by Donna Hatch
Cole hesitated. “Come to the house. Let Stephens examine you.”
Grant put an arm around Jocelyn. “I’ll see her home first and then come.”
Cole hesitated, but after glancing at Jocelyn, he nodded. “Take my coach. I’ll get a ride home with Jared.”
Inside the coach, Grant sat next to Jocelyn. If she considered the possible taint to her reputation caused by riding in a closed coach with a man, unchaperoned, she gave no indication.
Casting an anxious gaze over him as if reassuring himself he were unharmed, she touched his hand. “I can’t tell you how frightened I was….”
She blinked several times. A tremor went through her body but in typical Jocelyn fashion, she pulled herself together. But she didn’t need to do that alone anymore.
He put an arm around her, careful not to aggravate his injuries, and pulled her against his chest. He wrapped both arms around her. “I…” he took a deep breath but cut it short as fiery pain shot through his ribs. “I thought about you when I was trapped. I couldn’t see or hear, could barely breathe. All I kept thinking about was you.”
She rested her head against him. “I am so relieved you are safe.”
“You shouldn’t have come. You might have been hurt.”
Fiercely she said, “Just try to keep me away.”
Smiling at her stern tone, he kissed the top of her head.
She pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. “I know you are reluctant to accept me and I know you find it hard to trust. I promise I can be patient, but I have to tell you now that I have the chance; I love you.”
He brushed her loose hair away from her face. “Curse me for a fool, but I love you too.”
Her eyes shimmered with moisture but she smiled. Then let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Why, Grant, that was a surprisingly flowery sentiment, coming from you.”
“That’s probably all you’ll ever get.”
She smiled as if she knew better. And in reality, such expressions might come more freely now. He lowered his head and kissed her. The unrestrained passion that he poured upon her, and that came from her in reply, took the strength out of his limbs. As he kissed her over and over, her arms encircled him protectively, possessively. Warmth and comfort filled his entire being. They kissed in a world of silent bliss, and all coherent thought fled except the sweet knowledge that he loved her and that she truly, deeply, genuinely loved him. And that was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.
Chapter 32
Jocelyn sat in the morning parlor on a settee next to Grant. In the morning’s harsh light, every cut and bruise on Grant’s face stood out in glaring testament of the horrific events of the previous night. She swallowed, reliving how close she’d come to losing him, and thanked her maker for preserving his life.
Her father sat opposite them next to Mr. Barnes, the Magistrate of Bow Street. The two of them exchanged guarded, uncomfortable looks at each other.
“We tracked down and captured all the leaders of the Freedom Fighters,” Mr. Barnes said. “And we rounded up about a dozen others who were helping them. They were all working class, and a few cutthroats, all claiming they wanted a better England.”
Jocelyn shook her head. A better England by committing treason and murder and leaving the country without leadership sounded like a prelude to another tyrant like Napoleon seizing control. She shivered.
“None were in the upper classes, then?” Papa asked.
“None.” Mr. Barnes gave her father a weary stare. “I wouldn’t have had you investigated without just cause. And I did everything to be discreet, which is why I enlisted Amesbury’s help.”
“I understand.” Papa held out a hand. “I’m sorry about the way things turned out between us.”
“I am, as well.” Barnes took his hand and then arose. “I have a number of criminals to process at Bow Street, so if you’ll excuse me, I bid you all good day.”
After they said good-bye and Mr. Barnes left, Jocelyn gave into temptation and slipped her hand into Grant’s. He curled his fingers around hers. His eyes softened and an affectionate smile curved his lips.
“Well, that rather wraps it all up,” Papa said.
Jocelyn still couldn’t believe the ruthlessness of trying to kill the prime minister and the cabinet, nor the way they’d planned to do it. If Grant hadn’t acted when he did…
She rested her head on Grant’s shoulder, so grateful he’d been spared, and that he sat with her now, that she could hardly speak.
