by Donna Hatch
She focused her gaze on the chessboard as heat spread over her face and neck. “How did you know?”
“You looked pretty cozy each time I saw you with him—especially when he turned pages for you at the pianoforte.”
She pretended to study the chessboard without really seeing it. “Yes, I’m sure we did.”
She took one of his pawns with her knight, and he took her knight with his bishop. She winced; she should have anticipated that better.
As she contemplated her next move, he broke into her thoughts again. “Pray, what, exactly, do you feel for him? Do you see him as some kind of brave rescuer now?” He leaned back in his chair.
“It’s more than that. We’ve had some very telling conversations. He’s a good man. Did you know he fought in the war?”
“Yes, I know. I called in a few favors and made some inquiries about him when he first showed up here.”
“Oh.” Of course her father would be cautious with gentlemen who came into contact with her. When her first suitor turned out to be a fortune hunter, Papa had grown more cautious with other suitors.
“As to his service record,” Papa said, “he served heroically—earning several medals. He was a member of a special force, was captured, tortured, rescued...”
“Tortured?” She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Apparently he bears scars on more than his face. The war ended before he had recovered enough to return to the field.”
She nodded to show she was listening, her interest in the game waning.
“No one knows much about him except that he keeps to himself and is rumored to aid Bow Street with specific cases from time to time.”
She nodded again. “Yes, I was aware of that as well.”
“And now he suddenly takes an interest in our family.”
She said nothing. He waited. What could she tell him that would still keep Grant’s confidence?
“I believed I have formed an attachment for him,” she admitted softly, unable to confess that she loved him, not when they hadn’t properly courted. “He’s…different. He has great depth.”
He rested his elbows on the chair arms and clasped his hands together. “My child, I would be the last man to deny any measure of happiness to a returning war hero. But you must know, some men return home so broken that they cannot give or receive love.”
“I do not doubt that he has suffered much, and that he is careful with his heart. But I have seen great kindness in him—the way he helped me when I was so distraught about the Johnson baby, for one. Did you know his valet used to be a street urchin who tried to pick Grant’s pocket? Instead of turning him over to the authorities, Grant gave him a job. He’s unconventional, but goes around doing much good.”
His eyes glittered in the lamplight. “So now he’s Grant, is he?”
She smiled guiltily. “He hasn’t given me leave to call him by his Christian name.” But he was Grant in her thoughts.
“And you view him as sort of dark knight?”
She smiled that her father had chosen the same title she had. “In a way.”
Her father rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Dark knights are rogues, following their own code and not always trustworthy.”
“I trust him. I’ve seen into his heart and I know he is a man of honor.”
“Does he return your esteem?”
A myriad of moments they’d shared flickered through her mind, his small touches, and his instinctive rescue of her, his tenderness when she’d been distraught over the stillborn baby, his quiet understanding when they’d spoken at the pianoforte. His indescribable kiss.
“Yes, I believe he does.”
“Am I to expect a visit from him soon, then?”
She let out a sigh. “No, I think you are right that he finds it hard to give or receive love. But I hope, perhaps, I may one day earn his trust.”
He said nothing more and they returned to their game. A few moves later, he called out, “Check.”
Jocelyn rallied but she’d lost too many pieces and had nothing well placed. Three moves later, he placed her in checkmate.
She smiled ruefully. “Well played.”
As they set up the pieces for a future game, her father said, “Do you recall that your aunt’s dinner party is Friday?”
“Yes, I look forward to it.” She lined her pawns up in a neat row.
“Ruby asked me if I wish to invite Lady Everett as well, but that would give her an uneven number. Shall I encourage her to invite Grant Amesbury?”
She paused. “I don’t think he’s very comfortable in social settings.”
He continued setting up his pieces. “That matches with what I heard about him. But he seemed to do well at our house party.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. He’d been investigating then. Would he accept an ordinary social setting? “She can certainly invite him, but I cannot promise he will accept.”
