leave me no alternative,” Laura said. He would only take one answer and it was the one she longed to give. “Very well.” Smiling, she let him pull her in. Heavens, but she could kiss him forever. Maybe she would.

  “There’s just one thing…” Jasper reached for her bottom. Laura started, but recovered quick enough to squeeze his right back.

  “My dear, I’ve been wanting to do that for the longest time. I had no idea you felt the same.” He pulled back a bit and frowned at her. “Except I’d always imagined you in better fitting breeches. We could both fit in these ones—an intriguing idea, but we’d best save it for later. Come, I’d rather not explain myself to any farmers. Antics like that are sure to draw a crowd.”

  He mounted his horse, then pulled her up behind him and they set off for the road and the village. It was a tiny hamlet, boasting little more than a smithy and a ramshackle inn. “No help for it I’m afraid,” Jasper said. “We’ll have to stop here.”

  Laura hid a yawn. “Doesn’t matter. I’m so tired I could sleep under a hay wagon.”

  He kissed her. “We aren’t sunk so low as that. Here.” He helped her off the horse, then turned to the host who’d emerged in the door, drying his hands on his apron.

  “Meals and a wash,” Jasper ordered. “The bath first, I think—can you stay awake for it?” he asked, turning to Laura. “It will be a stretch for me. If I’m not down to eat in half an hour, you’ll have to come and save me from drowning.”

  The host eyed them suspiciously—no wonder, they looked so dirty and disreputable—but his face cleared at the sight of Jasper’s coin. “Very good, sir. And a second bath, I take it, for the other—gentleman?”

  “If you would,” Jasper said, not turning a hair. “I intend to have the pleasure of scrubbing her back, but it can wait for a day or two. Meanwhile I hope you’ll take the opportunity to do something with our clothes? A good brushing should rescue them, at least temporarily, from the rag bag. As for our dinner, you should know that I never eat mushrooms.”

  The innkeeper just stared. “Sir, we are not accustomed—”

  “That will be all,” Jasper said.

  “Of course! Forgive me, sir!” And with an amazingly delicate tread for a man of his bulk, the man motioned them to follow him into the inn.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The right words

  Sending up prayers of thanks for the divine relief of a tub of hot water, Jasper gave himself up to the pleasures of a good scrub and a clean towel. Laura was quicker than he. When he descended to the dining parlor, Jasper found her making inroads into a plate of roast chicken, potatoes, dumplings, and peas.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t wait.”

  “Nor can I.” He lifted the covers and spooned food onto his plate. For a time neither spoke. At last Jasper passed between bites from starvation to the discomfort of gluttony and leaned back in his chair. Laura was still cleaning her plate, looking for all the world like a child dressed in her grandfather’s clothes. Jasper couldn’t hold back a smile. What a pair they were. He mustn’t lose her. Not ever again.

  “Pardon?” Laura said, looking up, and Jasper realized he must have murmured his last thought aloud.

  “Sleep in my room tonight. I promise, no face-making,” he said.

  Her brow puckered. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  Jasper’s ears burned. He couldn’t think what to say. Clicket, dancing a blanket hornpipe…it all meant the same thing, but maybe he should have chosen something more genteel.

  “Like bread and butter?” Laura asked.

  He let out a choked laugh. “Yes, exactly. I’m too tired for it even if you’re not, but I don’t want Saltash taking you away from me again.” He’d worry too much if she were out of sight. Or out of reach.

  “All right,” she said.

  He swallowed, hesitating, but it needed to be said, no matter how awkward, so he hedged by dropping his eyes and playing with his fork.

  “We’ll marry as soon as we can—tomorrow if I can get my hands on a license—”

  Laura stared into her empty water glass and turned it round on the table. “Jasper, are you certain?”

  Not again. He stared at her. “I should hope so! After all this—”

  “But what will your family say?”

  His pulse slackened. If that was all that troubled her… “Oh, the Mater knows everything. Came with my father to London to browbeat me into doing the honorable thing.” Jasper smiled. “Which we will.”

  “Lady Fairchild knows?” Laura looked stunned.

  “Yes. So no more objections. I’m finished with them Laura, really I am.” Considering everything, his parents had been rather wonderful. He should probably apologize for being such an ass. “What was I saying before?” he asked.

  “No bread and butter.” Her composure cracked and let a grin slip through.

  “Not yet,” Jasper qualified. Why hadn’t he just let the subject alone? He must be bright as a beetroot. “We’re both tired. The wedding isn’t far off, thank heaven, and it’s tradition, you know…virgin bride and all that.” He spun his fork between his fingers. “It’s a gift. And…well, you might not know…but I can give you the same.”

  She didn’t blink. Almost as if she couldn’t help it, her smile grew, but she didn’t speak until his anxious fingers twitched and nearly dropped the fork. She shook her head. “How like you, Jasper—” Breaking off she hid her mouth with her fingers. “Treating your honor like a guilty secret! I hope you’re not a prude!”

  He flushed deeper but didn’t have time to
reply because she was out of her chair, walking around the table and taking possession of his lap. “How wonderful you are.” She smoothed his hair. “I am not the least surprised.”

  It shouldn’t be possible, he thought, to be so sensitive to the cadences of one voice or for the touch of her fingers on his freshly shaved cheek to completely hypnotize him. “I shall be the first then.” She sounded pleased.

  “The only,” he said, liking the way she fit in his lap and the way it put her face level with his own. “That’s what I’ve always interpreted marriage to mean. Don’t you?”

  “Unequivocally. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well, it was a little embarrassing, with you so set on being my mistress.”

  Laura laughed. “You kept your secret very close.”

  “Only wanted to share it once,” he told her. “And who would believe it? Come on. Time for bed.”

  He had ordered a separate room for Laura across the hall, but at this point he didn’t care what the staff at the inn might think. Servants were such a suspicious lot—may as well give them something to chew over. Ignoring the maid trundling down the hallway with an armful of freshly folded linen, he captured Laura’s hand and pulled her into the room after him, winking when the maid gasped. It was most satisfying to shut the door and turn the bolt. “Come here,” he said to Laura. He could kiss her once more. He had strength, but only enough for that.

  Not for long, though. “Time to sleep,” Laura said, drifting away.

  “Yes, I think so,” he agreed with a yawn. He helped her out of her coat. Perhaps it should have felt erotic, but in his current state it was more a sleepy promise of pleasures to come. Laura, too fatigued to pay much heed to whatever currents he might be feeling, merely stretched, toed off her shoes and, still wearing her breeches and shirt, rolled onto the bed, the musty smelling mattress deflating beneath her.

  He let out a strangled sound, so she looked up, taking in the horrified expression on his face. “The bed’s not so bad,” she assured him. “If you’re as tired as you say, you won’t be uncomfortable for long.”