IN THE GARDEN OF DISGRACE

by

Cynthia Wicklund

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

Cynthia Wicklund on Smashwords

In the Garden of Disgrace

Copyright 2010 by Cynthia Wicklund

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CHAPTER 1

London—September, 1802

Lady Jillian Fitzgerald peeked around the base of the oak as she grasped the tree trunk with nervous fingers. The branches overhead formed an enormous canopy, shielding her and her two companions from the misting rain.

“What do you see, Jillian?”

Jillian squinted into the early morning drizzle, hoping to glimpse something, anything. She knew the meadow was out there, but the fog hovering eerily over the ground had obliterated it. She turned to answer the young woman next to her.

“Not a thing, Merry. Are you certain you’re not mistaken? Perhaps this morning is not the morning.”

“Of course, this morning is the morning,” Meredith Tisbury snapped, her words rising above a whisper. “Duels are planned hours in advance, not days. They are entered in the heat of the moment when tempers are at their worst. Isn’t that right, Phillip?” She turned a green-eyed gaze on the only male member of the trio.

Phillip Angsley, Jillian’s cousin, nodded his blonde head. “Yes, Merry. But if you don’t keep your voice down our fun will end before it has begun. They will be here. Lord Wicked never misses an appointment on the dueling field.”

At the mention of the corrupted version of Lord Wickham’s name—a version fostered by a titillated ton—Jillian experienced a thrill of excitement. The Earl of Wickham had a deliciously roguish reputation, a situation that had set the females of the population on their collective ears. Unfortunately, along with his dangerous ways came a charming personality and a handsome countenance. That made the earl irresistible even to women who should know better. Jillian was no exception.

Meredith broke the quiet again. “What is taking so long?”

“Shhh!” Phillip brought his index finger to his lips. “I think I hear voices.” He hunkered down next to the oak and stared into the murky dawn.

Jillian also heard the voices, accompanied by the crunch of wheels over a graveled road. A carriage door slammed and then another. Still she saw nothing but her heart began to rattle with anticipation. Next to her Meredith inhaled audibly.

Adrian St. John, Earl of Wickham, materialized out of the fog like a shadowy phantom in a greatcoat, the mist curling around his legs as though he had stepped from another, more macabre world. The unearthly light that reflected off the fog illuminated his face and cast the angles of his features into sharp relief.

He took off his coat, seemingly unconcerned by the soft rain that continued to fall, and allowed the garment to fall to the ground. The white of his unruffled shirt glowed strangely in the haze, emphasizing his black hair. For a moment the earl stood unmoving as if he were a statue, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, a prime example of the male specimen.

“Oh my!” The exclamation, louder than she intended, escaped Jillian before she could stop it. She felt Meredith stiffen beside her.

“I think it improper for a betrothed female to show a marked interest in another gentleman,” that young lady said. “How do you think Lord Edgeworth would feel if he knew his affianced was entranced by the infamous Lord Wicked? Your intended is too fine a gentleman to be treated in such a cavalier fashion.”

Jillian felt her cheeks grow hot with indignation. “I am not entranced with Lord Wickham,” she said in a fierce whisper. “And if you thought my future wedding plans were that sacred, why did you insist I come here tonight? This was not my idea, you know. If we are caught—”

“Simply seems to me—”

“Ladies, ladies,” Phillip interrupted. Still squatting on the ground, he reached out to grip Jillian’s hand in warning.

She clamped her lips together, aware Meredith and she had nearly exposed their game. Now chastened, she watched silently as another gentleman with fiery red hair joined Lord Wickham. The two men exchanged words, speaking too softly to be heard.

All at once the meadow filled with people. The movement of many bodies caused the fog to swirl languidly as if those on the field waded through smoke. Bits and snatches of conversation drifted toward the trio in hiding.

Viscount Findley, Lord Wickham’s opponent, arrived at last, and the two men came to stand in the middle of the meadow. The remaining individuals formed a circle around them. She now could see who the seconds were, Lord Wickham’s being the gentleman who had talked to the earl a few minutes before. Though not certain, she thought she recognized the redheaded man.

A box was taken from beneath the coat of Lord Findley’s second and the lid opened, producing a pair of handguns that gleamed ominously in the growing light. For the first time the deadly nature of the meeting fell full force on Jillian. Pistols at dawn—until that moment it had been a fascinating tale, not something that actually happened. Why, oh why had she come? The sinister ritual commenced with Lord Wickham and Lord Findley squaring off, back to back. The count began. Findley paced step by deliberate step in the direction of Jillian and her companions, stopping only a few yards from where the three spies watched from behind their oak. The earl had paced in the opposite direction, and Jillian could barely see him although the fog had begun to lift.

The signal was given and the combatants turned and fired.

For a frozen moment everything stood still. Not until Jillian saw Lord Wickham, his tall, lean form sauntering across the field did she realize she held her breath. He was unscathed! The pent-up air rushed from her mouth in a gust of relief.

Lord Findley was not so lucky. He lay on the ground, moaning as he clutched his left arm.

Lord Wickham reached the viscount’s side, and there was no mistaking the contempt that marked the earl’s features. He tossed his emptied gun at his opponent’s feet.

“Get up, Findley. You’ve only been nicked. Be thankful your challenge did not end your miserable life.”

His teeth clenched in pain, the viscount snarled, “I should have killed you, Wickham. You’ve dishonored me and mine.”

“A man who leaves the bed of his mistress to defend his wife’s reputation is a hypocrite. You have no honor to defend.”

Several individuals gasped. From behind her tree, only a short distance from the tense dialogue, Jillian was one of them.

“Bastard!” Findley struggled to his feet, weaving on wobbly legs once he got there. “You won’t get away with this!”

Again the earl’s contempt was clear. “I already have.” He turned, moving toward the coat he had dropped earlier.

What transpired next happened so quickly only later did Jillian reconstruct the event.

Lord Findley bellowed a curse, an expression she had never heard before, although by his inflection the words were obscene. The viscount lunged at his second, grabbing a pistol the man held. Shaking visibly, he pointed the weapon at the earl’s back.

Several of the onlookers issued an anxious warning, and Lord Wickham spun around to face his attacker. The earl instantly responded. In one fluid movement he extracted a dagger from his top boot and with the expert flick of a wrist flung the knife, burying it to the hilt in the viscount’s chest. Lord Findley fell back, the gun discharging into the air.

The scene on the field dissolved into chaos.

Jillian, dismayed by the sudden violence, panicked. She heard Phillip’s urgent whisper but ignored him. Her only desire was to escape this place and to do so as quickly as possible. She clutched her skirt in both hands, lifting the hem from the ground, and dashed back toward the hackney that was supposed to be waiting for their return. Oh yes, merciful heaven—it was still there!

She pounded toward the vehicle, never looking over her shoulder, assuming Phillip and Meredith were following her. She had a glimpse of the driver as she yanked open the carriage door and scrambled inside. Though she believed he saw her, the man’s attention was captured by the goings on in the meadow.

Inside the hackney Jillian slumped against the seat, nauseous. Lord Findley’s piercing scream continued to ring in her ears. And the blood!

Several seconds lapsed before she realized her cousin and Meredith had not yet joined her. What was keeping them? she wondered. Had they been discovered? Cautiously, almost afraid to learn the answer she peeked out the window.

The misting rain had ceased. The sun having crested the horizon was burning away what remained of the fog. This she noted vaguely, for she was consumed by the sight that met her gaze.

Running across the field not thirty paces away came the Earl of Wickham. And he was running straight for her hackney. Behind the earl trailed his second—and yes, she knew the redheaded man. The two people she wanted most to see, Meredith and Philip, were nowhere in view. Jillian fell to the floorboards, hiding.

She heard the earl and his friend arrive at the carriage.

“Get down, man!” Lord Wickham yelled at the driver.

“Can’t do that, gov’nor,” came the stoical reply.

“I’ve already killed once this day—do not make the mistake of believing I won’t do it again.”

The words were delivered in a cold voice devoid of emotion, and Jillian did not doubt the earl meant what he said. The driver must have felt the same way, for the carriage shifted as he jumped to the ground.

“See here, you take my hack you take my livelihood. Besides, there’s someone—”

The earl cut him off. “Your hack will be returned or you will be compensated for your loss.”

Again the carriage swayed, and she detected not one but two individuals climbing onto the bench. As the import of what was transpiring struck her, Jillian was propelled into action. She reached for the door handle, but her effort came too late. The hackney lurched forward and barreled into the road at high speed. Over the thundering of horses’ hooves she could hear the stranded driver bellowing curses from the edge of the field.

For a moment Jillian was immobilized while wave after wave of raw fear washed over her. This cannot be happening! She drew in a deep breath and held it briefly before allowing the air to escape in a shaky sob. Though trembling from the inside out, she pulled herself onto the seat and forced herself to think the situation through.

Should she knock on the roof of the carriage and make her presence known? She lifted her hand but drew back. Try as she might she could not bring herself to reveal her plight. Perhaps when they reached London she would find the nerve to warn them, and they could let her off on one of the streets near her home.

That idea seemed more sensible than most, considering she’d had little time to think and was trying to do that thinking with a mind gone numb with fright. She dreaded having to navigate London without a chaperon, but compared to her present predicament she believed she could manage nearly anything. Having made her decision, Jillian leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes.

The carriage still traveled dangerously fast. She knew when the vehicle turned and sailed onto the main thoroughfare, leaving behind the graveled road leading to the dueling field, because at that same time she sailed across the seat. The earl would have them in the city limits presently, she thought, provided they continued at this speed and provided this was the road that had brought the hackney earlier. Jillian glanced out the window.

Now that’s odd. She did not recognize the scenery. With the lack of recognition came a feeling of disorientation. Where were they, she wondered, and in which direction were they headed? That thought brought a thrill of dread so intense, Jillian clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

It couldn’t be! But she should have known. Lord Wickham was running away from a duel gone terribly wrong. Any thinking person would have realized the earl did not intend to head into the lion’s den, possibly to face charges.

Jillian looked out the window again, this time considering how badly she would be hurt if she tried to leap to safety. She felt desperate enough to try—and desolate enough to cry. Since she didn’t have the courage to do the first, she decided on the second. Dignity be damned, she thought, as she put her head down and wept into her skirt.

*****

“Adrian, we must stop for a change of animals. These horses were not fresh when you appropriated them.”

Adrian St. John sat morosely on the box of the hackney. He was glad his shirt had dried, as he’d been forced to leave his coat on the dueling field, and even with the emergence of the sun the September breeze had a chill in it.

“I agree. We’ll lose time if we push these nags anymore. Next posting inn we see we’ll stop.” He turned to the young man driving the carriage. “I’m glad you’re here, my friend. I’ve done it this time.”

“Aw, you know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” James Endicott smiled, his round face growing pink, a circumstance that accentuated his freckles and red hair.

“Just the same, there may be trouble when you return to London.”

“There were many witnesses, Adrian. You had no choice.”

“Nice of you to say but I suspect you are prejudiced. My reputation precedes me. There are those who will not be inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

James frowned. “What were you supposed to do, let the bugger shoot you in the back? I’ve never seen a gentleman act with less honor. The man’s despicable. He deserved to die.”

Adrian slumped further on his seat. “You believe he’s dead then?”

“Yes, ‘fraid so. I only say afraid because I think his death bothers you. I’ll reiterate—the man earned his just deserts. Better him than you.”

“Be that as it may, James, I’ve never killed anyone before. I’ve been in scrapes, I admit, but I’ve managed to avoid becoming a murderer. Lord, if my father weren’t already dead this would put him under for certain.”

“Ah yes, Lord Wicked and his fondness for dueling.”

“I hate that name,” Adrian grumbled.

James sent him a knowing smile. “They could call me ‘Lord Dung’ if it would capture the attention of the ladies the way that moniker has for you. My God, man, know when to be grateful.”

“Does me no good. When was the last time I went to a society function?”

James shrugged. “When was the last time you weren’t trying to live down a scandal?”

Just so.

The posting inn came into sight and James steered the hackney into the stable yard. He tossed aside the reins as he climbed down from the bench. “Adrian, you might want to sleep awhile. You don’t have to keep me company.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep when I get back to London. You have that miserable packet ride ahead of you when we get to Dover. You need the rest more than I do. Go on. I’ll see to the horses.”

Adrian thought he should argue but didn’t have the energy. When he had fought Lord Findley he had felt strong as a bull, able to conquer anything. But as soon as the immediacy of his situation had eased, all he felt was drained and miserable. He did need sleep. And he certainly was not looking forward to that wretched trip across the Channel.

He descended to the ground, patting the pocket of his breeches as he did so. Fortunately he had some coins on him. His first order of business once he made it into France was to contact his man of business. He shook his head wearily. How had he come to this? he wondered as he reached for the handle on the hackney, opening the door.

“What the…Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

Crouched on the seat, a young female fumbled with the opposite door latch as though desperate for escape. She turned and gave him a round-eyed stare. After the brightness of the morning sun the interior of the hackney was dark, but he had the impression of a tear-streaked face under a mobcap and an enormous pair of brown eyes. At least he thought they were brown.

“Answer me,” he barked as he hauled himself onto the seat facing her. “What are you doing in here?”

“My lord, I-I’m sorry. I…you’re angry.” She sniffed loudly and ran her hand indelicately under her nose.

She looked terrified and Adrian suspected if he did not temper his approach, rather than getting answers he would have to revive her.

“I think surprised is more apt,” he said after a moment. “Have you been in here all along?”

Now there’s a stupid question, he realized even as the words left his mouth. Unless she had managed to hitch a ride as James and he had sped down the highway, she had been in the coach when they left the dueling field—a circumstance he now surmised the hackney driver had been trying to tell him. Frightened as she appeared, something shifted in her eyes, and he suspected she found the question as ludicrous as he did.

“Well?” he said when she did not respond, annoyed that she had made him feel foolish.

“Yes, my lord, I have.” She looked at him squarely though her voice still trembled.

He was right. Her eyes were brown.

“Does your master know you went abroad in the middle of the night to witness a duel? That is what you were doing, right?”

She blinked. “Master?” She glanced down at her clothing, a maid’s uniform, as though she had never seen it before. “Oh y-yes, my master.” She licked her lips—very attractive lips, he noted. “No, he doesn’t know.”

“What’s your name?”

Again she hesitated. “Uh…my name is Jane.”

There was something odd about the way she responded to his questions that piqued his curiosity. Seemed strange, for though she was dressed like a servant she didn’t sound like one. “And, Jane, who is your master?”

She turned white as chalk. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

“Your secret is safe with me. In a few hours I’ll be taking a packet for Calais. Who knows when I’ll be back?”

The reality of that statement depressed Adrian enough to change the direction of his thoughts. He glanced out the window, for the moment lost to all but his own misery. Twenty-six years of age and life as he knew it was at an end.

“Dover…”

He looked at the maid, curious.

“I should have realized we were headed for Dover,” she said.

He started to respond but felt the carriage move as James climbed back on the box. Shortly thereafter they rolled onto the highway. Adrian turned to the maid again and was met by an expression of consternation on a face he had decided was really quite lovely. Too bad she wore that oversized cap.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t you think I should have stayed at that inn? I mean, I could have taken a coach back to London.”

“Should have thought of that before now. I can’t waste time on the chance I’m being pursued. Besides, do you have any money for purchasing your fare?”

She shook her head.

“Well, Jane—if that’s your name—I’ve very little blunt on me and I need that for my trip into France.”

“I forgot about money,” she said in a small voice.

“Look, I know it is an inconvenience—although I won’t apologize since it’s not my fault you are here—but my friend Mr. Endicott has to return this hack to its owner, so he’ll be returning to London as soon as I book passage for Calais. You won’t reach home until tomorrow morning, but I think it is the best we can manage. After all, I am in the act of fleeing.”

She must have caught the irony in his words, for she once again gave him a look that made him uncomfortable.

“It’s your fault that you stole my hack,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you take your own carriage?”

Oh ho. The little maid has teeth, he thought, his interest once again engaging. If she could fend for herself verbally, he had no difficulty trading words with her. In fact it might make the ride to Dover more agreeable. At once Adrian found himself wishing she would remove that ridiculous cap.

“The hack doesn’t carry my crest,” he offered. “Not quite so easy to follow.”

The only reply he received was a disdainful sniff.

“Do you begrudge me my escape, Jane?” he asked in a silky voice.

She eyed him, and he could see his tone had made her wary. “I saw the duel, my lord, and…and what came after. You had no choice and that’s what I would tell anyone who asked. That is if I could admit to being there.”

“Dear Jane, have you become my champion?”

A blush stained her cheeks. “No, but I try to be fair. Lord Findley would have shot you had you not stopped him.”

“How old are you, Jane?”

As he intended the abrupt change in the conversation seemed to confuse her. “How old am I? Why, ah…eighteen years.”

Though Adrian believed she had not been entirely truthful with him, he decided the statement of her age came close to the mark. A little younger than he liked but still old enough to be interesting.

“I have a favor to ask. I’m finding it more and more difficult to converse around that cap. What say you remove it so I can see with whom I’m speaking.”

She began to shake her head, slowly at first then more rapidly until Adrian grew impatient. He plucked off the offending cap.

She glared at him. “Now see what you’ve done!”

Indeed he did see what he had done.

She must have stuffed all her hair under the lace piece without using pins, for her hair fell past her shoulders in a glossy cascade of sable brown. Static caused feathery strands to float tantalizingly around her face.

She snatched the cap from his grasp, a grasp gone suddenly slack. So had his jaw.

“My, my,” Adrian murmured as a flicker of heat stirred in his groin. “Seems I’ve absconded with a treasure. What do you think, Jane, have I the right of it?”

She appeared anything but gratified by his pretty words. “If a tangle of uncrimped hair makes you think so, my lord, then I’m certain you must be right.”

“This may come as a surprise but I hate crimped hair. Women have a habit of tampering with nature, often not for the better.” He allowed a slow smile to ease his mouth. “Leave your hair alone, Jane. You cannot improve on perfection.”

She sent him a look of incredulity—mixed with scorn?—and Adrian acknowledged her silent disapproval with a wink. Little Jane was a disrespectful baggage who did not know how to treat her betters. Of course, his interest in her had little to do with her station in life. He found himself surreptitiously examining her figure.

The young woman clamped her lips together and, with an obvious effort to put him in his place, primly folded her hands in her lap and found something to occupy her interest outside the hackney window.

A challenge—there was nothing Adrian liked better than a challenge. He left his seat, moving to the maid’s side of the carriage, and plunked down next to her. When she turned to glare at him, he gave her a wolfish grin.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I like it better over here. More comfortable, don’t you think? I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

“Hardly.” The slight tremor in her voice belied her words. “However, since this seat is more to your liking, I give it to you.”

She came to her feet, but the Gods must have decided to atone for the poor start to his day. One of the carriage wheels hit something in the road and she lost her balance.

Adrian instantly reached out and, wrapping his hands around her trim waist, pulled her onto his lap. She went still, probably too shocked by her sudden difficulty to struggle.

“Most comfortable of all,” he murmured, his speech turning thick when he realized her mouth was now inches from his own.

His breathing accelerated as he permitted his scrutiny to travel from her lips, over a flawless complexion, to a pair of magnificent brown eyes staring back at him with reproach. His own eyes narrowed as he continued to study her lovely features, features somehow oddly familiar.

“Do I know you, sweet Jane?”

He saw fear flash across her face as she finally placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed away from him.

“Are you quite finished with your inspection, my lord?” The words no more than a shaky whisper.

“And if I am not?”

She swallowed and Adrian found his gaze wondering to the smooth column of her throat, where his attention lingered as desire intensified and washed over him. He could not remember the last time he had so wanted to kiss a female. Perhaps the savage emotions that had erupted within him on the dueling field had turned into another form of aggression. He sent his regard back to hers, and for a moment they shared a tension-filled look. Some of what he was feeling must have been apparent in his expression, for the young woman began to wriggling in earnest in an effort to get away. That only served to heighten his awareness of the proximity of her body.

“Stop now,” he said, gripping her more tightly. “I won’t hurt you.”

She ceased moving, but her breathing came in short quick pants, and he felt as though he held a frightened bird in his arms.

“Lord Wicked,” she spat.

Adrian’s brows snapped together. “What did you say?” He pulled back from her so he could see her face more clearly.

“I said, my lord, your reputation is no hoax.”

He was impressed by the little maid’s unexpected courage, for she looked at him, gaze never wavering. But her words were like iced water on his warm thoughts. As swiftly as the passion had risen it receded.

Now also angry, more at himself than his companion, Adrian shoved her from his lap as he stood and swung back onto the other seat. Repositioning his body, he folded his arms across his chest and glared at her in disgust.

She looked stricken. A part of him realized his behavior had been boorish, but his pride stung at the moment. Therefore, though feeling a pang of remorse, he refused to admit it. He was unused to being turned down by experienced women and, frankly, he found her virginal performance suspect. In fact Adrian found everything about this person suspect. Nevertheless, if she had no wish to while away the hours in a little pleasurable diversion, so be it. Although many things, he was not a cad.

She had resumed her preoccupation with whatever passed by outside the window, hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes blinking rapidly as though she held back tears, and he could no longer ignore his conscience.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved,” he said at last. “I don’t think I’m myself today.” Apologize—that was something he didn’t often do, he thought, deciding to feel good about himself.

The contemptuous look she turned on him caused Adrian to cringe inwardly.

“I suspect you are exactly yourself today, my lord.” And with that she turned back to window.

He started to respond but knew the effort would be wasted. He had lost his opportunity—if ever he’d had one. Moreover, that woman had a tongue like a prickly thistle. He had the discomfiting notion that in the war of words he had been the loser. Disgruntled, Adrian leaned his head back against the cushions, hoping to find the sleep he had been seeking when initially he had entered the carriage.

*****

Jillian listened to the soft snores of the gentleman who reclined across from her in the hack. It would be night soon, and from her window the outskirts of Dover had come into view. Already she could smell the sea.

They had traveled all day with Mr. Endicott doing the driving, making only those stops that were absolutely necessary to change horses and use the convenience. She had found herself unable to eat, especially since Lord Wickham had indicated his funds were limited, but she had given in and taken fluid at his insistence. Jillian could not remember anything ever having tasted better than that iced lemonade.

She had worried about James Endicott recognizing her, although they did not know each other personally. Thus she had put on her mobcap again, pulling it down around her face as much as she could. Fortunately, the man, aside from a curious glance in her direction when he had exchanged a few words with the earl at one of the stops, had shown her no interest.

Jillian assumed since she wore a maid’s uniform and had her hair covered, she looked like the servant she was supposed to be. For that she was relieved because it would only complicate matters to return to London with a man who could report her misadventure to an eager ton.

She had also feared Lord Wickham might recognize her as he was friends with her brother Simon. Six years before Simon had invited the earl to her family’s ancestral home at Sutherfield, but his handsome guest had given little attention to a smitten, twelve-year-old child. Frankly, she had no reason to believe Lord Wickham had any memory of her at all.

In recent years the earl had refrained from venturing into society, probably because he had attained the dubious distinction of being a pariah in most of London’s better households. Consequently, Jillian had not seen him in a long time except from a distance, although the rumors about him ran rampant. She suspected her brother continued to see his old friend but the earl’s reputation being what it was, she knew Simon would not be inclined to bring Lord Wickham around his female relatives.

Still, Jillian had the impression the earl was suspicious of her disguise. Hours earlier when he had asked if he knew her, she thought her heart would leap from her breast. And the way he had said Jane every time he addressed her, with just a touch of insinuation—oh, she’d felt like gnashing her teeth. Yet he must have been ignorant as to her real identity, for she knew he never would have treated Simon’s sister with such disrespect. Luckily, suspicious did not mean he had guessed the truth.

Of course, Lord Wickham had not spoken little to her since their little argument. He had slept most of the day, waking when they stopped then retreating back into sleep once the carriage began to roll again.

Her glance slid in the direction of the earl’s slumbering form as she remembered something else. He had wanted to kiss her. Conceivably he had wanted more than that, Jillian decided, her face warming as she remembered the reaction of his body where she’d sat on his lap. Shockingly, he had made no effort to hide his condition. No man, not even Lord Edgeworth, her future husband, had been that familiar with her before.

Unfortunately, Lord Wickham’s bad manners were not the main subject of her uneasy reflections. The earl’s behavior was bad enough, but what bothered her worst of all was the unacceptable notion that she had wanted him to kiss her as well.

She relived that moment when his eyes, clear and wintry blue, had locked with hers. The message radiating from his compelling gaze had stunned her, and now as then she experienced an odd shiver of excitement. Perhaps Meredith was right. Perhaps Jillian was “entranced by the infamous Lord Wicked.” That traitorous thought made her feel disloyal to Lord Edgeworth. She chanced another peek at her companion and was startled to find he had awakened. Lord Wickham was watching her through half-lidded eyes, openly assessing, and for the hundredth time that day her heart thumped out of control. She found the silence unbearable and, since he did not appear in a hurry to end the torture, she decided to make the effort instead.

“We’re in Dover. I expect we’ll be at the docks shortly.”

“I expect you’re right.” The words were delivered in a bored voice, strangely at odds with the expression on his face.

“W-will you have to stay away for long?”

“Long enough, I’m afraid.” Lord Wickham sat straight as the hackney came to a halt then opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle. “Wait here,” he said.

Jillian could hear him conversing with Mr. Endicott, although she did not know what was said. Moments later, the earl poked his head back into the carriage.

“Miss…Jane, it’s been a difficult day and sadly it’s only half over. We both have the night ahead to dwell on our misdeeds as we seek our respective destinations. Please believe me sincere when I apologize for the uncomfortable turn our journey took.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Endicott has promised to see you home. Where should he take you when you reach London?”

Jillian thought to lie, but the only thing she wanted now was to reach home and as quickly as possible. She shuddered to think what her greeting would be once she arrived there.

“Lord Sutherfield’s residence in Berkeley Square.”

The earl frowned and once again she was subjected to a considering look. “I know the family,” he said. “I’m a friend to the eldest son. His father is a reasonable man, but if you need someone to plead your case Mr. Endicott can explain what happened. Hopefully that will save your employment.”

She nodded and then he was gone.

Almost twelve hours later, just before the sun heralded another day, the hackney pulled into Berkeley Square. Jillian, reaching for the door handle, burst out of the carriage and jumped to the ground before Mr. Endicott could join her.

“Do you need my help?” he asked from his perch. “Lord Wickham asked me to offer an explanation to your employer.”

“No,” she answered, keeping her face turned away from him as she had at every stop during the long night.

What came next she must brave alone. Waving him on, she pulled her cap more closely over her ears, hoping—no, praying—he had not recognized her. Then she started down the walk.

The mansion was lit from top to bottom, the lights in the approaching dawn announcing as nothing else could the turmoil that gripped its residents. For one insane moment she toyed with the idea of fleeing as Lord Wickham had done. But even as the thought entered her head the front door was thrust open. Outlined in the doorway stood Papa, imposing and at that moment more frightening than she had thought possible.

“Jillian!” he demanded.

She heard the rough texture in his voice, the outrage, and again she prayed as her feet moved in answer to his summons. The trip down the walk was the longest few seconds of her young life.

She reached the step but dared not look at him. It was not so much his anger she feared. It was his disappointment, for that she did not think she could bear. But because the not knowing was worse than the knowing, she gathered her courage and, when she stepped over the threshold, peered into his features. Her eyes welled with grief as the door closed behind her.

And so began Lady Jillian’s fall from grace.

*****

CHAPTER 2

Suffolk County, England—May, 1810

Adrian St. John tugged on the reins of his horse, bringing the animal to a halt as he reached the rise of a small incline. He sat for several minutes, forearm resting on the pommel of his saddle, and surveyed the surrounding property, property owned by the Marquess of Sutherfield. In the distance he could see the main house, a sprawling manor whose history was evidenced by the additions that had been added through the centuries to the original structure.

From atop the rise the rolling hills, the forest beyond, everything looked reassuringly the same even though the earl had been a young man of twenty when he last visited the Fitzgeralds. He wondered if he would be welcome after so many years.

Adrian had entered the country three days previously, furtively, much as he had left it nearly eight years before. He had thought to stop in London but his mother, the one person who would have been happy to see him, had died last winter. He had discovered the tragic news only recently, and her loss was still a raw ache. He had tried to locate James Endicott, but James had married and moved to Scotland.

The earl couldn’t explain why he had chosen Sutherfield to make his first appearance among the elite, except Simon and he had been close once and he hoped for a measure of understanding from someone he had called friend. Not that they had socialized much in the years preceding Adrian’s flight from the country. Simon, though a bit of a rogue himself, had not approved of his friend’s more daring exploits, so the two men had drifted apart.

Adrian pulled in a deep breath and exhaled heavily through his mouth. He didn’t know if Simon was in residence it being the middle of the Season. But he supposed he might as well plunge in and see what happened. Straightening his shoulders, he kicked his horse and trotted down the incline across a grassy field toward the drive leading to the house.

A groom greeted him as he reached the front walk.

“How may I help you, sir?”

The earl dismounted and tossed his reins at the man. “I’m Adrian St. John, Earl of Wickham. I was hoping to see Lord Sutherfield or rather his son, Simon.”

The servant gaped at him. “I…uh, that is to say, the young master is now the Marquess of Sutherfield, my lord. His father died several years ago.” He hesitated. “Are you certain you wish to see his lordship?”

The question was impertinent, and Adrian’s nostrils flared in irritation. “Positive. Is he in residence?”

“Yes, my lord, he is.”

“Good. See to my horse.”

Already Adrian felt as though he had made a mistake in coming. If the groom’s reaction to his visit was an indication then the scandal had not completely subsided. He hated to put Simon in the awkward position of having to turn him away. Now more uncertain than ever he continued up the walk.

At the moment he reached for the brass knocker, the front door flew open and the lord of the manor appeared on the step.

“Simon!”

Smiling, Adrian thrust out his right hand but his greeting went unanswered. Simon Fitzgerald, Marquess of Sutherfield, reared back with a white-knuckled fist and punched his old friend square in the mouth.

The earl fell backwards, landing face up on the cobbled walk. Running his tongue gingerly over a lip that immediately began to throb, he recognized the salty taste of blood. His vision had dimmed, but through the haze he could see the marquess, tall and intimidating, looming over him.

“Why did you do that?”

“Stand up, you bloody bastard, so I can do it again!”

Adrian came up on his elbow but remained where he lay, for the moment unsure whether or not he could rise. “I think I’ll stay right here until you explain yourself.”

“Me? Explain myself? Stand up, I say. I’ve waited eight long years to get my hands around your cowardly throat. You’re not going to deny me the pleasure of beating you senseless.”

The marquess continued to loom over Adrian, hands clenched aggressively. From his prone position the earl’s sight had begun to clear, and he watched the man with a wary eye.

“Simon, please, can’t we do this without making a scene?” a melodic female voice interrupted at that point. “Invite the gentleman in so you can settle your difficulties in private.”

Both men looked in the direction of the front entrance to a striking woman with auburn hair, noticeably in her last weeks of pregnancy. She spread her hands, indicating the people who had begun to gather in the yard.

“I’d as soon invite in the devil,” the marquess stated darkly. “Moreover, I’ll just crack his head in your drawing room, Cassandra. Certain you wish to risk the furniture?”

“Simon, please,” she said again.

Reluctant—but not irrational, Adrian noted with relief—the marquess acquiesced, silently swinging around and marching into the house. The woman must be Simon’s wife, the earl thought. That gave him some hope for, unless he had misjudged the situation, the beautiful lady was Simon’s one weakness and she seemed to be encouraging restraint.

Adrian came to his feet and dusted off his trousers, giving himself a second to think. He was undecided as to whether he should follow the marquess inside or leave. He felt something else as well. Offended. He hadn’t expected a warm greeting, but this overt hostility from a man he considered an old chum came as a shock.

The earl looked to the woman who still stood in the doorway, waiting for him. “Lady Sutherfield?” he asked.

She nodded solemnly and moved aside so he could enter.

He shrugged. Evidently the decision had been made for him. Frankly, though, he was curious. What had caused a rational man like Sutherfield to respond that way?

The earl stepped inside and waited for Lady Sutherfield to lead him to the appropriate room. He trailed behind her down a hall to a pair of richly carved doors that opened on the library. Inside, the marquess stood in front of a large desk, hands clasped behind his back. The expression in his black eyes was daunting.

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to your discussion,” Lady Sutherfield said, giving her husband a meaningful glance as she exited the room and closed the doors behind her.

The sound of the latch clicking into place preceded a tense silence.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t offer you a drink,” the marquess said at last.

Adrian was stumped by this final insult. “What is wrong with you, Simon? Were you friends with Findley? If you were, I’m sorry, but I swear the man gave me no choice. It was he or I. I chose me—hard to figure, but there it is.”

“Is that what you think this is about?” Simon bellowed. “I don’t give a damn about Findley. He can rot in Hell for all I care.” He paused then, eyeing the earl critically. “Are you saying you don’t know why I’m angry?”

“Enlighten me.”

“You ruined my sister. Does that bring back your memory?”

“Lydia?”

“Not Lydia, you bloody fool. It was Jillian.”

Adrian stared at the marquess, convinced the man had gone daft. “I don’t know any Jillian. You have another sister?”

“Oh, come now,” the marquess barked. He was knotting his hands again as though ready to reintroduce the fisticuffs. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t recall hauling my little sister to Dover in a hack on the night you fled the country?”

“That wasn’t your sister. It was…” Adrian trailed off all at once at a loss for words as memory assailed him.

Could it be? Was the sultry young maid with the dark eyes more than she had seemed? At the time he remembered thinking there was something suspicious about the circumstances surrounding her appearance in the carriage. But this—never would he have guessed this. Then he thought of something else. She had said her destination was the Sutherfield mansion in Berkeley Square.

“I tell you, Simon, there was a young girl in the carriage with me. She said she was a maid, was dressed like one, so I believed her—well, more or less. But I don’t recollect your having a younger sister Jillian.”

“You don’t remember a skinny little brown-eyed imp who followed you around like a puppy that summer you were here? My father called her Jilly. We all did. Still do, for that matter.”

Adrian’s gaze focused inward, again searching his memory. All at once he felt sick. “Oh, my God!” he whispered, his vision clearing. “Forgive me, Simon. I think I need to sit down.”

The marquess nodded his dark head toward a leather chair next to the desk. “You really didn’t know?”

“I swear. I would have returned to London and faced the consequences if I had.”

“So you’ve gone on, blithely unaware of the chaos you left behind you? Weren’t you in communication with anyone?”

“Chaos?” the earl asked faintly. “What happened? My man of business wrote to me about, well…business. He passed along notes from my mother, but no one mentioned anything unpleasant.”

“How nice for you.” The sarcasm in Simon’s voice was unmistakable. “I wish I could say the same for Jillian. Sad too, for she was a fetching thing. She had her pick of the beaux that year and garnered I don’t know how many proposals. By summer’s end she had decided on Edgeworth.”

Adrian snorted his contempt.

“Yes, well, I didn’t much care for him, either. But Jilly was head over heels. Unfortunately, her little escapade was discovered and that ended everything. Edgeworth cried off and, with the vicious gossip that followed, my father had no choice but to send her back here to Sutherfield.”

“How did the story come out?”

“Now there’s an interesting question. We’re not certain. Jillian seemed to think James Endicott, the young man who drove your carriage, might have recognized her. The only other people who knew about that night were the two individuals with her—one our cousin Phillip—and she’s convinced neither would have exposed her.”

The earl shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Don’t you think if James had known who she was he would have told me? He’s a gentleman. James would never have ruined a young girl’s reputation only to repeat a little gossip.”

“Doesn’t signify,” the marquess said impatiently. “The harm is done, has been for a long time.” He gave Adrian a piercing look. “What concerns me now is what we’re going to do to mend the situation.”

Adrian felt the hair on the back of his neck lift. “I suppose,” he ventured, “you’ve already given it some thought.”

Simon chuckled, a humorless sound, as he moved across the room to a small sideboard where the brandy decanter resided. He poured two quick measures in crystal goblets, splashing the amber liquid over the rims in his haste. He turned back to the earl and handed him one.

“I think perhaps we need that drink now,” the marquess said, sitting behind the desk. “Negotiations always go better with spirits.” He leaned back in his chair, loosely gripping his glass in both hands as he rested it on his stomach. He had the look of one getting comfortable for however long it might take.

Adrian wondered if he appeared as dazed as he felt. The marquess’ next words confirmed his suspicion.

“Feeling a bit green around the edges, Wickham? You do want to negotiate, don’t you? I mean, we can’t undo what’s been done, but with a little creative thinking we can minimize the damage.”

The earl was cooked, not rare but through and through. It didn’t take a prophet to understand where this particular line of inquiry was headed. Creative thinking? Hardly. Simon was suggesting what was always suggested in circumstances like this. Although suggesting was an understatement. The pressure underlying the words, even though the discussion had turned less hostile, was unmistakable. Adrian felt just belligerent enough to pretend ignorance. Make the man say it, he thought.

“What did you have in mind, Simon?”

The marquess took a swig of his drink, swishing the beverage over his tongue as though considering how best to reply. His scrutiny roamed in seeming indifference over the furnishings of the library, the leather-bound volumes, floor to ceiling, on countless shelves. At once his gaze sharpened and he turned his attention to his guest.

“There’s only one answer, and I think you know it as well as I do. I want you to court Jillian in earnest and when the time is right wed her.”

Adrian did not bother to protest, for he could not claim the distinction of being a gentleman if he did. Simon was right. His sister had been ruined, and it was the earl’s responsibility as the despoiler—albeit unwittingly—to rectify her situation. That did not keep his spirits from plummeting into his boots.

“It is, of course, the only answer,” Adrian said, trying to keep the dejection out of his voice. “I don’t wish to be forward and invite myself to dinner, but I can meet her tonight if you would like and begin my campaign immediately.”

“She’s not here.”

“Oh?”

Simon took another gulp of his drink, pausing as if unsure how to respond. This time his hesitation did not seem feigned.

“I think I should warn you, this may not be as easy as we might hope,” he said. “Jillian is not the most even-tempered gel I know. These last years have been hard on her, and she’s developed some, ah…strange notions. I’m hoping marriage to a good man will help her settle down.”

“And I qualify?” Adrian asked, smiling grimly.

“If you are willing to right what is wrong then yes.” The marquess leaned forward in his chair and placed his arms on the desk, his expression heartfelt. “Look, Adrian, I know you’ve been in a scrape or two, however, I never meant to imply that you are an evil person. But Jilly is my sister. Understand?”

Unfortunately, the earl did understand. He sighed. “Where is Lady Jillian residing?”

“She’s living with our Aunt Prudence Milford on a small estate about twenty miles south of here. When Jillian reached her majority she came into an inheritance from Evangeline, Prudence’s sister, who passed away some time ago. The two sisters lived together, both never married, and when Evangeline died Pru invited Jilly to come live with her. My sister was desperate to have some autonomy in her life, and since she was financially independent she leapt at the opportunity. She runs the place with Pru’s complete approval.”

“How do you suggest I go about introducing myself?”

“You and I can ride over tomorrow and break the news. I see no reason why you can’t use my home during your courtship,” the marquess said, magnanimous now that his demands were being met. “You’re welcome to stay the summer—longer if need be.”

“That would make things easier and lend an air of respectability. You shouldn’t count on either myself or Lady Jillian being accepted by those who matter, though. We both have a lot to overcome in the eyes of society.”

Adrian stopped for a moment, anticipating a question he knew the other man wanted to ask. He decided to broach the sensitive subject himself.

Coughing uneasily, he said, “Not that your sister did anything wrong, Simon, except perhaps use poor judgment.”

