Jilted By A Cad (Jilted Brides Trilogy Book 1)

by Cheryl Holt

  “Can we try it again in the future?”

  “I imagine we will do it forever. I can’t resist you, remember?”

  He turned her away from him, so he could spoon himself to her back. They were quiet, but she wasn’t asleep. He perceived that her mind was galloping at a very fast clip as she processed her new situation.

  “Are you glad I agreed to this?” she eventually asked.

  “I’m so glad, Jo. I can’t tell you how much.” He leaned in and kissed her hair, her shoulder.

  “It won’t change our relationship, will it?”

  “No. Why would it? Don’t be silly.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to wake up and have a bad opinion of me for my deciding to participate.”

  “Me—have a bad opinion of you? You say the most bizarre things. You’re my favorite person in the world. I could never have a negative view of you—no matter what.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “We’re good together. In fact, we’re perfect together.”

  “I like the sound of that too.” After another lengthy pause, she inquired, “Might you have…ah…planted a babe?”

  He froze, then relaxed. “No. It never happens from just one time. You have to do it over and over. It’s not easy to create a child.”

  He couldn’t guess why he’d told the horrid lie—or why she’d believed it.

  The sailors on his ship were exact proof that a child could be sired from a single coupling. He couldn’t count how often his men had headed home on furlough and come back wed. Babies took root when a man least expected it.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we nap, then we’ll go at it again. If you’re not too sore?”

  “I’m not sore.”

  He sensed she was smiling, and soon, her respiration evened out, and she dozed off. He snuggled with her, cataloguing every detail: how she smelled, how she fit in his arms, how her slender torso felt nestled to his own.

  But when he started dozing too, he slid away and climbed to the floor.

  He didn’t dare be caught in her room. It was a small house, and he couldn’t hide his presence as he might have in the much larger town house. Daisy couldn’t find him on the premises when he shouldn’t be there, and he had to worry about the servants too. He couldn’t let them garner a hint of his intentions toward Jo. They might suspect misbehavior, but he’d never overtly confirm their worst fears.

  He tugged on his clothes, not able to stop watching her, and he yearned to kiss her goodbye or perhaps whisper an endearment, but if she roused and looked at him, he’d never escape.

  He tiptoed out, and as he reached the front door and stepped into the cold, evening air, he was already missing her, already calculating how quickly he could be with her once again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  There was a knock on the front door, and Jo glanced to the foyer, figuring a housemaid would appear, but she didn’t hear any footsteps.

  She wasn’t a grand lady or a snob. She could open her own door, except that she was feeling poorly. It was mid-morning, and her tummy had been queasy ever since she’d first awakened. At the moment, she was too fatigued to speak with anyone.

  When the knocker banged again, she laid down her sewing and answered it herself.

  A young lady about her same age was standing there. She was slender and pretty, with dark hair and big blue eyes. She looked familiar, but Jo couldn’t place her.

  “May I help you?” Jo asked.

  “Are you Miss Bates? You are, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m Josephine Bates.”

  “I am Amelia Boyle.”

  Jo sucked in a sharp breath, and a thousand questions raced in her mind. How had Miss Boyle located her? Why would she have searched? What could she want? Jo fervidly hoped she didn’t intend to quarrel about Peyton.

  “Hello, Miss Boyle,” Jo said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected you to. You only saw me the one time, and it was very quick.”

  There was an awkward pause where neither of them could think of what comment to offer next, and Miss Boyle broke the silence.

  “May I come in?”

  Jo yearned to deny her request, but that would be rude. She forced a smile and gestured inside. “Where have my manners gone? Yes, please come in.”

  Jo took Miss Boyle’s shawl and bonnet and hung them on a hook, then she guided her into the parlor. Miss Boyle sat on the sofa, and Jo eased into the chair across.

  “Would you like some tea, Miss Boyle?” she asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” There was another strained pause, then Miss Boyle said, “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  “Well…yes.”