Her father smiled softly at her. His gaze lifted to Grant. “You’re lucky to be alive with only a cracked rib to show for being buried in the wreckage.”
“I am indeed.” Grant kissed the top of Jocelyn’s head. “And I have your daughter to thank for that. I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted.”
He toyed with her bandaged fingers, spreading them out as if to remind himself of what she had sacrificed to search for him.
A mother-bear-type of protectiveness overcame her. “It’s fortunate those criminals are in custody. Every time I think about what they tried to do, including what they tried to do to you both, it makes me want to hunt them down myself.”
Grant tightened his hold on her and exhaled. Then grinned. Grant was grinning. At her. She gaped at him. If she hadn’t been sitting down, the sight might have taken the strength out of her knees. If ever there were an appropriate time to swoon, this would be it.
“You’re so fierce,” he said.
She barely recovered enough to say in an exaggeratedly warning tone, “That’s right, I am. Don’t cross me.”
“Yes ma’am.” With a slight chuckle, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Moving slowly so as not to aggravate his injuries, he put an arm around her.
Grant, holding her, grinning, chuckling, kissing her hand—it seemed a beautiful dream. She hoped never to awaken.
“May I assume that you will shortly be asking to speak to me in private about my daughter?” Papa asked, his eyes still warm.
“Er, yes sir.”
Jocelyn let out a happy sigh and snuggled in closer to Grant’s side. “Does it have to be in private? After all, it is about me.”
Her father smiled indulgently and focused on Grant’s face. “Well?”
Grant paused. “Do I have your permission? Sir?”
Her father though it over. “Are you going to continue to run into buildings that have explosives?”
“If it means saving lives, yes sir, I will. But Barnes and I agreed this would be our last case together. He suggested that I might need to spend my time on more pleasant pursuits. And I agree.” He traced Jocelyn’s hand.
“And you have the means to make my daughter comfortable?”
“I do. I live simply because I have few needs, but I have a goodly portion tucked away that will keep us fed and comfortable. And I own several houses, both in London, and in the country that I let out. We could take residence in any of them. I promise she will never lack.”
“Then I only want to hear one thing: do you love her?”
Grant swallowed, drew a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Very much.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she lay her head on his shoulder. She’d hardly dared hope she’d hear him say those words out loud. But he’d said them twice.
“Jocelyn?” her father asked.
“I love him with all of my heart, Papa.”
Her father’s eyes conveyed a tenderness that exceeded any she’d ever seen from him. “Very well. You have my blessing.”
Jocelyn sprang up and ran to her father, hugging him and kissing his cheek. “I love you, Papa.”
“Be happy, princess.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to tell Aunt Ruby. She’ll want to hear all the details. And start planning the wedding.”
At Grant’s wince, she returned to him and resumed her position. “Not a big wedding, just our family.”
He nodded. “Family suits me.”
She smiled knowingly. “Yes, family s
uits very well.” Then a thought struck her; she was being far too easy on Grant after all he put her through. “Wait.” She put her hands on her hips. “You haven’t actually asked me to marry you.”
He smiled again. “Very well, you demanding wench, will you marry me?”
Pure joy bubbled out of her. “Yes, you grumbly, gruff man. I will.”
Another perfect grin came in reply.
She let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that. But I hope to have opportunity to do so.” She glanced at her father. “Should we hold off a few weeks, perhaps to allow time for a double wedding?”
Her father’s face softened. “I have not yet asked Lady Everett for her hand. You approve, I presume?”
“I do. And she’ll make a fine prime minister’s wife.”
He turned pensive. “I’ve decided to remove myself from candidacy and step down from the House of Commons.”
She shot out of her seat. “What?”
“Like your Grant, I’ve decided to turn my attention to more pleasant diversions.”
Her Grant. She liked the sound of that.