Simon nodded slowly. “Jillian said as much. I believed her, but I’m glad you can corroborate her claim.” He leaned forward, holding his hand over his desk. “We have an agreement?”

This time the two men shook hands. Adrian settled back in his chair and took a mouthful of his drink, reveling in the alcohol as it burned the back of his throat. The pain helped dilute the intense disappointment. All the years he’d been in exile, his greatest desire had been to return home. Now to find this awaiting him—a wife not of his own choosing.

With his visit to Sutherfield, Adrian had come to the one place where he could not escape the past. Ironically, in doing so he also had come face to face with his future.

*****

“Simon’s come?” Jillian cried. She jumped up from the chair where she sat in the morning room, having removed a pair of mud-encrusted work boots. “Where?” she asked the maid who had delivered the news.

“In the parlor, miss,” Hannah replied. Jillian headed for the door. “I wonder why he is here. I don’t think it’s Cassandra’s time yet.”

“My lady?”

She turned back to the maid. “Yes?”

“Your gown is rather dirty. Do you think perhaps…?”

“Simon doesn’t stand on ceremony,” Jillian said, examining the mud that clung to her clothing and the bare toes that peeked from beneath the hem of her skirt.

“But, my lady—”

“Oh, all right, Hannah, if you insist.”

Jillian moved to the mirror on the wall over the sideboard and looked at herself. She dampened her pinky finger with her tongue and ran it daintily over each eyebrow. She glanced this way and that, pretending to study the effect as her dark hair, carelessly tied at the nape of her neck, swung to and fro down her back.

“There, that’s an improvement. I know Simon will appreciate my efforts.”

“Yes, my lady,” Hannah said through lips so tight with disapproval, Jillian was not certain she saw the maid’s mouth move when she spoke.

“Good. Now I can get on with the business of greeting my brother.”

Jillian left the morning room and dashed down the hall. In the parlor Simon stood next to the fireplace, and she danced across the carpet, throwing herself into his arms.

“Simon, it’s been weeks,” she said, hugging him tightly. “What brings you here? It isn’t Cassandra’s time yet, is it?”

“No, it’s not Cassandra’s time,” he said. He pulled back and surveyed her with a critical eye.

Did she detect censure in his attitude? His cool reception, along with the notion that Hannah might have been right, caused her to bite back at him.

“I’ve been in the garden. If I’d had some notice I would have prepared myself for your venerated visit.”

“Yes, well…” he began, clearly uncomfortable. She watched as his gaze drifted past her shoulder and across the room.

An unwelcome suspicion caused Jillian to spin around. She gasped. On the far side of the room occupying Auntie Pru’s favorite chair was a gentleman, sitting quietly, expressionless. Watching her. If she could have disappeared through the floor, she would have gladly taken that escape.

“You didn’t mention we had company, Simon,” she managed through her embarrassment.

She continued to look at the man, and an odd feeling of recognition came over her. Something about the black hair and the handsome features tickled her memory—and the eyes, light blue and piercing. Yes, the eyes…

The swollen lip was new.

“Didn’t give me the opportunity, did you, Jilly?” her brother was saying, “I would like to introduce you to—”

He got no further, for Jillian pointed an accusing finger at the guest and shrieked, “You! What are you doing here?”

“Jillian, behave yourself,” Simon admonished her.

The Earl of Wickham came slowly to his feet, a strange smile playing around his mouth. His gaze flicked over her, and Jillian knew in that instant appraisal he had taken in her disheveled appearance, the mud on her dress, her bare feet.

He bowed slightly, although his steely regard did not leave her face. “I’m pleased to meet you again, Lady Jillian. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

The words were deep and resonant and thick with amusement. She suspected the amusement was at her expense.

“Why are you here?” she asked rudely.

“Jillian,” her brother said again and this time there was no mistaking his warning.

Lord Wickham raised his hand. “It’s all right, Simon. Your sister has reason to despise me.” He turned to Jillian. “I think your brother should provide the explanation.”

Is this how foreboding feels? Jillian wondered as she stared first at one gentleman and then the other. She sensed she was about to be told something she would not like, and her stomach clenched with anticipation.

“Well?” she said when no one spoke.

“Perhaps I should allow you two a few moments of privacy,” the earl said.

Simon looked at him. “Turning cowardly, my friend? I think we should all be part of this. No secrets.” He placed his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “Jillian,” he commenced in a pompous voice, “as you know, these last years have been a trial, more for you than anyone.”

“I’ve weathered them,” she said coolly. She glanced at the earl who watched her unnervingly.

“I know that’s true,” her brother said, “but we are in the position of giving back some of what has been taken from you. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Simon, you’re talking in riddles,” Jillian said, “and you know how I dislike indirect speech. You’ve brought this man here for a reason, and I would like to hear some plain speaking.”

Again she looked at Lord Wickham, but he continued to smile, a smile she noticed that did not touch his eyes.

“Have it your way,” the marquess said in exasperation. “Adrian is only now returning to England. You, of course, know when he left. He swears that he did not realize the hardships you encountered after that night he fled with you in his carriage. He and I have had a talk…” Here, despite his annoyance, Simon’s courage seemed to falter. “And well…he has agreed to help you recover your reputation.”

“That was my carriage in case you’ve forgotten,” Jillian bit out. “And please, pray tell, in what form is this help supposed to come?”

“Adrian has consented to marry you—naturally, after a suitable courtship.”

“Excuse me? He has consented to marry me?” For the moment Jillian was too startled to be angry. “Should I be pleased?”

She looked in the earl’s direction, but there was no answer forthcoming from that stoical gentleman.

“Jillian, a little gratitude is in order. Adrian is willing to do the noble thing, and this could be your chance to have a husband and a family.”

“And this is supposed to make me happy?”

Simon nodded. “It is what most women want.”

“It’s not what I want. Not this way. What makes you think this is my only opportunity? I’ve had other proposals.”

“Fortune hunters—outright scum, and you know it. I’ll never consent to a marriage with that sort.”

Her brother’s highhanded decree was the final insult. “So,” she said, her voice deceptively calm, “you prefer I wed a murderer. Much better, I should think.”

Jillian knew before the remark left her mouth that she should refrain, but wounded feelings sent the words spewing forth before her common sense could intervene. One glimpse at her brother’s furious expression told her she had gone too far.

“Now that I’ve had time to reconsider,” Simon directed his statement at the earl, “I believe my sister and I should share a few words in private. Clearly, she has forgotten her manners.”

He grabbed Jillian by the arm and dragged her into the hall, leaving Lord Wickham to fend for himself. He pulled her toward the morning room, not releasing his painful grip until they reached their destination.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said through gritted teeth once he had banged the door into place. “I never thought to be ashamed of you but by God I am today.”

Not cowed, Jillian spat back, “Then perhaps you’d best rethink your strategy. How dare you come in here presuming to tell me how to conduct the rest of my life. I cannot believe you expect me to marry that man.”

“I am the head of this family, and I can have expectations, not the least of which is that you do as you are told.”

“Poppycock!”

“I beg your pardon,” he said in an awful voice.

“You heard me.”

“Jillian, what has happened to you? Your behavior has become more outrageous with each year that passes. Do you realize you are the talk of the countryside?”

She shrugged. “Lest we forget, Simon, Lord Wickham has a dreadful reputation himself. He killed a man in a very illegal activity. I don’t see how marriage to him is going to help my situation. He won’t be accepted by the ton anymore than I am.”

“You said he had no choice. In fact, you were quite vocal eight years ago in your defense of Adrian.”

“Perhaps, but I also felt it was his fault that the duel happened in the first place. He did sleep with Viscount Findley’s wife after all.”

Her brother winced. “The conversation becomes indelicate, Jillian. This is not something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Men do have the advantage of retreating into territory where women are forbidden when things become uncomfortable,” she said bitterly. “But it doesn’t change anything. What happened, happened. I don’t believe I want a man like that for a husband. And what kind of father do you think he would be?”

“What I think is that you misjudge Adrian. He was wild, I admit. However, I sense he’s changed. He and I spent most of last night talking. He wants to do what’s right. I give him credit for that.”

Jillian turned away from him and went to stand in front of the French doors where the sunshine streamed into the room.

“Instead of trying to mend my life, Simon, can’t you accept that the die has been cast? I shall spend the remainder of my life on the shelf. I’ve come to terms with that and I’m happy. Be happy for me.”

“I can’t, and do you know why?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Because our father could not. Your disgrace broke his heart. If he were here today what do you think he would want you to do?”

“Damn you, Simon, damn you.” She whipped around to face him, her chin trembling with emotion. “When all else fails maybe guilt will work.”

“You were his favorite, you know that. He wanted you to marry and have a family. That more than the opinions of others is what hurt him most.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched her sadly.

“Do you really believe Papa would want me to marry the earl?”

“He is the most appropriate choice.”

“Why? Because he is the instrument of my downfall? Using that criterion seems to me he’s the worst possible choice.”

Simon did not speak. Instead he shook his head as he continued to watch her through sorrowful eyes.

“I’ll say it again—damn you.” She stared back at him, torn between her own desires and what she feared might be the right thing to do. At last she spoke. “I make you no promises, Simon. If I feel Lord Wickham and I don’t suit, I won’t marry him even to appease our father’s memory. If you are willing to leave it at that then I shall try.”

Simon beamed at her. “Jilly, come here, love,” he said, using her pet name, an indication all was forgiven. He crossed the room and gave her a brotherly hug. “I can ask no more.”

Her brother’s approval brought Jillian to the brink of tears. He had manipulated her into doing his will, but for the moment she didn’t care. Time enough later to worry about how to get out of doing what he wanted without breaking her promise. For now she would enjoy being in his good graces again.

“Adrian and I are going to stay for supper,” he said, “so make yourself presentable. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a beautiful woman beneath all that muck.” Simon released his hold but took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “You do know, Jillian, I want the best for you, don’t you?”

Nodding, she remained silent, unwilling to say what was on her mind because she didn’t want to fight with him anymore.

In the hall Jillian paused to gather her scattered wits. She believed her brother when he said he had her best interests at heart. However, wanting the best for her did not mean he knew what that was. And anyone with eyes could see the dangerous gentleman in her parlor was not the answer to her future.

*****

After Simon and Lady Jillian left the room, Adrian sat down in his chair again. It was an uncomfortable chair, a woman’s chair, he decided, as he tried to find a position that did not make him feel in danger of slipping to the floor. He crossed his legs, watching the entrance to the room.

Simon and his sister had been gone for ten minutes, long enough for the earl to wonder if they were coming back. Perhaps he should be relieved if they chose not to return—at least, if Lady Jillian chose not to return.

Lord, she had a temper. He had a difficult time equating the woman she was today with the frightened young girl who had ridden in a stolen carriage with him eight years before. But there was something else about her, something that had not escaped his attention even hidden beneath the dirt and the unpleasant disposition.

Lady Jillian Fitzgerald was a beauty. Last evening after speaking with the marquess, Adrian had tried to conjure an image of the girl she had been on that long ago morning of the duel. Unfortunately, the effort had failed him. He did recall being attracted to her but only that. However, seeing her again had brought the memories flooding back.

A short while before when Jillian had entered the parlor to greet her brother, the earl suddenly had remembered the younger version of the lady—the even features, flashing brown eyes and long dark hair like a luxurious swatch of silk cloth. Still uncrimped, he noted with satisfaction.

She had changed but if he were any judge of beauty—at any rate, he knew what he liked—then she had changed for the better. Despite his reluctance Adrian was fascinated.

The marquess entered the room at that moment, looking embarrassed but determined. “Jillian will be joining us for supper. You will meet our Aunt Prudence at the same time.”

“Be delighted,” the earl said dryly.

Simon gave him a sharp glance. “I apologize. You can’t be pleased with my sister’s reception, but under the circumstances we shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Of course, not.”

“Oh hell, come out with it,” the marquess growled. “It’s not what you expected, is it?”

The earl uncrossed his legs and came to his feet. “To be honest, Lady Jillian’s greeting was preferable to yours.” He caressed his tender jaw. “And to answer your question, nothing in a long time has happened the way I expected. I find it prevents disappointment not to predetermine the future.”

“I’m having a time of it identifying with your problem, I admit. I wanted to marry Cassandra.”

“Don’t underestimate your sister, Simon. Or me. This is not the beginning one would choose given another option, but I intend to make the most of it.” He ignored the searching look Simon sent his way. “Now what kind of libation does your Aunt Prudence keep on hand?”

*****

CHAPTER 3

Jillian glanced in the cheval glass, assessing the plain gown she wore. It was old and outmoded, but the deep lavender of the material highlighted her complexion and dark coloring. The bodice fit too snugly, indicating her figure had changed over the years. Other than that she was pleased with the result.

Satisfaction aside, she was annoyed with herself for worrying about her appearance. She knew she should maintain a fashionable wardrobe, but part of her rebelled at the notion she must keep in step with a society that had rejected her. And in truth, since she rarely entertained dinner tonight with her brother and Lord Wickham was the first time in recent memory she had felt one of her old gowns was not adequate to the occasion.

She told herself the only reason she cared was that she didn’t want to embarrass Simon. Why should she be concerned with Lord Wickham’s opinion? Unfortunately, Jillian kept remembering when the earl had looked at her, taking in her mud-spattered costume and unshod feet. What had he been thinking in that fleeting moment before his gaze met hers? She shook her head as though shaking loose the thought.

One thing she refused to do was pin her hair up as was expected of a woman her age. Her tresses were heavy and with the pins digging into her scalp, her head would begin to hurt almost at once. In the past she had been a drudge to fashion regardless of the inconvenience. She had primped like all the young females of her acquaintance, sneaking into the rouge pot when her mother looked the other way and wearing a corset that made her feel pinched in two. Not anymore.

Jillian did wish her hair had some curl, though. On reflection she decided it looked like the tail of a horse, long and straight, especially when she tied it at the back of her neck—not very flattering, she decided.

She crossed to her dressing table, opening one of the drawers and, after rifling through the contents, extracted an ecru ribbon. The ribbon matched exactly the lace on her dress, and she slipped it around her hair, tying a bow. There, she thought—an outmoded dress and a horse’s tail. Perfect. She supposed Simon’s pride would have to wait for another time.

She turned back to the cheval glass, pleased with her efforts, and curtsied at her reflection.

“So glad to see you again, Lord Wicked,” she said aloud in an artificially sweet voice.

And with that, Jillian turned and left the room, refusing to acknowledge the nervous flutters in her stomach that had turned her limbs into aspic.

*****

Adrian decided he liked Aunt Prudence. A fluffy little woman with white hair almost as wide as she was tall, Auntie Pru spun about the tiny parlor like a wooden top, always breathless, always enthusiastic.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Lord Wickham,” she gushed in winded accents. “We rarely have such exalted company.”

The earl took her soft, plump hand. “The Marquess of Sutherfield qualifies more than I do, ma’am.” He winked at the marquess who nursed a drink on the other side of the room.

“Oh, him—of course, but he’s family, don’t you see? Hard to think of one’s nephew as exalted. No offense intended, Simon, you understand.”

“None taken, my dear,” Simon intoned gravely.

“There’s a good lad,” she said as if her nephew were still a green youth. She looked toward the parlor door. “Where’s that sister of yours? Can’t fathom her reluctance this evening. She’s usually the first one at the table. Has an appetite like a horse, you know.”

Adrian glanced up just as the lady with the equine appetite passed through the doorway.

Her face was a mask of dismay. “Aunt Prudence, I doubt our guest is interested in my eating habits.”

The old lady’s eyes grew round as though only now did she understand what she had said. “Oh, I-I see what you mean. I’m sorry, Jilly. My tongue is forever getting ahead of my brain.”

Her niece’s expression softened. “Not to worry, love, I’m afflicted with the same condition at times.”

The gentle look on Lady Jillian’s face made the earl feel he had never seen a more beautiful woman. She had donned a simple purple gown, stretched a little too tightly across her bosom, although Adrian found that condition intriguing. In fact, Pru’s declaration about Jillian’s appetite aside, the young lady had a splendid body, voluptuous with a narrow waist. And he didn’t think she wore a corset to achieve that narrow waist, for her torso did not have the unnatural look of being encased in metal. He detected soft flesh and nothing more. Yes, intriguing.

She had eschewed the hair fashion adopted by most mature females, instead allowing her mahogany mane to flow down her back, contained by only a single ribbon. Few women could have worn that stark style, but Lady Jillian accomplished it with elegance. For a second he allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through the dark strands from scalp to silken tips…Adrian gave himself a mental shake. Lord, he’d been too long without a woman.

“Don’t you think so, my lord?” Aunt Prudence interrupted his thoughts.

“What? I’m sorry, what did you say?” the earl said as he realized the older woman had been talking nonstop at him for several moments.

He must have been staring at Lady Jillian in a rather fixed way, unaware of the conversation flowing around him, for when he glanced at the young lady’s brother, his friend gave him a knowing look, eyebrows raised, and lifted his glass in a mock salute. Adrian smiled sheepishly.

“I said,” Aunt Prudence continued, “that the weather has been marvelous, don’t you think so?”

“If you are speaking of England, I can only vouch for the last four days, ma’am,” the earl said, “but I would have to agree that what I’ve seen so far has been very pleasant.”

Adrian glanced again at Lady Jillian, but she had steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. At any rate, that was the impression she gave. In that moment he knew he had a difficult task ahead of him. It was one thing to promise Simon he would wed the man’s sister, he thought, and something else again to get the young lady to make the same commitment.

So be it. Adrian had always liked a challenge. Not that he wanted to marry right now, especially a stranger, but the stranger part could be mended with a few weeks of intense courtship. What he did want was to do the right thing. He liked to think he had done some maturing in his years of exile, that he would meet his responsibilities head on like a gentleman.

Still, he had not been prepared for the instant attraction he felt for Lady Jillian, an attraction he recalled feeling on the night of the duel. Then he had put it down to the time and location and the temptation of a pretty face rather than anything more profound. But now he wondered. Might there be a magnetism between Lady Jillian and himself that would prove more than a passing fancy? Despite the lady’s nonchalant attitude, intuition told him she was aware of the pull between them also.

The idea made him feel self-conscious, consequently he greeted the announcement of dinner with relief.

Simon strode across the room and took his aunt’s arm, leaving the task of escorting his prickly sister to the earl. However, when Adrian placed his hand on Lady Jillian’s elbow he sensed her resistance. In fact, though he knew she made an attempt at graciousness, her effort came close to failure. Her attitude did not bode well for the coming meal.

But as it turned out dinner was a congenial affair. The food was tolerable and the addition of Prudence’s frothy personality kept the conversation from turning stiff and unnatural. Adrian enjoyed feasting on hearty English cooking with his English friends at an English table. Only now did he begin to perceive how much he had missed his homeland.

After eating, the gentlemen decided not to have drinks alone. Instead, they invited the ladies to remain at the table with them and share tea. At this point the conversation turned more personal. Jillian posed the first probing question to the earl, which seemed odd to him, for up to now she had seemed to avoid addressing him unless absolutely necessary.

“Lord Wickham,” she asked, “you have not been back to England since the autumn of 1802?”

She watched him out of deep brown eyes, and Adrian instantly felt the attraction between them that he had detected earlier. This time he knew for certain she felt it also, for something nearly undetectable shifted in her regard when he returned her look. Yet he had to give her high marks for courage because she continued to watch him even though he knew she had been made uncomfortable by their unspoken exchange.

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “Four days ago was the first time I’ve stepped on English soil since the…since I departed. I was so overcome with joy upon my return I felt the incomprehensible urge to fall to my knees and kiss the earth.”

“And did you, my lord?” Jillian asked in a sly voice.

Adrian grinned. “Now there is where I am glad having an urge does not necessarily mean one must act upon it. I couldn’t get past the notion that if I kissed the ground, I would get dirt in my mouth—good English dirt, mind, but still dirt. I kept seeing myself looking as though I had dined on mud cakes—not how I wanted to be seen entering the country.”

That commentary brought on a gust of laughter from his dinner companions. Even Lady Jillian, much to Adrian’s satisfaction, smiled her appreciation.

“Then where have you been all these years, dear boy?” Aunt Prudence asked.

“I stayed in France until the early part of 1803. The political situation there began to deteriorate badly about that time, and it was not the best place to be an Englishman. Just as well, I suppose. I wanted to see the continent, anyway. After two years boredom set in.”

“I suspect that is in character,” Jillian muttered.

“Jillian!” Her aunt and Simon spoke simultaneously.

“No, no, she’s right,” Adrian said, holding up his hands to stem the outrage. “Restlessness has been one of my worst traits. I believe that is why I was always in some scrape or another.”

“Where did you go from there?” Aunt Prudence asked him while sending her niece a disapproving look.

Adrian smiled inwardly for that niece appeared singularly unrepentant. “West Indies, an amazingly exotic place, warm year round with coastal waters beautiful beyond description. I really believed when I first landed there I would stay for the remainder of my life, traveling between the islands.”

“What made you change your mind?” This from Simon.

“If you can believe, I grew homesick for a real winter. Actually, I was on my way back to England three years ago when the ship I was on made an unplanned detour to the port of New Orleans. Haven’t the faintest idea why I did it but on a whim I stayed. Decided to experience some of America. Not the original colonies, you understand. They are too civilized. I wanted to visit the untamed territories. I did that, existing fairly much out of saddlebags for months. Joined what they call a cattle drive, mostly as an observer, to absorb the atmosphere of the American west. Might as well tell you right now, living without the conveniences is not at all what it is made out to be.”

“Did you see Indians?” Jillian asked her curiosity evidently overcoming her reticence.

“Indeed I did. Fascinating peoples. But there are many tribes, you know, many cultures. I met only a few. And luckily I did not encounter any who were at war with the American government, for they might not have realized I was neutral.” Adrian shook his head. “As to that, our own situation with America has become quite volatile. I’m afraid if the English and Americans do not come to an understanding we will be at war again. That is one of the reasons I decided to come home.”

Everyone nodded in silent agreement, and on that solemn note they rose and left the table. Shortly thereafter the men took their leave of the ladies.

On the ride back to Sutherfield Simon commented, “The evening went well, don’t you think?”

The earl glanced at his friend as he shifted impatiently in his saddle. “It went as well as one could expect under the circumstances. I’ll be frank—that doesn’t say much. Speaking of war, I believe your sister has declared as much on me.”

“We’ve taken her by surprise but she promised she would make an effort.

“Your idea of an effort may be different than hers.”

“Are you trying to renege?” It was hard to miss the sudden suspicion in the marquess’ voice.

“Of course, not. I gave you my word. I’m merely suggesting that my word does not cover Lady Jillian’s intentions. And right now she doesn’t appear to want to cooperate.”

“If it comes to that, she will do as she is told.”

Adrian pulled on the reins of his horse, bringing the animal to a sudden stop. He squinted at the marquess who had stopped as well, trying to see his face. But his friend’s features had grown indistinguishable in the inky night.

“I don’t want that, Simon. I have to build a life with your sister. If we start out with hate between us our chances for a successful marriage will be reduced to nothing. I’d like the opportunity to bring her around to our way of thinking. I don’t believe force is the way to do that.”

Simon didn’t speak immediately and, though Adrian could not see his companion’s expression, he had the feeling he was being analyzed just as he had been earlier in the evening.

“Jilly is as pig-headed as they come,” Simon agreed at last. “All right, have it your way. I know what it is like to have to convince a woman she cares for one.”

“Cassandra?” Adrian asked, interest piqued.

“Yes, and I’ll tell you about it if you think it will help,” the marquess said as he kicked his mount into an even canter. “However, being as Jillian is my sister I would much prefer you not use some of my methods…”

*****

Jillian yanked open the drawer of the chiffonier, pushing the contents this way and that until she found an old pair of cotton stockings. She quickly donned them and then slung her feet into oversized work boots. The final touch was a straw hat that hung from the mirror of her dressing table, a compliment to the shabby muslin dress she wore.

She ignored the clothing she had left piled on the floor next to her bed, but she knew Hannah would later remind her of the transgression. While at it the maid could be counted on to complain that her mistress had once again dressed without help from her personal servant. Jillian didn’t care. She had no patience for rituals that wasted precious time.

And this morning she was in a hurry. Unfortunately, she had overslept and was getting a late start. She had planned to rise before dawn and ride the five miles to the small stream on Squire Lindley’s property. The good squire had given her permission to visit anytime she wished, although he had been shocked when she had told him she intended to fish the stream. He, like everyone else, could not understand what “a gentle young woman” found fascinating about a man’s sport.

That attitude irritated her, for she gained what a man gained—the peace and the quiet of a solitary occupation where she could think about whatever she wanted or decide not to think at all. And though she felt a bit bloodthirsty admitting it, she loved tussling with and landing a hooked fish, a minor victory in a life that was otherwise mundane.

But now she was late and this she placed firmly at the door of the Earl of Wickham. If he had not come thundering into her life, disturbing her peace, she would never have lain awake most of last night pestered by unwanted thoughts. She could not believe Simon wanted her to marry that man.

Jillian felt betrayed that her brother had put aside his anger over past events, treating the earl like a long lost friend. She ground her teeth when she thought of how the two men had laughed together the evening before as though there was nothing between them but fond memories. Had Simon forgotten what she had been through?

Not that she blamed Lord Wickham for her plight, she told herself. She had done something foolish and had been caught. If not for her own conduct, the situation in which she had found herself could not have happened. To believe anything else would be unfair, and she took pride in her ability to be fair.

Still, she could not like the earl. He was too forward, and the way he looked at her through those icy blue eyes made her stomach quiver, a condition she found disconcerting. It didn’t help that Lord Wickham was the most attractive man she had encountered since, well…since last she had encountered him. In fact, if memory served, he was even more handsome than before with no traces of the youthful demeanor she remembered to mar the virile adult male. Jillian shuddered, not certain whether from distaste or excitement.

If only she knew what the earl was thinking. Had he really decided to court her? How could marrying him solve her problem? Did he, along with her brother, really believe the ton would welcome her back after all these years as though nothing had happened? Just like a man, she thought, to look for a simple solution to a complicated matter.

Jillian rubbed her eyes and yawned. She probably would not catch many fish today, for she was still achingly tired. But she wanted to try. She opened the door to her bedchamber and, as she stepped over the threshold, she nearly bumped into her Aunt Prudence. The older woman looked flustered.

“Aunt Pru, is something the matter?”

“Oh, Jillian, he’s here!”

“Who’s here?”

“Lord Wickham,” Aunt Prudence said breathlessly and she began to wring her hands in agitation.

Jillian clamped her lips together and stomped back into her room. “Why has he come?” she flung over her shoulder.

“I just knew you were going to take that attitude,” her aunt moaned, following closely behind her. “Please, please, Jilly, don’t make a scene. I’m sure Lord Wickham has a perfectly logical reason for being here.”

Turning around, Jillian gave the older woman a piercing stare. “You don’t trust me to use good manners? I think I know how to comport myself. I’ll simply see what he wants and send him on his way.” She headed back into the hall.

“Not dressed like that!” her aunt squeaked.

“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? Are you afraid Lord Wickham won’t be impressed by my appearance? That is exactly how I want it. The quicker he is discouraged, the quicker I can get on with my life. I have no intention of making this any easier for him—or Simon for that matter.” She marched down the corridor with her aunt’s incoherent sputtering ringing in her ears.

Jillian descended the stairs and walked to the parlor. “My lord,” she began then realized she spoke to the empty air.

“In here, Lady Jillian.” She recognized the voice of the earl coming from the morning room.

In a larger house Lord Wickham would not have heard her come downstairs as he apparently had, nor would she have heard him call to her. But Aunt Prudence’s home was small and cozy with little privacy between the rooms on the bottom floor.

She wished she had not mistaken his location. In the intervening moments from when she first entered the parlor to when she realized she must now make an entrance in the morning room, Jillian’s nerve wavered. To her annoyance her heart began to pound erratically. Straightening her shoulders, she briskly traversed the distance between the parlor and the morning room before she had time to lose her courage altogether.

Lord Wickham had thrown wide the double doors to the warm sunshine. He stood with his back to her, and Jillian was struck by the size of the man. She had always thought Simon tall, but the earl was taller, more powerfully built.

Again, she assumed he had heard her approach, for he spoke without turning. “Come in, my lady. I was just admiring this beautiful garden. Your gardener must have special powers.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly.

He turned around. Did she imagine it or did his eyes widen slightly as he took in her costume? If he was disapproving he chose not to show it. He leaned his shoulder casually against the door casing.

“You say that as if you are responsible for those lovely flowers,” he said.

“I am.”

He lifted his brows. “Really? I am impressed. You tend the lawns as well?”

Jillian had the sudden impression he was making fun of her. “Of course, not. I tend the gardens around the house. I have found over the years I enjoy working in the dirt. In fact,” she said, deciding to be outrageous, “I like getting dirty.”

The earl gave her a considering look that said he believed her. “Well, then,” he murmured, his lips twitching, “you didn’t much identify with my story last night about not wanting to get dirt in my mouth.”

She felt her own mouth drop open. She guessed she deserved that shot, for she had given him the ammunition, but being aware of her folly did not make her feel any less vexed.

“I said I like to work in the dirt, my lord. I did not say I like to eat it.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said heartily. “Now tell me have I interrupted something? You appear to be on your way out.”

He had neatly changed the subject and she looked at him suspiciously. “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why you are here.”

“Isn’t that apparent? I’m calling on you. I thought you understood.”

“Why, you arrogant…” She stopped herself and drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve not agreed to anything, Lord Wickham. Simon has taken it upon himself to speak for me, and I did not give him permission to do so.”

“He said you intended to make an effort. I assumed you would honor your promise.”

He spoke so calmly, so rationally she found herself grinding her teeth. “I want you to tell me what you think an effort is and what it is you think I have promised my brother.”

“That you will give me a chance to prove myself, that you will allow me to call on you and, ultimately, see if we suit.”

“And what if I decide we don’t suit, what then?”

“Don’t you think we should deal with that circumstance when it becomes necessary?”

“You haven’t answered my question, my lord.”

He gave her a crooked grin, one she found nearly impossible to resist. Somehow she managed.

“I haven’t thought of that because I’m not ready to admit there’s a chance I might be defeated. Can’t we agree not to disagree for the moment? When all’s said and done there is no way you can be forced to marry me.”

“Subtle pressure is sometimes more difficult to resist than the overt variety,” she grumbled, remembering Simon’s mention of Papa. “I cannot believe my brother welcomed you into his home as though nothing were wrong.”

“He didn’t—not exactly.”

“Indeed?”

The earl ran a hand over his lip and, though it was less bruised than yesterday, it still looked tender. “Simon’s first reaction was to come out fighting. I had to convince him, and rather quickly, I might add, that I believed as he did. You’ve shouldered an unfair burden these many years, and I feel a responsibility to better your situation.”

“What sanctimonious rot. Has it occurred to either one of you that I might not want your help?” Jillian clumped over to a Chippendale chair near the fireplace and sat down. She had wondered where the earl had received that swollen lip, and she felt a perverse satisfaction knowing her brother had defended her. “Let’s not mince words, my lord. What makes you think marriage to a ne’er do well will in any way enhance my future?”

For several moments Lord Wickham stared at her without commenting. Then he slowly stood away from the doorframe and came across the room to tower over her. She stared back at him, nervous yet mesmerized by his insistent gaze. The pupils of his eyes dilated, nearly obliterating the icy blue.

“Has it occurred to you, my lady,” his voice dipped suggestively, “that you have underestimated the pleasures a marriage can bring? There is more than a respectable household at stake, and you are no longer a girl. I cannot believe all the advantages of a union have escaped your notice.”

Jillian was so appalled by the sudden insinuating turn the conversation had taken, she found herself unable to reply. She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth where it lingered before he raised heavy-lidded eyes back to hers. Lord, he was sure of himself.

“You have not addressed the issue of your reputation, my lord,” she said, mortified that the words came out in a shaky whisper.

“And you have not addressed the issue I raised. If you insist on discussing your concerns then I insist on discussing mine.”

She vigorously shook her head, all the while blinking her eyes, looking, she felt certain, like an idiot.

“Well then, I suppose these are some of the matters with which we’ll have to come to terms at a later date. I am a patient man. Eight years of exile have taught me how to wait.”

Jillian came to her feet because she could no longer tolerate the advantage he had as he stood over her. She backed away from him, hoping to create some distance not only from his person but from the power of his personality.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I know you couldn’t possibly want to marry me.”

“I made a promise and, hearsay to the contrary, I am a man of my word.”

“I do not want to marry a man who needs his arm twisted on the way to the altar. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t know you, Jillian. You must give me time.”

Lord Wickham’s attitude was completely serious now, and that more than anything unnerved her.

“I have to return upstairs,” she said, moving through the door and into the corridor.

“I thought you were on your way out,” he said, following her.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why? Is it because of me?”

“Yes…I mean, no. Oh, please, just leave.”

They had reached the main hall, and Jillian had to resist the urge to open the door and forcibly push him through the entrance.

“I’ll leave if you’ll tell me where you were headed before I arrived.” The earl stationed himself in the middle of the tiled entry, clearly ready to hold his ground until she complied.

“Do you think it is any of your business?” she asked in a waspish voice.

“None whatsoever.”

“All right, all right” she said. The man was impossible to argue with. “I was going fishing. Are you satisfied now?”

She wondered if he felt as surprised as he looked.

“Fishing?” he asked. “Were you really? Seems to me I remember Simon enjoying fishing that summer I stayed at Sutherfield. Must run in the family. I happen to enjoy it myself.” For a moment neither of them spoke, but by the expression on the earl’s face she knew he was doing another kind of fishing—fishing for an invite.

“I like to fish alone, my lord,” she said hurriedly.

“You ought to try it with a companion. I wager you’ll like it even more.”

“But I go early, very early, much too early.”

He grinned. “I’ll be here.”

“If you do I’ll stay home.”

Though the grin did not slip, it eased somewhat as his eyes narrowed. “I’ve detected many things about you, Lady Jillian, but cowardice was not one of them. Should I change my assessment?”

“Damn you!”

“Ah, a witch’s tongue—a profane one at that.”

Her own eyes narrowed at that point. Jillian turned away from him and moved toward the stairs. Since he seemed intent on remaining in her entry then she would be the one to leave. “Have it your own way,” she snapped over her shoulder. As she reached the bottom step of the staircase, she looked back at him. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, if you insist on coming you risk being tossed in the lake at the end of my hook.”

Lord Wickham merely raised his brows in question.

“That’s what you are best at, my lord—baiting one. You should be put to good use and bait the fish instead.”

“Tomorrow then?” he asked cordially.

She gave him her back without answering and his laughter followed her up the stairs.

*****

The earl was in a good mood as he retrieved his horse from the small stable at the rear of Prudence Milford’s home and began his trip to Sutherfield. All things considered he felt his first official visit as Lady Jillian’s future betrothed had gone reasonably well. Not great but that was to be expected when the bride-to-be had made it clear she had no intention of taking part in the nuptials.

Adrian liked the lady, found her stimulating, but she had a forceful nature that challenged his ability to finesse. He wondered if she came by her temperament by birth or if she had acquired her strident ways due to her lot in life. Perhaps both conditions could be blamed. One thing for certain, he thought, he would be making a mistake to allow her the upper hand. If she sensed weakness, the esteemed Lady Jillian Fitzgerald would chop his liver into tiny pieces and serve it to him for dinner.

He laughed aloud at the mental image of a savage Lady Jillian doing away with his remains, but he was uncomfortably aware that her anger at him was very real.

The trip back to Sutherfield took an hour to complete at a restrained canter. Though Adrian found the ride enjoyable, he wondered how much he would enjoy it in the middle of the night when he had to return for his fishing trip with Jillian.

Simon met Adrian as the earl rode into the stable yard.

“Ho, Adrian, how did it go?” the marquess called to him.

The earl dismounted and tossed his reins to a groom who scurried from the stable. “I would like to say all went well, Simon, but that would not be true. On the other hand it could have been worse.”

“Oh?”

“You sister and I have an appointment tomorrow.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, we do. I have the honor of accompanying Lady Jillian on a fishing expedition. I have to be there before dawn, though, as she swears she will leave me if I am late.”

Simon laughed as he shook his head. “You must think my sister a complete eccentric.”

Adrian smiled as well. “She is different but then so am I. Your sister and I have a shared history of sorts, for we both have spent the last eight years living as outcasts due to a mutual transgression. She did not kill anyone, of course. Still, exile from one’s peers takes a toll, more on her than me because she is female. She’s had to give up what most women in her position expect without question. At her age—how old is she now, twenty-five?—she is bitter, and rebelling against society is her only way of fighting back. I admire her pluck.”

Simon studied the earl for a moment before breaking into a delighted grin. He clapped Adrian on the shoulder, and the two men began the walk from the stable yard to the house.

“Don’t get the maudlin idea I’m being altruistic, Simon. Your sister is a beauty. If I have to take a wife she’s more to my liking than most. I’d marry her anyway because I have a responsibility, but…” Adrian trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable with the drift in the conversation.

“Understood,” the marquess said, nodding. “Cassandra and I have spent the last two nights discussing whether or not this was the right thing to do. Now more than ever I’m convinced Jilly will profit from our interference. You understand her—I could not ask for more. I always knew you were a right one, Adrian.”

The earl snorted. “Of course, you did.”

“Yes, well…” Simon cleared his throat, “have you thought of who will chaperon you two on this fishing trip? I’d do it but I don’t want to leave Cassandra. Unfortunately, I’m afraid Prudence would find it a real chore.”

Adrian stopped as they reached the front step, and he turned to face his friend. “I want you to leave the courting to me, Simon, and trust that I will not do anything to hurt Jillian. Your aunt will provide the necessary shield when necessary. Under normal circumstances what I’m asking would be considered unorthodox, even unthinkable, but the circumstances are not normal. She is, for one thing, no longer a child. Besides, what can the gossipmongers say after all these years that they didn’t say in the past? The harm has been done.”

“‘Spose you’re right. Simon paused. “All right, Adrian, have it your way but do know I’ll be watching. I don’t want any overt impropriety that provides people with something to talk about. Jillian keeps the tongues in the countryside wagging as it is with her outlandish behavior. Sometimes I wish I lived farther away so I would not be forever subjected to the tales that spin from her direction.”

“When four o’clock in the morning arrives, I’m sure it will seem quite a distance to me,” Adrian said wryly. “I like to fish but I’m better at it when I’m awake.”

Simon chuckled, a chuckle that sounded suspiciously gleeful. “Best make that three o’clock, my friend. When Jilly says early that is exactly what she means.”

*****

CHAPTER 4

The clock on the mantle chiming four in the morning brought Jillian awake. She moaned aloud and, grabbing the covers, pulled them over her head. What had made her tell Lord Wickham she would be leaving early? Actually, what she had wanted was to leave in advance of his arrival however early that might be. She had decided the only way to ensure missing him was to rise at an ungodly hour and depart as soon as possible.

She crawled from the bed and stumbled across her chamber to the washbasin and dashed cold water in her face. That helped but did not alleviate her grogginess. Jillian dressed quickly in the same outfit she had worn the day before, including the straw hat, for the clothing was at hand where she had tossed it on the floor last evening.

Comfortably rumpled she quit her room not five minutes later and descended the stairs. She exited the house by way of the kitchen, stopping to fetch a thick slice of dark bread from the pantry before leaving. She was awake now and the bread tasted lovely, something unexpected since her stomach was not used to being bothered at this time of day.

She took the path leading to the stable, munching hungrily while she walked. The structure loomed out of the darkness as she finished eating and she moved through the door, feeling as though she had entered a dark pit. She could hear the horses in their stalls rather than see them.

“Raven?”