“Nor should you answer for him.”
She smiled and kissed her father good night.
He said, “Jocelyn, most men are reluctant to let go of their independence and marry. I remember being intimidated by that prospect, but also at the daunting idea that my actions would result in the happiness or misery of the lady I was growing to love. If your Mr. Amesbury is truly the one for you, it will take some patience and persistence on your part.”
“I know.” She leaned on the doorframe. “I’m just not sure how to go about it without appearing overly forward. Or desperate.”
“I have complete faith in you.”
She went back and hugged him. “I love you, Papa.”
“And I love you. Always.” He held her close, the safety of his arms and the scent of his jacket transporting her back to childhood, if only for a moment.
Haunted by dreams of trying to find something elusive and always out of reach, Jocelyn woke cold and tired, despite the glorious sunny day, and with a burning need to talk to Aunt Ruby. She hurried through her morning routine and arrived on her aunt’s doorstep earlier than strictly proper for a social call. She found her aunt poring over papers on her desk, her faithful dog, Max, lying at her feet.
The collie mix raised his head at Jocelyn’s entrance and barked a quiet greeting.
Aunt Ruby beamed. “Good morning, sweeting.”
“I hope you don’t mind my coming so early.”
“You know I don’t.”
Jocelyn leaned down and scratched Max behind the ears. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Time had turned his muzzle white, but he looked at her with bright eyes and thumped his tail.
“What brings you here so early?” Aunt Ruby set down her pen and capped her inkwell.
Suddenly unsure of what to say, Jocelyn hesitated. She pretended to make a study of the sitting room and admiring the flowers in the vase.
Her aunt peered into her face. “Are you well?”
“Yes, Aunt.”
“And your father?”
“Oh, yes.”
Ruby nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Chocolate is just the thing, I think—with sugar and cream?”
Jocelyn smiled. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
Her aunt called for a tray and they found a spot on a gold and cream striped settee near a window where they might enjoy the beautiful spring morning in the diminutive Town garden. Max moved to lie at Aunt Ruby’s feet once again.
“Now then, sweeting, tell me what is on your mind. Or shall I guess: Grant Amesbury?”
Jocelyn’s words came out in a rush. “I’m in love with him.”
Aunt Ruby nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
“I’m certain he returns my regard, but he is very cautious, and even denies there is anything between us.”
Jocelyn told her everything except events related to the murder plot. Aunt Ruby nodded, listening without speaking. A maid entered with a tray laden with chocolate, sugar, cream, scones, and fruit.
In between sips of chocolate, Jocelyn related Grant’s reaction to s
ounds resembling gunfire and what he told her about himself, and how the deaths of the men he’d killed haunted him. She described her kiss. Then his.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “It was the single most glorious experience of my life. Everything we shared led up that perfect moment. He was so passionate. And the heat in his eyes afterward…I cannot begin to describe it. Then it all went wrong. I might have imagined it, but for an instant, he looked almost afraid. And then it was as if he put on a mask. He backed away and he tried to tell me it was meaningless. But I don’t believe him. He’s just not ready to accept what is between us yet.”
“Perhaps he needs time.”
“And it gets worse. One of his friends told me that Grant was in love during the war but that the woman betrayed him to the French.”
Aunt Ruby let out a gasp. “Oh, that poor man. So that’s what it is about him. He probably views women as deceitful.” She set down her cup and saucer and wrapped her arm around Jocelyn’s shoulders.
Jocelyn whispered, “Papa said that after he was captured, they tortured him.”
A sob broke free as Jocelyn ached for all he’d suffered. A renewed resentment arose within her for Napoleon—the greedy devil who dared call himself emperor, who’d waged war for so many years, causing such loss and pain to so many. Captivity was too good for such a monster.
Aunt Ruby sat silently, simply holding her for several long moments. Finally she spoke gently, “Oh, sweeting, you have chosen a very hard man to love. He has many wounds that have not healed. And if he’s bitter, they may not ever heal.”
