Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  She scrutinized the two brothers again, curious as to their similarities and differences. Occasionally, she chatted with Jack, and he was always scrupulously polite, but she had trouble moving beyond his domineering behavior on her wedding day.

  Had he seduced Sarah? If so, why hadn't he stepped forward to propose?

  At the notion that he might be trifling with her sister, Anne decided she should speak with the earl. Jamie enjoyed reminding everyone that he was in charge, so she'd give him a chance to prove how much power and authority he actually had.

  If Mr. Merrick and Sarah were involved, then another Merrick brother needed to tie the knot—and quickly.

  Anne walked out to the verandah and down into the yard, watching Jamie as she neared. Where she was concerned, he'd developed a second sense, and as she approached, he spun toward her. His gaze was so hot and so potent that she was weak in the knees, and she pondered—as she often did—how she'd survived before he'd burst into her life.

  She kept coming until she was directly in front of him. Her skirt swirled around his legs and she could smell the sweat on his skin. His brother had vanished like smoke, though she couldn't have said when, so they were alone. Not caring who might see, she brazenly wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him to her, and she rose on tiptoe for a stirring kiss that he was happy to bestow.

  He was surprised by the bold gesture, but humored, too, and he reveled in the embrace, being so thorough that he curled her toes.

  They were the talk of the neighborhood. The scandalous news—that the earl and countess were wild for each other—had spread hither and yon, but she wasn't bothered by the gossip. The tongue-waggers could all go hang!

  "Lord Gladstone?" she greeted, and he chuckled at her formal mode of address. "Yes, Lady Gladstone?"

  "Is your brother having an affair with my sister?"

  He cocked his head, as if he hadn't heard her correctly; then he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

  "Would he?"

  "Well, he is my brother."

  "Which means he probably is."

  "He hasn't confided in me, though. What makes you wonder about them?"

  "It's nothing important. I'd just like you to speak to him for me. Would you?"

  "For you, my dearest Anne, I would do anything. You know that."

  "Anything? Hmm...."

  She grabbed his hand and started for the house. "Where are we going?" Jamie inquired, following along like a trained pony.

  "You did say anything, didn't you?" "Yes."

  "I want to see if you're serious."

  "Now?"

  "Yes, now."

  He glanced back at the barn. "I'm a tad busy."

  "I need you to attend me. Immediately."

  She kept on, leading him to precisely where she wanted him to be, though not nearly fast enough. Between the spot where they were and the spot where they'd end up, there had to be a thousand stairs, each one a petty delay that seemed ridiculous.

  Perhaps they should just bring their bed down to the front parlor and save all the climbing.

  "I've created a monster," he muttered as she dragged him into the manor.

  She glared over her shoulder. "Are you complaining?''

  "Not complaining," he said. "Merely stating the facts."

  She reached the stairs, and they ran up together.

  »

  M

  y wife asked me the strangest question." "What is that?" Jack turned to look at Jamie. "She wants to know if you're having an affair with her sister."

  "Nosy little wench, isn't she?" "She is at that."

  Jack kept his expression carefully blank and sipped at his whiskey.

  It was early evening, the two of them out on the verandah and discussing the estate before supper, which had become a nightly ritual. Yet Jack vividly remembered when Anne had leaned out a window while they'd been discussing her. Jamie's comments had caused a peck of trouble, and Jack wouldn't make the same mistake.

  While Jack usually told Jamie everything, and couldn't recall when he'd last had a secret from his brother, he hadn't confessed about Sarah. He and Jamie had an acute mental connection, and frequently they thought the same thoughts at the same moment, so it was pointless to conceal information from him. Still, for reasons Jack didn't understand, he hadn't mentioned his trysting with Sarah. Nor had he explained about her being Tim's mother, and he couldn't fathom why he hadn't. Women—and his and Jamie's peccadilloes with them—were a common topic of conversation, so Jack's reticence was baffling. Why couldn't he say anything?

  "So ... are you?" Jamie pressed.

  "I might be."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means I might be."