The horse whinnied in answer and Jillian stepped over a hay-strewn floor in his direction, careful where she placed her feet. Feeling in the dark, she found a lantern hanging from a hook on a nearby post. She knew a phosphorus box rested on a ledge not far from the lantern, and sure enough a blind search revealed its location. Fumbling with the box, she extracted a match and, coating it with phosphorus, struck the tiny piece of wood into life. She then lit the lamp.

“That’s better,” she said aloud as the interior of the barn was cast into shadow and light.

She could now see Raven. A bridle and bit had been tossed carelessly over the partition between Raven’s stall and the horse next to him, something Jillian demanded because she went out at all hours of the day and night and wanted the riding gear at hand. Searching the tack room for equipment when she was in a hurry wasted precious time.

With experienced hands she placed the bridle over Raven’s head and led the animal from the barn.

“You forgot your saddle.”

The unexpected words came from behind her and Jillian screamed. She recognized the voice even before she opened her mouth. However, instant reflexes had already sent the sound flying forth, making her feel ridiculous. She swung around to face the intruder.

Lord Wickham emerged from the darkness, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he met her angry glare.

“Why are you hiding in the stable?” she asked peevishly as her heart continued to race.

“I would hardly call it hiding, my lady. You were later than I expected so I decided to take a nap in a haystack in one of the stalls.”

“I was later than you expected? You don’t consider this early?”

“Not early, very early, much too early,” he said, his expression innocent.

“What time did you leave Sutherfield?”

“Now that was much too early.”

Oh dear, she wanted to laugh. But she mustn’t, just mustn’t or he would think she had thawed in her attitude toward him. And she had no intention of doing that now or ever.

Jillian grimaced at him instead. “Have it your own way. I see you are determined to come with me whether I desire your company or not. You might as well be helpful then. The fishing poles are leaning against the wall in the tack room.”

“At your service, my lady,” the earl said, bowing before he turned toward the stable.

She blew through her lips, creating an unladylike sound. His sincerity was as believable as a paste jewel, she thought in disgust as she made ready to mount her horse. Jillian grabbed hold of Raven’s bridle and, placing her right hand on his hindquarter as leverage, leapt belly first onto the back of the horse. As soon as she knew she was securely in place, she threw her leg over the animal and came into a sitting position.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lord Wickham had appeared from the stable holding the fishing poles in one hand and leading his horse with the other. He stared at her in consternation.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Where’s your saddle?”

“I rarely use a saddle and never a sidesaddle.”

“Good God, woman, no wonder people question your behavior. A lady does not ride a horse like that.”

“Who said I’m a lady?” Jillian sneered. “For your information I find it odd that females are encouraged to ride in so dangerous a fashion. A sidesaddle makes me feel as though I’m about to topple to the ground. I can’t control Raven as easily that way.”

“That’s nonsense. Unless you are racing at unsafe speeds, you should be perfectly safe riding in the traditional manner.”

“This is how I am going, my lord,” she said haughtily. “Are you coming or not?”

A steely look entered the earl’s eyes, a look that made Jillian all at once ill at ease.

“As you will, my lady,” he said in a cool voice.

He mounted his horse.

The journey to Squire Lindley’s property took less than thirty minutes. The trip was a silent one with neither rider apparently willing to break the awkward quiet. At least, Jillian knew she was not. The earl rode slightly behind her and to her right, and though she could not see him except from the periphery of her vision, his unspoken disapproval roared at her.

Too bad, she thought defiantly. Who did he think he was anyway, coming into her life and telling her what to do? She must tolerate his company because she had promised Simon, but it seemed a waste of time to move forward with the courtship when she had no intention of following through with the wedding.

Jillian led them about a quarter mile into a wooded area where a large stream sliced through the trees. Though still dark the dying moon cast a silvery reflection onto the stream, illuminating the surrounding landscape. The water flowed along a high, grassy embankment, and small rocks worn smooth by countless years of erosion filled the shallows at the shore’s edge.

Lord Wickham immediately dismounted. “I can see why you like it here,” he said, coming to stand next to her horse. “Is the fishing good?”

“I rarely worry about the fish,” she answered stiffly. “I come for other reasons.”

He reached up to help her from her horse, and Jillian glanced into his raised face. The moonlight emphasized his sculpted features, features so ruggedly handsome she felt her throat constrict. She wanted to ignore his courteous gesture, not because she disliked his offer but because she feared him touching her. She refused to ponder why that should be.

“I’m quite capable of getting off my horse when I am ready,” she said, aware she was being ungracious.

“I’m certain you are.” The earl did not move away from her when she rebuffed him but rather continued to wait, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“You are a stubborn man, my lord.”

“So I’ve been told.”

To continue to refuse him would make her appear petty, thus Jillian placed her hands on his shoulders and allowed him to swing her to the ground. He released her immediately.

The earl apparently had thought nothing of the contact. But she could still feel where he had held her waist in a strong grip, and she detested the nervous quivering that had risen in her stomach. She was attracted to the man and was infuriated with herself for being unable to control the feeling. The one thing Jillian had determined long ago was never again to be out of control. She would stifle that feeling or be dead trying.

“Something has occurred to me,” Lord Wickham said.

“Yes?” Her answer was curt as she continued to calm her heightened emotions.

“We forgot the bait.” She turned to look at him and he put up his hands. “And don’t tell me I must wiggle my toes in the water to attract the fish. I warn you I did not take your threat of using me for bait seriously.”

“We’ll dig for earthworms, my lord. Are you certain you’ve been fishing before?”

“I hear the disparagement in your voice, Lady Jillian, and I really must protest. Did you bring a shovel?”

“For heaven’s sake, the ground is soft, and since it’s still dark the worms have not retreated yet. It should take little effort to capture enough to keep us fishing for hours. We’ll use sticks. That is what I always do.”

“You did say you like to dig in the dirt.”

Jillian sensed his amusement but ignored the remark, hoping that if she did not react to his teasing he would grow tired of the game. Instead, she began to search at her feet for the stick she had mentioned.

“Aha! This is perfect,” she said, holding up a sturdy specimen.

She left the earl to find his own tool and moved to the embankment where the earth was rich with humus and she knew the worms were plentiful. She worked silently, capturing several before realizing she had nothing to put them in. It took her only a moment to come up with a solution. She whipped off the straw hat she wore and dumped her booty into it.

Dawn was fast arriving, and Jillian glanced up at that moment to see the earl staring at her with a quizzical expression.

“Have you caught anything, my lord?” she asked loftily. “You’re welcome to share my hat if you like.”

He chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’ll need my help baiting your hook. I gather all those years I spent becoming proficient at chivalry are wasted on a self-sufficient female like you.

Jillian did not bother to answer him. She stood from her kneeling position and dusted off her skirt then moved to where the fishing poles lay on the ground. The earl continued to watch her, she knew, but she pretended to be absorbed by the process of putting a fat worm on her hook and tossing her line in the stream. She sat on the grassy slope and prepared to wait.

Lord Wickham followed her lead. Jillian observed him surreptitiously from the edge of her eye as he baited his own hook and, with spare efficiency, flung his line into the water. The fluid movement reminded her of a night when he had flung a knife into a man’s chest.

He sat next to her—too close, she thought—and stretched his lean frame out on the embankment. He came up on his elbow while holding his pole loosely in both hands. Neither spoke, thus the only sound disturbing the silence was the soft gurgle of the stream as it flowed languidly by them. Shortly thereafter the rising sun brought the songs of the various forest birds.

“Tell me,” the earl said at last, although he continued to watch his line, “why is it so important to you to ride your horse without a saddle?”

“I think it is the best way to enjoy riding.”

“You are not bothered by the gossip?”

Jillian glared at him. “Gossip is the lowest form of human exchange,” she said tightly. “I’ve endured much over the years. At some point one cease to care.”

“But you seem to court the talk.”

“Are you questioning my motives?”

Lord Wickham shook his head. “No, I don’t know you well enough. I will say, though, rebellion for rebellion’s sake is not worthy of the pain you’ve suffered.”

She looked at him again, this time wondering if perhaps he did understand. Suddenly Jillian wanted to explain.

“I love to ride, my lord. Sometimes I take Raven out in the middle of the night and we race for miles, just the two of us.” Her voice had turned dreamy. “I can forget everything but the wind in my hair and the earth flowing beneath Raven’s hooves. Then and only then am I completely happy.”

She glanced at him sheepishly, realizing she had said more than she had intended. The earl met her gaze, and she saw the compassion in those clear blue eyes, eyes that radiated warmth despite their cool appearance. She wanted to respond, but in truth she didn’t know how.

“Do you think it unwise to ride alone in the middle of the night?” he asked gently.

She knew he had chosen the words to ease her embarrassment. The question was a goading one given her obvious belligerence, so she could bite back at him now if she wanted to with his tacit permission. However, Jillian decided she liked the congenial conversation more.

“You tell me something,” she said.

“If I can.”

“Why did you take the hackney I was in that night? I mean, wouldn’t it have been more expedient to use your own conveyance?”

“It would seem that way,” he said.

“Then why?”

“It’s as I’ve maintained from the start. What do you think the chances of the Earl of Wickham’s sporting vehicle going unnoticed as it barreled toward Dover? In a hack we were in less danger of attracting attention, perhaps better able to evade anyone who might be following us. Actually, James was the one who spotted your hackney. We thought it empty, rented by one of the spectators. There were plenty of them there that night,” he said in a dry voice.

“Makes sense,” she said.

“Thank you.” And then, his attitude turning casual, “Since we’re in the mood to answer questions today, explain to me how a young girl with the world at her feet would risk everything she had to attend something as depraved as a duel.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

She paused, and he said, “Go on.”

“My friend Meredith suggested it—Meredith Tisbury. She had heard Lord Wicked was to participate in another duel.” She glanced at her companion and saw him wince. “Anyway, she would not rest until I promised to sneak out with her so we could witness the encounter. She said we should dress like servants to hide our identities. She was forever doing things she oughtn’t but somehow she never got caught. Phillip Angsley, my cousin, came along when he heard what we were about because he wanted to keep us from harm. Phillip has always felt bad about how things turned out, but to his credit he did try to stop us.”

“So it was Miss Tisbury’s idea and you paid the price. Her part in the escapade was never discovered?”

“No,” she said dully, but quickly added, “not that I wanted her to be, you understand.”

“Naturally. Why do I get the impression there is more to the story?”

Jillian considered not telling him but what did it matter anyway? He would find out the truth, and if she held back he would think she cared.

“Meredith married Lionel Hemsley.”

Lord Wickham gave her a puzzled look as though he did not understand, but then his expression changed and she knew he had made the connection. His gaze filled with pity.

“You’re too good for Edgeworth. It’s just as well,” he said.

The last thing Jillian wanted was his sympathy and she began to feel prickly again.

“What would you know about it?” she asked.

“I was acquainted with Edgeworth. He was not well liked even among his male contemporaries. When a man is not respected by other men I guarantee the ladies should take heed. I’m not surprised he cried off. I always thought him a coward.”

Perversely, Jillian felt the need to defend her former fiance. “What would you have had him do, my lord? I was ruined. He would have been pulled into the scandal by association. He had his future to think of and that of his progeny.”

“Be that as it may I cannot like his reaction to your predicament.”

“How would you have dealt with the situation?” She hoped she did not look as vulnerable as she suddenly felt.

“I’d like to think I would have done the noble thing, especially if I cared for you and believed you innocent of all but bad judgment. Talk eventually dies down, but his response left you stranded with few options. If he had stood by you much of the gossip would have been diffused.”

Jillian trusted the earl’s sincerity. The noble thing was to marry her, and he intended to do that very thing himself whether he liked the idea or not. She remembered the ache Lionel’s rejection had caused her and how much suffering she could have avoided had he championed her when it counted most. But it was dangerous to give Lord Wickham any latitude so, memories aside, she refused to acknowledge the pleasure his declaration gave her.

“Society makes the rules,” she said. “I broke one and I paid the price. I do not like people who whine, and I will not feel sorry for myself.”

“Commendable attitude…and practical.”

They fell quiet after that but the silence was a companionable one, and Jillian could almost believe she was enjoying herself. A delicious languor crept over her and, though continuing to sit upright, she allowed her eyes to drift shut.

“Whoa!” the earl shouted.

Jillian’s lids fluttered open and for a moment she was dazzled by the brightness of the morning sun. She had been closer to sleep than she thought. She blinked several times to clear her vision.

“I think I’ve hooked a fish!” he said. “By the feel it’s a large one.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, instantly feeling the excitement. “Oh, he’s giving you quite a tussle, isn’t he?”

For several moments the earl struggled with his catch, and all at once the fish broke the surface of the water.

“It’s a brown trout, my lord! And you’re right, it’s a nice-sized one. I usually catch perch and they’re never that big.” She jumped up from the bank, forgetting her own pole in her enthusiasm. “Let me help.”

“Be careful,” she heard him say. “I really think you should let me—”

He did not have time to finish his warning, for Jillian had moved to the edge of the shore and was trying to grab hold of his line in effort to help land the struggling trout. As she leaned forward she stepped into the stream. The leather on the bottom of her boots slid across the smooth rocks in the shallows, and she lost her balance, toppling head first into the water.

Fortunately, the stream was not deep except in the middle. She came out of the waist-high water, coughing as she sought her feet. Lord Wickham was gaping at her dumbstruck, his fish apparently forgotten.

“Don’t lose him, don’t lose him!” Jillian yelled. “I’m all right.

The earl looked thoroughly nonplused but he did as she said and hauled his catch onto the bank. The poor fish lay on the ground, flopping this way and that as it gasped its last breath. They stared at the trout then at each other, and much to her chagrin he began to laugh.

“It occurs to me,” he said, “it isn’t necessary to swim with the fish in order to catch them.”

Jillian clamped her lips together. “I only wanted to help.”

“Perhaps we should decide on what kind of help is needed,” he said, chuckling. “Now come on, grab hold.”

He leaned forward over the water much as she had done and extended his hand to her. Jillian did not know what devilish impulse possessed her then, but she was tired of the earl making fun at her expense. She moved forward, the water tugging at her skirts as she reached for him. He must have realized her intent at the last moment, for his eyes widened in sudden understanding when she took his hand. She fell backwards, pulling him into the stream beside her.

“You wretch!” Lord Wickham spluttered, rising to his feet. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“I thought we should be on equal footing. It’s rather difficult to make fun of me when you are also wet.”

“Is that so?” he asked, an ominous light igniting his gaze.

He grabbed for her. Jillian managed to evade him but only just, her sodden skirts an impediment to free movement. She traveled the few feet to the shore, struggling against the weight of her clothing and the current, laughing breathlessly.

The earl tackled her as she reached the embankment. They both hit the ground and rolled together back toward the water, picking up mud and grass as they went. She lay there, stunned.

“Jillian, are you all right?”

On her abdomen, she faced away from him. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her onto her back as he loomed over her.

“That’s Lady Jillian to you.” She giggled up at him, an undignified sound but she couldn’t help herself.

“Why you little hellion, I ought to…”

He trailed off as something changed in his eyes. His gaze deepened, searching her features. Jillian felt her smile drift away. Her stomach dropped—an odd sensation since she was prone—for the look on his face had grown dark and hungry. He took her in his arms.

He meant to kiss her and she meant to fight him. At least, that’s what she believed. Strange how her good intentions could be waylaid by a yearning she did not even know she had. Until that moment she would have sworn her emotions could not be aroused, that the pain of years gone by had robbed her of her passion. Perhaps she was right, but then what was the beguiling warmth that had begun in her belly and was now slipping unchecked through her limbs?

He lowered his head and his eyelids drooped. Water droplets glistened on his lashes and as she watched, his lips parted. The earl’s full mouth wet and hot touched hers, and Jillian felt her insides contract.

He held still for a moment as though savoring the feel of her then slid smooth, sensitive skin tantalizingly back and forth, tasting her, allowing her to taste him. She felt his tongue trace a line along the bottom of her lower lip, wringing from her sweet, sweet desire. She reached up and curled a fist in the satiny dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Lord Wickham drew back, and Jillian was overcome with disappointment. She did not want him to stop and she suspected he knew it, for the hint of a gratified smile eased his mouth as he looked down at her. However, he made no effort to mask the craving that still gripped him.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered. She had to force the question over a tongue nearly frozen with shock.

“Why did I do what? Why did I kiss you or why did I stop?” he asked, the words thick with passion.

“You know what I mean,” she said, beginning to struggle from his grasp.

The earl’s grip tightened. “I suspect you will think me odd but I like a woman with mud on her face. Strange impulse, I admit, but there it is.”

To prove his point, he raised an index finger to her cheek and gently removed the mud she had apparently picked up when she rolled down the embankment.

“You ought to see your own face, my lord,” she said, trying for but not quite attaining anger.

“I can see my face,” Lord Wickham’s voice dropped seductively, “reflected in the most beautiful pair of brown eyes I have ever seen.” He looked as if he might kiss her once more.

Jillian had had enough. If he began his assault on her senses again, she felt certain she would melt on the spot. The last thing she wanted was to give him that satisfaction.

“Let me up,” she said coldly. “I think we’ve indulged in enough foolishness for one day.”

“Foolishness?” the earl drawled, rolling off her and coming into a sitting position. “I’ve reveled in many things foolish in my life, however, I hardly think these last moments qualify.” Before she could respond, he said, “I suppose now that you are mussed you’ll want to return home.”

“Do I look like someone who allows a little water to ruin her day?” she asked, drawing away from him and standing. “The way you said that you are accusing me of being female. Well, I am female, but I’m no spoilsport. I do not intend to go home until there are enough fish for dinner. You, of course, are welcome to do as you please.”

“Then I am pleased to remain with you,” the earl said, his attitude dogged in the face of her rejection. “Two hooks are better than one.” He sent her an engaging smile, clearly enjoying his own cleverness.

Jillian, in the midst of retrieving her fishing pole, tossed him a look of displeasure. “Humph,” was all she said.

*****

Jillian and Lord Wickham started home shortly after noon. They carried eight fish, mostly perch and the one trout, on a makeshift string fashioned from braided strips of her petticoat, a discreet donation, naturally. Nevertheless, she knew Auntie Pru would not approve of that resourceful contribution.

“Are you always this unprepared?” the earl asked as they turned their horses from the main road and onto the drive that led to her aunt’s house. “I’d feel ridiculous if my mates could see me now carrying home fish on a petticoat.”

“I think men worry too much about what other men think,” she said. “Can’t be caught doing something womanly, oh no. As a female I have the same problem. Fishing is not feminine so I shouldn’t fish. And riding astride is simply not done. Well, those are society’s rules, and society will no longer have anything to do with me. Why should I bother?”

Lord Wickham shrugged. “Perhaps if you made an effort they might let you come back.”

Jillian gave him an incredulous look. “Do you really believe that?”

“Not as things stand, but if we can change your situation there is a chance.”

She did not get the opportunity to answer as they had reached the house. She was glad for the reprieve, for she was not ready to talk about the change his words implied.

Aunt Prudence met them as they dismounted.

“Jillian, where is your saddle?” she fretted, wringing her hands. “Lord Wickham, you must forgive her lack—” she stopped abruptly when she saw them, really saw them. “What has happened to you two? You look as though you have fallen into the river.”

The earl took the lead. “Miss Milford, I do apologize for bringing your niece home in such a disreputable condition,” he said, patently ignoring the disgruntled look Jillian shot his way, “but we had an accident as we tried to land this big fellow here.” He held up the string of fish, indicating the trout.

“Oh, I see.” Aunt Prudence took in a gulp of air. “B-but what is that holding the fish? It looks like it has lace on it.”

This time Jillian did not give the earl a chance to speak. “That’s just a piece of cloth, nothing to worry about.”

“But it has lace in it, lace that looks like…oh, dear me,” her aunt began to wail as she evidently put and two and two together. She clamped her hand to her bosom. “Jillian, what am I to do with you?”

“Now, Aunt Pru, Lord Wickham and I needed to store our catch. I could have used my hat, though I don’t supposed it would have held many fish. Besides, I’d already used it for the worms.”

Her aunt stared at her in blank amazement. She blinked, opened her mouth to speak only to close her it as if unsure how to proceed. She tried once more.

“Yes…well, I…yes, I see what you mean.” The effort must have been too much for her, for she gave up and turned to the earl. “Lord Wickham, do you join us for dinner?” she asked, all the while darting bemused glances at her niece.

The earl had maintained his composure, although Jillian knew he was exercising great restraint. Perhaps she was warned by the way he kept clamping his teeth together and pursing his lips as though he were near to unleashing a gust of laughter. He did not meet her gaze which was probably just as well, as her own sense of the hilarious had begun to overwhelm her.

“I would be honored, ma’am,” he said, his stoical expression still firmly in place.

“Good, good,” Prudence gushed. “I don’t know what we have in the way of clean clothing for you, but we will find something. Let me show you to your room, my lord.” Her aunt linked arms with Lord Wickham, leading him and the string of fish inside. At the front door she looked over her shoulder, eyes pleading. “Jillian, I suggest you clean up as well, my dear.”

As if I didn’t intend to, Jillian thought in irritation. She came in the house, ignoring the footman and the housemaid who exchanged looks as she crossed the threshold.

She trudged up the stairs and entered her bedchamber. Such a strange morning, she thought, as she peeled off her damp clothing. What could go wrong had gone wrong. She had felt foolish more than once—more than twice if she were honest. There was something else she had felt, and her face burned with mortification.

How could one kiss have had such an effect on her? After Lord Edgeworth and she were engaged he had kissed her, though it was usually a chaste little peck and she couldn’t recall having been particularly moved by the experience. She had sensed in Lionel a bridled passion, but he had always kept himself in check, never crossing the line of propriety.

Not Lord Wickham. His desire had erupted forth this morning, demanding a response from her. And she had given it to him. It had never occurred to her that just touching lips could be so beguiling, so intensely erotic. An odd shiver accosted her when she remembered that moment right before he had released her mouth. He had wanted her then. She guessed her love of fishing had not disgusted him as much as she had hoped it might. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset.

Now in her shift and drawers, Jillian was in the act of ringing for her bath water when a knock sounded at her door.

“Yes?”

“Jillian?” her aunt called to her.

“Come in.”

Aunt Prudence, puffing, bustled into the bedchamber. Hannah came right behind her, carrying two buckets of steaming water. The maid marched straight to the tub, quickly emptied the buckets then departed the room for more of the same.

“Were you afraid I did not intend to wash?” Jillian asked, feeling mistreated. “I was ringing for my bath when you knocked.”

The older woman ignored the remark as she folded her arms over her ample middle. “Jillian, dear, we have to talk. Do you have any idea how you looked just now when you arrived on the step with Lord Wickham?”

“Aunt Pru, not another one of your lectures, please. It was an accident, I promise.”

“Be that as it may, there are people watching your every move. You may think gossip cannot hurt you anymore but you delude yourself. And what about Simon and his family? Don’t you think the talk hurts them as well? They live close by and are privy to all your activities.”

“I cannot live my life for Simon,” Jillian said, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you should.”

“I suppose then you will be unhappy when I say I intend to cook supper.”

“Jillian! I must insist you dress properly and entertain Lord Wickham in the parlor like the young lady you are.” The words were severe but by the expression on Pru’s face her aunt already knew she was defeated.

“I won’t change my routine to suit Lord Wickham. If he is to like me, he will like me for myself. You know I enjoy cooking the fish I catch.”

Aunt Prudence merely stared at her, her chin trembling.

“Oh, all right, if I promise to comport myself with greater care when I’m in public, will you allow me to be myself when in private?”

Her aunt nodded, visibly brightening.

“And, Auntie, please leave Lord Wickham to me. You seem to fear I will scare him away. Have I not made it clear that is exactly what I’m hoping to do?”

Hannah, arriving with more water, prevented Prudence from responding. Probably for the best, Jillian thought, because her aunt looked a bit like that poor trout that lay on the bank this morning, gasping for air.

*****

CHAPTER 5

In Prudence Milford’s guest bedchamber, having recently bathed, Adrian tucked in the tail of his shirt. The clothing he now wore was Simon’s, apparently left from an earlier time. The trousers were a bit tight. In fact, when he looked in the mirror he wondered if he were decent. Maybe he should leave his shirt untucked. He shouldn’t complain, however. At least he was dry.

His Hessians were still wet, though. The only footwear Miss Milford had been able to find was a pair of old boots donated by the gardener. So far he had been unable to force himself to put on the smelly things. That made him doubly glad for Simon’s old clothes despite the snug trousers, as he could not imagine what the gardener would have loaned in that regard.

Did he dare go downstairs barefoot? He doubted Lady Jillian would stand on ceremony, but her aunt? Miss Milford was distressed by impropriety. He felt sorry for the older woman, for he suspected she was subjected to unseemly behavior on a daily basis. The earl looked at the distasteful boots one more time and decided to risk the disapproval.

Adrian saw Jillian’s aunt when he reached the landing at the top of the staircase. Prudence stood at the base of the stairs in silence, her appalled gaze never wavering from his feet as he descended. The earl could have sworn his naked extremities began to tingle as she continued to eye them. When he reached the last step, she finally looked up in stupefaction.

“Forgive me, Miss Milford,” he said. “The boots you gave me looked as though they had been fermenting for some time. I could not bring myself to put them on. I hope you understand.”

“It doesn’t signify, anyway,” she said, sounding almost tearful. “Jillian is not any better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Follow me. You’ll see.”

Adrian fell in behind the lady. She led him past the parlor, past the morning room and to the back of the house. To his surprise she waved him into the kitchen although she did not enter with him.

“My niece insisted on entertaining you in here,” Aunt Prudence said. “If you would like, I’ll bring you a brandy.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

She retreated and the door closed behind him.

A large wooden table filled the middle of the kitchen, and Lady Jillian stood at that table, wielding a large knife. Unless he was mistaken she was cutting off the head of a fish. A woman he assumed to be the cook tended a kettle that hung in the fireplace. The air was permeated with the odors of cooking.

Evidently hearing his entrance, Jillian glanced up. Though not overtly hostile her welcome was subdued, and he saw the distrust that crept into her eyes. She took in his unorthodox appearance, her attention resting on the tight pants—a little longer than was necessary, he thought. He grinned broadly when she brought her gaze back to his and she blushed.

“You brother’s clothes are somewhat small for me,” Adrian said, forcing the subject into the open.

“You are a big man,” she responded.

“Indeed,” he drawled.

The sound of crockery hitting the floor caused Adrian and Jillian to look at the cook.

“Excuse me,” Cook said, her damp, fleshy face as red as an overripe tomato. “I-I don’t know what got into me.” She cast a look of doubt mixed with reproach at the earl as she reached for a broom.

“What’s the matter with her?” Lady Jillian asked, clearly baffled by the servant’s attitude. “Pull up a chair, my lord.”

“As you will, my lady.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, call me Jillian.”

“That’s not what you said earlier today,” the earl said, sitting down.

“Well, I’m saying it now.”

She ran the back of her hand impatiently across her forehead, pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen in her eye. Then she tossed aside the fish she was working on and reached for another.

“Then you must call me Adrian.”

Jillian looked up, a considering expression on her face as though she had introduced a topic she now regretted. She shrugged.

“Why not,” she said. “We’ve fished together and we shall cook together. If that does not put us on a Christian-name basis, what does?”

“How about a searing kiss?” he asked in an undertone.

“Would you be quiet?” she spat.

She sent a nervous glance in the cook’s direction, but the servant was busy sweeping the floor. Of course, appearances aside Adrian knew the cook most likely was straining to hear every word spoken between the two aristocrats in her kitchen.

“What is it you expect me to cook? I must warn you I’ve never even boiled water,” he said.

Jillian pursed her lips—soft, sweet-tasting lips, he remembered. “Let me see then,” she said, pointing the blood-smeared knife at him, “we’d better not give you anything you can ruin. Do you think you can peel a potato?”

Adrian chuckled. “You really are serious, aren’t you?”

“Naturally. You said we should get to know one another. Well,” she said, holding her hands apart as she indicated the kitchen, “this is part of who I am.”

He did not miss the challenge in her words. Nor did he miss the insecurity that lurked beneath the poised surface. What was she trying to tell him? Perhaps, he reasoned, it was more what she was trying not to tell him.

And so the earl found himself sitting at a large wooden table, peeling potatoes and trading light conversation with a beautiful woman in Prudence Milford’s kitchen. If anyone had suggested he would enjoy the experience, he would have scoffed at the very idea.

But he did. He watched as Jillian lightly floured the fish, pan-frying the fillets. The smell was heavenly. She smiled at him more than once, her distrust seemingly forgotten as she became engrossed in her work. The look on her lovely face was unguarded and he found himself responding in a way that was unexpected. He had no idea what love felt like but he surmised what he felt at the moment might be a prerequisite for that emotion—that is, if the recipe for love contained a generous dollop of lust.

A smudge of flour graced the end of the lady’s nose, and Adrian wished he could wipe it away as he had wiped the mud from her cheek earlier in the day. As she shifted back and forth in the kitchen, her hair swung loosely down her back, tied in a single ribbon at her neck. He was mesmerized by her feminine movements. He kept remembering the feel of her body when he had lifted her from her horse by the stream. He was pleased at the time to discover he had been right—she did not wear a corset. He was positive she was not wearing one now.

Adrian took a deep cut in the potato he was paring and yelled his surprise. “Damn!” he bellowed, raising his middle finger to his mouth. “How did I do that?”

“I think you need to look at the potato to peel it, my lord,” the cook said, a knowing expression on her round face.

Cheeky woman, Adrian thought. The situation did have a positive side, though, for Jillian had washed her hands and raced to his side.

“Are you all right, my lord? Let me have a look.” She quickly assessed the damage. “It’s not serious but we’ll need to clean and bandage the cut.” She moved to the basin for a pan of water. “Get me a clean cloth,” she said to the cook.

After his explicit thoughts he found Jillian’s nearness an enticement hard to resist. She leaned over him as she worked on his finger, her breast brushing lightly against his arm. The contact caused a corresponding response in his groin, which could become humiliating in light of the snug trousers he wore.

“There,” Jillian said, tying off the bandage.

As she straightened she turned to look at him. He must have looked as hungry as he felt, for when their eyes met the pleasant expression slid from her face only to be replaced by one of apprehension.

Aunt Prudence chose that moment to bustle into the kitchen, carrying a large brandy snifter more than half full.

“What has happened?” she asked, a tremble lacing her words. “Are you hurt, my lord? Jillian, what have you done?”

Jillian bristled. “Aunt Pru, it is hardly my fault that Lord Wickham is clumsy. It never occurred to me that he could not peel a few potatoes without cutting himself.”

The older woman looked as though she might swoon. “Potatoes? You’ve had the Earl of Wickham peeling potatoes?”

Prudence raised the brandy glass to her mouth and, taking a slug that would have done an inebriate proud, swallowed. Blinking rapidly, her eyes watered. She then turned without another word and left the kitchen.

“That makes me feel bad,” Jillian said. “I’ve really upset her this time. I didn’t mean to, honestly.”

Adrian came to his feet. “Let me talk to her. It is worry over my dignity that has upset her.” He returned Jillian’s smile of gratitude. “Course, I’m not wearing my boots so I won’t have the veracity I normally have.”

He intercepted a look from the cook that told him the servant approved in a guarded way. Well, any progress was cause for celebration, he thought.

He stepped into the hall and padded to the parlor. Sure enough, Miss Milford had sought refuge there, still clutching the brandy glass in her hand. She turned at his entrance.

“My lord, I apologize. I meant this for you,” she said, indicating the drink. “I’ll pour you another.”

“You are distressed.”

“No, no, it’s just that…” her voice trailed away as she handed him a new glass.

“Thank you. Why don’t you continue to sip on that brandy you started while we talk?”

Aunt Pru’s eyes lit with eagerness. “You don’t mind? You won’t think me a…a…”

“No, no, of course not. Conversation always goes better with strong drink.”

Adrian was not certain what she feared he might think, but he got the distinct impression Jillian’s aunt was not adverse to taking an occasional tipple. Retrieving the snifter she settled her plump body on the settee and indicated the chair next to her.

“Now then.” She turned on him inquisitive blue eyes and waited for him to begin.

Just as though I had been the one who was upset, he thought, amused. Aloud, he said, “I don’t want you to be disturbed by the way your niece treats me. You will find this hard to believe, but I had a good time in your kitchen. Until I sliced my finger that is. And Lady Jillian was correct. That was my fault.”

“But, my lord, you are a gentleman.”

“Miss Milford,” he spoke earnestly, “do I strike you as the conventional sort?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“I’ve lived abroad and often in primitive conditions, I might add. I’ve traveled a long way from the world of the ton. We speak as if the only important thing for Jillian and me is to be accepted by our peers once again. Frankly, though, my attitude is not that far afield from your niece’s. I’m not certain I’m interested any longer. I was when I thought my mother still lived. For her sake I wanted to make the effort, but now…” He shrugged.

“If you and Jillian marry and you don’t make an effort, what about your children?”

Adrian nodded. “And that, of course, is why we must try. We have more than ourselves to consider.”

“I don’t know why she is so stubborn about all this,” Prudence said, sipping her drink. “She feels her estrangement from society even though she won’t admit it. Yet she goes out of her way to alienate everyone, even Simon who is tolerant. I fear you will take a disgust of her without realizing who she truly is.”

“Rest easy, dear lady, I know what she is attempting to do. She hopes her conduct will push me away. But she cannot hide beneath a false exterior.”

“You are not repulsed by her?”

He heard the doubt in her voice and Adrian wanted to groan aloud, for repulsion was the last thing Lady Jillian had aroused in him. Since he couldn’t put it that way, he chose his words carefully.

“Jillian is a beautiful woman, something I suspect she has forgotten. Your niece is spirited and honest. At least, she is honest with others. She’s not quite honest with herself yet but I’m willing to give her time. And meanwhile, she and I will get to know one another.”

“She’s very determined. Are you certain you can bring her around?” Prudence asked, her cheeks now pink as she had nearly finished her brandy.

“There is an element of trust that needs to be worked on, I admit. But I’m hopeful.”

Aunt Prudence leaned forward, quite a feat since she was so round. “Lord Wickham, why are you doing this?—I mean, aside from your promise to my nephew?”

For the first time Adrian detected a shrewd component to the old lady’s personality. Though it had not occurred to him before, he suspected this little woman as innocuous as she seemed could make the difference on whether he was successful or not. Without her support he was doomed. He also suspected if he were not completely sincere with her she would know.

“Miss Milford—”

“Call me Prudence or Aunt Prudence, whichever makes you happy,” she rapped out. “Either makes me happy.”

Whew, Jillian’s aunt acts like a different person when she’s bosky, he thought, dazed by her sudden shift in mood. He wanted to laugh but decided that would be a mistake.

“And you must call me Adrian, Aunt Prudence.” When she nodded curtly, he began, “I wasn’t happy when I first talked to Simon, but marriages are arranged all the time for all kinds of reasons. And I do feel responsible for her misfortune.”

“She’ll never settle for that.”

“Nor should she,” Adrian said. “I—”

“Out with it, young man!” she snapped. “Can you care about her as she deserves?”

Adrian’s mouth dropped open. He now realized he had walked into this room with a patronizing attitude, expecting to calm an old lady’s fears. Instead, that same old lady had made him feel like a school lad with bad intentions. If she knew the lecherous thoughts that had raced through his mind these last few days, she would run him off with a stick. He supposed, however, he had no choice but to let her understand part of how he felt.

“I think Jillian and I are much alike and we suit. I consider that to be a critical ingredient in a successful marriage. Right now my feelings are ah…shall we say influenced by her outward appeal. Nevertheless, given time I believe I could care deeply for her.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” Prudence smiled slyly. “Can’t imagine why Jillian would want to resist a fine figure of a man such as yourself.”

“Why, Aunt Prudence,” Adrian said, laughing his surprise, “I believe your niece takes after you when all is said and done. What do you have to say to that?”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” she said, primly rearranging her skirts. “Now, dear boy, would you be kind enough to pour me a dab more of that delightful brandy?”

*****

Jillian had the maid set the table for dinner in the morning room. Though the dining room was not large, it did require more than three people to be a comfortable place to eat. An intimate meal demanded a cozy setting.

The scene that had occurred with Auntie Pru in the kitchen disturbed her. She regretted upsetting her aunt, but she also disliked being questioned every time she moved. Perhaps her good sense had deserted her lately, she thought, for she seemed forever to be incurring someone’s displeasure.

Though she hated to acknowledge it, the earl had found a way to worm himself into her good graces. He had followed her aunt into the parlor, and Prudence and he had entertained one another while Jillian finished overseeing the preparation of the meal. Occasionally she could hear masculine laughter combined with her aunt’s high-pitched trill drift down the hallway. Actually, Aunt Pru sounded a little too happy.

She sent the footman to announce the dinner, and moments later Pru entered the morning room on the earl’s arm. Jillian knew immediately that her aunt had been sampling the brandy. She cast a look of displeasure at the earl, but he merely sent one back at her that said it wasn’t his fault.

“Are you all right, Auntie?” she asked.

“Yes, of course, never better, my dear.”

Prudence’s plump cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had taken on an unnatural sparkle, but she seemed relaxed, and that was better than her nervous twitters of a short while before, her niece decided.

Lord Wickham pulled out the older woman’s chair first and then he seated Jillian.

“What have we here?” the earl asked, sitting down.

“Peasant fare, I’m afraid, my lord,” Jillian answered, indicating the dishes. “We fried the potatoes to go with the fish. The carrots and green peas are fresh from our garden. The rice pudding is Cook’s specialty. Since it is just the three of us we’ll serve ourselves.”

“Had no idea peasants ate so well.” Lord Wickham smiled at his table partners. “Thank you for inviting me, ladies. I had to flee England to appreciate what I left behind.”

Jillian was touched. He seemed genuine, and she smiled back at him. He held her regard, and the warmth emanating from his light blue eyes caused her stomach to lurch uncontrollably. Suddenly she didn’t know if she could eat, not because the meal had lost its appeal, but because she did not think a stomach tied in knots could hold food.

She dropped her gaze. “Shall we?” she murmured as she picked up the dish of peas.

The invitation was unnecessary as Aunt Prudence had already filled her plate.

Once the meal was completed her aunt pleaded exhaustion. Jillian wasn’t surprised, for Prudence grew tired within a short time after imbibing brandy. She worried sometimes that Pru overdid the drinking, but it was one of the old woman’s few pleasures in life.

“You behave yourself, young man,” Aunt Prudence said in an authoritative voice as she rose from the table, carefully balancing her rotund body. “I won’t have my favorite niece compromised.”

Jillian was startled to see her aunt wink at their guest.

The earl stood from the table as well and took Prudence’s hand. “It has been a lovely evening, ma’am. I will be taking my leave as soon as Lady Jillian and I share a cup of tea. I promise to conduct myself as though you were still here.”

The earl dropped a kiss on the elderly woman’s hand, and to her niece’s amazement, Auntie Pru giggled.

Jillian did not respond to Pru’s slurred goodnight as her aunt left the room. Instead, she waited in irritated silence as the earl sat down again and the footman poured the tea.

“It would seem you have made another convert of one of my relatives, my lord,” she said, disgruntled. “Are you sprinkling the food with fairy dust when I’m not looking?”

“I thought we had agreed to be less formal with each other.” Lord Wickham had eased back in his seat with his elbow resting on the arm of the captain’s chair. He looked very much at home. “And in answer to your question, if I were enchanting the food then you would be a convert as well. I don’t detect that as yet but I’m still hopeful.”

“Which is why I should not allow the familiarity of first names. You seem entirely too comfortable for my comfort.”

“You are the one who suggested it, Jillian. Do you intend to renege?” He watched her through half-lidded eyes.