Papa continued. “In pursuing a political career, I was attempting to fill a void. But I’ve found a way to fill it. And…” he chewed his lower lip. “I recently learned that my supporters were overzealous. Nothing is worth that.”
“What happened?”
“One of them was spreading rumors about my opponents, casting doubt on their characters. It would be dishonorable to take the position only because my competition had been unjustly removed from consideration.”
Jocelyn thought back. “Is that what I overheard at the house party about ruining innocent men?”
“It is. They were planning to besmirch the characters of both Lord Liverpool and Mr. Redding so I would be viewed as the most obvious replacement.”
“Was it Mr. Dawson?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps it is better you not know. I don’t want you to think poorly of anyone.”
“Please, Papa.”
He held up a hand. “I feel strongly about this.”
Papa was right; she probably ought not know who had concocted such an underhanded plan or it would surely color her opinion of that person.
Jocelyn settled back down next to Grant. “I’m disheartened that they’d stoop to such an underhanded scheme.”
“As am I.” Papa said. “But at least we can rest assured they were not involved in the conspiracy. As you see, I have more than one reason not to advance my political career. And Lady Everett mentioned how much she’s always wanted to visit Italy. I envision a lengthy honeymoon—if she’ll have me.”
“Oh, I’m persuaded she will happily have you.”
All Jocelyn’s efforts to help her father achieve his political goals, all those dinner parties, the ball, it all faded away to meaningless tasks. But then, perhaps they had served a purpose after all; they had brought her father and Lady Everett together. And they had brought Grant into her life. He was worth all her efforts.
She touched Grant’s cheek, admiring the strength in his jaw, the contours of his face. His gaze remained focused on her, so soft, so warm. Love shone there, clear and un-shuttered. However did she earn the love of this handsome, remarkable man?
His mouth curved into a true smile, soft and intimate. “How soon can we marry?”
Giddy over the sight of his smile, she said, impishly, “Well, the banns must be read, so at least two weeks…”
A devilish glint came into his eyes. “Not with a special license.”
“But those are difficult to get.”
“My brother is an earl.” His mouth curved wickedly.
“Ohhhhh. How about tomorrow?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
As if forgetting that her father sat nearby, or perhaps not caring, he kissed her again, giving her another taste of all the pent-up love he’d saved for her.
She’d never been so happy.
Epilogue
Grant shot a wry smile at Jocelyn and patted her hand resting on his arm. With his chest puffed out in pride, he led her toward the drawing room of the Tarrington London House.
Tonight would be the first time they’d paid any social call since their wedding last month. Reluctant to share even a minute of Jocelyn’s attention with anyone, he’d grudgingly agreed to attend a family dinner. Jocelyn had been gracious about having a former prostitute for a cook, and Maggie’s culinary skills had kept them content, but perhaps they ought to step outside the house once in a while.
Turning to her, he touched Jocelyn’s cheek, leaned in, and kissed her softly. “You look beautiful, love.”
Her warm smile turned sultry. “You look delicious.” She nuzzled the hollow behind his ear.
He laughed uneasily, battling the desire to drag her off into a dark corner and mess up her perfectly coiffed hairstyle. “Lusty wench. Are you giving me an excuse to take you back home, or maybe even just back to the coach?”
She grinned unrepentantly. “Do you need an excuse?”
“No.” He grabbed her as if to throw her over his shoulder.
Chuckling, she swatted his hands. “Behave yourself. We promised your family we’d dine with them tonight. We can leave early, if we wish.”
“Oh, I wish,” he said breathlessly.
She kissed him quickly and made a point of turning them both toward the open doorway. At the entrance, he stopped. His family, people he loved most in all the world—next to Jocelyn of course—gathered in the comfortable room filled with lamplight and candles.
Cole stood in near the mantel with his wife, Alicia, whose figure had already returned to the shape it had been before she gave birth to their baby. Dressed in evening wear that would put Beau Brummell to shame, and comfortable in the center of attention, Cole stood in the middle of the room. With his eyes glittering, he delivered the punchline of his story. “So, I said, ‘With friends like that, who needs pirates?’”
