Deep inside, Jack smiled without letting the man know his true thoughts. But he had him on the run.
“That would put a man in a rather difficult situation,” Jack said. “Disappointing his Prince. Or being known far and wide as a coward. Yes, most difficult. To be looked at with disgust. To know wherever he went. People would know him to be less of a man. Servants, workmen, everyone would soon know the truth. Woman would laugh at him behind his back. Lords would ignore him as unimportant and without value.”
Bristol swallowed hard as he looked across the room at both Bedford and Suffolk. Jack didn’t glance their way. He knew his friends. They would be looking on with small smiles. Silently telling good old Barty that they were more than willing to act as witnesses to his shame or be a second to a duel.
Jack grit his teeth. “If… One… Word, from any quarter, is whispered. I will carve out your liver and feed it to the Tower’s Ravens. I don’t care who spreads the story. It is you that will die.”
Lord Bristol stared back as he tried to swallow and failed miserably. The man knew what he was talking about. The guilty look left no doubt. Abigail had been right.
“Either that,” Jack said, knowing he had the man’s full attention. “Or I will expose you as a coward to all of London. I will hound you and your family’s reputation until you are forced to face me. I’ve killed a dozen good men in combat. Men who knew what they were doing. Believe me, Barty. You will not be difficult. What is more. It will appear to all be your fault and you will have paid for your idiocy with your death.”
The last bit of color drained from the man’s face. As if it had fallen out of the bottom of a bucket.
“Those are your choices,” Jack said angrily through clenched teeth. “Keep your stories to yourself. Or die, or worse, go through life known as a coward. Do we understand each other?”
Lord Bristol finally was able to swallow just before nodding his understanding.
Jack turned and stormed out of the room. A half dozen other Lords watched him, each one confused and very interested. Jack ignored them. It was taking every ounce of self-control not to return and slowly end the man’s life. Only Abigail’s admonition was holding him back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Abigail’s hands shook as she took the letter from the silver platter offered by Carvel.
“The Duke of Oxford, I believe,” the butler said without the slightest hint of judgment. Abigail knew full well that there would be a dozen questions flashing through the servants’ quarters that night. Five people could spread a rumor faster than a chimney fire.
She took a deep breath as she turned over the letter. The Duke of Oxford’s crest sealed in red wax. Jack had written to her. Why? Was it bad news? A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind. Almost all of them bad to worse.
The story was out and he was giving her warning. Was that it? Or, he was ill and unlikely to live. Perhaps her greatest worry, he had found a wife. Each and every thought forced her stomach to turn over with fear and worry.
When she glanced up, she found her mother staring at her with a strange look. After almost two weeks of being home, the two of them had fallen into a comfortable companionship. Thankfully, her mother hadn’t poked nor prodded. Simply enjoying her daughter’s company.
Both of them had spent the day in the parlor. Abigail had started to work on the lace ribbon for Rose’s future wedding dress. Her mother a fine needlepoint that would be used for a pillow.
“Oxford?” her mother asked.
Abigail’s stomach clenched as she continued to study the folded letter and its seal. The wrong word and her mother would know everything. “I met him a few months ago, before the death of his father. Lady Isobel, his aunt, asked for my assistance in finding him a wife.”
There, Abigail thought. It had all been the truth. Not all of it, but enough.
Her mother continued to frown as she pulled her needle through the cloth. “Really, I would have thought a handsome, wealthy Duke, wouldn’t have any difficulty in finding a wife.”
“He wasn’t … familiar with the ton. He had been a ship’s Captain.”
“I know the story. We aren’t totally cut off here. Lady Ferguson told me all about it. A bastard raised …”
“Don’t call him that,” Abigail sputtered before she could stop herself. Her mother’s brow furrowed even deeper. Much more and she’d have permanent wrinkles. Abigail took a quick breath as she fought to crawl out of the hole she’d just created. “He is a Duke after all.”