He was baiting her again, turning her own words against her.

“Why do you insist on pursuing this relationship?” she asked. “Can’t you see it is the last thing I want?”

“I told you, I made a promise.”

“But what if I never agree? You can’t make me marry you. You’ve said so yourself.”

The earl took a long sip of his tea and then placed the cup in the saucer. “I intend to work on your weakness.”

For some reason that alarmed her. “What weakness?”

“After today I think you know.”

Jillian felt the color flow to her face. “I have no idea what you mean. But if I did—and I do mean if—I would like to thank you for warning me. Now I’ll know to be careful.”

“It won’t make any difference.”

Something in his tone made her pulse leap. “Why would you say that? Forewarned is forearmed.”

“So I’ve heard.” Lord Wickham leaned forward in his chair, bringing his elbows to the table as his eyes locked with hers. “Do you know of opium?”

She nodded slowly. Where was he headed with this odd line of questioning?

“Then you know it is a narcotic, a stimulating, pleasurable narcotic. It has an allure for the user that is impossible to resist. I do not have personal knowledge of the drug, but I’ve had it described to me.” He paused, and the look in his eyes deepened. “Passion is much like opium, I believe—stimulating, pleasurable and nearly impossible to resist.”

“W-what does that have to do with me?”

“Everything, Jillian, everything. There is passion between us. I’ve felt it from the beginning. We can fight it, you and I, but in the end it will do us no good.”

Jillian felt an uneasiness wash over her that was akin to superstition. “I think you are attributing feelings to me that are yours and yours alone. You make it sound as though you are driven by compulsion. That is not very romantic, my lord.”

“Is it romance you want, Jillian?” the earl asked softly. He reached over and sent the tips of his fingers skimming lightly along the back of her wrist where she rested it on the table.

She pulled her hand away, slipping it into her lap. “I don’t want anything from you, my lord, except that you leave me alone. Haven’t I made myself clear?”

“You promised to try, Jillian. Is your word no good?”

“And you promised Aunt Pru you would behave yourself.”

“I am behaving myself.” He gave her a strange half-grin as he rose to his feet. “Now if I were to move to your side of the table,” he did that, coming to stand behind her chair, “and I were to…oh say, rub your neck…”

Jillian felt his hands, warm and compelling, as he laid them on her shoulders. Immediately, she tried to get up, but he pressed her back into her seat.

“Now, now,” the earl said, rubbing his thumbs in a soothing motion along her spine at the nape of her neck, “don’t be hasty. I’m merely doing this for illustration purposes. As I was saying, if I were to do these things then you could question my behavior. But since I’m not…”

“Lord Wickham—”

“Adrian,” he demanded in a silky voice as he continued the captivating movement.

“All right, Adrian…please, I—”

“Please? I think you are right. I should carry on for your sake. You are very tense, you know.”

The earl ran his hands along her shoulders, squeezing then releasing, manipulating the tender flesh covered by only the thin cotton of her gown. Confounded, Jillian wondered why she tolerated his efforts, for she knew it was wrong. She guessed at some point she ceased to care because as the seconds ticked by, the only thing she felt was an almost irresistible urge to purr.

“You have beautiful hair, did you know that, Jillian?”

She heard his husky words as if from a distance. And she knew the moment he released the ribbon that held her hair. When he slipped his fingers into the heavy mass, her scalp began to tingle deliciously. Jillian allowed her eyes to drift closed.

He had her where he wanted her—she knew it as surely as he did. He could have continued indefinitely, lulling her with his sensual massage—if he had not tried to kiss her.

Adrian lifted her hair from the back of her neck and set his mouth on an exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath her right ear. She gasped at the contact.

Jillian whipped around to face him. “You go too far, my lord. You make love to me in my aunt’s home, even though you promised her you would not.”

She managed to slip from her chair, staggering away from him as she snatched her ribbon from the table where he had discarded it. She slid the satin piece into place and quickly retied it.

The earl dropped his hands to his sides and smiled at her in apology. “Interesting thing about seduction—if one is not detached when invoking the powers of Eros, there is the risk of being caught in one’s own snare. Forgive me, I fear that is what happened to me.”

“Pretty words, but I wonder if you mean them.”

Oddly, the earl did look as though he meant them. He was no longer smiling and he appeared uncomfortable as he watched her through serious eyes.

His next question surprised her. “Would you like to take a walk in the garden?”

“Sounds suspiciously like the wolf inviting the lamb to dinner,” Jillian retorted. “Will you promise to behave yourself if I do? Auntie Pru’s bedchamber faces on the garden. She may approve of you, but I can guarantee there are certain things her tender eyes have never seen.”

“On threat of death,” he said, making a crisscross motion with his hand over his heart. “Although I would be careful making assumptions about Miss Milford. I have the distinct impression she’s more complicated than she seems.”

Jillian gave him a measuring glance but merely nodded.

They walked into the moonlight through the French doors in the morning room, wandering down the path. The night was cool and the scent of many flowers filled the air. The earl took her elbow but the gesture was impersonal, and she no longer felt threatened.

Adrian broke the silence. “It’s beautiful here. This place is much like my estate in the country. And it was always the country not the city I dreamed of during my exile. Cities are much alike around the world. They don’t always look alike but they feel alike—too many people in too small a space, mucking up things. No, it was the English countryside for which I pined.”

“Your home resembles this place? This is an old dower house with only a few acres of land.”

“Actually, Wickham Hall is more like Sutherfield. It’s very large. But it has gardens such as these. My mother, by the by, enjoyed growing flowers as you do.”

“She did?”

“Yes. She was also an unconventional sort. She blamed herself for my wild ways. Said it was in the blood.”

“Have you seen her since your return?”

Jillian regretted asking the question, for he turned on her a look so full of anguish, her throat clogged.

“She died last winter,” he said. “There was a message from my man of business waiting for me when I reached the continent. I usually have little patience for regret because lamenting the past will not mend what is done. All that can be hoped for is greater wisdom when dealing with the future. But I had only one mother—being wiser won’t help me, for there is no future where she is concerned.”

“I know what you mean,” Jillian said, all at once close to tears. “My disgrace broke my father’s heart. He went to his grave disappointed in me. I find that a very difficult thing to live with.”

Adrian took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked up at him, and even in the dark she could see the compassion radiating from his warm eyes.

“What about your other family, brothers, sisters?” she asked, trying to move the subject away from herself.

“I’m an only child, spoiled rotten from what I’ve been told. Both my parents are deceased. Oh, I have the usual assortment of relatives—aunts, uncles, cousins—but no one with whom I’m close. Frankly, if I dropped off the face of the earth tomorrow I doubt anyone would miss me.”

That was such a sad statement, for the first time Jillian felt sorry for him. “We’re a maudlin pair, aren’t we? This is too beautiful a night to wallow in painful memories.”

“Yes, but those memories give us something in common, don’t they? I believe this is a case of a little good coming out of something bad.”

“I suppose,” Jillian said after a minute. She turned back toward the house. “I think I should go inside now.”

They retraced their steps on the path, this time walking in silence until they reached the French doors.

Adrian took her hand. “You won’t believe this but I enjoyed myself today.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” she muttered.

“I know.”

“Well, I—”

“Jillian?”

There was a peculiar inflection in his voice that caused her to hesitate.

“Yes?” she ventured cautiously.

“May I kiss you goodnight?”

His features were all dark planes and intriguing angles in the half-light cast by the moon, his eyes glittering intently, and Jillian felt the pull of desire despite her reluctance.

“Oh no, I don’t think…that’s really not a good idea, my lord.”

“Adrian.”

“Adrian,” she repeated. “I—”

“Kiss me, Jillian.”

For her very life she could not resist the appeal in the tantalizing words. “Just a kiss?”

“That only,” he whispered.

Jillian placed her hands on his chest and, rising on tiptoe, touched her lips to his. It was a light kiss, no more than a gentle caress, but instead of ending the contact immediately she increased the pressure.

She wondered later why she did it, for her boldness unleashed a response that was not unexpected. Perhaps the move was calculated. Perhaps she wanted to know if he desired her or was merely pretending emotions he did not feel—emotions Jillian feared she had begun to feel.

Adrian groaned against her mouth, wrapping her in a tight embrace that snatched the breath from her body. He gripped her hips then ran his hands up her back, gently kneading as he went. He slipped his fingers into her hair and deepened the kiss. There went her ribbon again, she thought, dazed.

Jillian was mesmerized by the earl’s overpowering virility and the thrill of being close to him. Rather than evading him, she had to fight the urge to draw even closer, to steep herself in the sensation. With difficulty she broke the contact.

She licked her lips, unable to look at him, instead centering her sight on a place just above his left shoulder. “That was only kiss?” she asked, ashamed of her labored breathing.

Since he still held her she felt the laughter rumble in his chest. “I admit some are better than others.” He took her chin, forcing her to look at him. “This was the best, better than this morning because you kissed me first.”

“I simply did as you asked.”

“But that made all the difference,” Adrian said in a warm voice as he rubbed his thumb against her bottom lip.

How could she be sure he was telling the truth? He was an experienced man who had seen the world, and she suspected he knew much about seduction. Though not a girl, she was an innocent in most ways and unprepared to handle his sophisticated methods. He understood his own charisma, she knew he did, else how did he ply that charm with such confidence? And how could she gauge his sincerity when she had forgotten how to trust?

“Do you believe in fate, Jillian?”

“I don’t know,” she said, suddenly feeling tired.

“I do. I will wager there is a reason you and I were in that carriage together.”

“If there is I haven’t discovered it,” she said, freeing herself from his arms. “I really must go in now.” She reached for the door handle.

“Jillian.”

She glared at him impatiently. “What now, another kiss?”

The earl gave her a lopsided grin. “Not exactly, although that sounds excellent as well.” He glanced down. “I left my boots inside.”

Jillian looked at his feet and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a burble of laughter. “I forgot. You walked through the garden without wearing your shoes.”

“I managed the garden well enough but riding my horse is another matter. Even if the boots are still wet, I’d better retrieve them.”

She led him into the house, and a quick inquiry of the footman sent them to the kitchen. The earl’s Hessians were drying on the fireplace along with his clothing, and he hastily donned his socks and the boots.

“They are mostly dry,” Adrian said, “but they’ll never be the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Never lost a pair of boots to a better cause. Anytime you feel like taking a dip in the stream let me know. I’d be happy to join you.”

“You are an incorrigible man, my lord.” She smiled because she could not help herself.

Adrian winked at her. “I told you we suit.”

Before she could respond he leaned over, gave her a light peck on the cheek and disappeared through the kitchen door.

*****

CHAPTER 6

The clock said two in the morning and Jillian could not sleep. Today was the first day in nearly four weeks Lord Wickham had not come to visit and, though she hated to think his absence had something to do with her restlessness, she wondered.

She had not extinguished the candle on her night table. Rather, it had burned out of its own accord, dying a reluctant death, first fading then sputtering valiantly back to life. But in the end the diminishing wax had sealed the candle’s doom. She now lay in the dark feeling miserable and strangely alone.

She did not know why she was disconcerted by the earl’s failure to appear. She should be glad that for one day he had not pestered her, had not made her feel like a mouse evading a determined fox. At any rate, that’s what she told herself.

Adrian’s interest had not waned. No matter how she tried to repulse him, he had been steadfast in his admiration. Only occasionally did she detect a trace of objection, such as when she rode her horse bareback, but he had clearly made the decision to resist dictating to her. Not that the earl wasn’t determined to manage her existence. Never did he let a day go by without reminding her they would marry. Thus, she reasoned that he did not show his disapproval about her behavior because to do so would give her ammunition to fight him when it counted most.

Every night when Adrian took his leave he asked for a kiss. And every night he made her participate in the ritual, drawing a response from her even when she was determined to be passive. “A submissive female is not very interesting. I prefer the fire and ice of contradiction,” he had said, which seemed odd since she had been led to believe that most men wanted a compliant woman.

It bothered Jillian to think she had missed that kiss tonight. And yet, as she lay in her gloomy chamber she feared it might be true. She enjoyed the sensual nature of the closeness, and she enjoyed knowing he was aroused by her, for Adrian had made no effort to hide that fact.

The earl had done what he said he would do. He had made her aware of the carnal side of a relationship. And presently the analogy he had drawn between passion and an addicting drug did not seem quite as far-fetched as when he first spoke of it.

Jillian sat up and tossed back the covers. Too much contemplation could be a dangerous thing, she thought. The restlessness had increased and she felt the need for action.

She eased off the bed and, shoving her feet into pink satin slippers, padded across the room to open the door. Perhaps a bite to eat would help.

In the kitchen Jillian found a small berry pastry. Though delicious, she decided hunger was not her problem. She left the unfinished pastry and walked to the kitchen door. Releasing the bolt she stepped outside.

The night was cloudless and stars, many more than she could count, winked at her from overhead. She could hear the evening creatures, especially the rising then ebbing chorus sung by numerous tree frogs. The stable yard tomcat yowled to his latest conquest, and in the distance a lone owl hooted eerily.

This was the world at its best, she thought—peaceful, undemanding, without reproach. She could slip into the concealing shadows, wrapping herself in the tranquility, and simply disappear.

She now knew what she wanted. Raven waited in his stall. She glanced at her nightclothes, knowing she should change, but her impetuous nature sent her scuttling across the yard before she had time to reconsider.

Jillian did not light the lantern tonight. She found the bridle in the usual place and put it on the horse, feeling her way as she went. Luckily, Raven cooperated, seemingly as eager as she for a late night ride.

She led the animal into the stable yard and, minus a saddle, jumped on his back much like she always did. But when she came into an upright position, her nightgown rose above her knees. Without her boots and stockings she felt exposed yet curiously unfettered and free of spirit. She let her slippers fall to the ground then clutched Raven’s sides with her legs.

Jillian had to curb the impulse to send the horse galloping from the yard. She made a clicking sound with her tongue, urging Raven forward, but she held onto the bridle tightly, so he did not break into the run they both wanted. Five hundred yards from the house she gave him full rein.

The rush of the night air numbed her face as Raven’s hooves flew over the ground. Jillian leaned low over his back, clutching not only the reins but the animal’s mane as well. So synchronized were rider and mount, for long moments Jillian felt as though she were the horse, skimming the earth with a speed gifted to only a few of God’s creatures.

She did not know how long she raced over the open meadows before realizing she had ridden several miles from home. She pulled on the reins, bringing Raven to a halt as she took in her surroundings. She thought she recognized the trees that hid the fishing stream on Squire Lindley’s property.

“Oh, Raven,” she whispered aloud, “If only I didn’t have to return. I don’t like being confused. I thought I knew what I wished from life. Why can’t I go back to the way things were?”

Raven snorted, his warm breath rising on the night air as he pawed the ground, and for that moment Jillian wanted to imagine the animal understood. She felt certain no one else did. Simon expected her to marry the earl, and Aunt Pru was no better. In fact, her aunt already was planning the nuptials.

She began the return trip, this time at a slower pace so the horse could cool down. By the time she arrived home Jillian decided she had been gone more than an hour, but everything seemed as peaceful as when she left.

She spent a few minutes rubbing down Raven and giving him a drink and then exited the stable. Stopping in the middle of the yard where she had mounted the horse earlier, she looked for her slippers. Now that’s odd. Where were they?

A quick search did not turn up the missing slippers and Jillian gave up. Perhaps a stray dog had carried them off. Whatever the reason, she now was tired, a condition she embraced with relief. She entered the house through the kitchen and took the servants’ stairs to her chamber.

In her room Jillian washed her feet and, exhausted, fell across the bed. She slept immediately, only to find herself locked in a dream where a handsome gentleman demanded a kiss—a kiss she surrendered with a great deal of enthusiasm.

*****

Adrian placed his tankard on the table and glanced around the small inn. He was tired but the ale had refreshed him, and in a few minutes he would raise his weary body and proceed on to Sutherfield. Aunt Prudence’s home was near, but the afternoon was advanced, and tomorrow would be soon enough to see Jillian.

The past four days had been difficult. His man of business had summoned him to London, and the earl found himself tending to matters he had managed cheerfully to avoid for years. There were also issues related to his mother’s death that had to be settled. Feeling drained, he had done what he had to do as quickly as possible and with profound relief departed the city.

He was surprised by how much he had missed Jillian. She never bored him, although he had to admit there were times when he had to hold his tongue, especially when she deliberately attempted to be outrageous.

He had not told her about his trip but decided a little uncertainty might do her good. She was sure of him lately, and he felt complacency on her part would not aid his cause.

More and more he had come to grips with the notion he would marry Jillian. And more and more he found the prospect pleasing. He smiled to himself. The lady would be disappointed if she knew how much he had come to care for her.

He drained the tankard, and a voice—an ignorant one—caught his attention as he stood to leave.

“I tell you, Mikey, he said he saw her.”

“Go on with you, Owen, don’t no real lady ride her horse in the middle of the night all alone.”

Adrian glanced to his left and saw two very common fellows sharing a drink at a nearby table. Though neither man seemed aware of him, a niggling suspicion regarding their conversation caused him to pause. He sat down again, this time to eavesdrop.

“I swear I’m tellin’ the truth,” the one named Owen continued. “Barney saw her, he did. He was just hired on to work in the stable for that old woman what’s never been married. Couldn’t sleep the other night ‘cause of a cat fight, Barney said. Wanted to check it out.” Owen stopped long enough to take a swig of his ale. “So he goes to climb out of the loft, and what do you know? The barn door flies open, and there stands the young mistress of the house pretty as you please in her nightdress. He says he ain’t never seed a more beautiful sight.”

“Go on,” Mikey said, in an awed voice.

“He said she had on this filmy thing, and when she stood in the doorway the light from the moon showed through it, making her look like she weren’t wearin’ nothing at’all. He says he knows for certain she didn’t have nothing on under that gown. Now what do you think o’ that?”

“I think Barney’s been drinkin’ too much whiskey.”

“It’s true, I tell you. Barney’s got proof. The young lady bridles her horse—no saddle, mind—and she leads the animal into the yard. And this part I swear is true—she leaps on the horse without no help, straddles ‘im, and her gown rises up to here.” Owen, obliging fellow that he was, indicated a place on his own leg that came to about mid-thigh. “Why, she was showing more skin than a strumpet. And then she let’s her shoes fall to the ground. So she’s not only in her nightdress, she’s barefoot.”

“Blimey, I’d a sure like to o’ seen that,” said Mikey. “But that still don’t prove nothing. Saying it don’t prove nothing.”

Owen gave him a superior smile. “Barney got her shoes.”

“What?”

“She rode out on her horse, and once she was gone he took her shoes. He’s bringing ‘em tonight to show all the blokes.”

At that moment a shadow fell across the table of Owen and Mikey, and both men glanced up.

Owen looked discomfited as he peered into the Earl of Wickham’s face. “What say, gov’nor? How can I help you?”

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” Adrian asked.

The two men exchanged uncertain glances then nodded their heads in unison. “Thank you,” the earl said. He pulled out a chair and sat down, holding up three fingers to the barmaid to indicate another round. “Now, gentlemen,” he began, “that’s quite a story you are relating. Tell me about this fellow, Barney…”

*****

“The pudding is especially tasty this evening, don’t you think so, Jillian?”

Jillian, who had been playing with her pudding for the last ten minutes, nodded absently. “I suppose so, Auntie,” she said at last. “I guess I’m not very hungry tonight.”

Prudence pursed her lips. “You haven’t been yourself for days. What is the matter?”

“Nothing. I’ve just been rather restless. Can’t seem to decide what I want to do. I hate being indecisive.”

“Something in particular been concerning you, dear? Would you like to talk about it?”

Her aunt gave her an incisive look, and Jillian realized the older woman was aware of more than she let on. Still, she could not bring herself to admit the truth out loud. The footman entering the morning room kept her from having to answer.

“My lady,” the servant said, “you have a guest.”

“Who is it?” Jillian asked, ashamed of the sudden hope that flared in her breast.

“Lord Wickham, my lady.”

She had to keep herself from leaping from her chair. She took a deep breath. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she said.

Jillian then proceeded to eat her pudding, taking sudden interest in the dessert as she tasted each tiny bite, until her dish was clean. She knew her aunt was watching her in appalled silence but she didn’t care. How dare he come here without preamble after so many days? She refused to acknowledge that her anger stemmed from relief.

She unhurriedly rose from the table, straightened her skirt and sought out the parlor.

Adrian lounged on the settee as she came into the room, his large body dominating the piece of furniture. Something in his eyes as he watched her enter caused Jillian to hesitate. Why, he had the nerve to look angry with her.

“My lord?” she said, keeping her voice impersonal as she came to stand in the center of the room. “I hope you didn’t mind waiting. I had not quite finished my supper.”

Rather than speaking, the earl rose slowly to his feet and, walking to the door, very deliberately closed it.

“Why did you do that? We’ll be accused of impropriety,” she said, beginning to feel anxious.

It wasn’t the impropriety that worried her, though. It was the strange, enigmatic expression on his dark features.

“Come now, my dear, I hardly believe you would be deterred by something as inconsequential as another person’s opinion.”

The resonant sound of his voice, half-amused, half-angry, made goose flesh form on her arms.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Adrian leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re quite an actress, did you know that?”

“See here, if the purpose of this visit is to insult me then I think you should leave.”

“Did you miss me, Jillian?”

Thoroughly confused, she looked at him blankly. “Of course, I didn’t miss you. In fact, why are you here now?”

He smiled grimly. “Since you are so concerned by my absence, I’ll tell you where I’ve been. I was in London seeing to business matters. On my way back to Sutherfield I decided to stop at the inn five miles from here for some refreshment.”

“That’s very interesting,” she said sarcastically. “But since you were on your way to Sutherfield, that does not explain why you are here.”

“I suppose you are right.”

He stood away from the door and, reaching under his coat into the waistband at the back of his riding breeches, he pulled out a pair of pink slippers and tossed them into the middle of the floor. Jillian felt her heart rise in her throat.

“Where did you get those?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

“Now that’s a very interesting question. I’ve an answer for you, but I think you are going to hate it. On the other hand,” Adrian said as he moved across the room and reestablished himself on the settee, “given your conduct as I’ve come to know it, perhaps you won’t care at all.”

The words were an accusation, and a flash of fury sent Jillian’s teeth to gnashing.

“Would you just please tell me? I admit I’m concerned. Why do you feel the need to prolong the torture?”

“Sit down, Jillian.”

She remained where she stood for a moment, but he clearly had no intention of proceeding until she did what he said. She flounced to the chair opposite him and plunked down.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes,” the earl said curtly. “Two gentlemen—I use the term loosely—by the names of Owen and Mikey were discussing a certain young lady who decided several days ago to take a ride on her horse in the middle of the night—”

“Now wait a minute!” Jillian interrupted, but he held up his hand to stem her protest.

“It seems this young lady not only left the house at an ungodly hour, and alone, she did so in her nightdress which not only thrilled the stable hand who witnessed the event but also every male ear to whom he transmitted his tale.”

“Is that who stole my slippers?” The question was beside the point given the extent of her problem, yet it was the only thing her shocked brain could conjure.

“Barney is his name and, yes, he took your slippers. He wanted proof that he had seen what he said he had seen.”

“That’s terrible! I want him let go immediately.”

Adrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at her intently. “Let’s think this through, shall we, my dear? The only way we can hope to curtail the talk is to retain some control over the fellow with the story. Barney and I had a long discussion and he won’t be spreading any more rumors. In return we will not terminate his employment.”

“Do you honestly think he will refrain?”

“What I think is he will not be quite as blatant with his tongue. But I also think that is the most we can hope for. You must understand, Jillian, the damage is mostly done. He can’t take back what’s already been said.”

At that moment so many emotions warred in Jillian’s breast, she could not distinguish one from the other. She did recognize mortification, and she hated that Adrian was the one who had broken the news to her. She would be damned, though, if she would admit any wrongdoing to this man. Therefore, she tapped into the resentment that warred with her shame.

“Don’t know what business of yours it is anyway, my lord. This Barney is my servant and I should decide his fate.”

The earl’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an ungrateful wretch, aren’t you? You would have preferred I did nothing?”

“Why are you acting sanctimonious? I told you before I like to ride at night, what it meant to me.”

“The reality of your little jaunts did not sink into my thick skull. And it never occurred to me that you would be brazen enough to leave the house without even getting dressed. What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t do it by design,” Jillian said, now thoroughly ruffled. “I felt restless so I went to the kitchen for a bite to eat. I thought I could sneak out and no one would notice. It was more a case of being lazy than anything sinister. And I definitely did not see the servant or I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Do you realize what could have happened to you if this Barney fellow were not a benign character whose excitement came from voyeurism and a need to gossip? There was more than your reputation at stake that night. He could have followed you, knowing you would be alone, and done you serious harm.”

He sounded truly worried, but he should have known better than to turn his concern for her into a lecture. The more he talked the more hostile her attitude became.

“It’s not my health that bothers you, my lord,” she said stiffly. “You are no different than any other male. It is the morality issue that has you upset—another man saw me in my bedclothes.”

Jillian tossed the challenge at him, knowing he would be provoked. She was not disappointed.

Adrian reached across and grabbed her wrist, his pale blue eyes glinting like frosty chips of ice. She pulled away, struggling to release his grip, but he held fast as he yanked her toward him so their faces were only inches apart.

“I will not offend you by pretending I wasn’t disturbed by the impropriety of the situation,” he said through gritted teeth. “My God, woman, have you no shame?”

“Let go of me!”

“Would you like to know what they were saying, Jillian, the discussion they had about your anatomy?”

“What discussion?” Jillian continued to struggle. “The gown I wore covered me from head to foot. Now you are making things up just to embarrass me.”

“Oh really?” Adrian said in a dreadful voice, and his hold tightened. “It seems that gown was somewhat transparent, enough so that our friend Barney told everyone you were naked beneath it. What have you to say to that?”

She went very still. “I d-don’t care,” she lied.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my dear, I really am. You told me once that at some point one must cease to care. Well, I’m here to tell you that at some point one must begin to care. You’ve long since reached that point.”

“I owe you no explanations for my conduct, my lord. And if your goal is to try and stop me from riding at night then I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

This time she succeeded in wrenching her hand away and she jumped from her chair. The chair fell backwards as she tried to flee the room. The earl came right behind her and he took her arm, spinning her around to face him.

Jillian shrieked. “Let me go!”

A knock at the door temporarily interrupted the hostilities.

“Jillian?” Aunt Pru’s anxious voice drifted through the panel. “Are you all right, dear?”

Adrian grabbed Jillian by the shoulders and shook her. “Do you want to share this argument with everyone?” he asked in a fierce whisper. “If you have any heart at all, you will spare your aunt this latest transgression.”

She reluctantly nodded, gathering her dignity as best she could. But her chin trembled which she hated because it revealed her agitation. The earl scanned her features and, apparently satisfied, dropped his arms, moving across the room to open the door.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Prudence, Jillian and I are having a slight disagreement,” he said. “It’s nothing that need worry you.”

Jillian could not see Auntie Pru, but she saw Adrian’s reassuring stance as he hovered in the doorway. His words were persuasive and, since she knew her aunt had come to trust the earl, she was not surprised when she heard the older woman withdraw murmuring an apology for interrupting.

He closed the door and turned back to her. “You’re right, you know,” he said, now appearing as calm as he had been enraged.

She swallowed. “About what?”

“I didn’t like one iota hearing about my future wife’s attributes before I’d even had the chance to see for myself. Male vanity, I suppose, but there it is. “

Jillian looked down at her hands, unable to meet his hard, unrelenting gaze. “I made a mistake.”

“You flout the conventions on purpose, Jillian. There’s always a choice but you seem determined to make the wrong one.”

“Can’t you see we don’t suit, my lord? You want a conventional lady and I’ll never be one again.” She hoped he could not detect the hurt she felt.

Rather than addressing that statement, he asked something else. “Why couldn’t you sleep that night you went riding?”

The question was probing, and she looked up to find Adrian still staring at her intently. She shrugged nervously at once uncomfortable for a reason entirely different than before.

“I told you—I was restless. I simply could not sleep. It’s happened before. It won’t be the last time.”

“Did it have anything to do with my not visiting you that day?” The words were shrewd and insinuating as he began to walk toward her.

“Really, your ego gets ahead of you, my lord.”

Jillian had to fight the urge to fly from him once more. As it was, she backed up several steps. Unfortunately, his approach was relentless, and she resumed her backward escape until the wall next to the fireplace interrupted her.

A satisfied smile lit the earl’s features as he stopped in front of her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could detect the soap he used, could smell the aromatic masculine scents of brandy and tobacco.

“I’d like to think you missed me.” He ran the side of his index finger on her cheek. “After all, I missed you.”

“Pretty speech,” she muttered, keeping her gaze averted.

“But sincere,” he said in a thick voice. And then, “Kiss me, Jillian.”

“Not tonight, no…” She began to tremble.

“Oh yes, especially tonight.”

Unable to resist the seductive words, she looked into his eyes, blue eyes now hot with something besides ire. A shiver of exquisite sensation skittered along her nerves and pooled in her pelvis. In all her life she could not remember having felt the pull of desire quite like this. Strange how heated emotions could awaken another kind of heat.

Adrian raised his hands to the wall on either side of her shoulders and dipped his head close, touching her lips with his own. He drew away then brought his mouth to hers again in a quick nipping motion, repeating the process until her lower body began to burn in earnest.

“Kiss me, Jillian.”

She shook her head but it was an automatic response rather than an indication of how she felt.

Undaunted, he continued his insidious aggression on her senses, pressing the entire length of his frame against hers, especially his hips, forcing her tight against the wall. Jillian placed her palms to his middle, meaning to push him away, but instead found herself kneading the hard flesh beneath her fingers. He pulled back his gaze now bright with lust.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice unrecognizable in his aroused state.

Jillian could no longer deny him. She ran her hands up from his stomach, absorbing the muscled texture of his chest as she went. All the while he watched the searching movement, his breathing intensifying, and suddenly she realized he was feasting on her excitement. That knowledge made her feel powerful.

It made her feel other things as well.

She rose on her toes, putting her arms around his neck, and drew him toward her. He stared into her features, his gaze never wavering. Fleetingly she touched her tongue to his lip before kissing him fully. Adrian groaned against her mouth, a groan she felt rise from the bottom of his chest as he grabbed her, wrapping her in his embrace.

For long moments they held the kiss, but Jillian sensed his impatience, his craving for more. She perceived the tension building within him and it rolled over her, dragging her along, destroying her defenses. What he wanted she now wanted.

Adrian placed his hands at the small of her back then slipped them downward, cupping her buttocks. He pressed her pelvis intimately against his, and she could feel his arousal, hard and demanding. Raw desire like warmed honey burst forth and soared through her veins, and she came to see that she, too, fed off his excitement.

Only when he began to fumble with the buttons at the back of her frock did she think to protest, but it was a feeble response and insincere.

“Adrian, we go too fast…”

As though he had not heard her, Adrian eased the dress from her shoulders, and he immediately clamped his mouth on a spot at the base of her throat that throbbed tenderly. All the while he continued to tug the bodice lower—all the while he continued the onslaught with his hips. Jillian felt the air as her skin was uncovered and she shivered.

Adrian pulled back, and they both went still as his avid gaze drifted to her exposed breasts. For what seemed an interminable length of time he stared at the soft peaks.

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice as caressing as the gentle stroke of a fingertip. However, he did not touch her.

“Adrian.”

He brought his regard back to hers, and what she saw lurking in the depths of his mesmerizing eyes made her lungs constrict. Jillian did not know why she chose that erotically-charged moment to regain her senses, for it was the last thing she wanted. But somehow she knew if she did not put a stop to the madness now, it would not end until she was thoroughly disgraced.

“We can’t do this,” she said, “not in my aunt’s parlor.”

She did not tell him she was not ready. He would have known it for the lie it was.

At first he looked confused as though trying to understand, but then his vision gradually seemed to clear. He smiled at her ruefully, although the expression on his face was a pained one.

“Are you quite certain?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

“It is what you want?”

She found herself unable to answer, and suddenly she was embarrassed by how much she had wanted him to make love to her. But he knew anyway. She could see by the exultation on his face.

“Marry me, Jillian, and let’s end this torture.” His gaze wandered to her breasts again where his attention lingered.

Flustered, Jillian began to yank her bodice back into place. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, my lord. We lost our composure for a moment. That doesn’t mean we must marry. There’s no real harm done, is there? Besides, wanting to make love hardly seems reason enough to enter a marriage.”

“Moments ago I was Adrian. And a marriage that doesn’t start with at least a little lust is not worth the effort. Turn around and I’ll do your buttons,” he said, his voice becoming matter-of-fact.

“Can’t we be friends for now?” she questioned the wall.

Adrian fastened the last button, then lifted her hair and placed a warm kiss on the nape of her neck. Her skin quivered at the contact, and she realized the passion of minutes before lay dormant beneath a veneer of calm, ready to be rekindled at the least provocation.

“I don’t think so,” he said on a groan, proving her theory. He turned her to face him. “After tonight I begin to look forward to our nuptials with great anticipation.”

“I think you should go home now, my lord,” she said wearily.

Adrian reached up and cupped her jaw in his hand, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Are you angry with me?”

“I thought you were the one who was angry.”

His eyelids drooped. “Angry, worried…jealous. Tonight you’ve brought out in me another emotion that has completely eclipsed the others. Unfortunately, I’ve been left hanging, and I fear I’m in for a bit of pain.” He moved away from her, but he walked rather stiffly.

“My lord?”

He laughed. “It’s nothing an hour or so in the saddle won’t cure.” At the door he glanced back at her. “I want you to think about tonight, Jillian. Please, for both our sakes behave yourself.” On that bit of advice Adrian left.

Jillian clamped her lips together in frustration. Why did he have to ruin everything by being dictatorial? And why must she be weak, her heart beginning to want what her head knew she shouldn’t? She wouldn’t mind those times when they kissed and touched, if he did not insist on making their lovemaking into something it was not.

She knew her views were unnatural. Women coveted what the earl offered. A young lady spent her youth trying to attract a mate, holding her body aloof while she was at it, because she believed it was in her best interests. Perhaps it was.

But Jillian was afraid—oh, so afraid.

*****

CHAPTER 7

Adrian ate the last bite of his coddled egg and downed it with a gulp of ale. The dining room at Sutherfield was empty save for himself, and he assumed everyone had already eaten since it was no longer early.

It was unusually quiet this morning. Though breakfast had been laid on the sideboard, he had not seen a servant. And he was surprised to find the food had been allowed to cool. Adrian had heard a commotion in the hall when he began his meal a short while before but then things grew silent again.

He supposed he should feel grateful for the solitude, as he needed the time to think. Not that he hadn’t spent most of the preceding night flailing about in his bed, attempting to quell unwanted thoughts.

Lady Jillian Fitzgerald, bless her sweet, contradictory soul, was the greatest challenge of his life. She kept him off balance but her unpredictability was one of her attractions. He could not understand, however, why she vehemently opposed marriage, not just to him it would seem, but to anyone. Most women in her position would be praising the Almighty for saving them from a spinster’s fate.

It wasn’t that he considered himself the best catch around. And he could see why she might resent the notion that somehow she needed to be “saved.” But he would have been pleased if she had approached his offer with something less than disgust.

The earl smiled to himself, for he did know one thing after last night in Miss Prudence Milford’s parlor—Jillian was not disgusted by the physical side of a relationship.

For Adrian the prospect of awakening the lady’s latent sexuality was a fascinating proposition, one that intrigued and excited him more with each passing day. Unfortunately, every time he tried to seduce her he found himself caught in the moment, unable to control his own rampaging desires.

Jillian did not seem to think passion was reason enough to enter a union. But Adrian could think of none better—at least it should be part of the relationship. The practical interests of the aristocracy when considering marriage left him cold.

The difficult part was that he could not see how he had made any progress in convincing Jillian a marriage between them was for the best. A restless night and a solitary breakfast had brought him no closer to a solution.

Adrian pushed back his chair with the intention of searching for Simon, when the dining room door burst open and the man himself appeared on the threshold.

“Simon, I was just coming to look for you.”

The marquess stared at him wildly. “It’s time,” he said in an agitated voice.

“Time?”

“Cassandra began her confinement about two hours ago. I’ve sent for the doctor but he’s not here yet.”

That would explain why Adrian had not seen anyone today. The household was preoccupied.

Aloud, the earl said, “Is she in danger?”

“The midwife says no. Says everything is happening as it should. But damned if I know what that means. Cassandra’s beginning to be uncomfortable and I can’t do a thing for her.”

“Lord, you look awful,” the earl said, feeling the other man’s tension. “Sit down and calm yourself. You won’t be any help to your wife if you lose control.”

Simon took the seat but he perched on the edge of the chair, hands visibly shaking.

“You know, Simon, we all arrive the same way and most everyone lives to tell the tale.” Adrian clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Try to hold up—tonight you will be a father.”

The marquess nodded absently. “Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Escort Jillian here and Aunt Prudence, naturally, if she wishes to come. I’ll feel better with some family around me and so will Cassandra. I’ve sent word to her father. My mother is in Bath and not due back until tomorrow.”

“I’ll depart straightaway.”

Ten minutes later he left Sutherfield.

Jillian was in the garden when the earl galloped down the drive. He learned this at the front door and, rather than going inside, trotted around to the back of the house.

The lady glanced up at his approach, and instantly he saw reserve enter her eyes. Still, he detected something different about the way she looked at him—as if she were only now really seeing him. For some reason that gladdened the earl.

“My lord,” she greeted cordially—another thing that pleased him. “You are here earlier than usual.”

“I’ve some news.”

“Oh?”

“It’s Cassandra’s time. Simon asked that you and Pru come to Sutherfield. I think he needs the moral support.”

Jillian put down the basket of flowers she carried, her manner becoming businesslike. “I must get ready.” She turned away and then spun back around. “Wait a minute. Aunt Pru’s carriage is broken. She can’t go. She doesn’t ride. I’ll meet you in the stable in thirty minutes.” Over her shoulder as she ran, “Have them give you some refreshment in the kitchen.”

Adrian smiled at her retreating back. She was the sort of female who could be counted on when she was needed, and he found that a reassuring quality in a woman who often kept him guessing. She would make a fine wife.

He did as she asked him and wandered into the kitchen, sitting at the table while he enjoyed an ale, upsetting Cook who clearly could not get used to his presence in her domain. He watched the clock and, twenty minutes after Jillian had gone inside, he headed for the stable.

She was there before him, having her horse saddled—with a sidesaddle. He glanced quickly at her but she did not return his look. Her closed expression told him he would be making a mistake to mention saddles or anything pertaining to saddles.

They began their journey in silence. Jillian rode confidently, handling Raven with as much ease as when she rode bareback. She had donned a habit, as surprising as the saddle, for she rarely wore clothing designated for certain activities or times of the day. The habit was outmoded—though not a fashion connoisseur, even he could see that—but the sleek rose-colored gown set off her figure and coloring perfectly. That, too, he refrained from mentioning.

At last she spoke.

“When did Cassandra begin her confinement?” she asked.

“This morning about two hours before I left Sutherfield to come for you.”

“How is Simon holding up?”

“He’s unnerved. Wants to do something but doesn’t know what. He thought your presence might be helpful—to keep him company while he paces if nothing else.”

She nodded. “Simon is several years older than I, yet we’ve always been close. Cassandra and I get along nicely as well. She’s not judgmental which is necessary if one is to accept me.”

Adrian looked at her sharply, but she continued to stare straight ahead at the road in front of them. Something he couldn’t define tugged at his heart when he heard the wistful words. He did not sense self-pity in her attitude, though. Rather, he perceived self-acknowledgment.

“I think you underestimate your appeal,” he said, meaning every word.