  “I must admit that I’m wondering too.”

  Her remark relieved some of the tension, and Jo chuckled. “I’ll confess to being mystified.”

  Daisy was upstairs, assessing her wardrobe. Jo had promised to add lace trim to some of her dresses, and she was picking out the ones she’d like to have altered.

  She hollered down, “Jo, do we have a visitor?”

  Jo walked to the foyer and peered up to the landing. “It’s no one you know. I’ll tell you all about it after I’m finished.”

  Daisy hovered, anxious to eavesdrop, and Jo stared at her until she grinned and returned to her room. Then Jo rejoined Miss Boyle.

  “I apologize,” Jo said. “That was my niece, Daisy. She’s a handful.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Nine.”

  “Are you…ah…raising her on your own?” Miss Boyle blushed furiously. “It’s probably none of my business. You needn’t respond.”

  “It’s all right to inquire. Yes, I’m raising her.” Miss Boyle was perched on the edge of her seat, eager for further explanation, but Jo wasn’t about to discuss Daisy’s parentage. She simply said, “It’s complicated. Her parents…couldn’t manage it.”

  “You seem very young to have assumed so much responsibility.”

  “I didn’t have much choice. There wasn’t anyone else to step forward.”

  “She’s an orphan?”

  “No. She’s just…mine now.” Jo forced another smile. “Where were we? I believe you were about to tell me why you’re here.”

  “Not really. As I mentioned, I have no idea why.” Miss Boyle peeked around the parlor. “It’s just that there have been some awful rumors about you.”

  Jo blanched. “About me?”

  “Yes, and about Peyton. I’ve always been much too inquisitive, and I had to learn for myself if they were true.”

  Jo was incredibly dismayed. Rumors were circulating? Who was spreading them? What information was being disseminated?

  She viewed herself as having a very isolated existence. Her street was quiet, and she hadn’t met the neighbors, but while she might have been invisible, Peyton definitely wasn’t. He was an earl and a naval officer, and he attracted attention wherever he went. And London—for all of it being a large city—was a very small place in certain circles.

  “From how you’re frowning,” Jo said, “I’m terrified to ask, but what have people been saying?”

  “Nothing good.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve listened to stories that are completely inaccurate.”

  “Are they? Is Peyton…ah…living with you?”

  “No!” Jo firmly insisted.

  “Gossip has it that he put the town house up for sale, and he rented this house—with you—instead.”

  “He rented it for me, Miss Boyle. Not for himself. Not for us. There is no us. When he’s in town, he stays at his officer’s club.”

  “I see.” Apparently, Miss Boyle was made of very stern stuff. “May I be blunt, Miss Bates?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ve been acquainted with Peyton all my life.”

  “Yes, he told me that you’d been friends. I
know he hurt you and that he and your brother are fighting. I regret all of it.”

  “So do I.” Miss Boyle’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of crimson. “I thought he might marry me.”

  “Yes, he told me that too.”

  “And now, a few short weeks later, I find he’s rented a house for you. Are you…is he…are the two of you…” She was unable to forge ahead with what would obviously be a ribald question. “Perhaps I can’t be blunt after all. It’s beyond me to interrogate you.”

  “Miss Boyle, let me ease your mind.”

  “Can you?”

  “Well, about part of it. Daisy’s father was Peyton’s brother, Neville.”

  Miss Boyle scowled as she struggled to decipher Jo’s meaning, then comprehension dawned.

  “Oh!”

  “He had an appalling reputation with the ladies, and he wasn’t very faithful to his wedding vows.”

  “I’d never heard that about him.”

  “It wasn’t the sort of detail the family would willingly divulge.”

  “No, I don’t suppose so.”

  “He was an immoral wastrel who sired several children outside his marriage.”

  “Several!”

  “Yes, so Daisy is my niece, but she is Peyton Prescott’s niece too. She and I were having a spot of financial trouble, and he’s been assisting us. If he hadn’t intervened, I can’t guess what would have happened.”