  Jamie scowled. "You might be fucking her? You might not? You're thinking about it? What? Don't you know?"

  Jack peeked around, searching for eavesdroppers but seeing none. "I've had sex with her a few times." "Really?"

  "Yes, and if you tell your wife, I'll cut out your tongue, then slice off your balls."

  As if the bloodletting were about to begin, Jamie held up his palms in a sign of surrender.

  "She won't hear it from me."

  "She better not."

  "What's she like?" Jamie crudely queried. "Is she any good under the covers?"

  "Shut up, or I'll knock your teeth out, too."

  "All right, all right." Jamie studied him, amazed by Jack's surly attitude. "Since she's my sister-in-law, I suppose I ought to learn if you have any intentions toward her."

  "Intentions!"

  "You know what those are, don't you?" "Don't be a smart-ass."

  "Is she going to wind up pregnant? Should I be demanding a wedding?"

  Jack shrugged, refusing to discuss Sarah or his insane attraction to her.

  She was everything he loathed in a female—fickle, flighty, unreliable, moody—and he couldn't comprehend why he'd been bewitched.

  Like a puppet on a string, he kept crawling back to her bed, each fornication dragging him deeper into the morass. Every time he trifled with her, he told himself it would be the last, but the second he saw her again, he instantly capitulated. He was so weak!

  "So there's nothing to worry about," Jamie said. "No, nothing."

  Except for vicious rumor, scandal, another illegitimate child, plus the chance of the countess's sister being exposed as a fallen woman.

  "If I asked Miss Carstairs her opinion about your behavior, what do you imagine her version would be?"

  "If you ask her anything—if you so much as glance in her direction—I'll kick your ass from here to Jamaica."

  "My, my," Jamie mused, and he whistled softly. "You're hooked like a fish on a line."

  "I am not," Jack insisted. "She's very nice, and we've passed some pleasant hours together. That's all there is to it."

  If he believed in Hell, which he didn't, he was positive the huge lie would have guaranteed he spent an eternity there. He had jumbled but potent feelings for Sarah and would have proposed immediately if he'd thought she'd have him—but she never would.

  He was a vagabond and uncouth sailor, who had naught to show for himself but the fact that he was Jamie's brother. Jack had nothing to offer a snooty, refined lady like Sarah Carstairs, and he wouldn't humiliate himself by giving her an opportunity to spurn him.

  Jamie was about to start in with another ribald, offensive remark that would have had Jack out of his chair and eager for an all-out brawl, but an altercation was avoided because Sarah stepped onto the verandah.

  Jamie peered over at her and grinned. He had the look

  of the devil in his eye. Jack had seen that look before, and he knew it well. If Jamie could stir up trouble, he would, and there was no predicting what he might say.

  Jack braced for a catastrophe.

  "Hello, Miss Carstairs," Jamie welcomed, as he and Jack stood.

  "Hello, Lord Gladstone." She was as formal as if they'd been loitering in a fussy London drawing room.

  "A
re you ever going to let me call you Sarah?" Jamie inquired.

  "Probably not," she coolly replied.

  Jamie laughed at the insult and gestured to the chair across from him. "Won't you join us?"

  "I'm sure she'd rather not," Jack quickly interjected, and he flashed such a churlish glare at Sarah that he was certain she'd take the hint and scurry off, but Jamie added, "We were just talking about you."

  With that bit of news provided, she couldn't resist sauntering over.

  "What is there about me," she asked, "that could possibly interest you two?"

  Without preamble, Jamie said, "Jack has advised me that you're having a sexual affair with him. Is it true?"

  Sarah turned white with shock and muttered, "He told you that?"

  "Yes," Jamie answered. "I questioned him about his intentions toward you, but he claims he has none, and I wanted to hear your opinion. Would you like him to marry you? If it's what you wish, I'll make him propose."

  She spun to Jack and seethed, "You told him?" Jack felt like a fly caught in a spider's web. "He's my twin brother," Jack pathetically justified. "I tell him everything."