“Things are done a certain way, my lord. There is rarely room for the individual. I don’t consider myself unique enough to pull it off.”

“Yet you seem determined to try.”

Finally she turned to look at him, but she changed the subject. “I’m very angry at you, you know—”

“It’s about last night, isn’t it,” he said, interrupting. “I let the moment get out of hand. I apologize.”

Jillian brought her gaze back to her hands and she stared at them as she held her reins. “No, it’s not about last night. We are both to blame for that.”

What a refreshingly honest answer, Adrian thought.

“What is it then?” he asked aloud.

“I had my life planned before I met you. I had come to accept my lot and had learned to be happy with it. But you have me so confused I don’t know what is up and what is down. I hate feeling like that.”

“Perhaps you had decided on the wrong things. Perhaps when you made your decisions, you didn’t know what you really wanted or that you might have other options. And why should you be upset if changing those plans is for the better?”

“Is it?—for the better, I mean.”

“You are asking me for an unbiased view on something about which I am very biased.”

“What about Aunt Prudence? I fear she may be lonely.”

The talk had reached the point where Adrian was beginning to feel hopeful. “If she is lonely she can live with us.”

“You mean that?” Jillian asked, her gaze darting back and forth over his features, clearly trying to assess his sincerity.

“Absolutely. I like Auntie Pru. Of course, we will have to hide the brandy, but that’s a small price to pay for such a sweet lady’s company,” Adrian said, keeping his face straight.

He knew she still watched him, although he was now the one who examined the road ahead. After a moment he heard her laugh.

Adrian felt the satisfaction rise in his chest. He didn’t know when obligation turned to tenderness, but gradually over the weeks he had come to realize marrying Jillian offered more than a salve to his conscience. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to face an anxious day when she brought his child into the world.

Now there was an idea until this moment he had never entertained. He went quiet after that, pondering the strange twist of fate that had brought love into his life.

Jillian seemed to have no need to talk, either. He was aware of her now as he had never been before. Not her body—that had always intrigued him—but what she thought, what she felt.

They finished the ride to Sutherfield in companionable silence, reaching their destination in the middle of the afternoon.

The butler ushered Jillian and Adrian into the house as the sound of an agonized wail echoed from the floor above them.

“My God, what was that?” Adrian breathed.

The sound was repeated, this time a long drawn out cry of pain that caused them to stall in the entry. Immediately, Simon materialized in the doorway to the drawing room, his face haggard, his appearance disheveled.

“Thank God you are here!” he said. “This is the worst afternoon of my life. The screams have been going on for more than an hour.”

Jillian ran to his side and hugged him. “I’m sorry. I know this must be terrible for you.”

He buried his face in his sister’s hair. “I feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do for her.”

Adrian found those cries distressing, also. “Since you can’t do anything, Simon, perhaps we should ply you with liquor at the local inn. That is how a lot of men handle this situation when the stress becomes too difficult.”

The marquess looked at him and shook his head. “Cassandra can’t leave. Why should I? Her task is more difficult than the waiting. I’ve tried to enter her room to make certain she is all right, but they won’t let me near her.” He turned tortured eyes on Jillian. “Will you check for me?”

“Of course, Simon,” she said, although Adrian had the distinct impression going upstairs was the last thing she wanted to do.”

“Stay with her if she wants you, Jillian, please.”

Another cry rent the air and Adrian saw her flinch, but she nodded at her brother and turned to the stairs.

*****

Jillian knocked on the door, about as eager as a doomed man on a scaffold. Though not afraid for herself, she found the discomfort of others difficult to tolerate. And the anguish emanating from this room left her feeling faint-hearted.

Her summons was answered by a small woman so spare she looked stringy, who introduced herself as the midwife.

“Come in, come in,” the midwife said in a hushed voice. “We’re doing fine. We still have some hours to go yet but she’ll be a mother ‘fore long.” As an apparent afterthought, she asked, “And who might you be?”

Jillian stared at the bed and Cassandra’s swollen form, and it was all she could do not to turn and flee. She had never been to a birthing before, had never been in the same house where one went on, and she decided then and there ignorance was a blessing.

“Lady Sutherfield is my brother’s wife. He wants to know how she fares.” Jillian began to back out the door. “I’ll tell him you said things are going as they should.”

“Jillian?” Cassandra’s weak voice drifted across the room.

The midwife took her arm. “Go to her. I’ll talk to your brother. Husbands,” she shook her head, “they’re more trouble than their poor wives.” She shoved Jillian toward the bed.

Jillian tiptoed across the carpet to the bed, her heart lodging in her throat when she saw her sister-in-law’s miserable face. Cassandra’s lovely red hair was plastered to her damp forehead, and her eyes had a wild look.

“I’m here, love,” Jillian said, feeling as though she might cry. She took the patient’s hand. “Is it very bad?”

Cassandra smiled wanly. “They say you don’t remember much but I think I shall. Can’t imagine forgetting this.”

Jillian couldn’t imagine it, either.

Cassandra’s features contorted suddenly, and she gripped her sister-in-law’s hand, squeezing hard enough to stanch the flow of blood to Jillian’s fingers. Cassandra tried, clearly she tried to hold back, but a cry of misery escaped her anyway.

Shortly thereafter the midwife bustled back into the bedchamber. “How are we doin’?” she asked cheerfully. “Don’t you worry now, sweetie,” she said to the patient. “Each of those pains brings you closer to when you hold your child.”

Jillian pulled the woman aside. “Are you certain everything is going as it should? I mean, shouldn’t the doctor be here to oversee the delivery?”

The midwife gave her a measuring glance. “This your first time at a birthin’, is it? There won’t be no delivery for a few hours.” She patted Jillian on the arm. “I’ve brung scores of babes into the world. I promise there is nothin’ to worry about. The doctor will be here in time.”

Thus Jillian pulled a chair to the side of the bed and did her best to provide moral support, murmuring encouragement, donating her mangled hand when necessary. One hour blended into the next as the afternoon faded at a slothful pace and the night began. Cassandra’s contractions grew more intense and her screams more wretched until Jillian felt near to weeping.

At ten o’clock that evening the midwife suddenly announced, “Soon now, soon.” And as if he had been waiting for just those words, the doctor entered the bedchamber. His appearance signaled to Jillian her chance to escape, and she dashed from the room as though leaving the scene of a disaster.

She reached a small antechamber at the back of the house on the bottom floor before she broke down. She sat on a small wooden settle by doors that led to the garden and began to weep, great wracking sobs she felt all the way to her toes. She did not know why something as natural as having a baby should cause her grief. But she loved Simon and she loved Cassandra, and though today would eventually lead to immense happiness, right now they were both miserable. She did know one thing—to wait helplessly by unable to do anything was awful.

“Come, love, give over.”

She heard Adrian’s voice and felt his arms around her before she saw him. She glanced into his handsome features as he sat next to her on the settle, and the concern she saw there made the tears start all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she gulped on the words, “you must think me a fool but I can’t seem to help myself. I could never tend to the ill—the misery is too much for me.”

“I don’t think you a fool at all. You are sensitive. That hardly brings out my contempt.”

He sounded sincere, having offered his arms for solace, and Jillian could not resist. She buried her face in the earl’s shoulder and allowed his reassuring presence to comfort her. They remained thus for several minutes before she stirred.

“You won’t want to marry me, my lord,” she said sniffing. “Not after today.”

Adrian’s brows came together in a frown. “What has happened today that could possibly make me not want to marry you?”

Oh dear, she thought miserably, just when she had begun to think she might consider his offer. She drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“I’ve decided I don’t want children. I’ve come to believe I don’t have the constitution for it.”

“I hardly blame you,” he said, surprising her. “Who wouldn’t be afraid after a day like you’ve had.”

She merely stared at him, overwhelmed by his understanding.

“You know something?” the earl said. “Hard as this is to believe right now, Cassandra will be talking of having other children in a few months. And I think you will get over most of your apprehension as well.”

Jillian looked at him in disgust, for the first time unconvinced by his reasoning. “Really? Would you?”

He put up his hands as though warding away the question. “Not me, no. But then I’m a coward as most men are in a case like this. The good Lord understood exactly what he was doing when he designated women as the child bearers.”

“That certainly is a help to know that,” she said dryly. And then, doubtfully, “I suppose I should go back.”

“Not if you find it too distressful. That baby will be born with or without you, I promise. Everyone will understand.”

“Yes, but as my brother said, Cassandra does not have the luxury of flight. If she must endure, then so shall I.” Jillian came to her feet and looked down at him. “Thank you, Adrian. I feel better now.”

He took her hand and squeezed it, causing her to wince. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Cassandra has been using my hand to help ease her pain.” She smiled. “It’s a small sacrifice.”

She did not know what came over her then, but on a whim she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. She spun around immediately and fled from the room before he could respond, shocked by her own brazen behavior.

Upstairs the situation had reached the turning point. Jillian entered the birthing room to a flurry of activity.

“Here, now” the midwife commanded, “take Lady Sutherfield’s hand. We’re almost there.”

Once again she sat next to Cassandra’s head and offered support, and as a reward Jillian was witness to an amazing event. Not that she wasn’t appalled by the proceedings, for until today she had not realized how much effort was needed to give birth. But the look of rapture that lit her sister-in-law’s countenance when her son was placed in her arms told Jillian that the outcome made the struggle worthwhile.

“Oh, Jillian,” Cassandra said, her voice a reedy thread, “won’t Simon be proud?”

Jillian looked at the infant, small puckered features in a tiny red face. She wondered if an aunt could bond with a child as the parents did, for right now she could hardly contain the love flowing through her body.

“He’s beautiful, Cassie,” she said, whispering over a knot in her throat.

The doctor moved to the door but Cassandra stopped him before he could leave. “Jillian should make the announcement.” Though she looked exhausted, her gaze shone as she handed over her precious bundle. “Tell Simon this is my gift to him.”

No longer could Jillian staunch the tears that brimmed in her eyes. Weeping openly, she took the infant, holding him close to her breast. She looked down into a pair of round eyes like bright blue buttons, and her heart swelled.

“I will tell him,” she said.

*****

Adrian walked the floor behind the marquess, back and forth, back and forth. Occasionally the men would meet in the middle of the room and dodge one another, but the earl no longer tried to talk to his friend. Simon’s preoccupation had taken him to another place mentally, and communication with him had become impossible.

Less than an hour before a terrible scream had reverberated through the house, and Simon had stilled in his tracks, eyes wide with dismay as he stared at his companion. Fortunately, that had been the last such occurrence, and they had resumed their pacing. But the memory of that awful sound was never far from Adrian’s thoughts. He knew Simon was suffering from the same condition.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel as it began the slow, deliberate chiming that announced the changing of one day to the next. Midnight—had it really been that long?

“I wish someone would tell me something,” the marquess spoke at last. “I never realized waiting could be so torturous.”

“It has been silent for some time now,” Adrian said. “I wager we’ll hear soon.”

As if his words had conjured the moment, the earl saw Jillian come to stand in the doorway of the drawing room. In her arms she carried a swaddled infant and, though her lovely face was streaked with tears, she smiled radiantly.

“You have a son, Simon,” she said softly.

Simon whose back was to her turned slowly. He gazed at his sister, a wondering look. His attention slipped to the small bundle.

“Cassandra?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

She moved to his side. “The doctor says she’s fine. She is sleeping now.” Jillian held the baby out to him. “ Cassandra called him a gift to you.”

Simon was undone. No one could have missed the wrenching emotion that played across his face. With hands that shook he reached for his son then sat in a high-back chair next to the fireplace, his companions clearly forgotten.

“Perhaps we should give him some time alone with the baby,” Adrian said to Jillian in an undertone. “I think our presence becomes unnecessary.”

Smiling, she nodded. She walked across the room and kneeled by her brother’s chair. “Simon?”

“Hum?” He continued to watch his son.

“Adrian and I are hungry. If you need anything, we’ll be eating.”

He dipped his head absently.

Jillian stood and placed her hand on the earl’s arm, and together they strolled to the dining room.

Covered dishes, still warming, were laid on the sideboard. Evidently someone had anticipated empty stomachs needing sustenance once the urgent situation had passed.

Adrian put an assortment of foods on his plate and, though everything smelled good, his hunger did not extend to caring about what he ate.

Filling her plate, Jillian sat to the table, and the earl joined her, plunking in the seat on her left. Neither spoke as they commenced to eat.

Abruptly she put her fork on the table. “I believed I was hungry but now I’m not so certain. The meal is going down like a lump. What are we eating anyway?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he said.

They shared a grin. The tip of Jillian’s nose was still pink from crying, and Adrian thought she had never appeared more beautiful. The look in his eye must have reflected the warmth he felt, for her smile drifted away and she dropped her gaze. In that brief moment he sensed her retreat from him.

“Jillian?”

“Yes?” She picked up her fork, but rather than eating, she stabbed at the food, pushing this and that around on her plate.

“Is something the matter?” He reached over and touched her arm, stemming the aimless activity.

She raised her eyes to his and he could see the uncertainty there. “I don’t know.” She smiled once more, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not a very definite answer, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

Jillian shrugged. “It’s been such an emotional day, my nerves are jangled. I think I could sleep for a year.”

The earl wanted to yell in frustration. Her attitude was as dry and remote as a desert. An inanimate object exuded more feeling than she did at present. What could have happened in the intervening twenty minutes to make her look at him as though he were a stranger?

“You’re not going to confide in me then?”

“Adrian,” she glanced at him, meeting his eyes, and for a moment her reserve seemed to crumble, “I don’t know how to answer you, honestly I don’t. I’m confused right now.”

“I can understand that.”

“Can you? Can you really?” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Since Simon and you have joined forces, I’ve felt as though I’ve lost control of my life, a control I’ve gone to great lengths to acquire. And I hate it. Do you understand that, my lord?”

“You won’t believe this, Jillian, but I felt much the same way when I left England—a victim of a situation not of my making. I didn’t want to participate in that duel. But I had gained a reputation. I was challenged, and I was expected to play the game—and that’s what it was, you know—a game. Findley was a coward, and I despised him. But I did not want to kill him.”

“Did you really sleep with his wife?”

Adrian cringed inwardly, ashamed that he must address the sensitive matter.

“Lady Findley and I were not lovers but I won’t lie to you. If that was what she had wanted, I would have complied. But what she needed was someone to caress her ego. Her husband was a philanderer, and she was hurt. I gave her the admiration she desperately needed, and we became friends. I suppose you could have called me her cicisbeo, although I detest the term. I don’t think her husband would have cared if I had merely slipped into her bed. What he minded was that I had slipped into her heart.”

“She fell in love with you?”

“Not in the sense you mean. I was more a brother to her, someone with whom she could talk and unburden herself. Findley could hardly compete against that and it really bothered him. What a hypocrite he was.”

“I’m surprised,” she said after a moment. “Men rarely choose women for friends.”

“If you knew her you would understand.”

“W-were you in love with her?”

Adrian smiled, gratified at least that she sounded displeased by the notion. “I came to love her, though I was not in love with her—a critical difference, I think.”

“And you never spoke to her again?”

“When I was in London this week, I called on her.” The earl watched her out of the corner of his eye as he spoke.

“You did?”

“She is married again, a fine man who makes her happy. I am happy for her.”

Jillian looked relieved, and he could have laughed aloud because he now knew she was not indifferent. However, he was a little surprised by how relieved he felt knowing she cared.

“Have you been in any duels since the one I witnessed?”

Adrian stared at her directly. “No, and I’ll never participate in another. I allowed pride to dictate to me something I knew was wrong. I’ve had to live for eight years knowing I ended a man’s life, took away the father of three children. I ran and ran and ran round the world, but that fatal morning will always be with me. I cannot leave it behind.”

“But you were notorious for engaging in duels, and the gossip did not indicate that you suffered from conscience.”

The earl looked at her through raised eyebrows. “I remind you of your own attitude toward gossip, my lady. Although I’ll admit even the most distorted rumors usually spring from a grain of truth.” He sighed. “I’m afraid it took the death of a man to bring me to sanity. I’ll say it again—I will never take part in another duel.”

“Growing up can be painful,” Jillian said. “Some mistakes are more permanent than others, less forgiving.”

She reached over and touched his sleeve as though she would comfort him, and Adrian was glad to see that she no longer seemed as distant. He did suspect as soon as she realized she had thawed a bit, she would find some reason to be cool with him once more. But that was all right, for time was his ally and what they had in common would always provide a bond for them. As he glanced at her lovely profile, what troubled him was whether or not he had the patience to wait.

Jillian stood and pressed the front of her dress with her hands. “I think I shall seek my bed. I’m exhausted.”

The earl grabbed her wrist. “What?—no kiss this time?

Her face reddened. “I was brazen earlier. I will refrain from doing that any more.” She pried her hand loose and left the room without looking back.

Damn! She reminded him of an eel in the water—just when he thought he had her in his grasp, she found a means of wiggling free. He looked at the door where she had exited moments before, and an idea struck him, one that worried him but caught his imagination nonetheless. Perhaps it was time to end the sluggish pace of this courtship. Maybe waiting was the wrong thing to do.

On that tempting thought he also sought his bed.

*****

CHAPTER 8

The rain had been unrelenting. The skies had opened and poured for three days—no wind, little lightning—just an eerie deluge. The house was dark and depressing, and the occupants appeared as gloomy as the weather. Even Aunt Pru, usually in good spirits, had lost her buoyancy.

Jillian sat on the window seat in her bedchamber, gazing at the sky, hopefully eyeing a patch of blue that peeked through the gray. For as far as she could see large puddles dotted the landscape. Even if the rain stopped at once, it would be days before she could go abroad without risking a mud bath.

Adrian had not come to call since the storms began. But that was hardly a surprise, for the weather notwithstanding, his attitude had cooled of late. Since the birth of her nephew three weeks before, the earl’s visits had been sporadic. However, when he did come she had the unnerving notion he watched her, taking her measure as though coming to a decision of some kind.

She hated herself for missing him but she did. He brought excitement to her life and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she found his presence stimulating.

Jillian sighed and stood from her seat. The rain finally had eased, but if she were any judge, it was only a respite. Dreary, dreary day, she thought in self-pity. She left her room in search of Aunt Prudence.

*****

Adrian had never seen so much mud. He was covered in it, the horse he rode was covered in it—in fact the world looked covered in it. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to bring a bundle of clothing, or he would be in the unenviable position of having to borrow from Miss Milford’s gardener again.

He probably should have waited for the roads to dry, but as soon as he had witnessed a break in the weather he had departed from Sutherfield. Now layered in muck, he galloped down the drive to Aunt Pru’s home, convinced his desire to see Jillian had impeded his good sense.

Stopping in the stable, he tossed a grin at the stable boy along with the reins to his mount, for the lad stared at him in undisguised amazement.

“What’s the matter? Not used to seeing a peer of the realm looking as though he stepped out of a pig sty?” the earl asked.

“No, m’lord. You are a might dirty, if I’m not bein’ impertinent to say so.”

Adrian laughed. “It’s hardly impertinent if it is the truth, young man, although I think you’ve been tactfully circumspect. Anyway, pretending not to notice won’t make me a jot cleaner, now will it?”

The boy smiled. “No, m’lord.”

The earl exited the stable, deciding it would be best if he entered the house through the kitchen door. That should put the cook out of temper, he thought, a circumstance he found amusing, not because he disliked the woman but because he knew she had no use for him. When she opened the door to his knock she did not disappoint him.

“M’lord, what happened to you?” She stood on the threshold, unmoving, her large frame filling the doorway.

“I’ve encountered a bit of mud as you can see.”

She eyed his grimy clothing and boots. “I just mopped the floor, m’lord.”

He gave the woman a steely gaze. “Perhaps you would like to tell Lady Jillian I called, but you could not see your way clear to letting me in the house.”

Her cheeks reddened and she started to stammer, “G-good gracious, m’lord, I-I didn’t mean to suggest…please, come in.” She leapt from the doorway, handling her considerable bulk with surprising ease in her haste.

Adrian stepped inside and tossed his bundle on the table before sitting down to remove his boots. “I think I shall appropriate your kitchen and take my bath in here.”

Her jaw dropped. “M’lord?”

“Yes, I think that’s the best idea. If I drag upstairs I’ll drag all this mud with me.”

The earl ignored the barrage of incredulous looks Cook sent his way as she pulled the metal tub, normally used by the servants, into the middle of the room and began to fill it. The process took about ten minutes, and Adrian unrolled his clean clothing while he waited.

She gave him soap and a cloth for bathing, all the while glancing pointedly in his direction as though she could not believe he intended to proceed with his plan.

“Thank you. Please send a footman with a towel. I’ll be done quickly and you can get back to whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted.”

The cook left mumbling to herself and, as soon as the door closed behind her, the earl peeled off the grimy clothing. Much to his surprise the mud had gone clean through to his drawers.

Adrian sank into the hot water and expelled a loud sigh of pleasure. Unfortunately, the tub was small and round, so his knees rested under his chin. He had to scoop water from either side of his body to wash himself, but even struggling in the limited space he soon was clean. The water had turned an unappetizing brown, though.

A footman delivered the towel the earl had requested, asking if the guest needed anything else. Adrian pointed to his boots still caked with sludge.

“See what you can do with those,” he said to the servant.

The man nodded and, picking up the footwear, retreated from the room.

Adrian came to his feet, deciding he had done all he could to remedy his filthy state. Water sluiced off him, dousing the floor.

Before he could step from the tub, when he was at his most vulnerable, the kitchen door burst open, and he found himself staring into Jillian’s beautiful brown eyes. Right behind her came Aunt Prudence, mouth agape, emitting strange squeaking sounds while her hands fluttered uncontrollably.

It was a helpless moment, one in which he could merely gawk back, too frozen by shock to do anything else. Not that Adrian was ashamed of his body per se, but neither was he an exhibitionist. He remained where he stood, in only the skin God gave him, feeling like an utter fool. He would wonder afterward why fate had conspired to deal him such a mean-spirited blow.

The ladies disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, scrambling in the doorway for escape as if they had been witness to something profoundly ugly. He could hear Jillian upbraiding the cook, asking the woman how she could have allowed them to walk in on a man taking his bath. He wondered that same thing himself. Had the servant deliberately spited him?

Adrian stumbled from the tub and grabbed his towel. But rather than drying off, he sat on a chair by the table, put the towel to his face and howled with mirth. It was either do that or indulge in the unmanly art of crying. Since he already felt emasculated, he gave into the laughter.

Fifteen minutes later as he buttoned his shirt, the footman reentered the kitchen with the clean boots. Adrian caught the man looking at him surreptitiously, smirking.

“Out with it,” the earl barked. “Everyone knows, don’t they?”

The footman gave him a direct look, the smirk now firmly hidden. “I don’t know about that, my lord—” He stopped at the incredulous expression Adrian sent him. “All right, there was quite a ruckus. Ladies take this sort of thing rather hard.”

“Indeed.”

Adrian sat down again and pulled on the boots. He came to his feet and squared his shoulders, feeling as though he were preparing to enter a battle.

He glanced at the footman who stood in the doorway, an uncertain look on his face.

“Yes?” Adrian asked impatiently.

“The mistress and her niece are in the parlor, my lord. I...ah, thought you might want to know.”

“What I want right now is to leave the scene of my humiliation and return to Sutherfield. But knowing how quickly gossip travels, the story will arrive before I do. I’m doomed.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The servant actually did seem sorry.

“Right, I appreciate you condolences, but my hesitation becomes cowardly.”

Adrian left the kitchen and walked briskly to the parlor. Upon entering, he encountered two sets of embarrassed female eyes, looking in his direction, but not looking at him. Both women sat on the settee, and both were clearly suffering from distress. At that point he made a decision—meet the problem straight on and get the worst behind him at the outset.

“I think we need a drink. I’ll do the honors.” He approached the sideboard, trying to appear unruffled.

Aunt Prudence perked up immediately. “Yes, yes, that’s a splendid idea. A dab of brandy always makes the darkest situation seem brighter.”

“Although I can’t say I’m proud of what transpired, Aunt Pru, I hope it’s not the darkest,” he said, his tone droll as he handed the older woman a glass.

He gave Jillian a brandy as well, and when he did their eyes met briefly. He flinched inwardly. Whew, he thought as he moved away. From the look of her, perhaps it was the darkest. He returned to the sideboard, poured his own drink and, taking a deep swallow, faced his companions.

“Ladies,” he said to the air above their heads, “we had an unfortunate circumstance occur, one I would like to forget. I suspect I can speak for all of us on that score. I suggest we acknowledge what happened and get past it. I know that is what I intend to do.”

Aunt Prudence, who had downed her glass of spirits during his speech, finally met his gaze. “I couldn’t agree more. But, Adrian, dear boy, next time don’t worry about making a mess in my guest bedchamber. There are worse things than a little mud—I think you have proven that.”

Adrian winced. Give Aunt Pru an intoxicating beverage and she became brutal with her honesty.

“Cook did try to stop us,” Jillian finally remarked. He was relieved to see a smile playing about her lips. “We had come downstairs together, Auntie and I, and heard her muttering about the upheaval in her kitchen. We dashed to see what she was talking about before she could explain. I know she would never have allowed us to come in on you.”

“Are you certain?” Adrian asked. “I don’t think your cook likes me very much.”

“You miss the point,” Prudence said archly. “She does like Jillian and me—very much.”

“Of course,” the earl conceded.

“I suppose after all the commotion dinner will be late tonight,” the older woman said. “How about another brandy?”

In short order the constrained atmosphere had eased, aided by the liberating influence of alcohol. Even Jillian, whom he had never seen drink more than a single glass of ratafia, had mellowed.

The scene had become so cozy and pleasant, he decided it took an incident of a truly personal nature to bring people closer. Of course, he could not help wishing someone else had been required to forego their dignity to achieve that closeness.

Dinner was served late as expected and they ate in the main dining room. The cook wore a haunted expression and, unless Adrian was mistaken, the woman had been weeping over the meal she prepared. Perhaps he had misjudged her. He gave the poor creature a sympathetic smile, and her eyes widened before she acknowledged his understanding with a timid smile of her own and a slight nod of the head.

The footman served the final course as a loud crash of thunder rumbled through the night.

“Dear me,” Prudence announced, speaking carefully, “it looks as though the weather is turning bad again.” She had had enough brandy to brighten her cheeks to a glowing pink.

As if to emphasize her words, a torrent of rain burst from the heavens. This time the moisture was accompanied by great gusts of wind, something that had been missing from the previous storms. A flash of lightning lit the sky, and the subsequent clap of thunder followed almost immediately. All three persons at the table jumped.

“I do so hate lightning,” Prudence moaned.

Adrian took her hand. “There is nothing to fear, dear lady. It makes a lot of noise, but rarely does any harm.”

“We’ve had this talk before, Auntie,” Jillian added. “We have endured many storms and have never had a speck of trouble.”

“I ‘spose so, but what are you going to do, Adrian?” her aunt asked. “We can’t send you home in this inclement weather.”

“I’ll wait until it clears, ma’am.”

“But that might not happen, don’t you agree, Jillian? Can’t sit up all night waiting.”

Jillian gave Adrian an uncertain look then glanced back at her aunt. “What are you proposing?” she asked.

“I think his lordship should use the guest bedchamber,” Pru said.” To the earl, “I trust you to behave yourself, young man.” She smiled, taking the sting out of her words.

“Of course,” Adrian murmured, delighted with this sudden turn of events. He ignored the consternation on Jillian’s face. “I’m grateful I won’t have to take another mud bath today.”

“That’s settled then.” Prudence placed her hands on the table for leverage as she began to struggle from her chair.

The earl stood and went to the old woman’s side, helping her to stand as well. She leaned heavily on his arm, and he realized she was more intoxicated than he had thought at first. He glanced at Jillian, sending her a silent message, and she instantly came to his aid.

Though a bit of a tussle, the trio made the trip from the dining room, up the stairs, to Aunt Prudence’s chamber with a minimum of difficulty. At her aunt’s door Jillian turned to him. “I must see my aunt to bed,” she said in a soft voice. “You know where the guest chamber is. If you need anything, please ask the footman for assistance.”

Adrian touched her arm. “Are you retiring, also?”

She looked first at his hand on her arm then gazed into his face, her expression unreadable. “I think it would be best,” she said at last. She entered the room and closed the door.

The earl went downstairs again, his mind working furiously. This was the opportunity he had been seeking.

He went to the parlor and strode directly to the sideboard, grabbing the bottle of brandy, now almost empty, and two goblets. He returned upstairs, searching out his room, and went inside.

Apparently, his stay had been noted by the servants, for someone had brought him towels and put water in the basin. He set the brandy and the glasses on his night table and walked to the window to watch the storm. Arm above his head, he rested an elbow against the casing and rubbed his thumb over his brow.

Did he dare, did he really dare do what he had in mind? he wondered as he stared into the turbulent night. He had been preparing for this moment for weeks, but now that the hour was upon him he did not know if he should go through with it. The exercise had the mark of a cad written all over it. But what choice did he have?—allow Jillian to procrastinate forever, putting their lives on hold until she decided to decide?

Though he knew Jillian was warming to him, at the pace she had permitted their courtship to progress, it might be months, even longer before she agreed to marry him. He found that unacceptable.

He had been less accessible lately, not coming as often, not pursuing her with as much dedication, not because his interest had waned but because he wanted her to think. He hoped she would be concerned by the sudden withdrawal of his attention and, as a result, be more agreeable when he began wooing her again. This time he meant to take their relationship to another level.

If they become lovers then she would marry him due to expediency if nothing else. However, he was honest enough with himself to admit he desired more because a marriage built upon expediency might generate little affection. When he thought of a long-term relationship with Jillian, Adrian knew he wanted more.

Naturally Jillian had a choice. She could refuse him, could send him packing. And he would go. But something told Adrian she would find turning him away difficult. There was passion between them. He sensed it every time they were in the same room together. He knew she sensed it, also.

He heard a door open down the hall and the murmur of voices. Racing to his own door, he cracked it slightly to see which room Jillian entered.

She went into the bedchamber across the hall from his. Dear Lord, he thought beginning to feel aroused, she was so close it was a recipe for illicit activity. He was thankful Aunt Pru had overindulged tonight.

The earl crossed to the washbasin, pulled off his shirt, dashed cold water in his face and ran wet fingers through his hair. He glanced in the mirror, confirming his suspicion—he needed a shave. Too bad but he didn’t have a razor and, without disturbing people he did not want disturbed, he had no chance of getting one.

He sat on the side of the bed and removed his boots and socks. Standing again, he wondered how long he should wait. If he did not react quickly enough, she might go to sleep and the opportunity would be lost. That decided him.

Adrian reached for the brandy and glasses on his way from the room. Easing the door open, he glanced both ways down the hall. Everything was quiet except the rush of rain and wind buffeting the house and the occasional clap of thunder.

All at once he was nervous. What he was about to attempt would seal his future as nothing else had. And yet that was not what worried him. He already knew he wanted Jillian. What he could not be sure of was whether or not she wanted him. What if she rejected him? Was he risking more than his pride?

The answer was in the room across from him and, feeling as though he had come too far to retreat, Adrian stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

*****

Jillian entered her room with the storm still raging outside, uncomfortable with how the evening had ended. Aunt Prudence had drunk too much, and now Adrian slept only a few feet away across the hall. His presence on the other side of a locked door should not have bothered her.

But it did.

All evening she had tried to forget the image of a handsome man stripped to his skin, abashed as he stared at her across her aunt’s kitchen. She had felt sorry for him, for he truly had been disconcerted by the invasion of his privacy. To her dismay she had felt something else.

The earl had a magnificent physique. He was long and lean, sinewy, as if he used his body, not like so many of the soft, pampered aristocrats she knew. Jillian had to smile to herself, though, because she had never thought to see a man quite so sheepish about displaying his “charms.”

She undressed and donned a cotton nightdress then pulled loose the perennial ribbon that held her hair. She sat at her dressing table to the light of a single candle and began the chore of detangling her thick mane.

A soft, urgent knock sounded on her door and Jillian paused, the brush she wielded held in midair. She opened her mouth to ask who it was, but some instinct she could not identify made her decide to use caution. Warily, she rose from her seat and crossed the room.

She turned the knob and peeked out. Adrian stood in the hall, shirtless, shoeless, an engaging grin on his handsome features, clutching what looked like her aunt’s brandy decanter and two glasses. For a moment she was too stunned to speak.

“Have you lost your mind, my lord?”

The smile continued unabated. “I’m sure we could argue that possibility,” he said in an undertone, “but I think you should invite me in so we don’t disturb the household.”

“Absolutely not.”

The smile widened. “Tsk, tsk, that’s not the answer for which I’d hoped. I suppose I’ll have to wait out here in the hall until you see it my way.”

Jillian wanted to close the door on him and his ridiculous threat, but the expression on his face indicated his intention of doing just as he promised. She feared taking the chance.

“Oh, all right, but only for a moment.” She stepped out of the way, allowing him to enter. As she clicked the door into place, she turned on him. “What can you be thinking? My aunt is only a few doors away—she’ll hear us.”

“Aunt Pru won’t be hearing much tonight between the brandy and the storm.”

She detected a silky, insinuating quality to the words and all at once she looked at him, taking in his naked torso, the bottle and glasses he held. His black hair glistened with moisture. He appeared frighteningly seductive, his features all shadows and deep angles enhanced by a day’s growth of beard, staring at her through light blue eyes too friendly for comfort.

“Did you get Aunt Pru drunk on purpose?” she asked, appalled by the possibility.

The smile finally slipped. “I would never hurt your aunt,” the earl said. “If you don’t know that then you don’t know me.”

“Adrian, why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I’ve missed you, love. We are never alone together. I thought a little more brandy and some pleasant conversation might make me sleepy.”

“But this is improper, scandalously so. Aren’t you the one who has given me lectures on behaving? You’re asking me to do the very thing you say I should not.”

“Aren’t you the one who has told society to go to hell? I thought the impropriety would appeal to you.”

Jillian was surprised by how much those bald words hurt. “You don’t think much of me, do you, my lord?”

Adrian’s expression softened. “I think very much of you, Jillian.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the window seat. “Come, let’s watch the storm, shall we? Have a few sips of brandy with me—there’s hardly any left so we can’t get drunk—and we’ll talk.”

Still unsure, she allowed him to guide her across the room. Once they were seated the earl handed her a goblet, measuring out the remaining brandy so they each had an equal amount before he placed the decanter on the floor. He clicked his glass against hers.

“To us,” he said.

Though Jillian wanted to respond, she could not. Those simple words implied a commitment and, despite feeling closer to the earl than ever before, she did not know if she was ready to make that promise.

The look in his eyes told her he understood.

“Where is your shirt?” she asked, changing the subject.

Adrian raised his foot to the cushion on the window seat, resting his forearm on his knee. “Does my lack of shirt bother you? After today I thought nothing could shock you. You’ve seen all there is to see.”

Disturbingly, she was aware of his semi-dressed state as he leaned casually against the inset wall of the seat, aware of the pleasing contours of his handsome body. But more than that, she wanted to know what his purpose was in approaching her in such an obvious way.

“It’s not shock. I just wondered why.”

The smile he gave her was warm with satisfaction. “Do you know what I like most about you, Jillian? You never disappoint me. I expect you to say one thing, and you nearly always say something else. We’ll never be bored with one another. That’s where most marriages fail, you know—boredom.”

“I don’t know why you should be surprised because I’m not shocked. I’m not a girl and I’m not as naive as you might think.”

The earl’s gaze sharpened. “Is that so? Is there anything in particular you are trying to tell me?”

Jillian knew what he asked and she suddenly felt caught in the web of her own cryptic words. She did not want him to think poorly of her but, on the other hand, she did not want him to treat her like a complete innocent either.

“Not in the way you mean,” she said at last, deciding to meet the question honestly. He looked so relieved, she smiled inwardly. “I’m not going to tell you I haven’t had opportunities. Even in the country away from everything a certain type of male ferrets out the heiress, the woman of rank who can help his position.”

“I remember you saying to Simon that you’d had offers.”

“Some more honorable than others.”

Adrian frowned. “Have you been insulted?”

“More times than you can imagine. A destroyed reputation leaves one unprotected.”

“That is especially true for a woman.”

“Mostly true for a woman,” Jillian countered. She pulled her own legs up on the window seat, feet tucked beneath her, careful to cover her limbs with her gown. “After the scandal I was remembered from my come-out, and several gentlemen followed me when I left London, one at a time, you understand, but not until Father had died and could no longer shield me from such advances. Nearly all were fortune hunters. Lord Peabody was perverted in some way, and he wanted a wife for, well…” she felt her face warm, “to be frank, I’m not certain why he wanted a wife but he frightened me.”

“I remember him, filthy bastard,” Adrian muttered.

“My sentiments exactly. But the point is, not one of those men intended to take me back to London, not one. I could live in the country, thankful someone wanted to marry me—or simply wanted me—and rot away. Some of the gentlemen coveted my inheritance and others coveted my body, but none of them wanted to acknowledge me. Yet every gentleman to a man thought I should be grateful for his efforts to ‘rescue’ me. Somehow those offers did not seem an improvement on my lot. Aunt Pru does love me when all is said and done, and I still have my autonomy.”

“I will take you back to London, proudly, on my arm for all to see.”

Jillian heard the compassion in his voice, and at that instant lightning tore across the sky, exposing his features. The look in his eyes mirrored the ardent words. A barrier of long duration, tight and unyielding, gave way in her chest, and she felt tears spring to her eyes.

The earl must have realized her sudden vulnerability, for he set his drink on the floor, and reaching across the space between them, eased away the glass she held, placing it next to his. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward him and it never occurred to Jillian to resist. She came up on her knees and Adrian, still seated, enveloped her in his arms, resting his head on her breast. She laid her cheek against his forehead, steeping herself in the warmth of his comforting embrace.

The kindness was her undoing. She knew why he had come, knew what he wanted. She had known when she first opened the door and saw him standing there, half-naked, bringing the brandy in case his body was not enough enticement. Jillian supposed if she had meant to turn him away, she would have done it then. Whatever her motivation—and admittedly she hardly understand herself at present—she could not refuse him.

Perhaps Adrian sensed her surrender, for she recognized the moment his effort at solace became something more. His hands, motionless up till now, began the slow exploration of her back, her hips. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her gown, finding the sensitive flesh of her buttocks and thighs. Where he touched her, her skin tingled deliciously. She heard his breathing intensify as he turned his head and took the tip of her breast in his mouth through the fine muslin of her gown.

Jillian shuddered, overcome by a flash of ecstasy that streaked through her belly and ended in her throat. She moaned aloud, the sound shocking her but clearly inciting Adrian. He dragged her down beside him so she sat between his legs and, taking her face in his hands, forced her to look at him.

“Kiss me, Jillian,” he commanded, his voice now heavy with passion.

His light eyes glittered strangely, lustfully, and she felt a corresponding thrill in her pelvis that was equal parts excitement and apprehension.

“Kiss me!”

Jillian had no wish to refuse him. She met him halfway, their lips joining fiercely as she wrapped her arms around him.

Outside the storm wailed with new intensity as tree branches slapped the window and thunder rumbled constantly through the malevolent night. The rain came in turbulent gusts, beating the panes of glass like tiny stones.

Adrian released her mouth and her hold on him to tug at the tiny ribbons that closed the top of her gown, untying each one until the neck was wide enough to slip the garment from her shoulders. Pulling her hands through the armholes, he lowered the nightdress to her waist.

“My God—as beautiful as I remembered.” He groaned the words as he stroked the soft peaks, the nipples puckering in response to the intimate contact.

Jillian cupped his jaw, covered with a fine dark stubble, in her hand. “And you’re beautiful, my lord.” She lowered her fingers to caress the muscle of his solid chest.