“I love him, all his strengths and all his hurts. I have so much love that I want to give him, if he’ll only let me.”
“I know. And I can’t blame you. That vulnerability inside, combined with such a tough exterior, is very appealing, isn’t it? And it doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome.” A sad playfulness touched her tone.
Jocelyn let out a half-sob, half-laugh as she pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and dried her tears.
Ruby held her tighter. “We must make him see that he needs you and loves you.”
“I don’t know how.” Jocelyn sighed. “He came to the house a few days ago on business but he wouldn’t accept my invitation to stay for dinner. He hasn’t come since. I don’t know if he’ll ever come back. I wish it weren’t unacceptable for ladies to call upon gentlemen.”
Still holding her, Aunt Ruby rested her head on Jocelyn’s. “Sweeting, are you sure about him? I know why you love him but I must tell you that a relationship with him will be extremely difficult. He’s like a wounded animal; he will strike and retreat at any sign of perceived danger.”
“I can’t help myself, Aunt. I love him, all of him. Besides, I have never backed down from a challenge.”
Aunt Ruby laughed softly. “No, you certainly have not.”
Max shifted positions and lay his head on his feet. Outside a bird sang with all its heart while a breeze ruffled the curtains, bringing the scent of roses climbing the wall outside the window.
“When I was thirteen,” Aunt Ruby said, loosening her hold on Jocelyn. “I found a wounded dog. His fur was matted and filthy, and he was half-starved. Life had not been kind to him. He snarled and growled and wouldn’t let me near him, though he was gravely injured.”
Jocelyn shifted and gave her aunt her full attention.
Aunt Ruby’s gaze seemed to look into the past. “My father would have put a bullet into the poor animal to end his suffering but I felt compelled to save him. I could have gone to my mother. As an experienced healer, she certainly could have helped him. But I wanted to do it myself. So I got some herbs that my mother used to help patients sleep when they were in pain, and I stuffed them inside some fresh meat. Then I took it to him and left it where he could reach it, along with some water.”
Jocelyn watched her aunt, curious as to where the story would take her. Her gaze flicked to the collie dozing at her aunt’s feet.
“He snarled and snapped at me as I left the food and water, and I had to leap out of his reach. I waited. He watched me, wary, and reluctant to accept my offering, but he finally lapped up the water and ate the meat. When he was too drowsy from the herbs to fight me, I cleaned and his treated his wounds.”
Jocelyn listened silently, absorbing the story and the emotion her aunt wove into it.
“The next day, I brought him more food and water. I returned every day. Eventually he stopped growling at me, and started wagging his tail when I came. He became my staunchest friend. When he had healed, he followed me everywhere, and guarded me so closely that my mother considered him an acceptable chaperone. He has been my friend and companion for fourteen years—one of my best sources of comfort after your uncle passed.” She leaned down at patted the dog’s head. He opened his eyes and thumped his tail.
“I never knew that’s how you got Max,” Jocelyn said.
“It was hard to win him over at first. It took a lot of time and patience and persistence, but he is worth it.”
Jocelyn nodded, admiring the beautiful collie mix who’d been such a staunch friend to her aunt after her act of kindness to him. “How do I win over a man? I can’t exactly put herbs in his meat.”
Aunt Ruby huffed her amusement. “No, but we can invite him to our events. I suspect small, informal gatherings would be more appealing than grander affairs to a recluse like him.” Aunt Ruby looked her in the eye. “It will be up to him to partake of our offering, just as Max had to decide to eat and drink what I brought him. And he’ll have to choose to trust you with his heart. All you can do is prove to him you are worthy of his trust.”
“Well, he did trust me with some of his past.”
“Then you are on the right path.” She smiled. “I am proud of you, niece. I wouldn’t have thought you were brave enough to kiss him. You might have to continue to be bold to reach him. Bold and persistent.”