Her mother’s lips pursed for a brief second then she returned to focus on her needlepoint.
Abigail silently prayed that she had not given away the truth. Looking down, she examined the letter in her hand. If her mother deduced her daughter had fallen in love with a man, a Duke. She would shake her head at her daughter's foolishness and admonish her for weeks at her idiocy. If her mother ever discovered that her daughter had shared her body with the man. She would be devastated. Ashamed of her daughter and lost on how to proceed.
No, that must never happen, Abigail thought as she fought to calm her rebellious stomach.
Why had Jack written to her? Was he well? Her heart raced as she thought about his fingers touching this very paper. Her skin ached to be caressed by him. To feel his strong arms around her. Holding her, keeping the world’s terrors away.
“I have learned,” her mother said as she pulled the thread through its stitch. “That it is best to open letters. It is amazing how much we can learn.”
The small smirk her mother gave her made Abigail cringe inside. Her mother always knew what was going on. It was amazing. Abigail wondered if it was a gift given to a woman when she gave birth. A secret she would never know she thought with sadness.
But her mother was correct. As usual. Sighing, she slid her lace knife under the seal and opened the letter. Her heart raced as she slowly unfolded the stiff paper.
“Dear Lady Abigail,”
I pray this letter finds you doing well. London does not seem so enjoyable since your departure. It is all rather sedate with nothing of importance …”
Her heart jumped. He had done it. He was telling her that Lord Bristol had been stopped. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her soul. He had done it. Jack had saved her once again.
“… having occurred, and it seems it will be that way for the foreseeable future. Please send word if you decide to return to London. I fear it will be impossible to find an acceptable wife without your guidance.
Please take care.
Oxford
Abigail gripped the paper tightly as she once again read the letter. Her finger traced each word. Jack’s penmanship looked strong, forceful. She had to bite back a quick smile as her heart soared. He had done it. And he had done it for her. Neither her mother nor her father would look at her with disappointment. People would not whisper about her behind her back. Everything was resolved.
How had he done it? Had he killed Lord Bristol? It was hard to imagine anything stopping the Earl of Bristol. No, never, Jack had given her his word.
Could it be true? Was she truly free of shame and rebuke?
“So, what does he say?” her mother asked. Abigail glanced up. Her mother was acting as if the letter were of no import. But Abigail could tell she was on edge, curiosity burning a hole into the woman.
“Oh, not much,” Abigail said as she once again glanced down at the letter. “Things are quiet in London. And he hopes I might be able to help him find a wife at a future date.”
Her mother scoffed. “If the man isn’t married by the end of the year, I will be disappointed in the Ladies of the ton.”
Abigail sighed deep inside. Her mother was correct. Would this be the last letter she ever received from the man? Her world seemed to melt in on itself as she thought about all she had lost and would never have.
“Speaking of marriage,” her mother said, “your father and I were talking last night. Perhaps …”
“No, Moth
er,” Abigail interrupted. “I will not allow you to arrange a marriage to some desperate young man looking to climb the social ladder. A man willing to marry a cripple for connections to my father’s title.”
Her mother sighed heavily as she put aside her needlepoint. “Abigail. Please. I assure you …”
“No, Mother,” Abigail said as she leaned on her cane to rise from the chair. Her heart broke into a thousand pieces. She refused to marry a man she did not love. Not after Jack. Not after she had discovered what love truly felt like. No. she could never go through life living a lie.
Her mother’s frown followed her as she left the parlor. She needed to get away before she started to cry. Her mother would discover the truth. No. Not after all of Jack’s efforts. One wrong word and everything would be ruined.
“Dinner will be soon,” her mother added.
“I am not hungry,” Abigail answered before she closed the door behind her. “I believe I will have an early night.”
Her mother continued to frown. Obviously worried about her daughter.
“Oh, Jack …” Abigail mumbled to herself. “Thank you. I should never have doubted you.”