The earl watched the movement before bringing his gaze back to hers, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled his appreciation. He touched her lips with his own then, lightly, almost reverently while drawing her to him again. Jillian was enthralled by the seductive pleasure of skin against skin. He filled his lungs with air, and she could feel him soaking in the texture of her just as she was doing with him.

Adrian came to his feet, bringing her with him. He pulled impatiently at the nightdress that clung to her hips, and the wispy garment slid down her legs to her feet. She was naked and it was an amazingly erotic experience, one she knew he shared with her.

He continued to kiss her, determined kisses meant to stem any protest she might have, but Jillian had no intention of reneging now. His urgency flowed over her, consuming her. She was caught in the rapture, desire tearing through her system like quicksilver, leaving her exposed and wanting.

Her thoughts were oddly jumbled, distracted in one way and keen to the point of being obsessive in another. The tiny part of her that was still rational recognized the compulsion, and for the first time she understood.

Feeling wondrously wanton she brought questing fingers to the front of his breeches. One by one she released the buttons.

Adrian went immobile as she began her endeavors, but she was aware of his greedy gaze as he watched her, his quickened respiration, his accelerating need. When she reached opened hands into his waistband, he threw his head back, a pained expression on his face. Suddenly flustered, Jillian began to pull away from him.

“Adrian? Have I done wrong? I only meant…”

He grabbed her wrists, forestalling her retreat, and she was shocked by the savage hunger contorting his features.

“A woman who enters into the lovemaking in earnest is what a man desires most,” he whispered in a lust-filled voice. “No, you have not done wrong.”

The earl scooped her up into his arms and crossed to the bed, setting her on the counterpane. He then swiftly stripped off his breeches and drawers, all the while his sight focused on her unclad form as if he intended to devour her. Now also naked, he joined her there, covering her with himself.

For Jillian time became a nebulous thing while Adrian worked his magic, finding responsive places on her body unknown to her until that moment—the nape of her neck, the small of her back, an inner thigh. His hand came to rest on her lower belly, and he reared up to look at her as he slipped his fingers between her legs. His eyes glowed triumphantly.

“Ah…you do want me, Jillian,” he ground out, his excitement palpable.

She stared at him, dazed by the wondrous pleasure his touch produced. She wanted something, she thought frantically as she pressed against his palm. The need was becoming unbearably insistent, impossible to ignore.

On the periphery of her mind she heard the crescendoing of the storm, the windows rattling with each thunderclap until it felt as though the house might collapse around them.

Adrian removed his hand, his manner also frenzied as he thrust his hips between her thighs. One dazzling bolt of lightning blazed through the heavens, illuminating her cozy bedroom and the magnificent man who loomed above her.

The thunder roared as he buried himself in her.

Jillian panicked. A pain that left her gasping doused the joy and she cried aloud. Adrian wrapped his arms around her, bringing his hot mouth to her ear as he whispered words of comfort, murmuring his understanding. But he did not withdraw. Instead, he stroked within her, first slowly, then more rapidly, and she clung to him, caught somewhere between ecstasy and anguish.

Adrian stiffened as a low guttural sound tore from his throat. His breathing was rapid, harsh, and for long moments he held her in a vise-like grip, but when he pulled back to look at her, the savage expression had dissipated, and his vision seemed to clear. He kissed her tenderly.

“Have I hurt you, love?”

Still reeling from unbelievably diverse emotions, Jillian merely stared at him, unable to speak over the tears of frustration that all at once clogged her throat.

The rain was reduced to no more than a gentle shower, tapping timidly at the shutters.

The wind was gone.

“Jillian?”

With much difficulty she found her voice. “Perhaps it would be best if you went back to your room now,” she said, desperate not to let him see her cry.

He shook his head slowly. “Not just yet, sweetheart. This would be an unforgivable moment for me to leave you alone.”

“Adrian…please.”

The earl shook his head again, more vehemently this time. “Whether you know it or not, you need me right now, Jillian—and damn it, I need you.” He spoke gruffly as if he were only now realizing that he told the truth.

Adrian rolled off her and pulled her possessively into his arms. Her back facing him, Jillian squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to come to terms with the magnitude of what had just happened to her. She ignored the tiny tear that finally managed to escape her control, dripping onto the pillow beneath her head.

*****

CHAPTER 9

The feeling began unhurriedly, no more than a wisp of sensation, rising then ebbing, too nebulous to grasp but too intriguing to ignore. Desire washed over her as if she floated in an ocean of sensuality, water lapping against her skin with a silken touch, tempting her to respond. Through the erotic mist she perceived that the fever was centered in a secret place and it rippled forth in sweet hot waves, filling her with longing.

Jillian moaned aloud and startled herself awake. For a moment she was confused, lost in the seductive dream that still gripped her. She was panting for air and the pleasure, rather than easing with awareness, burst into flame. She moaned again.

Only then did she realize Adrian was still with her. Jillian’s back was to him as it had been when she fell asleep, and he had wrapped himself around her. Now she understood the source of the incredible feelings that scorched her. Adrian had placed his hand between her thighs and, having found an exquisitely sensitive nerve, was stroking her, slowly, rhythmically.

As the reality of the situation finally hit her, Jillian jerked away from him. However, the earl was not so easily dissuaded. He increased his hold, throwing his leg over her hip to forestall her escape.

“Oh no, love, don’t fight it,” he rasped in her ear.

For her very life she could only be grateful that he made it difficult to say no, for the passion Adrian was coaxing from her had an intoxicating effect that begged for completion. He continued to caress her, clearly sure of his methods, and Jillian found herself straining against his hand as she sought what he offered. Over and over he repeated the motion, and she began to move with him, quivering with the effort.

Oh, dear Lord, she thought frantically, her desire swelling out of control, what’s happening to me?

“Come, sweetheart,” she heard him whisper, as though he knew—as though he knew!

At once she was seized by a fiery eruption that flooded her pelvis, shattering what remained of her composure. Overcome by ecstasy, she gasped raggedly. Adrian hugged her tightly to him, rocking with her, and with the part of her that could still think, she sensed that he steeped himself in her release, drawing his own gratification from the unbridled energy flowing from her.

Jillian lay unmoving, dazed. Now spent, she savored the last delightful tremors that radiated through her lower body. Adrian still embraced her, and she knew he was aroused, for she felt the tension in him, could feel his swollen member pressed to her backside. Dragging damp fingers upward, he splayed them on her stomach, easing his hold on the rest of her as he did.

“Now we are even.” He groaned, the statement raw with feeling. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, releasing the air as though he had been through an ordeal.

Jillian came up on her elbow then and turned to look at him. Adrian’s eyes gleamed in the darkened chamber as he stared back at her, his gaze warm with something she could not identify. She opened her mouth to speak but her throat closed inexplicably over the words. Seemed strange after the profoundly intimate moment they had just shared, that her thoughts should be too personal to voice, too painfully revealing. But already her body had betrayed more than she wanted to acknowledge even to herself.

As if understanding her confusion, he placed a tender kiss on her neck, his lips lingering behind her ear but he made no effort to take her. Bemused, Jillian rolled away from him and he reached for the coverlet, pulling it over her shoulder.

Then she slept once more.

*****

Adrian had stayed with Jillian as long as he dared. The servants would be rising soon, and he would be doing her a disservice if he were caught in her room. He eased from the bed, watching her sleeping form as he donned his drawers and breeches.Odd thing was, he didn’t want to leave. In the past sex had been an end unto itself, something to be accomplished before moving on. He was surprised by the tender emotions that had assailed him as he lay awake next to Jillian these last hours while she slumbered.

Arousing her that second time had been a wrenching experience, leaving him drained. He had wanted her again, but not nearly so much as he had wanted her to find the gratification she had been denied when he had taken her maidenhead. In all his adult life he could not remember having put the needs of a partner ahead of his own. Mutual satisfaction was a goal, naturally, although it had never occurred to him to sacrifice his enjoyment for another’s. Still, he had taken Jillian’s virginity, had hurt her, and he couldn’t leave it at that.

If he had left her tonight when she had asked him to, she might have a distorted view of passion, perhaps be afraid. That was the last thing he wanted. When they made love again—and they would, Adrian was determined—he wanted Jillian to come to him eagerly, knowing the pleasure that awaited her. To him, anything less was unacceptable.

Of course, they had not precisely made love the second time, because he worried that he might hurt her again, so he had done the next best thing. How she had pleased him! The lady had a voluptuous nature—something he had already suspected—and he was delighted by her response.

At the door he glanced at her again, wondering how much deeper his motivation went than mere lust.

She looked beautiful in sleep, soft and alluring, with no evidence of the prickly attitude that surfaced whenever she felt vulnerable. Jillian lay on her belly, her glorious dark hair fanned on the pillow, the curve of one breast tantalizingly in view, her arm flung across the spot he had recently vacated. The earl wanted to believe that even unconscious, she had begun to miss him.

The coverlet had slipped, revealing her back, a shapely back. He clenched his teeth. He’d better leave while he still had the strength, he decided, or else he would climb back beneath the blankets and take what he had forfeited not long ago.

Adrian stepped into the corridor, making certain he was not seen, and entered the guest chamber. He fell across the bed, exhausted. Resigned to the knowledge he would get only a few hours sleep, he closed his eyes.

He began to drift as visions of a delectable woman swam through his mind. Yes, he hoped she missed him, he thought drowsily, for right now he damned sure was missing her.

*****

She was alone. Jillian knew immediately, even before she opened her eyes. The sun shone into the room proving morning had arrived, so Adrian had done the only thing he could by leaving. Still she felt abandoned.

She moved gingerly beneath coverlet, aware all at once that she was naked. She groaned into her pillow as the night before came rushing back. Jillian waited for the disgust, the out and out loathing to seize her, but oddly she felt a stirring of desire instead. She sat up, impatient with her reaction. The disgust would have been more appropriate—and more reassuring.

Slipping from the covers she moved across the room to the basin, almost furtively, self-conscious of her unclad state. She wanted a full bath but felt so guilty at the moment, she was afraid to call her maid. Hannah would suspect something was wrong. Washing herself with a cloth would have to do for now.

Jillian began her ablutions, only to stop when she discovered blood on her thighs. Her first response was to glance in horror at the bed. Lord, if she had stained the sheets, how would she explain it? Her menses? It wasn’t time. And as much as her monthly was a private affair, it was hard to keep the secret when her laundry betrayed her.

Dashing across the room, she yanked back the covers. Two tiny drops of blood stained the bottom sheet. The soapy cloth was still in her hand, and she scrubbed frantically at the spots. The blood faded from the muslin, but now the bedclothing was wet.

She glanced at the clock. Hannah would not be upstairs for an hour. Hopefully the sheets would dry by then. If forced to explain, Jillian decided to say she had spilled a glass of water while sitting in bed. She could already imagine the dubious look on the servant’s face.

Now thoroughly unnerved, she dressed quickly. She put on her old boots so she might leave the house for, though the morning at last promised a sunny day, the surrounding countryside was still a muddy swamp.

At the door she hesitated. She had forgotten something, she knew she had. Jillian sent her regard skimming over the chamber and, sure enough, there by the window seat on the floor was the brandy decanter and two goblets.

In the back of the chiffonier she kept her mending bag, an item she had not touched in a very long time. Perhaps there was room in it for the decanter and glasses, so she might spirit them down to the parlor. Nothing for it, she thought, best give it a try. That task complete, bag in hand, she left her bedchamber. As Jillian stepped into the hall, she glanced at the door across from her. It was slightly ajar and, though she knew better, she could not resist the temptation that open door provided. Looking both ways to make certain she was alone, she crossed the narrow space and peeked into Adrian’s room.

The earl lay on his stomach, crosswise on the bed, apparently in a deep sleep. His face was turned toward her, and her breath lodged in her throat. The dark shadow of a beard covered his jaw, giving him a dangerous aspect, and yet he looked like not much more than a boy, the world-weary expression he wore when awake erased by slumber.

How handsome he was, how fascinating. Few women had the opportunity to be partnered by such a man. Perhaps she should give serious consideration to his offer because what happened last night must not happen again until she was married. And that there might not be another night like last night gave her pause.

Jillian wished she had the courage to join him on that bed right now, wished she could bring herself to tell him how she felt. Would he welcome her? she wondered. Almost certainly he would, and that knowledge made her heart thump wistfully.

Well, she didn’t have the courage, she thought bitterly as she turned for the stairs. All her blatherings about not caring what other people thought was just rubbish meant to keep everyone off balance, from getting too close. She did care, sometimes so much she did not think she could bear the ache. But at least if she pretended well, she had her pride.

Unfortunately, pride was a cold and lonely emotion to take to bed at night, and for the first time due to a handsome man who insisted on showing her how badly she erred, Jillian feared it would not be enough.

*****

The earl awoke with a start. Where was he? He rolled onto his back. Oh yes, now he remembered—last night—and Jillian. Smiling in satisfaction, he yawned and stretched like a lazy tiger.

He was hungry, starving in fact. The clock on the mantel read ten o’clock. Five hours of sleep—not terrible.

Adrian came into a sitting position and ran his hands through his hair. He intended to dress quickly and seek out Jillian. Hopefully he could wedge a hasty meal somewhere in between those objectives.

Less than five minutes and he was on his way to the dining room. Aunt Prudence was there instead of her niece.

“Morning, Aunt Pru,” he said, hiding his disappointment. “Glad to say, I think the storms are all gone.” He heaped a plate at the sideboard and sat down across from the older woman. “How are you today?”

“My joints ache,” Pru said grumpily. “They do that from time to time. And,” here she looked at him rather guiltily, “my head is paining me as well. Why does the end result of something as pleasant as wine have to be so miserable?”

The earl smiled. “Haven’t a clue, my dear.” He paused, a fork of food midway to his mouth. “Where is Jillian this morning?” He took the bite while he waited for an answer.

“Jillian?” She reached up to rub her temple, evidently needing a moment to think. “She has gone out about an hour ago. I wish she had refrained, for I’ve never seen so much mud. I must tell you,” she said, at once sounding petulant which was completely out of character, “I despair of ever getting that young lady to do as she ought.”

Adrian patted her hand. “Not despair, Aunt Pru, never that.” When she did not respond to his gentle teasing, he said more seriously, “Jillian is a fine person who has had a difficult time. It’s painful to be shunned by one’s peers. I can attest to that. She does what she does to spite those who would hurt her. It’s like being in a card game where one is losing—better to toss all the cards in the air, making certain no one wins, rather than accept defeat.”

Pru merely stared at him as though confused.

“Jillian feels she is in a situation she cannot win,” he explained. “People will gossip, that she can’t prevent. But by doing the things she does, she can at least control the direction the talk takes. She decides what people will say and that makes her feel less helpless.”

The old woman’s gaze seemed to clear as she gave him a steely-eyed look, and Adrian was reminded that there was more to this little lady than a vacuous personality.

“You care for my niece, don’t you, young man?”

“Yes ma’am, I believe I do,” he said candidly.

“Do you think she is ready to accept your offer?”

Remembering last night, he grinned. “I hope so.”

Aunt Pru sighed then, appearing to retreat back into her pain. “So do I—for all our sakes.”

Adrian nodded. She had a point.

*****

Amazing how twenty-four hours could make the world seem so different, Jillian thought as she sat on a large rock overlooking her favorite fishing place on Squire Lindley’s property. The rain was gone and overnight she had developed a new perspective on romantic relationships. She felt different—not physically, although she was sore today—but inside, somewhere in the region of her heart.

Was she in love with Adrian? As much as she enjoyed the idea, she was afraid of the condition. To love meant being vulnerable, and she had decided long ago never to be vulnerable again. And how did he feel about her?

The earl had been attentive but that did not mean his feelings went deep, deeper than what he perceived his duty to be. After all, if her brother had not forced the issue, Adrian would not have approached her.

“Will I be forever running you to ground, my love?”

Jillian heard his voice before she saw him, and the insinuating timbre of his words caused the memory of last night to come flooding back in a thrill of excitement. She turned a warm face to him, thinking of those excruciatingly pleasurable moments after he had awakened her in the predawn hours. The look in his eye told her he was remembering the same thing.

Adrian had dismounted, leading his horse into the clearing. His boots were covered in mud much like the previous day but he seemed not to care. Several quick strides brought him to the rock where he joined her.

“Well?” he said as he settled his long frame next to hers, hip to hip.

“I wanted time to think.” She had returned her attention to the stream, but she watched him from the corner of her eye.

“Concerning…?”

“Need you ask?” she managed in a strangled voice.

“I’d rather you were not upset about last night.”

“I’m not upset precisely. Confused is more apt, I think.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

Adrian leaned close to her. “What I wish is to repeat it,” he murmured huskily, “but I’ll talk first if you like.”

Jillian shrugged away from him impatiently. “Can’t you be serious? You make it sound as if we play a game. It’s gone far beyond that now.”

“Yes, it has.”

She looked at him then, for she detected a more sober note to his words. The expression on his face reflected his tone.

“I want you to set a date, Jillian, as soon as possible.”

She felt her stomach plunge to her feet. “Why?”

“Because under the circumstances it becomes appropriate.”

“Under what circumstances?” she asked, at once suspicious.

“Come now, do you wish me to state it baldly?”

“Perhaps you had better do that.”

“It’s clear, isn’t it? We have become lovers, thus we must marry. We’ve done things out of the proper order but no one need know except the two of us.”

“No!” She stared at him appalled, the sudden realization of what he had done striking squarely at her pride. “You—you tricked me!” When he said nothing, she wailed, “Didn’t you?”

“Jillian…”

The earl reached for her as she scrambled from the rock but she dashed his hand away, scraping the back of her leg as she slid to the ground.

“Will you listen to me?” he barked, following her.

She flung around to face him as his feet hit the sodden turf. “Listen to what?—more pretty words?—words that mean nothing?”

“It wasn’t like that, I swear.”

“You had a good laugh at my expense, didn’t you, my lord?” Her voice shook, and she was dismayed to find herself close to tears. “‘Poor old maid, so in need of a man she’d listen to any lie.’ How weak you must have thought me, how pathetic.”

He looked as distressed as she felt. “I’ve never thought you weak or pathetic.”

“Let me see now,” she said, pretending to sound more reasonable. However, a painful lump in her throat distorted her speech. “The plan was that you seduce me, and then I would have to marry you. Do I have it right?”

“Why must we wait?” he asked quietly.

“Because,” she snapped, “you’re not the only one who gets to decide.”

Adrian frowned. “Is that what this is about?—who’s in control, who makes the decisions?”

“I don’t want to be pushed. I’ve told you that from the beginning. And from the beginning you’ve pushed me.”

“We made love last night, Jillian. If people found out—”

Jillian interrupted him. “What would they say? Seems to me they can’t say anything they didn’t say eight years ago. Who would care if we took up where we left off?” She narrowed her eyes as she shook her finger at him. “You see, there is a flaw in your plan. I must have a reputation that needs protecting for your trickery to succeed. Unluckily for me, my lord, you ruined me a long time ago.”

For interminable moments they stared at one another, neither speaking, the only sound in the clearing the soft rushing of the stream as the water flowed passed them.

“There’s something you may not have thought about,” the earl said at last.

“What?”

“Our lovemaking could have repercussions. Suppose there is a child?”

The instant fear Adrian’s question engendered in her breast made her want to be ill. He was right about that one thing—she hadn’t given the possible outcome of her night with him much consideration.

“I’ll meet that event if it should come to pass, my lord,” Jillian said stoically. “I would ask a favor of you, though.”

She almost felt guilty by the hope that lit the earl’s features. Almost…

“Anything,” he said.

“Pray with all your heart there is no child, for that is what I’m going to do.”

It was, as she intended, a rejection of the most personal kind—she didn’t want him and she didn’t want his baby. She had expected his pride to be pricked, but the stunned expression in his clear blue eyes revealed another, more profound kind of hurt, making her want to haul the hateful words back, to beg his forgiveness. Unfortunately, her regret came too late. A mask of bored indifference slipped over Adrian’s face, hiding all but his disdain, robbing her of the bravery needed to apologize.

“As you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing stiffly. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He spoke without looking at her. “Please give my respects to your aunt.”

With that the earl strode away from her, mounted his horse and rode into the forest.

Jillian watched his retreat, remorse like a leaden weight in her chest. Well, she supposed she’d done it this time. But he would be back—he always came back, she told herself. She ignored the insidious doubt that crept into her reasoning.

*****

Depression hangs like a burden on the spirits, and Adrian was depressed. He reached Sutherfield in the late afternoon and sought out his chamber for a bath before he had to speak to anyone. To lick his wounds, he thought disparagingly. How he would explain to Simon, he didn’t know.

He soaked in the tepid water, consumed with his morbid ruminations, lost to all but his own misery. He was angry and yes, by damned, he was angry at Jillian. How dare she treat him in such a cavalier fashion as though these last weeks had been nothing more than a test of wills.

He told himself that her final statement to him had been a furious one intended to hurt, therefore he should not take it too seriously. Easy enough to say but he had been unprepared for the pain the harsh words had caused him. He had egotistically believed she had been as affected by their lovemaking as he had been. In fact, making more of a romantic interlude than actually existed was usually a woman’s domain, so he was stumped by the possibility that he had experienced something she had not.

He thought back to the night before. He could not have imagined the raw emotions that had sprung between them and filled her darkened chamber like a beguiling mist, drawing them closer together. And Jillian had felt the pull, he knew she had. That brought Adrian back to his anger. Truth was he was angry at himself. He had handled the situation badly. Having told Aunt Prudence he understood Jillian, he had turned around and acted as though her insecurities had never occurred to him.

Adrian stood and stepped from the tub. He dressed quickly for the dinner hour, determined not to put off his talk with Simon. Fortunately, Cassandra was still healing from childbirth, taking her meals in her room, so he would be able to converse openly with the marquess.

Downstairs, the butler directed the earl to the library where Simon was working on some correspondence.

“Adrian, come in, come in. Have a seat,” his friend greeted him. “I’m just finishing here. How about a drink?” He stood and walked to the table where the brandy was kept. Handing his guest a glass, he continued. “Where were you last night? I suppose the storm caught you unaware?”

“Yes, it did.” Adrian sat in the chair opposite Simon’s desk. “I stayed at your Aunt Prudence’s home. We were eating the evening meal when the rains came, and your aunt asked me to remain until the weather cleared.” He spoke hastily, noting the look of consternation on his friend’s face.

“I see,” Simon said after a moment, apparently deciding to accept the explanation. “It was a bad storm. I lost several limbs in my orchards. It’s been years since I’ve seen winds like that.”

“Indeed.”

Both men fell silent, and Adrian cast around, trying to choose the best opening for his speech. Finally he concluded plain speaking was the best approach.

“I’m going to London in the morning.”

Simon, in the middle of bringing his glass to his mouth, continued the motion but there was no doubt his interest had been caught. He rolled the brandy over his tongue, slowly, before sending his gaze back to the earl.

“Business, Adrian?”

“Not this time.”

“Then what?”

Adrian gave his companion a mournful stare. “I don’t know if it is going to work out, Simon. Jillian is less cooperative now than when we first began our courtship.”

“Has something in particular happened?”

This could get sticky, the earl thought. Jillian was after all the man’s sister. That aside, the situation was too personal to share. Therefore, he thought it best to broach the subject from its broadest angle.

“Let’s just say Jillian and I had a disagreement. Truth is, I don’t want to wait any longer and she’s in no hurry.”

“Is it really imperative this thing be rushed?”

Adrian looked at him in surprise. “I was under the impression you wanted it settled.”

“I do, I do.” Simon studied the brandy in his glass before raising perceptive eyes to his friend. “Pardon me if I err, but I’ll be damned if I’m not getting the feeling there is more to this than you are willing to tell me.”

The earl allowed the quiet to stretch for several seconds before answering. “I suppose I could give you a trite analogy for how I view the situation.”

“Please, by all means.”

“Jillian is like a filly I’ve been trying to break. She lets me get just close enough to feed her a carrot, to think I’ve won her trust. But all the while she is aware that I want to climb on her back. As soon as I develop a little confidence she dances out of the way, making it clear who is in control.”

“My sister is naive in some ways and, due to her circumstances, her knowledge of the relationships between men and women is limited. If she were looking at it the correct way, she would realize once she had you on her back she could go in any direction she pleased.”

“Ah,” Adrian said shrewdly, “but she can’t forget who would control the reins. She doesn’t know how I’ll use that power.”

Simon grinned. “Point well taken,” he said, saluting his companion with his glass. “Right then, what are you going to do? I’ll not pretend that I don’t expect you to continue to try.”

“Haven’t a clue. For now Jillian and I need some distance from one another. We—you and I—have forced this alliance, and I’m afraid if we don’t pull back and take a more objective look at the situation, there is no hope. It has always been my goal to enter this marriage on good terms with your sister.”

Now there’s an understatement, Adrian mused as for the hundredth time that day his mind drifted back to the previous evening. He would never again see the frenzy of a storm without remembering the frenzy in Jillian’s bedroom. To bloody hell with good terms—he needed more than that. He needed—

“You’ll be back?” Simon interrupted his thoughts.

The earl dipped his head brusquely. “I gave my word—I will keep it.”

“May I ask you another question, understanding that I am Jillian’s brother and you don’t have to answer?”

“Of course.”

The marquess cleared his throat, and Adrian had the impression his friend was about to delve into an area where men rarely shared confidences. He was right.

“How do you feel about my sister? I have a reason for wanting to know,” Simon added quickly. “I mean, this situation has been crammed down your throat, and I’d hate for you to dislike her because of me.”

Adrian took a slow sip of his drink, deciding how best to respond. Even here he could not be entirely truthful or he’d have to admit to the craving that was driving him where Jillian was concerned, and he knew the man did not want to hear that.

“Funny, but your aunt asked me the same thing this morning. I will tell you what I told her—I’ve come to care for Jillian. That’s the best answer I can offer.”

“Good, good.” Simon’s attitude was one of outright relief mixed with embarrassment as he came to his feet. “Let’s go into dinner. I’m famished.”

The earl followed Simon from the room, but he was not basking in optimism as his friend seemed to be. In fact, an attitude of melancholy had settled over him. He wondered how Jillian fared, if she was all right. And he wondered if she would miss him.

*****

“My lady, you have company.”

Jillian, sitting at the breakfast table, looked at the footman as she brought a spoon of egg to her mouth. She smiled smugly to herself. She knew it—he couldn’t stay away. Only two days and the earl was back on her doorstep.

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

The servant retreated with the message, and Jillian proceeded to finish her meal.

“Jillian, do you suppose you might give me the courtesy of answering my call this morning. I’m in a hurry.”

She turned at the angry words to find her brother glowering at her from the doorway to the morning room. She glanced past his shoulder, expecting to see another tall figure looming in the hall behind him.

“Simon? What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Come in then and sit down. Are you—are you by yourself?”

“Wickham’s gone back to London, Jillian.” He sat in the chair across from her.

Jillian felt the floor shift beneath her seat, and all at once her meal repulsed her. She slowly placed her spoon on the table, deciding how to respond so her brother would not realize how his words had affected her.

“I was of the opinion he would grow weary of the country life,” she said blandly. “I wish him well.”

“Is that all you have to say?” he barked.

“Is there any reason you are taking this tone with me, Simon? I’m beginning to feel put out with you.”

“If it’s irritation you are feeling then I suggest you get in line right behind me.”

“You have some spleen to vent, I see,” she said stiffly. “Please, get on with it.”

“All right. I went to a lot of trouble to secure your future. You’ve done nothing but thwart my efforts.”

Jillian was too upset to muster the anger a situation like this would ordinarily have aroused in her, thus she merely looked at her brother dully.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I want you to leave my future to me, Simon.”

“The devil you say!” The marquess brought his fist down on the table.

She jumped, more from reaction than fear.

“Adrian is a fine man,” he said. “He could make you happy if you would get that damned pride of yours under control.”

“What would you know about it, Simon?” she asked, fearing she might break down.

“Let me tell you something, little sister. No one has all the answers all the time. It wouldn’t hurt you to listen to someone else for a change. Just because it wasn’t your idea to marry Wickham does not mean the idea has no merit. Even Cassandra approves.”

“She does?” Jillian had not heard her sister-in-law’s views on the matter before this. “She likes Adrian?”

“Absolutely. She hoped all would work out, as I did.”

Jillian sighed. “It’s probably just as well.” The desire to cry had passed and now all she felt was tired.

“What do you mean?”

“Aunt Pru’s suffering with achy joints again. We thought it was because she overindulged the other night. But she’s no better.”

“What night was that?” An odd inflection colored his voice, and the expression in his eyes matched the words.

“Ah…let me see—the night of the storm, I believe.”

Her brother looked at her for so long her face began to heat with guilt. Good lord, what was he thinking?

“Is there something you would like to tell me?” he asked softly.

“I-I don’t think so.”

To her profound relief he let the matter drop. After giving her one more penetrating look, he brought the subject back to Aunt Prudence.

“Is Pru’s condition serious?”

“Oh, that’s what I meant to tell you. She wants to go to Bath for the healing waters as soon as she can travel. We need to repair the carriage, though.”

“You intend to go with her?”

“I can’t let her go alone.”

“I suppose not.” He sighed, and her heart welled when she detected his concern for her. “It could be difficult for you, Jillian. Are you ready to face society again?”

“I shall keep in the background. I will be there to care for Aunt Pru and only that. I’m not going to make an attempt at socializing. Regardless of what Adrian says, people do not forgive the kind of mistake I made.”

Her brother stared at her for several moments and then he nodded. He agrees with me, she thought sadly. She reached out and touched his hand.

“I’m sorry I’m such a trial, Simon, truly I am.”

“I know, love, and you must forgive me also because I can’t give up on you. I want you to be happy. I’m not disparaging your life, but you could have more.” He drew in a deep breath as though he were gathering his wits. “I’ll see to the carriage. Let me know when you ladies are ready to travel and I will escort you both. Do you have lodgings?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll see to that as well,” he said, standing. At the door he turned. “And, Jillian?”

The sound in his voice worried her again. “Yes?”

“I’m dealing with a suspicion only, I admit, but I think your relationship with Wickham has gone further than either of you are willing to admit. I want you to know I’ll be watching, and I expect a respectable conclusion to this affair.”

*****

CHAPTER 10

“How are you feeling, Auntie?”

Prudence, eyes red-rimmed with fatigue, looked at Jillian. “I’m all right, dear. I’m not used to traveling but I’m certain I’ll feel better when I’ve had a chance to rest.”

Jillian was tired herself. The trip to Bath had been onerous with Pru protesting most of the way. She knew her aunt did not feel well, for the old woman was normally a pleasant person when not in pain. They had waited a sennight for the swelling in her joints to go down before starting their journey, and though better Pru said her shoulder still ached miserably.

“These lodgings Simon found for us are very nice, don’t you think?” Jillian asked.

The house was situated on a quiet street in a respectable neighborhood not far from the center of social life, and she already felt comfortably ensconced as she made her aunt cozy on the settee in the small sitting room.

“It’s not home but it will do. I’m just so happy to be out of that carriage. Has your brother departed yet?”

Jillian nodded. “He supervised the unloading of the luggage, spoke to the servants then left immediately. You know how he hates to be away from Cassandra and the baby.”

“He’s a fine husband,” Prudence said, “which has surprised me, for he was quite a scamp before he made the decision to grow up. That gives me hope for your young man.”

That old refrain, she thought rebelliously. Jillian had not seen Adrian in nine days—had she been counting?—probably would never see him again, but her aunt insisted his absence was temporary. Of course, Prudence had not seen the earl’s face that day after the argument. She wished she hadn’t seen it either.

She kept remembering his offended expression, the anger that had been quickly concealed behind indifference. Did she have the power to hurt him? Did he really care what she thought, this handsome man who could have his pick of eager ladies?

One thing had afforded her some relief. Her menses had arrived. Now she need not worry about another disgrace. And yet the poignant longing that had overcome her when she realized she would not be a mother had taken her by surprise. Perhaps Simon was right. Perhaps there was a void in her life. Too bad she had made that discovery when it was too late.

“Jillian?”

She brought her attention back to her aunt. “Yes?”

“I don’t want you to feel that you must accompany me everywhere I go. I have friends and can entertain myself. As I told you before we left, it wasn’t even necessary for you to come.”

Jillian looked at Aunt Pru, uncertain what the older lady meant by that remark. “I won’t be an embarrassment to you, Auntie, I promise. I’ll stay out of sight as much as possible.”

Prudence’s face turned a mottled red. “Is that what you think?” she asked in an angry voice, “that I’m embarrassed to be seen with you? I’m an old woman. I could not care less what people may think.”

Her niece continued to look at her, unconvinced.

“All right, I’ll admit I’m worried but not for the reason you imagine. Jillian, my dear, I don’t want you to be hurt. I have no idea how people are going to react. But past experience would indicate they may be hard on you. However, I’m not without influence, and,” here she paused as her eyes narrowed, “I’ll protect you as far as I am able. I can give the cut for transgressions against my niece as well as take it. So if you’ve the courage to try then so have I.”

Jillian felt her throat tighten. “Oh, Auntie,” she said, coming to kneel by the settee as she took Pru’s hand, “I do love you. I appreciate your concern, and I will probably need your help from time to time. But I think it best if I remain in the background. We’re here to get you well, and I don’t intend to lose sight of that. I will tell you, though,” she winked at the older woman, “you can be most intimidating when you choose to be. I’d hate if you gave me the cut direct.”

Prudence nodded at her sagely. “My point exactly, dear.”

*****

Jillian ran nervous fingers over the skirt of her new lavender gown and, taking her aunt’s arm, entered Bath’s Great Pump Room where one could socialize, see and be seen while sipping on the healing waters.

It had taken her nearly a week to gather her courage to venture into a public place but, now that she was here, she thought the gates of Hell would be more inviting. She despised her loss of nerve, hated that she cared for the opinions of others. Even so, she clung to Prudence’s arm as though she were in danger of spilling to the floor without her aunt’s support.

“Do you see your friends, Auntie?” Jillian asked, ashamed of the high-pitched sound in voice.

“Now, now, dear, I’m sure they are here. Be patient. These old eyes don’t see as well as they once did,” Pru said as she continued to survey the room. “Oh, look, there they are.”

She glanced where her aunt indicated and spotted two elderly women, Lady Alice Henry and Miss Cordelia Barnstable, sitting at a table under a large palm, both of them waving hankies and trilling “yoo hoo!”

As they began their trek across the Pump Room, Jillian queried anxiously, “Are you certain they won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me? I don’t wish to upset anyone.”

“Silly girl, I told you, you need not worry about Alice and Cordelia. I made it clear that I expected you to be treated with respect, or I would not be able to associate with my old friends. Actually,” Prudence whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “I explained how you had suffered through no fault of your own, and before I was done they were quite sympathetic.”

At that point they reached the table, and Jillian was prevented from having to express her views that she was at least guilty of bad judgment. Just as well, she supposed, for Aunt Pru, stalwart supporter that she was, had always held her niece to be blameless and refused to acknowledge any other viewpoint.

“Lady Alice, Cordelia, this is my niece, Lady Jillian Fitzgerald,” Prudence said to her friends.

The two ladies stood, nodding and murmuring a greeting, both wearing an identical expression of graciousness laced with curiosity. Lady Alice was thin and spare with corresponding bird-like features. Cordelia, on the other hand, was perhaps the largest woman Jillian had ever seen, not only in height but in girth. She also had a kind face which was very reassuring.

Jillian exchanged hand clasps with each woman, and Aunt Pru and she joined them at their table. A waiter approached at that moment and her aunt ordered a glass of mineral water, encouraging her niece to do the same.

“No thank you. Papa brought me here when I was a girl, and I tasted the waters at that time. As I recall, I made a promise then and there never to allow that foul liquid to touch my lips again.” Jillian smiled at the three older ladies. “Can’t break my word to myself.” To the waiter she said, “Tea, please.”

“Wise girl,” Cordelia said, and she shuddered delicately, an amazing accomplishment for such a mammoth person. “I force myself to drink the waters for I’ve been told,” she dropped her voice dramatically, “they can help one lose weight.”

Jillian nodded politely, bereft of words, but her regard shifted to scrawny Lady Alice. Hopefully the waters had no such powers or that poor creature would disappear altogether.

The conversation continued in that slightly askew fashion, the older women talking animatedly, Jillian listening. She allowed her gaze to roam the room but saw no one she recognized. She did not know if anyone recognized her for she made no eye contact. Instead she looked around people, over people, and through people, never allowing her attention to linger. Jillian had decided that if she gave no one the opportunity then no one could snub her.

“Do you join us, Jillian?”

She looked at her aunt. “Join you?”

“We had planned to take a soak this afternoon, my dear. My joints feel so much better after the warmth of the spa.”

“I don’t think so. Will you be long?”

“Perhaps an hour?” Prudence glanced at her friends for confirmation. “Yes, about an hour. What will you do?”

“I thought you might want to bathe so I’m prepared. I have a book from the lending library,” Jillian said, reaching into her bag. “I’ll just read and sip tea. This is a nice quiet table.”

Pru seemed to hesitate. “Are you certain?”

“Of course.” She took her aunt’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I must step out from behind your skirts sometime. Warm your joints. I’ll be right here when you return.”

As Jillian watched the three old women retreat, she acknowledged to herself that she did not feel as confident as she had sounded. She was glad her table was in a corner partially hidden by the palm. Probably she would go unnoticed, she reasoned hopefully. The waiter refreshed her tea and she opened her book. Within minutes she was lost in the story.

“Lady Jillian Fitzgerald? Is that you?”

She was shocked into awareness by the sound of a masculine voice, vaguely familiar, as the shadow of a man fell across the pages of her book. Her pulse leapt in anxiety as she brought her gaze to the gentleman who loomed over her. She opened her mouth to answer him but the words died in her throat.

“By Jove, it is you!” he said. “Lord, woman, you’re more beautiful than I remember.”

“Lionel?” she croaked at last.

“In the flesh.” The Marquess of Edgeworth beamed at her, tall, blonde-haired and gray-eyed, as handsome as she remembered. “I was afraid you might have forgotten me.”

Forgotten him?—How could she forget a man she had almost married? She stared at him, too discomposed to speak.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to join you?”

Jillian nodded at the chair opposite her, heart still thumping erratically. Yet despite her loss of composure she was just spirited enough to ask him a pointed question.

“Are you certain you wish to be seen with me?”

He winced. Sitting down, he said, “I deserve that. I was hoping after all these years you might have forgiven me.”

Lionel smiled at her, that wonderful smile she had found so endearing when she was an infatuated young girl.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She met his gaze firmly, coolly, determined that he believe her. Her pride would allow nothing less.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said slowly. “I thought…well, I had reason to believe…anyway, I’m glad to hear it.”

“How is Meredith?” she asked, suddenly feeling more in control as she realized he was less so.

His attitude became sullen as he studied the fingernails on his right hand. “She does well, I suppose. We’re not—how should I put this?—we’re not as compatible as I had hoped. She wanted children, which hasn’t happened. She’s grown embittered, and I’ve become less and less tolerant of her disappointment.” He brought his attention back to her face. “To be honest, I consider the marriage a failure.”

Jillian fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortable with his disclosures. “Do you think you ought to be confiding in me like this, my lord? It seems awfully disloyal to Merry.”

His gaze turned deeply earnest. “I’ve missed you, Jillian. My God, I made the greatest mistake of my life when I did not marry you. I can only be grateful that you have chosen to forgive me, for I can’t forgive myself.”

“Come now, my lord, after all these years do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, I do, because it’s true.”

She huffed impatiently, ignoring the impassioned plea in his words. “You did the right thing for you, my lord, because you could never have endured the gossip. And you were angry, very angry as I recall.”