“I know. I don’t mind. He reciprocates well.” She grinned unrepentantly
Aunt Ruby gave a lusty laugh. “When I got your father’s note, I sent an invitation by special messenger inviting Mr. Amesbury to tomorrow night’s dinner party. And I’ll put some thought into what else we can do to entice him to join our company so you can ply your charm on him. If that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll just hit him over the head and tell him he’s an idiot if he doesn’t see you for the wonderful young lady you are.”
Jocelyn chuckled. “Thank you, Aunt. I appreciate your support, but I believe his poor head has been battered quite enough—he got a concussion when the saved me from falling down the stairs.”
Ruby winced. “Quite right.” She laid a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m sorry your mother isn’t here to guide you through this, sweeting, but I’m so happy that you knew you could confide in me.”
“I am, too.”
They put their heads together and planned several small social events that either Aunt Ruby or Jocelyn’s father could use as an invitation for Grant Amesbury to join them. If he chose to decline them all, Jocelyn would have to get more creative, and less conventional, to win Grant’s trust.
Chapter 23
Standing in the main room of his bachelor’s rooms, Grant glared at the invitation in mixed distaste and disbelief. “I’ve been invited to a dinner party.”
Clark laughed. “You lived through all those other social events. A dinner party won’t kill you, eh?”
“Those were for a case.”
“So? Pretend this is a case.”
“Why?” Grant snarled.
“Food will probably be good. Pretty girls will be there.”
Grant grunted. Ruby Shaw had specified that her brother, Mr. Fairley, and her niece, Jocelyn, would be present at the ‘small, informal dinner aboard her boat.’ As if a dinner party aboard a boat could be informal.
Jocelyn would be there. For a split-second, he toyed with temptation. No. Best to avoid her evermore. He’d cleared her father of suspicion at
least in his own mind and Bow Street was exploring other leads. Grant had no further reason to associate with her. In fact, he thought of a dozen reasons why spending time in her company would be foolish, despite what Barnes would say. Besides, every member of the ton declined invitations once in a while.
Grant tamped down the part of him longing for another evening in Jocelyn’s presence. Instead, he scribbled a note, expressing his regrets and handed it to Clark. “Take this to Mrs. Shaw.”
The boy paused, eyeing Grant doubtfully. “You sure?”
Grant bristled.
Clark held up a hand. “I know it ain’t my place to say, but what I heard about Miss Fairley belowstairs, and what I saw for myself, she’s a right lady.”
“Clark.”
The boy threw up his arms. “All right, all right.”
All morning, Grant wrestled with memories of Jocelyn and dreams of the future, what they might have together if he dared. Would trusting her—loving her—be an act of courage, or of supreme stupidity? One moment, thoughts of a future with her enfolded him in a warmth and contentment. The next moment, he broke out into a cold sweat.
A few hours later, a second invitation arrived. This one came from Mr. Fairley inviting him to a family dinner with no mention of boats. Grant deliberated longer. Should he? Could he?
No. Even if Jocelyn turned out to be as genuine and loving as she appeared, she needed a whole man with a whole heart.
Yet, this party would be at the Fairley residence. Barnes would want Grant to accept an opportunity to earn an invitation to the meetings. If someone close to Fairley were involved, this might give him another chance to learn the truth.
Someone knocked. A messenger handed a small note to Clark with the type of stationery Barnes favored and sealed with his stamp. Clark grew sober and handed it to Grant immediately.
Inside, heavy, angry writing scrawled across the page.
Connolly dead. Shipment gone. No leads.
B
The news hit Grant like a fist to the gut. They’d killed the Runner he’d left to watch the warehouse and had taken the guns. Grant cursed and rubbed his eyes. Connolly. A strong life, full of purpose, snuffed out. If Grant had watched the warehouse instead of leaving the task to a Runner, would Grant now be dead? Or would his instincts have protected him? Either way, the young Connolly with the instincts of a seasoned veteran, would be alive.