  “My goodness. I understand. Thank you for confiding in me.” Miss Boyle fiddled with her skirt and, looking wretched, she asked, “Is Peyton fond of you?”

  “Yes, I’d say he’s fond.”

  “Will you wed him if he proposes?”

  Jo scoffed as if it was the strangest notion ever. “We never would. I wouldn’t be an appropriate bride for him, and it would never have occurred to him that I would be. We don’t have that kind of bond.”

  It was such a horrendous lie that she should have been struck by lightning.

  In most ways, she and Peyton were not carrying on like a married couple. He hadn’t hauled over any clothes. He hadn’t moved in. He simply pretended to be Daisy’s detached, cordial uncle.

  He visited once a day: to dine with them, to have tea, to bring Daisy a treat. Then, after everyone was asleep, he’d sneak back. Those were the hours when they behaved like newlyweds. Those were the hours when Jo was racing to perdition.

  She wasn’t precisely sure how she’d landed on such a reckless path, but she was careening down it so fast that she couldn’t jump off. She was madly in love with him and was disgusted with herself for rejecting his proposal. She hoped he’d mention it again, but he hadn’t, and she couldn’t deduce how to raise the topic herself.

  They’d staggered into their relationship in a backward fashion. They’d skipped directly to the marital parts—even though she didn’t have a ring on her finger. They ought to come to their senses and walk away from the abyss. They ought to fear sin and damnation. Peyton didn’t care about any preachers, but she definitely cared.

  How long would she continue her wicked conduct? Would she ever muster the fortitude to call a halt?

  The problem was that she didn’t want to end it. She couldn’t imagine him staying away, leaving her alone. The quiet intervals they spent in her small bedroom were undeniably precious.

  She was a fool who had stupidly ruined herself—for him. To make him happy. To make him love her in return. Yet no words of amour had been exchanged, and she’d delivered the core benefit of marriage without his having to confer the main benefit of matrimony—that being their wedding.

  What man wouldn’t be delighted with such a sordid scenario?

  But she couldn’t reveal any of that to Miss Boyle. An admission would break her heart, and Jo would never do that. Usually, she was a dreadful liar, but she kept her expression calm, having resolved to spew every necessary deceit the meeting might require.

  “My brother, Evan, was Peyton’s best friend,” Miss Boyle said.

  “Yes, and I hate that they’re fighting.”

  “My brother is very loyal to me.”

  Jo smiled a genuine smile. “You’re lucky then.”

  “Yes, I am lucky. When Peyton tossed me over, Evan was livid on my behalf. He probably always will be.”

  “I hope not. I hope he’ll get over it. Peyton misses him very much.”

  “Evan thought you and Peyton might be romantically involved, and it’s been bothering me, Miss Bates, so I had to discover the truth.”

  “Your brother is wrong, Miss Boyle. Peyton is helping me during a difficult time.”

  “Can you swear it to me?”

  “Yes, I swear, and I’m sorry you’ve been fretting.”

  Jo hadn’t realized she had such a penchant for fabrication. The falsehoods were rolling off her tongue. How was that possible?

  She was very ashamed, but she wouldn’t utter a remark that might distress Miss Boyle more than she already had been. Normally, Jo would have believed that candor should be practiced, but not in this case. Never in this case.

  “I should be going,” Miss Boyle murmured.

  She stood, and Jo accompanied her to the foyer, observing as she draped the shawl over her shoulders, as she tied the bow on her bonnet.

  “I’m curious,” Jo said. “How did you learn about this house?”

  “It was servants’ gossip. You know how they like to talk and spread stories.”

  Jo wondered which servants were discussing her. Were they ones from the town house who’d lost their jobs when it had been shuttered? Were they ones at the estate in the country who were faithful to Barbara Prescott? Peyton had to find out who was responsible and put a stop to it.