“No, I was stupid, insensitive…jealous.” He clenched his teeth. “Damned if it had been anyone but Wickham. I couldn’t get past knowing that bastard had been alone with you. I kept imagining…” he trailed off as he cleared his throat. “Women found him irresistible. I never understood why.”

I do, Jillian thought, I most surely do. “I told you the truth, my lord. Nothing happened.”

“I know that now. I think I knew it then. If I’d had time to reconsider, but everything came about so quickly. Your father insisted I make a decision immediately. I made the wrong one.”

“Why are you telling me this now? There’s nothing to be served by voicing your remorse. You made your choice—we’ve both had to live with it.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’ve grown hard over the years, Jillian. You were such a sweet, gentle young woman. What’s happened to you?”

“The reality of life after a scandal happened to me, my lord, and it’s not been easy. Even now I worry about sitting in a public place, afraid that someone will feel the need to prove to me that I am no longer worthy. I glance at the ceiling, the floor, the fountains, anywhere but in the face of another for fear of seeing scorn—or worse, that I don’t even exist anymore.”

Lionel reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said in a gentle voice. “You have suffered.”

Embarrassed by the contact, Jillian eased from his grasp. “It’s not your fault,” she said tightly as she slipped her hand into her lap. “Your response was not unexpected.”

“Perhaps, but it was cowardly.”

Odd, that was Adrian’s assessment as well, she thought, watching her companion from beneath her lashes. Jillian wondered what the earl would think if he knew she sat here talking with the man to whom she had once been engaged. Frankly, she didn’t know how she felt about it herself.

“Jillian?”

She gave him a sharp glance, for the tone of his voice had grown husky, and she detected something urgent in his manner.

“Let me make it up to you.” His eyes glowed intensely.

“How do you propose to do that?”

“Meet with me, some place quiet where we can be alone.”

Jillian swallowed over a lump of disappointment. “Perhaps I’m being sensitive, but don’t you think your suggestion is a bit insulting?”

“Damn!” Lionel muttered. “I didn’t intend to insult you. I…we were meant for one another, can’t you see that? Though we’ve lost the chance to marry that doesn’t mean we can’t be together on occasion—if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Yes, she did, and it made her feel ill to her stomach. “A slip on the shoulder, my lord? You’re no different than all the others.”

“The hell I’m not! I loved you once, Jillian. Flay me if you will but I can’t help it. I want to be with you.”

“I could not betray Meredith in that way.”

His expression turned ugly. “I don’t know why. After all, she betrayed you.”

“W-what are you implying?”

Lionel put his arms on the table and leaned forward, his gaze boring into hers. “Have you never wondered how your little trip to Dover came to public attention?”

“I don’t believe you,” she said in a horrified whisper.

“Oh, believe it for it is the truth, I swear.”

“Why would she do such a thing? Meredith was my friend.”

His mouth twisted into a nasty line. “That she’s never shared with me. But this I will tell you, after you left London she pursued me shamelessly. Gave herself to me when I was drunk and most despondent over you. I didn’t wed Meredith because I wanted to—I wed her because I had no choice. You see,” he said, his voice bitter with regret, “I did know how to play the part of the gentleman. I simply chose the wrong woman to protect.”

Jillian stared at him, the memory of Meredith’s infatuation with Lionel coming back to her in a rush. At the time she had thought it superficial, that her friend would get over her feelings when Jillian’s marriage became a reality. Apparently, that had not happened.

“Her dishonor does not justify my own,” she said, her words reedy with despair over Meredith’s treachery. Though Jillian had not seen her since the scandal, she could hardly believe her dearest friend had done her such a disloyal turn.

“She does not deserve your allegiance, Jillian. Be with me,” he pleaded. “Let us comfort one another.”

“Your comfort is tainted by self-indulgence. My allegiance is not aimed at your wife but at my own conscience.”

Oh why didn’t he just leave and let her mourn the death of the last of her treasured memories? Not once in eight long years had it occurred to her that Meredith had been at the center of her downfall. Jillian’s heart ached so at the moment, she wanted to place her head on the table and weep her grief. Again pride kept her from giving into an embarrassing inclination that would have left her feeling naked and exposed in a public place.

“I think you should go, my lord. Your revelations have not been welcome.” How proud she felt at the evenness of her voice, the blandness of the expression she gave him.

Lionel came to his feet but he delayed for a moment as though unsure. Finally he blurted, “I’m not ready to accept your answer, Jillian. Now after seeing you, I know my feelings for you have not altered. Both of us have been relegated to life without love. I think we should take what we can while we can.”

“Do you really want me to come to you, most probably for the malicious reason of wanting to spite your wife? That is what it would be, you know.”

That appeared to jar him for a moment, but then he put his hands on the table and leaned over her, eyes narrowing as he caught her gaze and held it. “Can’t even pretend to care for me, Jillian? Well, I’m not proud—I will take you whatever way you may choose to come to me. Just come, I beg you.”

He swung around and strode across the room.

Jillian wanted to vanish on the spot. Only a fool would believe her conversation with Lionel had gone unnoticed, her table hidden by palm leaves notwithstanding. Unable to lift her head to face the stares she felt certain were turned in her direction, she picked up her book, hands shaking uncontrollably. But the words blurred on the page, and she realized to her dismay that she was close to tears again.

“Jillian!”

Jillian glanced up through watery eyes to witness her aunt’s arrival at the table, the old woman flustered and breathless as though she had been running.

“Yes, Auntie?” she said quietly, fatalistically.

“Was that the Marquess of Edgeworth?”

“Yes, I believe it was.”

Her aunt lowered herself into one of the chairs. “Jillian, don’t be flippant. You must stay away from that man, especially since he looked at you as though he wanted to eat you.”

“He approached me, Aunt Pru. I was minding my own business, reading my book.” When her aunt only watched her in doubt, Jillian relented. “All right, I shouldn’t have allowed him to join me but I was taken by surprise.” She hesitated. “He really looked as though…?”

“Absolutely. It’s not good to inspire a reaction of that sort in a married man for all to see, even if it’s not your fault. People will comment, I can promise.”

Jillian merely nodded wearily. “I was right from the beginning. I should stay out of sight.” Changing the subject, she said, “Where are Lady Alice and Cordelia?”

“I left them in the baths, afraid to leave you alone for long. It appears I was correct.”

Jillian felt too dejected to respond. She needed to tell her aunt about Meredith’s perfidy, but to say it aloud right now would be too painful, would bring emotions pouring out that she was not yet ready to face. Somehow she had to get used to the knowledge that her friend had not really been her friend at all. And somehow she must resist the temptation to exact the perfect revenge. To dally with Edgeworth would prove that in spite of Meredith’s scheming Lionel had never really cared for his wife. By his own admission he had wanted Jillian then and he wanted her now.

*****

She should have realized if Lionel was in Bath in all likelihood so was his wife. Ten days after her first meeting with Meredith’s husband, Jillian came upon the lady at the lending library in amongst the stacks of books.

The two women stopped, staring across the short space that separated them, both at a loss for words. At least, Jillian knew she was. For a brief instant she believed Meredith actually intended to walk away without acknowledging her.

“Jillian,” Meredith said at last, her green eyes as cool as her voice, “I heard you were in Bath. Since I’ve not seen you I had assumed you were keeping to yourself.”

“I’ve been out some. My Aunt Prudence—you remember my aunt—I’m here with her. I’ve been to the Pump Room and visited the Assembly Rooms once or twice, but I lead a quiet life.”

What Jillian did not say was on those occasions when she had ventured out, she had again been approached by Lionel. He had advanced on her as though waiting to see her and, in fact, he had admitted as much. She was beginning to feel hunted, and even Auntie Pru had decided Jillian should eliminate the public appearances for a while to stem the inevitable talk his attention would bring.

Meredith watched her, attitude hostile, and Jillian wondered how much the other woman knew. Once pretty, Meredith had lost weight and her features were drawn, red hair pulled back in an unflattering chignon. Jillian wanted to strike out, to voice her outrage, but the only emotion she could muster was pity.

She could think of nothing more to say. A great chasm of misunderstanding yawned between them, one that couldn’t be breached even if they both had wanted it. Jillian knew she did not, not now, not with what she had learned. And she doubted Meredith did either. Any woman willing to forsake her honor for a man regardless of the cost had most probably not changed. Lionel would always stand between them.

“Lovely seeing you, Merry.” She used the pet name, and for the first time her old friend looked uneasy. “I wish you well.”

Strangely, Jillian meant what she said. She had heard the rumors surrounding Edgeworth, how he had gambled away his own inheritance and was now slowly eroding his wife’s as well. The young woman in front of her had a difficult future to confront, and Jillian found herself unable to envy her.

Meredith nodded curtly. She turned away and then, as if in afterthought, looked back, an odd expression—guilt mixed with sorrow?—lining her face. “I’m sorry, Jillian, truly I am. I-I never wanted to hurt you. If it makes you feel any better, I have paid for my sins.” Grasping her skirt and lifting the hem, she walked briskly down the book aisle and around the corner.

She knows I know something, Jillian thought. Again she was moved to pity, and with it came relief. Hate is a terrible burden, one with which she felt nearly incapable of dealing. To feel compassion for Meredith meant she could not hate her. Jillian drew in a calming breath, allowing the serenity of forgiveness to flow over her wounded spirits. Tonight, for the first time in many nights she would sleep better, much better.

*****

Adrian was only half-drunk. He sat in White’s gentlemen’s club in London, alone, sipping on port, having lost count of the number of glasses he had imbibed. This was when he felt most at peace, when neither sober nor floored but comfortably mellow. Then he could think about Jillian and not suffer unduly. Without alcohol he was faced with the stark reality of his situation. When brimming with drink he was too maudlin to think at all.

He was surprised by how easily he had readjusted to the world he had left behind. Rather than rejection as he had feared, many of his old cronies had accepted him back without question. It seemed his past had been relegated to masculine pursuits where males were less hard on one another and understood when a man had to make a difficult choice. It would be more complicated when he tried to socialize in mixed company. But Adrian was cynical enough to know that his title and bank balance would be the only keys needed to unlock the homes of many of the elite.

The earl could only be heartened that there was no talk of arrests or trials related to Findley’s death. Apparently, Findley had been universally disliked. Adrian’s performance on the dueling field eight years before, rather than bringing him censure, had over time taken on legendary proportions. Young men he had never met approached him with awe. He was discomfited by the attention because the crux of the matter for Adrian had always been that he had killed a man.

He looked across the club, his gaze connecting with a gentleman of perhaps twenty-six or seven years. He knew the fair-haired man had been watching him for some time and he sighed inwardly. Another misguided chap to whom he would have to explain the difference between necessity and bravado.

In resignation he raised his glass and motioned the fellow over to his table since clearly that was what the young man had in mind. The watcher jumped eagerly from his seat, threading through the patrons to the earl’s side.

“Lord Wickham?”

“Yes,” Adrian said without rising. “And you are?”

“Phillip Angsley, my lord.”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so but we have mutual friends.”

“I believe nearly everyone in this club could say the same thing. Why have you been watching me?”

Blood rushed to Mr. Angsley’s face. “Have I been that obvious?” When Adrian merely raised his brows at him, he continued. “Yes, well…I do have a reason for wanting to speak with you, my lord. I am cousin to Simon Fitzgerald, Marquess of Sutherfield.”

Adrian unbent immediately. “We do indeed have mutual friends. Please, pull up a chair,” he said, thrusting his hand at the young man.

“Thank you, my lord,” Phillip said, taking the proffered seat. “I didn’t want to intrude on your peace. You had the look of a man engaged in some serious drinking.”

“Perceptive,” Adrian drawled.

His companion smiled. “I have a message from Simon.”

“Do you, now? Does he think I’ve been neglecting my promise to him?”

“My lord?”

“Never mind. You’re right—I’m on my way to being drunk. Perhaps you had better give me the message while I can still comprehend what you are saying.”

Phillip smiled again. “I ‘spose I should start at the beginning so you understand why Simon has chosen me to help him. I witnessed the duel between you and Findley. “

“I see.”

“I was there that night with Jillian.”

The earl straightened in his chair. “So you are that cousin Phillip. I assume because of your involvement in her escapade, Simon feels he has the right to call on you when needed.”

“Something like that although for the most part there has been little I could do. However, there is a rumor that has concerned me and I took it to Simon. I got back to London last evening with instructions from him that I was to talk to you and then journey to Bath.”

Adrian frowned. “You’ve lost me.”

Phillip leaned forward, expression earnest. “A few days ago in this very club I heard several gentlemen talking. Jilly is in Bath—I didn’t know it at the time—with Aunt Pru. Lord Edgeworth is there as well—ah, I see by the look on your face you know who he is. At any rate, Edgeworth is making a cake of himself over Jillian, approaching her whenever she goes out. That in itself is not so unusual. Many men have made cakes of themselves over my cousin, but given the history she shares with Edgeworth, well, you understand. Thing is, Edgeworth’s wife has accompanied him, and everyone is scandalized by his behavior.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Adrian then asked the question that concerned him most. “Is Jillian encouraging him?”

“I don’t know. If she is it would be out of character. But the gossipmongers are more interested in titillating talk than actual truth. By the time hearsay makes the trip from one city to the next, who knows what is and what is not?”

“Exactly what is being said?”

Outwardly calm, the earl felt a fire surge in his gut that had little to do with the spirits he had consumed. He nailed Phillip with a piercing gaze, and the young man cleared his throat as if beginning to feel nervous. Obviously, Adrian’s calm exterior displayed a few cracks.

“They are making bets, my lord, in the betting book. That’s what I witnessed the other night.”

“Here? At White’s?” When his companion nodded, the earl rapped out, “What is the wager?”

All at once Angsley looked liked a condemned man facing the hangman. He coughed into his hand then rubbed that palm against the leg of his breeches, stalling for time.

Finally, he said, “Odds are being laid on when Edgeworth’s former love will become his current lover.”

“Bloody hell!” Adrian clamped his teeth together with such force he thought his jaw might snap. “I take it,” he rasped, “that Edgeworth is known for his infidelities.”

“And his gambling,” Phillip agreed. “He’s lost a fortune. They say he’d be in dun territory if not for his wife.”

The earl allowed his gaze to drift to where the betting book was displayed prominently in the club. Several gentlemen surrounded the table on which it lay, conversing and laughing. One fulsome fellow’s words carried across the room. “I’d be willing to wager we are too late,” he said in a drunken voice. “Knowing the lady, I suspect the deed is already done.”

At that moment Adrian was seized by a fury that brought him to his feet before he knew he had done it. He was surprised to find himself standing, fists clenched at his side. He had no idea what had happened in Bath or for that matter what was happening now, but he knew Jillian did not deserve to be disparaged in such a cavalier fashion.

“Be careful, my lord. Outright anger could do more harm than good,” Phillip said.

The earl stared at Angsley, who remained seated, trying to clear the haze of wrath clouding his vision so he could bring the young man’s face into focus. For the first time in a very long time he remembered how one might become embroiled in a duel. Nodding curtly, Adrian strolled through the club and joined the group of men who still lingered around the book. He glanced down on the open pages, scanning the entries until he found what he was seeking. Then he turned to the loudmouthed individual.

“You know Lady Jillian Fitzgerald?”

The group of gentlemen fell away, leaving the earl to confront his victim. Adrian knew his reputation as a duelist preceded him, not to mention his part in Jillian’s disgrace, and he could feel the crackle of anticipation that filled the room even as the noise subsided to a deathly silence.

“Do you?” he asked again, his voice deceptively soft.

The man’s face looked like bleached linen, stark against his black hair. “D-did I say I knew her? That’s not p-precisely what I meant.”

For several moments Adrian stared at him, unwavering, as the poor fellow appeared to shrink inwardly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the earl said at last. “I suggest you remember your facts the next time you are moved to boast.”

Turning to the table and the betting book, arrogantly dismissing, Adrian sensed the collective sigh of relief—perhaps disappointment?—of those in the club. He reached for the quill next to the book, dipping it into the inkwell, and with great deliberation scrawled on the page. He straightened, dropped the pen and headed for the entrance to the murmur of excited voices.

Phillip met him at the door. “My lord, what did you wager?”

The earl stepped into the night air, air free of the stench of innuendo, moving aside so Angsley could follow him.

“Nothing really,” Adrian said, a determined smile playing about his mouth. “I merely wagered ten thousand pounds on my pledge that before year’s end Lady Jillian Fitzgerald will be the new Countess of Wickham.”

*****

CHAPTER 11

“Phillip!” Jillian raced down the stairs and into the entry of the Bath townhouse and flung herself into her cousin’s arms. “What are you doing here?”

Phillip Angsley returned the hug then pulled back, scanning her features. “I say, Jilly, you look well. Do I have to have a reason for paying a visit to my favorite cousin?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I rather think you do, dear.” Linking arms with him, she led him into the parlor. “Out with it now and I’ll accept no fibbing.”

He flopped in the chair—a fragile Chippendale with creaky joints—nearest him. “How about a glass of wine?”

“Why, Phillip, it’s not even the noon hour yet. Don’t tell me you have fallen into dissipated ways.”

“Not usually, but if it’s going to be an inquisition I think I need to be fortified.”

Jillian paused, aware that beneath his bantering tone her cousin appeared nervous.

“Simon sent you, didn’t he?” she asked, feeling deflated.

“Now, Jilly, you needn’t sound as though that’s such a bad thing. It’s his responsibility to see to your well-being.”

“Did he send you here to spy on me?”

He looked uncomfortable. “He never said anything about spying. He, ah…Jilly, tell me about Edgeworth.”

“Lord Edgeworth? What are you implying?” At once her pulse leapt nervously. “What have you heard?”

“That Edgeworth is interested in you again.”

“Where did you hear such a thing?”

Phillip watched her from behind drooping eyelids, attitude hesitant. “In London at White’s.”

Jillian brought a white-knuckled fist to her throat as the import of his words drained the energy from her limbs. “Am I implicated?” she asked in a shaken whisper.

“Sit down, Jilly. I wasn’t going to tell you the whole but you make it impossible to lie.”

“Just tell me what you have heard, please. I’ve been through this before and I—”

Jillian felt her legs give way and Phillip jumped from his chair, leading her to the settee. He saw her seated then joined her, all the while holding her chilly hand.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt you. You’ve been through so much. Really, all Simon wanted me to do was come and provide protection, shield you from the gossip. My presence might even help mitigate it somewhat.”

She glanced at him, stricken. “Does he think I’ve done something I shouldn’t? I swear, Phillip, I’ve done nothing for which I need be ashamed.”

Her cousin sighed. “I know and I’m sure Simon does also. What he does believe is that the past has come back to haunt you. A heartsick swain does not mean you have done anything wrong, but with your history and the swain being who he is…”

“This is not fair, not fair at all. I am innocent this time.” She pursed her lips angrily. “The rumors have really reached London?” When he nodded, she insisted again, “Tell me exactly what has been said.”

He hung his head in resignation. “If you are not already Edgeworth’s lover you are soon to be.”

Though she already had guessed what he had to say, hearing the words sent a wave of distress through her chest. “Society must think very poorly of me. He’s a married man, Phillip, and his wife was once my dearest friend.”

“You know that doesn’t mean much to some people. And Meredith did wed him after he broke his engagement to you. There has been speculation over that situation from the beginning.”

“I suppose.”

Phillip squeezed her hand gently. “Weren’t you aware people were beginning to talk?”

“I guess so because Aunt Pru was worried. She said I should refrain from going out until—” She sighed. “I don’t know…until things are better. I haven’t been anywhere or seen anyone for days.”

“It isn’t fair, you are right. Has it been difficult, being in society, I mean?”

“I haven’t given people the chance to snub me. Stayed to myself mostly or hovered in Aunt Pru’s shadow. No one wants to hurt her by hurting me. Since the Season only ended in London last week, most of the ton have been there instead of here so I’ve been spared the worst of it. I suppose that will change now.” Jillian sighed again. “I’m so bored. I’ve read until my eyes ache. I wish I could go home and do the things I enjoy.”

“Self-pity is not you, Jilly,” Phillip said. “Where’s the stubborn woman who fights back? Where’s the indignation she conjures when she feels misunderstood? I miss her. And you’ll forgive me if I say so but I think I like her better.”

She looked at him in apology. “I grow weary of the battle.”

“What’s brought this on? You already sound defeated.”

“I know,” she mumbled. “I’ve become introspective of late, I guess. I’m restless as though there must be something more to life than what I’m currently experiencing. And you are right, maudlin thoughts can lead to self-pity because I do feel awfully sorry for myself right now. I hardly need anyone else’s sympathy when I’m giving myself an extra helping.”

The chime rang at that instant and Phillip was saved from having to respond. His relief was so transparent that Jillian had to stifle a gurgle of laughter.

She moved to the entrance of the parlor to look into the front hall rather than waiting for a servant to announce the visitor. A footman had opened the door, but from her vantage point Jillian was unable to observe who stood on the step. A deep voice, painfully familiar, drifted into the entry, and alarm mixed with excitement skittered through her system.

“One moment, my lord,” she heard the footman say as the servant ushered the Earl of Wickham inside. “My mistress is presently entertaining but perhaps she will receive you.”

Jillian panicked. The one person she wanted most to see and yet dreaded most to see—how was she to resolve those two contradictory feelings? She turned from the doorway to her cousin, hoping for some insight.

“Phillip, it’s the Earl of Wickham. What am I to do?”

Much to her surprise Phillip’s face broke into a broad grin. “Lord Wickham? By Jove, invite him in. He’s a right one, Jilly. I like him.”

“Since when do you know the earl?” she asked in a irritated whisper, then hurriedly turned back to the door because the footman had entered the parlor. “Yes?”

“The Earl of Wickham has come to call, my lady.”

“I-I’m busy,” she began. “Tell him to come back. I—”

From behind the footman a mellow voice tinged with amusement interrupted her. “My, my, Lady Jillian, you don’t intend to turn me away, do you? I’ve come quite a distance to pay you a call.”

For a very long, very uncomfortable moment no one spoke. Jillian would have broken the quiet but Adrian had snared her with a relentless stare, giving the lie to the humor in his words. She swallowed, self-consciously aware that not only Phillip but the footman were privy to the silent communication. A fool might mistake the violent undercurrents. However, Jillian detected no fools in the room.

“Come in, my lord,” she said stonily.

Adrian brushed past the footman as the servant retreated, the earl’s gaze lingering meaningfully on Phillip.

Phillip gulped. “Tell you what,” he said, rising hastily from the settee, “it’s time for me to leave. Jilly, it’s been nice to see you. I’ll return tomorrow.” He bowed in Adrian’s direction. “Good to see you also, my lord.”

Without further delay Phillip exited the parlor. Silence reigned until the footman closed the door after her cousin. Then she turned on the earl, relieved for the moment that she felt more anger than fear.

“Why did you do that?” she spat.

“Why did I do what?” the earl asked casually.

“You know what I’m talking about. Why did you send my cousin away?”

“Perhaps you heard something I did not. I don’t recall saying a word to Mr. Angsley.”

“You looked at him. The way you…he knew you wanted him to leave.”

Adrian sat on the settee without bothering to ask her permission. “I’ll not deny I wanted him to leave. I wanted to talk with you and he was perceptive enough to understand that.”

Jillian continued to stand in the middle of the room, hands in tight fists at her side. “You’ve stolen another one if my relatives.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me. When did you become friends with Phillip?”

“Why do you assume we are friends?”

“He just told me he likes you. A right one, he called you. Are you going to tell me he made that determination based upon your reputation? If that were true I think he would have called you a scoundrel.”

He smiled, seemingly unperturbed. “A right one?—did he now? I like him as well.”

“You haven’t addressed my question.”

“If you’ll sit down and talk to me without spitting fire, I’ll try to answer as best I can.”

Jillian took the creaky seat Phillip had recently vacated, sitting primly, hands clasped in her lap. She didn’t speak but merely looked at him, impatient.

“I’m disappointed, Jillian,” he said softly. “I was hoping you had missed me.”

“How do you know Phillip, my lord?” she asked, refusing to be diverted.

“I missed you.”

She was appalled by how sweet those words sounded, how they tripped along her nerves making her heart sing. “Lord Wickham—Adrian—please, tell me about Phillip.”

The earl drew in a lungful of air and released it. “All right, love, you defeat me. Phillip approached me in London a few days ago.”

“Why?”

“He had just come from seeing Simon, and your brother asked Phillip to return to the city to talk to me.”

“About…?”

“Edgeworth.”

“Oh, why couldn’t they have left you out of this?” She wanted to wring her hands but instead continued to clutch them tightly in her lap.

“I’d have found out sooner or later on my own. Besides, I’m involved, Jillian. How could you think I wouldn’t be?”

She bristled. “Because I don’t want you to be. Because this is humiliating and I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I can help.”

“The only thing that will help is for me to go home and I can’t do that yet. Aunt Pru is not ready to leave.”

“She’s still not well?”

Jillian shook her head sadly. “I don’t think this trip has much to do with her ailment. She’s back in Bath near her friends and she’s happy. She stays in the country far more than she would if it were not for me. I hold her back and that’s not fair. She’s old and deserves to spend her last years pleasurably. I think that’s why she drinks in the country.”

“Go home without her.”

“She won’t let me. She says I need her for a chaperon.”

Adrian’s eyes darkened with memory. “We both know she’s not good at it,” he said meaningfully.

Jillian felt a thrill of excitement that caused her lungs to contract. She dropped her gaze to her hands which had begun to ache from their clasped condition, unable to think of anything remotely intelligent to say.

“Jillian?”

For the first time she detected a hesitation in him and she raised her eyes to meet his. “Yes?”

“Is there cause for worry?”

She knew to what he referred, and oddly she found the words hard to express. “You need not concern yourself, my lord. There is no child.” She deliberately kept her voice cool. “I think we will weather the crisis without exposure.”

Adrian nodded but his gaze was so penetrating, it was as if he wanted to understand not only what was in her statement but in her soul.

“You are happy then,” he said.

Jillian thought relieved more aptly described her feelings but she did not dispute him. “How could I not be? Regardless of what you might think, I do hate being the object of gossip warranted or unwarranted.”

“There is an easy solution to all your problems.”

“Marriage?” When he dipped his head Jillian continued, deciding to be honest with him. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? But every time I think on it I become frightened. I don’t know you, my lord. It took me a long time to find peace, and now my whole world is upside down. I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused.”

“It’s Edgeworth,” he said darkly. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you?”

Jillian stopped, surprised, for Lionel had not entered her mind. In fact, to compare the earl to Lord Edgeworth was no comparison at all. She might not know Adrian well but she knew for certain he was the better man. However, he had given her the perfect excuse.

“Perhaps,” she lied. When his brows lowered ominously, she hurried on, “Perhaps not. I told you I’m confused. I don’t know what I feel right now.” That for the most part was true.

Adrian stood and crossed the room to stand over her, his features a mask of furious determination. “If he comes near you I swear I’ll make him regret it.”

She jumped to her feet which brought her within inches of his glowering face. Jillian could sense the outrage radiating from his rigid body, and she suddenly felt the need to tamp the anger she had carelessly started.

“Adrian, please, for my sake do not bring attention to my plight. We’ll be right where we were eight years ago.” His attitude remained implacable thus she rushed on. “There are innocent people of whom we must think. Lionel is married.” He snorted his contempt, whether for Meredith or Meredith’s philandering husband she was uncertain. “Maybe you have a point,” she agreed, “but what about Aunt Prudence? And now Phillip is here. And don’t believe for a moment Simon and his family won’t be touched by a new scandal, for they will be.”

“If I’m not mistaken the talk has already begun. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“Please.” Jillian touched his sleeve and looked at him imploringly.

His attention drifted to her fingers resting lightly on his coat, the muscles of his jaw working while he clenched and unclenched his teeth. He brought his gaze back to hers, and what she saw glinting in his light blue eyes made her want to step away from him. Though her insides began to quiver she held her ground.

“What will you give me?” he asked, the words hoarse.

She blinked. “What do you want?”

“Kiss me, Jillian.”

“You’re angry at me,” she whispered, desire flickering into life. “You couldn’t possibly want to kiss me.”

“Oh, but I do—I do.”

“Will you promise to make no trouble where Lord Edgeworth is concerned?”

“Where Edgeworth is concerned I make no promises. You must leave your old betrothed to me. But I will promise to avoid any scenes that might embarrass you or anyone for whom you care.”

“That’s not much of a bargain.”

“Is it better than the alternative?”

Captivated by the gathering heat in his expression, Jillian nodded reluctantly. She was afraid to say no, afraid he would end the moment, for no matter how she denied it aloud in her heart she knew she had missed him.

“Jillian?”

“You give me no choice, my lord.”

“Then…” Adrian brought his hand to the back of her neck.

He took her lips hungrily and, dropping his hand, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor. He wanted her to kiss him? Well, she did, meeting him with equal fervor, savoring the feel of his warm mouth, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair.

A startled gasp at the entrance to the parlor caused them to freeze. Jillian faced away from the door but Adrian did not, and the chagrin on his features told her they had been caught in the act. Slowly his hold on her loosened as he allowed her to slip downward until her feet touched the floor.

Jillian steeled herself and swung around. As she had feared her aunt stood in the doorway, face bright red, huffing in embarrassment.

“Dear me,” the old lady moaned, “I-I didn’t mean to intrude.” She stepped backward into the hall but stopped as if something had occurred to her. She marched into the room again. “No, no, that’s not how it goes. I’m the chaperon, you know. I’m supposed to say—” she turned on the earl, shaking her finger. “You forget yourself, young man!” Clearly pleased with herself, she asked, “What do you have to say to that?”

Adrian, seeming disconcerted, grinned at Pru halfheartedly. “What can I say, ma’am? You are correct. In my defense, I can only say it’s been several weeks since I’ve seen your niece. Truth is I’ve missed her.”

Jillian glanced at him and a very tender emotion—one she refused to identify—clogged her throat. He looked endearingly handsome in his contrition, hair all mussed, and she wondered if perhaps she had wronged him. Adrian said he had missed her, not only when he wanted to seduce her but had said the same to Aunt Pru just now. And he had proved it because as angry as he had been with her, he had come back. She was going to have to think about that, yes, she was…

“And I should think so,” Prudence was saying in a severe voice, although she appeared to have lost her momentum as if Adrian’s earnest confession had touched her also.

“I will take my leave of you, ladies,” the earl said. He turned to Jillian. “I see no reason for you to hide in this house. Phillip is here to play escort and I will do what I can. Might as well brave it out.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

He smiled ruefully. “Nothing’s easy where you are concerned, love.”

She saw him to the door then returned to the parlor where she knew her aunt awaited her.

“Go ahead,” Jillian said upon entering the room and flopping on the settee. “Say what you will. I deserve it. I don’t know what gets into me when that man is around. I’m either in a seething rage or…” she trailed off, unable to continue aloud with the thought without divulging things best left unsaid.

“And who can blame you, dear.” Pru sighed the words, her gaze distant as she sat down next to her niece. “Can’t ever remember being kissed by a gentleman like that. If I weren’t old and debilitated I might almost be envious.”

“Why, Aunt Pru, there are sides to you I’ve never guessed.”

“Naturally, there are. I was young once. Now I suggest we come back to the present,” Prudence said briskly. “You must make a decision, Jillian. Either you want this young man or you do not. Your lack of resolve becomes foolish.”

“Auntie?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been in love, not infatuation but really in love?”

“I thought so once. As the years passed I wasn’t as certain.”

“Why didn’t you marry him?”

The old woman looked at her directly. “He didn’t ask me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It was for the best, dear.” Aunt Pru patted Jillian’s hand as though her niece were the one who should be comforted.

“Don’t you see? Maybe that’s the way it is for me as well. I’m attracted to Lord Wickham—I like him even—but I’m not certain we suit. Marriage is not something one can put on easily and take off when it becomes inconvenient as if it were a coat. It is a permanent condition. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Prudence nodded. “One of the decisions you have to make.”

“And Adrian is very managing, you know.”

“Most men are. The trick is in discovering which ones will share the power, which ones will be fair. A wise man does not hoard the deck of cards simply because he can. He cuts the deck in two equal parts and gives his wife half. That way she can be in the game. Otherwise he plays alone and there’s hardly any sport in that.”

“Very philosophical.” Jillian smiled her surprise.

“Point is, dear, you have no reason to be distrustful. You’ve had wonderful examples of fine men all around you—your father and most assuredly Simon—loyal, trustworthy. You should be able to judge Lord Wickham with a learned eye. If you’re asking me, I think the earl is a good man. He’s sown his oats and he’s now ready to settle down.”

Jillian was beginning to think the same way. “Thing is,” she felt her cheeks redden for what she was about to say, “he’s very overpowering. I feel swallowed up by his presence. Sometimes it is rather exciting, and other times…”

“Well, yes, a gentleman with his charisma, I see what you mean. But, Jillian, I suspect you have much the same effect on him. He hardly takes his eyes off you when you are in the room.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I think he’s angry with me right now,” Jillian said, picking nonexistent lint from her skirt.

Aunt Prudence chuckled. “Of course, he is since you go out of your way to anger him. Does him good, probably. Keeps him wondering. It is never prudent to allow a man with his sort of ego to become too confident.”

“He believes I still care for Lord Edgeworth.”

“You told him that?”

Jillian cringed under her aunt’s appalled stare. “Not exactly. He said it and I didn’t disagree with him.”

“Why, Jillian? Why?” Aunt Prudence came off the settee and stood over her, hands on hips. “I think you had better give some thought to why you are acting self-destructively. Making a man jealous, one as intense as Lord Wickham, can be a dangerous thing. There is a difference between keeping a gentleman wondering and precipitating a disaster, especially when you care nothing for Lord Edgeworth.” She looked at her niece with that erratic perceptiveness—always unexpected—which made those subjected to it squirm. “I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t care for Lord Edgeworth, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I feared at first I might because I thought I loved him once. Even that I’m not certain of any more.” Jillian rose from the settee to stand by her aunt. “In fact, I have felt my misfortune in many ways over the years, however, I begin to see that I should be thankful. I can’t help wondering what my life would be like if I were married to Lionel today.”

Aunt Pru’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Indeed.”

And after all, what more was there to say?

*****

Adrian strode back and forth the length of his rented room, chewing on his anger as if it were a piece of grizzled meat. Chewing, yes, but he damned sure wasn’t going to swallow it. He had known from the beginning he must overcome Jillian’s reservations, but it had not occurred to him that he might have to defeat the specter of a lost love.

Jillian obviously had never looked at Edgeworth with a critical eye. If she had she would have seen that Lionel Hemsley was the same variety of man as the one whom Adrian had killed in self-defense on a dueling field eight years before— dishonest, a profligate, a man who would cause any woman who loved him an extraordinary amount of pain. That was how he perceived Edgeworth in the past, and he suspected the bounder had not changed in the intervening years.

Something else bothered Adrian as well. He was surprised by how stung he had felt when Jillian had not denied her interest in her former fiance. After what they had experienced together, could she put an old and probably immature love ahead of her feelings for him? The earl found that possibility untenable.

He’d had many weeks while in London to assess his growing attachment for Jillian. At first he had decided he “cared” for her, a caring primarily based on physical attraction. The attraction was still there, no doubt, as he had been forcefully reminded when he had seen her this afternoon. But there was something else, something he now was obliged to confront.

He loved Jillian and the thought unnerved him, more because of her attitude than because of the condition itself. If she would come to him in a like state of mind instead of insisting on fighting him, then he was ready to submit to the inevitable—and gladly. Unfortunately, it appeared she had no intention of doing what was expedient. She means to make me suffer for what I want, he thought in frustration. The one thing soothing his irritation was the cocksure knowledge that in the end he would win.

A knock at the door caused him to halt in mid-stride.

“Yes?” he called.

Through the door he heard, “Lord Wickham, it’s me Phillip Angsley.”

Adrian crossed the room and released the latch, allowing Jillian’s cousin to enter. “Phillip,” he greeted, thrusting out his hand, “come in. I hope you have some information for me.”

“Some, my lord.” Phillip shook the earl’s hand as he entered the small apartment.

“Good. May I pour you a brandy?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Adrian quickly filled a glass for each of them and the men sat in two chairs, one on either side of the fireplace.

Phillip took a sip of his drink. “Very good, my lord,” He paused. “Uh…how did it go with my cousin?”

The earl took a sip as well, using the brief respite to determine how best to couch his answer. He brought the glass from his mouth, studying the potent liquid.

“You know Jillian better than I do. She’s sensitive and distrusting. I cannot breathe without her questioning my motives. First she castigated me for running you away. Then she accused me of ‘stealing’ you.”

“Stealing me?”

“She has this ridiculous notion that I’m deliberately turning everyone who cares about her against her.”

“That is ridiculous. Why do you think she feels that way?” “I guess because everyone, including her Aunt Prudence, agrees that she and I should marry. However, the more everyone agrees the more she resists.” He took another swig of his drink, breathing out the aromatic fumes through his mouth.

Phillip laughed. “Jillian was pig-headed even as a child. Of course, it has only been in recent years that she has been so blatant about it.” And then, “Want to hear about Edgeworth?”

“Absolutely.”

“Not much more to know about him than you’ve already heard. Edgeworth and his wife come to Bath every year in July. He’s run through his fortune. His wife supports them now. That is how she controls him so goes the talk. He keeps separate bachelor-style residences in both London and Bath, supposedly for solitude, although it is widely known that he entertains females at these places. Lady Edgeworth apparently pretends ignorance. This has gone on since almost the beginning of his marriage, yet he has not been known to fix his attention on any one woman—until now.”

“Jillian?”

“Yes.”

Adrian felt like grinding his teeth. “The gossip is accurate then?”

Phillip shrugged. “As much as gossip can be. It seems in recent days Jillian has not been seen, and that has raised speculation, also. I must tell you, the ton is like a wolf with a sheep’s liver still warm from the kill. Give them an opening and they will show no mercy.”

“Damn! If she goes into public he approaches her which implicates her by association. If she stays in, people assume there is something clandestine going on. I begin to appreciate her dilemma.”

“What do you think we should do?” Phillip asked.

Adrian tossed off the remainder of his brandy before giving his companion a steely-eyed look. “We are going to have to watch the situation closely, my friend. When Jillian goes out one of us must be nearby to offer protection. Since you are related to her you will be in a better position to know her plans, but you can keep me informed. Agreed?”

Phillip nodded gravely. “Agreed.”

*****

CHAPTER 12

The Lower Assembly Rooms were crowded tonight. Jillian sent her gaze over the crowd as always avoiding eye contact with anyone. She knew she had been recognized because she could feel the heightened tension when she walked into the place. She had hoped it was only her imagination, until Aunt Prudence patted her hand, confirming her misgivings.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the old woman said. “In a few minutes everyone will have something else to talk about. Just hold your head up and pretend you haven’t noticed a thing. Oh look,” Pru continued, “Alice and Cordelia are here. That will make you more comfortable, Jillian. There are people to talk to us who won’t be judgmental.”

“Yes, thank goodness for your friends,” Jillian said. “Are you certain they’ve not changed their minds with recent events?”

Aunt Prudence took her arm. “Steadfast, love, that’s what they are. You needn’t worry.”

Jillian believed her. However, she detected an undercurrent of doubt in the ladies that had not been there before. What had she expected? Even the most charitable person knew a kernel of truth existed in an outlandish rumor. And given Jillian’s past, the rumors surrounding her seemed plausible.

“We’ve not seen you recently, Lady Jillian,” Cordelia ventured in a cautious voice.

Jillian’s first inclination was to cut off this line of inquiry immediately, but she realized Miss Barnstable was making small talk, that nothing insinuating had been intended. Still, Lady Alice looked as if she were discomfited with the drift in the conversation, for her withered cheeks turned a dull red.