Her stomach churned as she slowly climbed the stairs to her room. The ill-feeling she had been experiencing for days had not left her with the arrival of Jack’s good news. It was unsurprising. She had been as nervous as a barn cat in the front room. Terrified the wrong step would lead to disaster.
She shouldn’t expect her body to return to normal quickly. The tense nervousness had undoubtedly upset her constitution. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would restore her to normalcy.
Glancing down at the letter in her hands. She knew she would dream of wide shoulders, strong arms, the scent of sandalwood and salt. And that glorious feeling of being safe. The kiss of a special man and the sense of all being right with the world. If for but a brief moment.
.o0o.
Jack allowed his father’s valet to tie the cravat. The man was so desperate to prove his worth. Jack let the man do his job, then took the scabbard and its knife off his bedside table and tucked it up under his jacket into the back of his pants.
“Really, Your Grace,” the valet said with disapproval. “It ruins the fall of your coat. The line is wrong.”
Jack scoffed and waved his hand in dismissal. “Not near as much as a knife in the gut.”
The valet gasped. Jack shook his head. God, he needed to get out of the house. Four weeks of mourning had kept him cooped up like a prisoner in the brig. The coven, his aunts, had insisted on strict compliance. No social events for thirty days. Period. Thank God they hadn’t learned about his trip to White’s and the confrontation with Bristol. They’d have never let him alone.
Elizabeth was the worse. As if she expected him to fail and was rather perturbed when he didn’t.
Thirty, long, boring days. It was worse than being becalmed at sea. It had gotten so bad that he was actually looking forward to the ball at the Hamptons. Heaven knew, anything would be better than these four walls.
It was amazing, he was now one of the richest men in England, and it seemed he was even more bound by expectations and the chains of ‘Society.’ He’d felt freer as a midshipman. Between the lawyers, the bankers, and his aunts. It seemed everyone had an opinion as to how he should act.
Even his valet disapproved of him.
Dismissing the feeling of others’ expectations, he sighed internally. Abigail wouldn’t judge him so harshly. Why had she left? Why couldn’t she have stayed? Not so that he could seduce her again. Although, the thought of those delicious curves could not be denied.
No, simply to talk. Simply to have someone he could trust.
Both Suffolk and Bedford were friends. Good friends. But Abigail was different. She had not been forced to be his friend. There were not the years of shared experiences. No, she had chosen to be his friend. And he missed talking to her.
Walking down the stairs, he let his mind wander to Abigail. She wouldn’t be there tonight. Oh, how he wished he could simply talk to her. How was he supposed to evaluate the eligible women? Who would steer him away from making a fatal error?
He sighed heavily as he took his hat and gloves from Carmichael, Jack nodded to Thompson.
The man shook his head. “It’s about time,” the man said. “A man could grow a bushel of barnacles being stuck here.”
Jack laughed. Truer words had never been spoken.
“You weren’t stuck here,” Jack said as he pulled on his gray gloves. “In fact, from what I have heard, you have been spending a great deal of time at Bedford’s. What could be so interesting there? Afterall one Duke’s residence is pretty much the same as the next.”
Biting back a smile, he watched as Thompson’s cheeks grew slightly pink. Who would have ever guessed that Thompson could be embarrassed about anything?
“It’s that Jensen woman …”
“I thought so,” Jack said as he put his hat on and tapped it to make sure it was in place.
Thompson’s face grew even redder. “No Capt’n. It’s not like that. The woman has more contacts than a spider’s web. I swear there isn’t a servant in this town that wants to get on the wrong side of the woman. That can be helpful. Remember, someone is trying to kill you. And, while that could be understandable. We can’t allow it to happen. The Navy would never take me back.”
Jack nodded. “Of course, the fact that she is a rather handsome woman has no bearing on your attendance.”
Thompson scoffed, but Jack noticed the man didn’t flat out call him a fool.