  They couldn’t have a scandal erupt or they’d have to abandon their relationship. Her neighbors wouldn’t tolerate immoral shenanigans. Nor would her staff of servants. She’d have to move out of London, then Peyton wouldn’t be able to pop in unannounced. He wouldn’t be able to sneak up her stairs in the dark.

  She couldn’t bear to have their circumstances altered. She was anxious for their situation to remain as it was forever.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Miss Boyle asked.

  “If you think you should.”

  “I was determined to not like you.”

  “I can certainly understand why you’d feel that way.”

  “But now that we’ve chatted, I like you very much.”

  “I’m glad. I like you too. Perhaps if your brother and Peyton ever mend their quarrel, we can be friends.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Miss Boyle reached out and squeezed Jo’s hands, and Jo squeezed back. Then Miss Boyle opened the door and walked out. She’d arrived in a cab, and it was waiting on the street. She waved to Jo, then climbed in, and the vehicle lumbered away.

  Jo watched until the cab rounded a corner and disappeared, then she came inside. Her tummy roiled, her nausea increasing, the stress of the encounter incredibly fatiguing.

  Daisy was on the landing. “Is your visitor gone?”

  “Yes, she was in a hurry. She had errands.”

  “She was pretty. Who was she?”

  “No one.” Jo wasn’t inclined to explain. “She was no one at all.”

  * * * *

  “We’ve surveyed all the barns and the stables and the equipment and…”

  Peyton was at Benton and seated at the desk in what had been Richard Slater’s office. A clerk he’d hired in London, Arthur Cummings, was seated across from him. The man was droning on and on about inventory and account ledgers and crop rotation.

  Peyton couldn’t focus and was struggling vigorously to keep his eyes from glazing over.

  He’d intended to have an appraisal accomplished much earlier, but incessant rain had left the roads too muddy to maneuver, so events in town with Jo had occupied his energy and time instead.

  Arthur noticed Peyton wasn’t really listening. He shut his portfolio.
“It’s obvious I’ve bored you to tears, Lord Benton. Shall we continue this conversation later?”

  “Yes, we should. How much work has to be completed?”

  “We should wrap it up tomorrow.”

  “And when will you finish writing your report?”

  “A week, maybe less.”

  Peyton gazed out the window and stared at the park. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he’d like to jump on his horse and rush to London, but he couldn’t flit off while the investigation was in progress.

  Barbara and Richard were huffing and puffing, complaining and being generally discomfited by the assessment. Peyton was ignoring them. He’d warned Barbara that an evaluation would occur, but inclement weather had delayed it. Most likely, she’d assumed the men wouldn’t show up, but they had, and she was incensed.

  He hadn’t grown up at Benton, so he was clueless as to what his ownership entailed. He had to find out and shouldn’t have to justify his actions. He recognized that she was galled to have her authority usurped, but she exhausted him. Her position had totally changed, but she didn’t feel she should have to make any concessions.

  Previously, he’d ordered Richard to depart Benton and Barbara to move to the Dower House, but as he’d predicted, they hadn’t heeded his edict. They were unwilling to cede any clout, unwilling to give him a voice in how they carried on.

  How was he to view their recalcitrance? If he’d been on his ship, there would have been numerous options to gain their compliance—and penalties to impose if they’d declined to obey. But how could he be upset that they loved their home and wanted to stay in it?

  Initially, he hadn’t cared about Benton, but he was developing an interest. The more he visited, the more he enjoyed the place. There was a serene beauty that appealed to him.

  Jo popped into his head, and he allowed a flight of fancy to take hold. What if they wed? What if she came to Benton as his countess?

  Life at Benton would be very sweet if he could spend it with her. She’d chase away the ghosts and demons and would turn the property into a home where he could be content.

  It dawned on him that he was contemplating marriage to her again, and he snorted with disgust. He was vain and proud, and he’d always be irked that she’d refused him, but he wasn’t a glutton for punishment, so he wouldn’t ever ask her again.