  "Everything?" She was aghast.

  "Well... not anything about... ah ..."

  "You, Mr. Merrick, are an unmitigated bastard."

  For the second time in their convoluted relationship, she slapped him as hard as she could; then she whipped away and stomped to the house.

  As she reached the door, Jamie called after her, "I take it that means no!”

  "I'm not my foolish sister, Lord Gladstone. I wouldn't marry one of you Merricks if my life depended on it."

  As the sound of her angry strides vanished, Jamie sighed and said, "She doesn't like me very much."

  "Who does?" Jack responded.

  "Yeah, well, she doesn't seem too keen on you, either."

  "Bugger off."

  "I'll send a note to the vicar," Jamie taunted. "I'll have him check his schedule, so we'll know when he's available to preside at the ceremony."

  "Go screw yourself blind."

  Jack stomped away, too, Jamie's laughter ringing in his ears.

  Let me in." "No. Go away." "Let me in, or I'll beat the door down." Sarah stared at the knob as Jack rattled it, then began to pound on the wood.

  "It's your choice, Sarah. You can open it, or I'll keep on till the entire household comes up to see why there's such a commotion."

  He would, too; she had no doubt. If she was overly obstinate, he'd simply kick his way in as his brother liked to do.

  Jamie and Jack Merrick were a pair of contemptible, uncivilized scoundrels. They would do anything to a woman, without regard to the consequences. Who could gainsay them?

  She stormed over and hissed, "Be silent."

  "I'll be silent once you open up."

  She fumbled with the lock, yanked at the knob, then grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. She didn't peer down the hall to see if any of the maids were lurking, for she was too terrified to know. After so many years spent guarding her reputation, if she lost it now because of such a blackguard, she'd be driven to commit murder and at the moment a messy, unrestrained act of homicide would suit her just fine.

  "What do you want?" she demanded. "And might I suggest that you be quick about it?"

  "I didn't confide any pertinent details to my brother."

  "Oh, that definitely makes me feel better." "I didn't! I swear it!" "Then how did he know?"

  "Your sister asked him about us, so he asked me. I "couldn't deny it."

  "What? You can't lie to the miserable oaf?"

  "I never have before, and I'm not about to start."

  "Perhaps you should consider turning over a new leaf. I won't have that horse's ass meddling in my private business."

  Gad! What a disaster. Jamie knew, so Anne would know shortly. What would Anne say? What would she think? How would Sarah ever justify her conduct?

  She couldn't believe how she'd dawdled in the parlor with Anne, the two of them mooning over Jamie and Jack Merrick as if they were handsome gods, instead of mortal men with plenty of flaws. Sarah hadn't meant to comment on Jack's flogging scars, and the words had slipped out before she could stop them.

  Without her realizing it, Jack had become an obsession. She drooled over him. She fretted over him. She was so fixated that she could barely eat or sleep.

  "Jamie may be an ass, but he was correct," Jack said.

  "About what?"

  "You have to marry me."

  As far as proposals went, it had to be the most cold, unfeeling one ever uttered, and she was incensed.

  She'd waited her whole life to wed, had dreamed of it as a girl and yearned for it as a woman. Once, she'd risked all—chastity, reputation, safety, security—in the hopes of having it happen, and finally there was a man who'd mustered the gumption to proceed, but he looked as if he'd bitten into a rotten egg.

  "Marry ... you?" she scoffed.

  Her tone was much more snide than she'd intended, but she was irate and hurt, and she spoke without reflecting on how she'd sound. As she might have predicted, he didn't react well.

  He blanched as if she'd slapped him all over again.

  "What if you're pregnant?"

  "What if I am?" she blithely retorted, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if the frightening possibility weren't gnawing at her every second.

  "Your history proves that you're awfully fertile."

  "Yes, it does. I seem to breed like a rabbit."

  "Aren't you worried?" He studied her, his temper as hot as her own. "Or maybe you don't mind. Maybe you'll spit out another bastard and be done with it."

  "It's what I'm best at," she sarcastically replied.