Everyone laughed.
A chuckling Jared, looking as much like Cole’s twin as ever, right down to the cut of his frockcoat, sat with his arm around his wife, Elise, who snuggled in against him.
“Did you tell them we had more cutlasses in the ship?” Jared asked.
Cole chuckled. “I should have.”
His youngest brother, Christian, and his wife of only a few months, Genevieve, sat on a settee together, his golden head close to her auburn curls, their hands intertwined. Christian caught Grant’s glance. His little brother nodded a greeting. Then he gave Grant a full grin. Grant wondered what kind of unholy pleasure the pup was enjoying.
Odd, but sometime over the years, Grant had stopped wishing for Christian’s demise, half-heartedly or otherwise. He’d even sprang to action several months ago to protect Christian when someone had tried to kill him. Somehow defeating a villain together had allowed them to call a ceasefire, even a reconciliation of sorts. He’d actually stopped blaming Christian for Jason’s death. Christian’s dare had been a simple childish challenge, not the work of a heartless blackguard. Grant had forgiven him, even when Christian hadn’t truly been to blame.
He’d even relinquished his rage at Isabel. She must have felt justified in taking revenge against the assassin who killed her father. He couldn’t truly blame her motivation.
Grant had never felt more at peace. It was all due to Jocelyn’s soothing, optimistic influence, no doubt.
His twin sisters, Margaret and Rachel, sat next to a window, Margaret’s husband nowhere to be seen. The bounder was probably out with his mistress or gambling away his fortune. With any luck, he’d drink himself to death and spare Margaret the pain of a life with the lout.
Rachel, who’d long ago embraced her spinsterhood, waved a copy of her newest book about herbs at Margaret. Rachel let out a scoffing noise. “…not that Cambridge would be open-minded enough to allow a woman to give a lecture in their hallowed halls.”
“One day they will,” Margaret said.
&n
bsp; Mr. Fairley and Lady Everett stood behind the settee occupying his youngest brother. It was considerate of Alicia to include Jocelyn’s father and stepmother-to-be at the family gathering. Mr. Fairley and Lady Everett stood close enough to touch, their heads together, murmuring softly, possibly discussing their upcoming marriage, an event that Jocelyn seemed to view with great joy.
Cole’s gaze lit on Grant. A grin lightened his expression but he quickly covered it with mock solemnity. “Grant and Jocelyn. Welcome.”
The murmur of conversation died down. Instead of calling out greetings, everyone went silent as Cole poured glasses of champagne and handed them around to everyone.
He raised his glass. “To Grant, who saved England, and to Jocelyn, who saved Grant.”
Everyone toasted. Grant gaped, then scowled. “Saved England,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What rot.”
But as he gazed at Jocelyn who smiled at him with a purer love than he’d ever dreamed, he had to admit Cole was half right. Jocelyn had, indeed saved Grant.
Author’s notes:
The murder plot in The Suspect’s Daughter was inspired by a true event in England known as the Cato Street Conspiracy, which thankfully, was averted largely in part due to an undercover Bow Street Runner whose name I never learned. This event happened in 1820, the same year my book takes place. In my original plot, Mr. Redding, the contender no one believed was a contender, was meant to be the bad guy—the brains of the plot to kill the prime minister and cabinet, and to frame his most likely replacement to get him out of the way so Redding would be the new likely choice as prime minister. But the more I delved into it, the less likely it seemed that a wealthy, powerful member of the British upper class would risk so much, unless it were personal, and it felt like too big a plot to be personal. It seemed more and more likely that a member of the repressed lower classes would be behind a plot of that magnitude, which is how it happened in real life events. So my conspirators are probably more like the real ones. In the Cato Street Conspiracy, there was no black powder explosive used—I invented that for the purposes at this novel.