“I will be late,” Jack told Carmichael as the butler opened the door. Jack tugged his glove tight as he looked up to the gathering black sky and took a deep breath of fresh air. Ah, the smell of London, horse, coal smoke, and too many people.
Jack had taken the first step down the stone stairs when an explosive shot rang out, his hat flew from his head as a sharp echo rocked between the buildings. He dropped to a knee as he scanned the street. It had been a musket, not a pistol, his mind registered the difference. There, down the block, a carriage pulled away racing into the darkness. Only after he had identified the disappearing threat did his heart begin to race.
“Your Grace,” Carmichael asked.
“I’m fine,” Jack barked as he shrugged off the butler’s attempt to help him up.
“I wish I could say the same,” Thompson said as he held up the Duke’s hat, his finger sticking through a perfectly round hole. “I always knew not to stand too close to you Capt’n. You draw trouble like a Frenchman draws flies.”
Jack’s brow furrowed in concern as he watched the color drain from his friend’s face while a scarlet stain began to spread across the front of the man’s shoulder. Thompson had been shot. By a bullet meant for him. Their eyes locked, then Thompson collapsed.
“A doctor,” Jack yelled to Johnson one of the guards in front. That was why a musket, his guards had kept any attackers too far away. Perhaps the very reason he was alive. The villains had been a good hundred yards away. A difficult shot at the best of times.
Yet Thompson had paid for his good fortune.
“Here, let’s get him to the parlor,” Jack told Carmichael as he lifted the man into his arms and carried him to the room. God, how had this happened? Thompson. Shot, it was impossible. An anger began to build inside of Jack. An anger that would never cease until he had found the culprit.
They had barely removed Thompson’s coat when the parlor door opened and Jack’s father’s doctor stormed in.
Jack stepped back to let the doctor do his job. This ends, he swore to himself. Now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Abigail stared at the numbers she had written out. How was this possible? Her stomach turned over with the ramifications as a terrifying fear filled her. There was no error. Her courses were late. She was never late. No, it couldn’t be true. The doctors. Her mother. Everyone had said she would never conceive. That her injuries would prevent it.
&nb
sp; Yet, the numbers did not lie. Thirty-six days.
A sick emptiness washed over her. Ruined. Everything was destroyed. Her reputation. Her family’s honor. Any hope of a future. Everything was changed. Jack had miraculously stamped out the story before it began. Only to have her show everyone the truth.
Taking a deep breath, she rested a hand on her stomach. Life, a baby. Jack’s baby. The thought eased some of the terror. A baby. How?
She couldn’t hide it. Not for long. Her mother was too observant. The thought sent the emptiness through her again. Her father would rage. He would demand to know who and demand Jack marry her. Archibald would explode. Demanding satisfaction. And while she loved her brother dearly. He would never survive against a man like Jack.
No. she thought forcibly. It wasn’t fair to Jack. The man shouldn’t be forced into a marriage he didn’t want. Or into killing men he didn’t hate. It was all her fault. She was the one who had told him she could not have a child. The one who had begged that he take her.
Her cheeks grew warm remembering what had happened and how it had made her feel.
No. Never. The thought of him resenting her made her feel even more frightened than the anger of her father. It would be worse than being pitied. The thought had no sooner settled than she realized that a part of her, deep in her soul, wanted the world to know. Wanted Jack to know. Wanted everyone to know that she was having Jack Hardy’s child.
But, what if the baby did not survive? Could she bring a child to term? Would her hip and injuries allow her to become a mother? A dozen stories of women dying on the birthing bed filled her. And each of them done so with normal hips.
The sudden thought of the baby dying before he was even born sent a cold chill down her spine. No. She would fight God himself to stop that from happening. But … What if Jack was forced to marry her. Only to discover she could not bring a child into the world.
It would be the ultimate betrayal. Trapping him, then failing to deliver. Literally. His resentment would quickly turn to hate. No, never, she could not allow that.
A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Page 16