  "At least this time, the father offered to stay around. When you disavow another of your children, what will your excuse be?"

  It was the most despicable, hateful thing anyone had ever said to her. She understood that he was livid, that they were quarreling and ought to shut up till cooler heads prevailed, but common sense was nowhere in sight.

  She wanted to slap him again, and she wanted to keep on slapping him till his cheek was raw and her palm bruised. She wanted to find a whip and beat him to a bloody pulp. She wanted to fire a pistol into the center of his cruel heart and smirk as he fell dead on the floor.

  "Get out," she snarled.

  "No."

  "Get out of here—and don't ever return!"

  "I'll be damned if you'll order me out."

  No longer concerned about discovery, she stormed to the door and flung it open.

  "Get out! Get out!" she bellowed like a deranged shrew.

  He thought about arguing, but a maid was coming down the hall. She'd heard the shouting, and she tiptoed to the threshold and peeked in.

  "Are you all right, miss?" the maid asked.

  "I'm just dandy."

  Jack glared at both women, then cursed and marched out without a backward glance. Sarah staggered to the bed and eased down on the mattress.

  The silence settled, and the maid cautiously queried, "Would you like me to fetch your sister, Miss Carstairs?"

  "No, I'm fine. Please close the door on your way out."

  The girl wanted no part of whatever had transpired, and she did as Sarah had requested, then hurried away, no doubt to tattle to the other servants about the scandalous scene she'd witnessed.

  Sarah sat in the quiet, all alone again.

  Seventeen

  Jamie dawdled in the doorway, staring at Anne and rubbing his wrist that was aching like the dickens. She was asleep on the bed, and he couldn't pull himself away.

  It was still early, but the sun had been up for more than an hour. He'd planned to head out before dawn, needing to put as many miles between himself and Gladstone as he was able, but he continued to linger, and he couldn't understand why.

  He'd accomplished everything he'd set out to do. He'd established his ownership, had chased off Percy, had relocated Ophelia and Edith, and had confirmed the
loyalty of the tenants and servants. Anne and Sarah were protected as the Prince had requested. Jack would stay behind and manage Jamie's affairs as Jamie would trust no other to do, so there was no reason to delay.

  He figured it was Anne who kept him from leaving, and the realization was so aggravating. In the beginning, he'd intended to wed her, then go, but it had all grown so complicated.

  The estate was like a living being, his roots in the place deep and abiding—when he didn't want them to be. The fertile soil seemed to have talons that had wrapped around his ankles. They were holding him locked to the property until he could accept his connection to it, but he simply couldn't open himself to the possibility that he belonged at Gladstone.

  He'd spent the summer with Anne, and it had been magnificent, but he had to move on. He had scores to settle, battles to wage, whiskey to drink, women to seduce, and he had to quit tarrying like a besotted idiot. His infatuation with Anne had gotten completely out of control, and if he remained another second, he was terrified of where he'd end up.

  He wouldn't be bound! Wouldn't be tied down or fettered! Not to her or to anyone!

  She stirred and touched the spot where he slumbered next to her, and on discovering that he wasn't there, she frowned. Her auburn hair was strewn across the pillows, and a ray of sunshine made the soft tresses blaze with color.

  He didn't mean to ever return, and suddenly the thought of never seeing her again was the saddest prospect in the world. He rubbed his hand over his heart, feeling as if it was breaking, which was absurd.

  He would be fine without her! Just fine!

  Like an automaton, he stumbled over and eased a hip down on the mattress. She was like a weakness in his blood, and he had no idea why he couldn't shake his need for her, but time and distance would quell her allure, as would a few London strumpets.

  If he felt a stab of disgust at the notion, if he felt a stab of guilt and shame, he pushed them away. His marriage vows were preposterous, and he wouldn't be constrained by them.

  Her pretty eyes fluttered open, and she smiled and stretched.

  "What time is it?" she mumbled.

  "After six already."

  "What are you doing up? And dressed, too! You know I hate it when you get dressed before I have my way with you."