“Cordelia, perhaps…” Lady Alice murmured.

“Please, don’t feel uncomfortable on my part,” Jillian said, electing to bring the subject into the open. She glanced at Prudence to see if her aunt agreed with her and, when the old lady nodded, she proceeded. “I’ve been the victim of some unfounded gossip. It seemed best if I stayed out of society for a while. But I felt to hide would give credence to the talk, therefore I’ve decided to venture out. I very much appreciate how supportive you ladies have been.”

Miss Barnstable and Lady Alice preened under the heartfelt thank you.

“Don’t you worry, dear,” Cordelia said as she laid plump fingers on Jillian’s arm, “we are here for you.” She sent her attention to Prudence. “How about a game of whist? We have a foursome.”

And so the women chose a table in the card room and commenced to play a lively—and surprisingly competitive—game of whist with Prudence partnering Lady Alice. Jillian, absorbed in the contest, jumped when a hand lightly touched her on the shoulder. She glanced at the newcomer.

“Phillip, what are you doing here?” she asked, pleased.

Her cousin smiled ingratiatingly. “Looking for you.”

“You are?”

“Stopped by your house to visit and, when I found you had gone out, I decided to run you to ground. How about a dance?”

Jillian turned to her table partners. “Lady Alice, Miss Barnstable, I would like to introduce you to my cousin Phillip Angsley.”

The ladies nodded a greeting as her cousin bowed in turn, and Prudence said, “Go with Phillip, dear. We’ll find someone to take your place.”

Jillian could hear the music of the orchestra drifting from the ballroom, and she looked at her aunt hopefully. It had been a long time since she had danced.

“Are you certain, Auntie?”

“Yes, yes, run along, enjoy yourself.”

Jillian and Phillip entered the ballroom and joined three other couples forming a set for the next dance, a cotillion. Even before the music started Jillian could feel the hostility, the outright disapproval, emanating from the other dancers as if she were unthinkably brazen for pushing her soiled person on the innocent. The expression on Phillip’s face indicated he felt it also. She knew he was upset by the rude treatment, for he winked at her, smiling his encouragement.

Never had she felt her estrangement from society more forcefully than she did at that moment, and that made her grieve for what she had lost and could never have back. How she made it through the steps of the dance without dissolving into tears, she would never know, but she decided a willful pride did have its place. She finished the cotillion, head held high as her aunt had bade her, not once—she hoped—revealing her suffering.

As the last notes of the music died away Jillian grabbed her cousin, her nails digging into his arm.

“Ouch!” Phillip complained under his breath.

“I need some air,” she said tightly.

He looked closely at her, his eyes widening in sudden understanding and, speaking not another word, took her elbow. He guided her through the couples on the dance floor to the ballroom’s rear doors which were thrown open on a terrace that led to a large garden. Outside several benches dotted the tree-lined walks, and they chose one not far from the terrace.

“I’m sorry, Jilly,” her cousin said. “I—”

“It’s not your fault, Phillip. I should have known.” To her horror she began to cry.

“Aw, Jilly, please don’t.” Phillip began to search his pockets anxiously, for a handkerchief no doubt. When he found one, he said, “Aha! I knew it. Here.”

Jillian took the hanky and dabbed at her nose and eyes. “Thing is, those people who danced in our set know of me, but they don’t know me. They’ve decided I’m not worthy just from hearsay. How am I to fight that?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is no help,” she said, trying to smile.

“Sorry—”

Jillian pushed him. “Stop apologizing, will you? I said it’s not your fault. In fact, I’m glad you are here to hold my hand. If it weren’t for you and Aunt Pru…” Again her voice trembled. “Oh, botheration, I hate feeling sorry for myself.”

“Would you like me to get you something to drink?”

She nodded, recognizing his need to escape an emotional female. “That would be nice, Phillip. Perhaps by the time you return I will have pulled myself together.”

He jumped to his feet. Jillian, feeling indescribably morose, watched him trot up the walk and enter the Assembly Rooms. I can’t risk this painful rejection anymore, she told herself. Better to become a hermit than spend evenings like this one, praying for acceptance and garnering only contempt.

She glanced over her shoulder, noting that several couples strolled through the gardens under a clear, starlit sky. Such a lovely evening, she thought wistfully.

At that moment someone joined her on the bench.

“That was quick, Phillip,” she said, turning. Instead, she found herself staring into the mournful gray eyes of the Marquess of Edgeworth.

“Hello, Jillian,” he said.

“Lionel, what are you doing here?” she asked, surprise mixed with irritation.

“I had to see you,” he said, the words slurring.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Not so very much, I don’t think. I can still stand.”

“That’s how you determine if you’ve over imbibed?—whether you are falling down or not?”

“Can you think of a better way?”

Lionel gave her a sloppy grin, his gaze bloodshot as he leered at her, and for the first time Jillian noticed the lines of dissipation around his eyes, the slightly puffy look of his face. Once a very handsome man, the Marquess of Edgeworth’s appearance had begun to deteriorate with his unhealthy habits.

“I’ve asked you not to approach me anymore, my lord.”

“You can’t mean it, Jillian,” he said. “After all these years I’ve found you again. I’m not about to give up so easily.”

Jillian jerked her head impatiently. “You don’t have a choice.” She paused, hoping to reach that part of him that was still sober. “Lionel, do you realize how people are talking?”

“Let them say what they will,” he said in an offhand voice. “The talk can’t touch us.”

“The devil you say!”

That did seem to bring him around. “Are you angry?” he asked her. “You sound angry.”

She tried another tack. “Is Meredith here tonight?”

His shoulders slumped, manner all at once sullen—like a child, she thought disparagingly. What had she ever seen in him? “Yes, but we didn’t come together,” Lionel said as if somehow that made a difference.

Now thoroughly exasperated, Jillian stood from the bench. “I’m going inside, my lord. There is no use in trying to reason with you tonight. You are completely befuddled and talking to you is befuddling me.”

Lionel staggered to his feet and took hold of her arm, clinging with clammy fingers. “Please, my love, listen to me. I have to see you alone.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I cannot imagine what you must think of me to make such a suggestion.”

“I love you, that’s what I think of you. Have you no heart? Can’t you see the pain I am in?”

“Release me, Lionel,” she said, pulling away from him.

“I believe the lady has asked you to release her,” came a masculine voice out of the darkness.

Jillian spun around even as Lionel continued to hold onto her. “Adrian!” she said.

The earl, stepping from the shadows, spared her only a glance, saving his glinty-eyed stare for the marquess.

“Let her go, Edgeworth.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Lionel barked drunkenly. “You have no rights here.”

“You have your hand on the woman I am going to marry. That gives me all the rights I need,” the earl said.

Jillian gasped her outrage and that brought Adrian’s attention back to her.

“Go inside, Jillian,” the earl ordered her then again looked at Lord Edgeworth, who also appeared taken aback by the bald statement.

“I will not—” she began.

“Go inside!”

The words were a low growl, and common sense told her now was not the time to defy the earl. Even knowing that Jillian had to grapple with rebellion, especially since it was Adrian issuing the command. She sent a stony gaze to both men, conveying her disdain, and marched back to the building.

Convinced the evening could not possibly deteriorate any further, fate stepped in to prove how wrong she could be. As she entered the ballroom Jillian came face to face with the Marchioness of Edgeworth.

Jillian was immediately angry with herself, for her cheeks warmed guiltily. It wasn’t she but those two foolish men outside who had started all the trouble. Self-righteous, Jillian at that instant overflowed with resentment.

“Meredith,” she said, since she could think of no way of walking past the woman without being unpardonably rude.

Meredith had pressed her lips into an uncompromising line. “You dare speak to me?” she hissed, her green eyes sparking with jealousy.

Jillian, now feeling thoroughly maligned, spat back, “I shouldn’t, you know, being as you are a traitor.”

Meredith went white as wax. “You can think what you will,” she said after a moment, her chin trembling, “but it doesn’t change the fact that Lionel is my husband, has been for a long time. I want you to stay away from him.”

Rather than answer Jillian turned away from her one-time friend and continued her progress across the ballroom, ignoring the stares of the curious. She met Phillip in the vestibule.

“Where have you been, Phillip?” Her voice was shriller than she meant it to be. At his look of apprehension, she said, “I’m sorry. This has been the most trying evening imaginable. But why didn’t you return with the drink as you promised?”

Phillip took her arm and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Wickham saw Edgeworth approach you in the garden. Said he wanted to handle the situation. Asked me to stay inside.”

“Damnation!”

“Jilly! I’ve never heard you swear before.”

Jillian narrowed her eyes at him. “If you continue to do everything Lord Wickham tells you to, I can promise you will hear it more often.”

He looked offended. “That’s not fair.”

“Really? I could lecture you on fair right now, however, I don’t have the patience. Is Aunt Pru still in the card room?” When he nodded, she said, “She’s most likely not ready to go home yet but I am. Will you take me?”

“Well…ah, yes, just as soon as I’ve spoken to the earl.”

“What, Phillip, does Lord Wickham have to do with you taking me home?” Jillian queried ominously.

“He said he wanted to take you home. Now Jilly,” he began in a rush, for she felt ready to spit and she knew for certain she looked it, “he just wants to take care of you.”

“Are you telling me that rather than do as I request, you will defer to the earl?”

“Are you asking me to make a choice?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I am.”

Phillip regarded her sadly. “Then I choose you, of course. I’d rather you did not put me in such an uncomfortable position, though. I know you don’t understand, but I respect Lord Wickham and I like him.”

He looked so miserable, Jillian took pity on him. Phillip, she realized, felt he had made a friend in Adrian and, though she did not completely comprehend the bonding between males, she knew it existed. If she forced Phillip to go against the earl’s wishes her cousin would be humiliated for having broken one of the unwritten rules of masculine cooperation. She nodded, satisfied with knowing that when push came to shove she was the one who had her cousin’s loyalty.

“All right, Phillip, we’ll wait.”

*****

Adrian watched Jillian enter the ballroom before he turned his attention back to the inebriated man at his side. He made no effort to hide the disgust he felt.

“I want you to stay away from her, Edgeworth,” he said without preamble.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll wipe that goddamn sneer from your ugly phiz. Don’t push me on this. You had your chance at Jillian and passed years ago. Let her be.”

The marquess was apparently too intoxicated to be wise, for he reached out, waving his hand, barely grazing the earl’s chest with the tips of insolent fingers.

“Seems to me, Wickham, that I have only your word that you are engaged to Jillian. In fact, she looked appalled by your announcement.”

Adrian found himself dealing with a rage that was truly frightening, only the lack of privacy keeping him from lunging at the man’s throat. He curled his hands into tense fists as he fought to control himself.

“Be that as it may, Edgeworth, she and I will marry.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

“All right, you bloody fool, but don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

“What are you going to do, Wickham, challenge me to a duel?”

Spoken in a sly and goading manner, the words were a challenge and the earl gave in to his fury. He drew back a knotted fist and punched the marquess squarely in the nose. Edgeworth, surprised by the attack, crumpled to the ground like a sack of wet grain.

As Adrian swung on his heel and headed indoors, he had no hope the incident had gone unnoticed. Nor did he believe Jillian would escape inclusion in the tattle that would surely follow. He should have refrained from becoming physical, he knew, because he had brought his conflict with Edgeworth into the open. But when his fist had come in contact with Edgeworth’s face, the only emotion that had consumed him was a savage enjoyment.

As he had feared a murmur of voices greeted him as he entered the ballroom, the gossip apparently preceding him by mere seconds. Adrian ignored the faces turned in his direction, instead searching for the one person for whom he cared. He found her in the vestibule, and she watched his approach with a strained expression full of accusation. Phillip stood next to her looking ill at ease.

When he reached her side he linked arms with Jillian, and he felt the resistance in her although she did not overtly pull away from him.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a tense voice.

“We’re going outside to wait for my carriage.”

“Phillip is taking me home.”

Adrian allowed his gaze to travel to the young man in question. “Oh?”

Phillip shrugged, his mien one of outright misery. “She insists, my lord.”

“I insist we go outside,” the earl said. “We’ll discuss who rides with whom away from prying eyes.”

He pulled Jillian through the door, stopping long enough to give instructions to the doorman for the retrieval of his carriage. He motioned at Phillip to follow, for that young man had stayed put in the vestibule, clearly reluctant to be involved in any more turmoil. Her cousin came but without visible enthusiasm.

Outside on the walk the trio waited quietly because patrons of the Assembly Rooms continued to come and go and there was little privacy. Adrian glanced at Jillian but her bearing was closed and distant. Shortly thereafter his carriage rolled to the curb, and he took her arm to help her into the vehicle.

Jillian jerked away from him. “I want to go home with Phillip.”

“Get in the carriage, Jillian.”

“No.” She turned pleading eyes on her cousin. “Phillip?”

Adrian pitied the fellow, for Jillian was forcing her cousin to choose between loyalty and inclination, and the earl suspected she knew it.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Phillip said, his attitude resigned in the face of Jillian’s determination, “but Jilly’s family.”

The earl admired Angsley’s mettle, and the curt nod he gave the young man indicated as much. But he had no intention of being denied. Phillip had done the right thing, therefore, Jillian was the one who would have to relent. Adrian sent his gaze to her, catching an expression of smug satisfaction on her lovely face.

“Too bad, Phillip” he drawled, continuing to watch Jillian, “for I like you. Unfortunate we must come to blows over a situation not of our own making—at least not of yours.”

Phillip, evidently catching the earl’s ruse, dipped his blonde head in agreement, a smirk lurking about his mouth. But Jillian didn’t, for her eyes grew round with indignation.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she sputtered.

Adrian gazed at her sorrowfully. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice, my dear.”

He watched her indecision, the bubbling anger, and for the very life of him the only emotion he felt was a burgeoning affection. Oh, she was prickly, was his Jillian. He had to restrain himself from laughing aloud.

“I see I’m out maneuvered,” she said, glaring at her cousin—seemed she had guessed more than the earl had at first thought.

“Very gracious, to be sure,” Adrian said, smiling. She twitched her skirts at him, obviously only tolerating his hold on her arm as he helped her into the carriage. Jillian moved across the seat to the far corner so that all he could see in the darkened space was a pair of offended eyes shining out at him from the gloom.

He turned to Phillip, taking the young man’s hand. “Thank you Angsley.” Then to the coachman, he said, “Once around the park,” before he climbed into the vehicle, sitting opposite his unwilling companion and closing the door.

The mood in the carriage was stifling. Adrian, vision now accustomed to the black, recognized Jillian’s rigid outline as she continued to huddle in silence against the wall of the carriage. What he wanted most was to take her in his arms and breach the emotional barrier she had erected between them.

“How important is Edgeworth to you, Jillian?”

“This is not about Lionel,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Perhaps, but I would deem it a favor if you would tell me the part he plays in all this.”

“He plays no part at all. For some reason you have determined that I still care for Lord Edgeworth.”

“I determined that because you said you cared for him.”

“No. You said I did. I just never disabused you of the notion. Big difference, I think.”

Adrian was stunned by the relief her words engendered in him. “You’re not in love with him?”

She turned her head in his direction and again her eyes gleamed at him across the carriage. “I don’t think I ever loved him—at least, not the way I now imagine love should be. I suspect it was infatuation. You must admit he was very handsome.”

“Sorry, don’t have to admit any such thing,” he muttered in distaste. He wanted to be angry with her for having lied to him but he was too intrigued by why she had done it. “What was the point in misleading me?”

“No point, really.” He sensed her impatience. “I was angry at you. And, Lord Wickham, as much as I hate to confess it you do bring out the worst in me.”

“And the best?” Adrian murmured shrewdly, beginning to feel better and better.

“Depends on what you think that is.” Before he could respond, she asked, “What happened between you and Lionel?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me,” she said, sounding oddly defiant.

“I hit him.”

“You did?”

“On the nose. Haven’t felt anything that satisfying in ages.”

“Oh, famous!” she said, continuing to astonish him. “That is the very thing I would like to have done.”

Adrian grinned like an idiot. “Jillian, slow down. One moment you are furious with me for making a scene and the next you’re offering applause. Now which is it?—are you mad at me or not?”

“Course I am. I’m just madder at Lord Edgeworth, that’s all.”

“Why? Has he insulted you?”

She huffed aloud. “He wants me to become his mistress.”

“By damned,” the earl gritted out, “I should have done more than bend his nose. I should have strung him up by his ears.”

“You’re not surprised, are you?” Jillian said, the words pragmatic. “What other relationship could he have had in mind?”

“You are taking it rather well, I must say.”

“Actually,” her voice broke, “I’m finding all of this very difficult.”

Adrian leaned forward at once attuned to her distress. “What, sweetheart, what is it?”

“M-Meredith was at the Assembly Rooms tonight.” She looked at him through shadowy eyes that glistened with tears. “She hates me, and really it is I who should hate her.” She opened her reticule, rummaging through the contents of the bag until she found a lace hanky to dab at her nose.

Adrian moved across the carriage to sit by her and gave in to the inclination that had been foremost in his mind—he took her in his arms.

“Tell me, love,” he said, “I don’t understand.”

“She’s the one who told on me, the one who started the rumors after the duel. And when I think on it, it all makes sense for who else could have known?—except Phillip and he never would have revealed the story. It was all right there before me and I never guessed.”

“Good God, why? No, don’t answer that,” he said, appalled. “She wanted Edgeworth?”

“Yes.” She sniffed into her hanky.

“You must despise her.”

She raised her face to his. “That’s the amazing thing—I don’t despise her. The most I’ve been able to summon—after, I admit, a raging temper—is pity. I keep thinking of how she tricked me and the wretched life she has received for her efforts, and I feel somehow as though she did me a favor.”

Adrian felt a warmth expand through his chest that made him feel almost giddy, and he hugged her tighter, smoothing his hand across the top of her hair.

“I do believe we make progress,” he murmured.

“What do you mean?” she said into the lapel of his coat.

“If you are no longer regretting the past then perhaps you can move on to the future. And perhaps…just perhaps you can begin to forgive me.”

Jillian pulled back from him, searching his face. “What are you trying to say? I’ve been angry at you lately but there’s no need for forgiveness. We don’t deal well with each other. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’m not speaking of lately and you know it. I’m referring to eight years ago when in your estimation I ruined your life.”

She pushed at his chest, trying to break his hold. “I have never held you responsible for my downfall. It was I—I should have known better. I’m to blame and only I.”

“So you’ve scrupulously said over and over—but you’ve never believed it. For all your effort to attach accountability where it truly belongs, in your heart you’ve held me to blame. If you can’t come to terms with that, then you are correct, Jillian, we can never make a go of it. The truth is, we are both to blame, and we’ve both paid a price for our sins. Even your friend Meredith is not wholly at fault. After all, through our foolishness we gave her the ammunition to bring us down.”

“Maybe…” she said softly.

“Do you know how sweet that one word sounds?” he asked huskily, drawing her back into his embrace and placing his chin on the top of her head. “Isn’t it time we end this torment?”

“Do you know how frightened I am sometimes?” she whispered.

“How frightened, love?”

Adrian felt as though Jillian had poured the contents of her deepest feelings onto his lap, and he was touched profoundly for he knew she was loath to admit any frailty.

“Sometimes my heart feels as though it will burst from my chest it pounds so hard.”

“Even now?” he asked.

“Even now.”

Adrian took his right hand and with infinite care placed it on her rib cage, his fingers caressing the soft undercurve of her breast, his palm directly over her heart. He felt the pulsating of the agitated organ and he closed his eyes, absorbing the rhythm as it melded with the rapid cadence of his own.

After a moment she moved, and he was disappointed to realize she intended to release his hold. He was wrong. Jillian raised her face to his, her expression drawn and pale with her own private struggle. She then splayed slim fingers and rested them over his, pressing his hand more firmly to her side. For a long time—he did not know how long—they remained thus, neither moving as they shared the power of the intimate contact.

Adrian was aware of the quiet outside the carriage, the clip clop of the horses’ hooves on the paved road as the animals pulled their load, the occasional command of the solitary driver. The earl ceased to breathe, fearful that the interlude would end long before he was ready.

He wanted to kiss her and desire rose and gathered in him like the tempest of a storm, threatening to drown them in a deluge of his making. But even more than that—even more than that—another emotion came to the fore. Recently, he had told himself that he loved her and he had believed it, yes, he had. But not till this moment had he truly experienced it. Strange, how something as supposedly uncomplicated as caring for another could so alter one’s perspective. He leaned his forehead against hers, feeling more humble than he though possible.

Despite his rising hunger, Adrian held himself in check, convinced Jillian would be upset if he tried to turn the tenderness into passion—not that the two sentiments were disconnected. In fact, the emotions flowed one into the other until he could not distinguish them apart.

All too soon the ride ended as the carriage pulled up to Aunt Prudence’s townhouse. And yet, in the thirty minutes since they had left the Assembly Rooms, the earl believed Jillian and he had made excellent progress toward understanding one another. Not to say tomorrow she wouldn’t be her old prickly self, doing her best to antagonize him. But now he looked forward to the prospect because tonight she had revealed an innermost part of herself, and that revelation had renewed his hope.

He opened the door of the carriage after gently disengaging himself from the embrace he shared with her. Leaping from the vehicle, he helped her to the ground. Jillian kept her head lowered as though embarrassed, taking his arm without demurring as they made their way up the walk.

At the step he took her hand, unsure of himself as if he were a green lad. “I love you, Jillian.”

She looked at him for a long time without speaking, and Adrian had the distinct impression she was evaluating his words, his sincerity. As always, her response was not the one he expected.

“Be certain you mean it, my lord,” she said.

“Do you believe I’m not up to the task?” he asked gently.

She reached up and touched the bridge of his cheek with her fingertips. “I have all the faith in you—it’s I of whom I’m uncertain.”

“I have faith enough for both of us,” he declared, grabbing her hand from his face and kissing her palm fervently.

“That’s a very good thing, Adrian,” Jillian said, smiling at him sadly, “because I think you are going to need it.”

*****

Jillian, still wearing her gown and wrap, her reticule dangling from her wrist, slumped on the chaise lounge in her bedchamber, exhausted. The nervousness she had felt this evening in Adrian’s carriage was nothing compared to the turmoil that presently had her in its grip.

Adrian loved her!

What an amazing revelation that was and totally unexpected although she didn’t know why, for he had gone to such lengths lately to prove he cared. Why had she not returned the favor by declaring herself as well? She knew by the eager expression on his dark features that he had wanted her to do so. However, she also felt certain he had not expected it which was just as well, for the words were still lodged somewhere in her breast in that treacherous muscle that had rattled so tonight.

How gentle Adrian had been, how kind. She believed the earl truly understood her confusion and distrust, and he had done his best to make her feel better when she had been nearly crushed with heartache. Jillian smiled to herself—she did feel better, much better.

And the earl had landed Lord Edgeworth a facer. Not that she wanted the two men to fight over her. Gossip would erupt tomorrow bringing her more censure, for only an idiot would fail to understand her connection to the brawling. And unluckily those who were idiots had the more perceptive to enlighten them thus she was doomed.

Now what am I to do? she wondered as she staggered wearily to her feet from the chaise lounge. The earl had turned everything on its head, not the least of which was her reasoning. Jillian had been set against a marriage that sprang primarily from practical considerations but if Adrian loved her…

And if she loved him…

Jillian dropped the wrap from her shoulders to the floor and the reticule on top of that. Her dress followed. Still wearing her petticoat, she blew out the one candle in the room then walked to her bed and climbed upon the mattress, rolling onto her back. She stared into the dark, her eyes wide with thought despite her fatigue.

One thing bothered her. With all the tense emotion in that carriage this evening, Adrian had not demanded his kiss. Seemingly, the fraught atmosphere would have provided him with the perfect excuse and yet he had not taken it. Why? Her restlessness was not eased one iota by the certain knowledge that she had expected that kiss, had wanted it. Jillian plumped her pillow and moved onto her side and, as she remembered the longing on Adrian’s face, she felt her body relax.

Eight years ago the Earl of Wickham had entered her sphere, creating havoc, changing her life forever. As she drifted off to sleep she realized she was not viewing his intrusion with antipathy or even irritation but with something akin to hope.

*****

CHAPTER 13

Despite being certain she would never sleep following her emotional exchange with Adrian, Jillian had gone unconscious soon after laying down, a dreamless slumber that had left her feeling refreshed. She had risen late and taken her breakfast in bed, both nearly unheard of circumstances. In fact, Aunt Prudence came to check on Jillian just to make certain all was well.

“Jillian, it’s I, Aunt Pru,” her aunt said from the other side of the bedchamber door. “Are you ill this morning?”

Jillian bade her aunt enter. “I’m fine, Auntie, just being lazy,” she said, still nestled in the covers, a tray on her lap.

“But, dear, you never stay in bed.”

Jillian smiled sweetly. “Perhaps it is time I did things I never do. Don’t want to be known as stubborn now, do I?”

Aunt Prudence smiled weakly in return, walking deeper into the room. “I think it’s a bit late for that, dear.”

Her niece sat straight and removed the tray from her lap. “Then I had better start working on how I appear to others, for I feel very strongly that I am in the middle of change.”

“I see…What has brought this on?”

“A good night’s rest, I think—more perspective maybe.”

Prudence eyed her critically. “What happened when you left the Assembly Rooms with Lord Wickham last night? You were alone with him longer than was proper. You reached home after I did. I know because I heard your entrance.”

“Don’t you feel it’s time we stop worrying about what people think?” Jillian asked, sighing. “After all, the ton will believe what they want to believe. I have no control over that. What I can control is what I believe, and that’s what I intend to do.”

“When I hear that tone in your voice it makes me nervous,” her aunt said, coming to stand by the bed. She laid a plump hand on Jillian’s arm. “However, what you are saying is quite positive and I begin to feel positive as well.” She paused. “Do you have an announcement for me?”

“Not yet—perhaps soon.”

“Oh, Jillian,” the old woman cried, “I’m so happy.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” Jillian, suddenly uneasy, pulled back the coverlet and climbed off the mattress. “I hope I’m given the chance to make decisions without being pressed. I must come to terms with a future I had not expected, and I want to feel comfortable with my choices.”

“Of course, dear, of course.” Auntie Pru fairly skipped her round bulk across the room. “I’ll leave you to dress.”

She watched Pru leave, half-irritated, half-amused. It probably was not a good idea to engender hope in her aunt since Jillian had many unanswered questions to address before she accepted the earl’s offer.

Not five minutes later as she tied a ribbon in her hair her aunt rushed back into the room. Jillian swung around to meet Prudence’s harried expression.

“Auntie? What’s happened? You look as though you’ve seen something frightful.”

“Almost as bad. You have a visitor.”

“Who? Adrian?” When her aunt shook her head wildly, Jillian said, “Don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me.”

“Lady Edgeworth,” Pru said in a dramatic undertone.

“Meredith?”

Her aunt nodded her head vigorously.

“Why is she here?”

“Well, I don’t know I’m sure.”

“This is awkward.” Jillian forced herself to take a deep breath. “I suppose I’ll have to see what she wants.”

Aunt Prudence nodded her agreement and the two women descended the stairs to the sitting room.

Lady Edgeworth looked terrible, red hair pulled back as fraying wisps edged her haggard face. She was gaunt, very gaunt, and deep circles underscored her eyes. She sat stiff-backed and stiff-necked on the settee, her reticule clenched like a twisted rag in her hands. Jillian might have felt sorry for her if Meredith’s expression had not been quite so mean.

“Lady Edgeworth,” Jillian began, determined to keep the interview impersonal, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She took a seat in a high-backed chair across from her guest while Aunt Prudence hovered nervously in the doorway.

Meredith’s gaze traveled to the old woman. “What I have to say I would like to keep between you and me, Lady Jillian.”

“Oh dear, yes, of course—I’m sorry,” Prudence spluttered, clearly embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to intrude.” She retreated immediately, pulling the door behind her.

“Nicely done, Meredith.”

The other woman bristled. “You needn’t sound so offended, Jillian. We both know you have no right to be.”

“Perhaps you should come to the point of your visit. We could trade insults all day but that would accomplish little.”

Meredith drew in a shaky breath. “Edgeworth didn’t come home last night.”

“This is unusual?”

“Under the circumstances it is.”

“And just what are those circumstances, pray tell?” Jillian asked coolly, conceding nothing.

“You know—you know.” Meredith perched on the edge of the seat cushion, her voice rising shrilly as she continued to mangle her reticule. “You’re trying to take my husband from me.”

“What precisely have I done to give you that impression?”

“Everyone says it is true.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes, and given your reputation what am I to think?”

Jillian came to her feet, her body shaking with the effort to control a sudden burst of outrage. “Do you know, Meredith,” she said, the words deceptively serene, “sometimes it is very inconvenient to be a woman, for if I were a man right now I would beat you senseless.”

“How dare you!”

“No! How dare you. I’ve lived with your perfidy for years, and now you have the gall to blame me for something you did? You are in misery, clearly, and I think you deserve every bit of it.”

Meredith went very still, her expression going from righteous anger to something akin to shame. “You know then.”

“I know.”

“I was afraid of that when I saw you in the lending library. Who told you?”

“Lionel.”

Meredith put her face in her hands and wept.

Nonplussed, Jillian slipped back into her chair to wait out the storm. Her impulse was to offer comfort but she found herself incapable of doing so. After several moments of listening to the heartbroken sobs she reached into her bodice, pulling out a lace hanky, and handed it to the weeping woman.

Meredith took it, sniffing into the linen square. “He must really hate me to have done such a disloyal thing.”

“Was it hate that motivated you when you were disloyal to me?” Jillian asked quietly.

“No, no, I swear. I—” Meredith stopped, her eyes widening with sudden hope.

“Exactly. I don’t think he hates you. But that was a moment of spite on his part when he told on you, motivated, I imagine by anger. No one likes to be manipulated.”

“I know,” Meredith said gulping on another sob. “But I loved him so, much more than you did I’m certain—”

“I’m certain you are right.”

Meredith continued as though she had not heard Jillian speak. “—You were always so well-liked. Everyone admired you—not just the gentlemen but the ladies as well. You had numerous offers, and…” She looked at Jillian as though she only now comprehended Jillian’s words. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m certain you loved Lionel more than I did. I was very young and, I suspect, in love with love.”

“But if you want him I haven’t a chance.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I don’t want him.”

“He says you do.”

“Then he’s delusional. I’ve asked him more than once to stay away from me. Besides…” Jillian paused, wondering how much to admit, but she was determined to put the other woman’s mind at rest—at least on this one issue. “There’s a chance I might marry someone else.”

“Whom?”

Another confession. “Adrian St. John, Earl of Wickham.”

“Lord Wicked?” Meredith breathed. “Oh my!”

“Yes, although just so you know, I have the very clear impression he does not like that name.”

“Is…is that why Lionel and Lord Wickham were involved in an ‘incident’ last night? Over you, I mean?”

Jillian winced. “I’m afraid so.”

“Then there is no hope,” Meredith said, her shoulders slumping. “Lionel has made up his mind.”

Jillian came out of her chair once more. “For heaven’s sake, your husband is so busy pining over the past he doesn’t know what he wants. I understand because I’ve been doing the same thing for years. What you have to mend with Edgeworth has little to do with me. It is his trust in you that is broken.”

Meredith nodded forlornly as she swiped at her eyes with the damp handkerchief. “There’s something else.” There was an odd inflection in her voice.

“Yes?”

“I’m increasing.”

Jillian stared at her, shocked. How could a couple with a relationship this badly torn make peace long enough to…? She could think of nothing to say. “Congratulations” seemed inappropriate knowing what she did and “I’m sorry” cruel.

Finally she asked. “Does Lionel know?”

Meredith dissolved into tears again. “I’m afraid to tell him. You have no idea how unpleasant he has been since he first came across you here in Bath. Seeing you brought back all the old memories.”

“Meredith, I don’t want to be unkind but my understanding is that Lionel has not been an exemplary husband from the beginning of your marriage.”

“I had hoped the baby would make a difference.”

How many women had hoped that very thing over the ages to little avail? Jillian wondered. She gave into her more compassionate instincts and joined Meredith on the settee.

“I wish I knew how to help you, Merry. I don’t know Edgeworth well enough to determine how he will respond. The best I can do is to tell you I’m no threat.”

“Thank you,” Meredith said. “You’ve been more generous than I deserve.”

“I would ask a favor of you.”

“I will try.”

“Please don’t mention my relationship with Adrian, ah…the Earl of Wickham to anyone. It would complicate a matter that is already delicate.”

“You would trust me?”

“If you promise then I will be reassured.”

“I promise.”

Standing, Meredith retrieved her crumpled reticule. Her face was blotchy from shedding many tears but her expression had altered greatly in the last thirty minutes. The women walked silently to the entry hall.

At the front door, Jillian said, “I have confidence all will come about for you, Merry.”

Meredith stepped onto the walk then turned back to the doorway. “I don’t suppose you and I might be friends again?” Her words were laced with regret.

“Of course, we can.”

The other woman nodded, but Jillian did not misread the realization in Meredith’s eyes. Both of them knew there would be no more friendship. Something that dead could not be revived.

*****

That afternoon a note arrived from Adrian. He wanted to take a carriage ride. He would arrive at four o’clock.

This intelligence sent Jillian into a pucker. She had no idea why an arranged meeting seemed so serious, but she suspected it highlighted the progression of her relationship with Adrian.

She dressed carefully, pulling one of her new frocks from the wardrobe. She needed help with the fasteners on the back of the costume, and her maid Hannah obliged. Carefully choosing her bonnet and gloves she then looked in the mirror, feeling the effort was worth it.

A soft, sea-mist green, the frock enhanced her dark hair and eyes, and the bonnet with one curling feather gracing the brim was the perfect accent. She wondered if Adrian would know she had gone to an especial effort to please him—and what he would think of that effort. At five minutes after four o’ clock, on a lazy August afternoon, she learned the answer to her question.

The Earl of Wickham stood in the entry and watched Jillian descend the stairs, his expression filled with admiration.

“Lady Jillian,” he murmured, placing a warm kiss on her hand when she reached the bottom step, “Is all this radiant beauty for my benefit?”

Jillian blushed, the formality of the situation causing her to feel discomfited. Not that the thrill of a flirtation wasn’t stimulating, but she liked it better when she and Adrian were comfortable with one another, when they did not have to put on a contrived face to meet a certain circumstance. Still, it had been a long time since she had been courted, and the earl’s open appreciation touched her vanity in a very gratifying way.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

“By all means.”

He took her arm and they left the townhouse, strolling down the walk to the earl’s phaeton.

“Is this carriage new, my lord?”

Adrian smiled. “Yes, indeed. Do you like it?”

“Very dashing.”

They continued their small talk as the earl helped Jillian into the phaeton. He climbed in beside her, snapping the reins.

The ride began silently, Jillian still feeling uneasy as she intercepted an occasional intimate glance from her companion.

“You look beautiful today, Jillian,” he said.

“I must look awful most of the time or you wouldn’t make such to-do on my appearance today.”

“Good Lord, woman, you do have a way of finding the worst perspective on my meaning.” He spoke sharply, not taking his gaze from the road. “Is this an effort to start a disagreement with me? If it is I warn you right now, I have no intention of going along with it.”

Jillian flicked him a peek from beneath lowered lashes. He was correct. Once again she found herself wanting to create an emotional barrier that would keep him from getting too close. It was an old defense, one she should probably put to bed. The earl was clenching his jaw as if annoyed and she reached over and touched his arm.

“I’m sorry. I’m having to learn again how to graciously accept a compliment,” she said candidly. “Believe it or not there is an art to it and I fear I have forgotten it.”

Adrian gave her a long, assessing look. “I was sincere.”

Again, honestly, “I know—I’m nervous, I suppose.”

“With me?” When she dipped her head, he said, “I’d rather you were not.”

“So would I but it’s not always that easy.” She paused. “You know, this outing is sure to be noted by someone.”

“That is what I had hoped.”

“You did?”

They had navigated Bennet Street which led to The Circus in Upper Town, and the earl slowed the horses. He drove onto the carriage lane that circled the interior of the complex before answering her.

“My argument with Edgeworth last night did not go unnoticed. I thought it necessary for me to stem the damage.”

“How will being seen with me in public help?”

“Jillian, consider,” he said. “You are the center of the gossip whether we like it or not, two gentlemen fighting over a lady. But if you are seen with me, if you have clearly made a choice, it is Edgeworth who will look unprincipled in the eyes of the ton—a married man chasing after a woman who is affianced to another makes him a dastardly fellow.”

Jillian shrugged one slim shoulder. “It probably won’t do you any good. As Meredith so aptly put it, with my reputation being what it is, what is everyone to think?”

“That’s a damnable thing to say,” the earl said, frowning. “When did she tell you that?”

“She visited me earlier today. Came with a wretched attitude, but I think I’ve eased some of her worry at least with regards to me.”

“Oh?” His voice was casual, but she knew she had caught his attention.

“I told her I’m not interested in Lionel, and I agreed with her—I don’t think I ever loved him the way she does.”

“And she believed you? How did you manage that?”

They were driving under an oak tree, and Jillian rode high enough in the phaeton to reach over her head, grabbing at and plucking a leaf from a low-hanging branch. She used the action to hide her confusion, twisting the leaf in nervous fingers.

Adrian turned to stare at her. “Jillian?”

“I told her there was someone else.”

“Did you, by God! Were you telling fairy tales or did you mean it?” He placed his hand over her gloved ones, stemming the thoughtless action of her fingers. “Jillian, look at me.”

Jillian dragged her gaze from the earl’s warm hand and forced herself to meet his scrutiny. “I believed what I told her, Adrian.”

“And do you believe it now?” His eyes darted away from her for a quick check on the progress of the carriage before he looked at her again. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

The grin he turned on her caused her heart to flip-flop in her breast. Dear lord, the man had a wonderful smile.

Jillian raised a brow at him. “I have the impression you believe the person of whom I spoke was you.”

His grin continued unabated. “It was not?”

“I didn’t say that. I merely think you should not leap to any hasty conclusions.”

Adrian leaned close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “But I want to, I really want to.” Jillian sent him a sidelong glance and, as she did, her gaze fell on a group of pedestrians who strolled the walk. She recognized two or three of the individuals but no one greeted the earl and her. One young lady began whispering behind her hand to the person closest to her. Jillian did notice that a lone gentleman, a Lord Wentworth if she remembered correctly, gave Adrian a slight nod of recognition, but for the most part they could consider themselves snubbed. For long moments after that the earl and she did not speak.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian said at last.

“Very interesting thing about anticipating a situation,” she said meditatively. “One’s imagination can conjure the worst kind of scenario and reality rarely lives up to it. Though that was not a pleasant confrontation, I’m not devastated, either.”

His relief was palpable. “You always surprise me.”

“Why? I’ve had time to become accustomed to public opinion. I’ve ventured out recently, and except for Aunt Pru’s friends, no one has tried to associate with me. Those people on the street just gave me the first real direct cut I’ve received, however, it was not unexpected. Last night at the Assembly Rooms I detected quite a bit of hostility when I danced with Phillip.”

“It will become better with time,” he said gently.

“The question is, are you certain you wish to be married to a social pariah?”

“I think you can safely assume that I am regarded much as you are, Jillian. We are a matched set.”

She plucked at her skirt impatiently. “Oh please. I saw Lord Wentworth acknowledge you though he was not overt about it. The gentlemen of your acquaintance admire you, think you are a ‘right one’ as my cousin put it. Deny that if you will.”

“I can’t, not when you put it that way.” Adrian sighed. “It’s not fair but in answer to your original question, I would be honored if you would accept my proposal.” He pulled the carriage to a stop and turned to her, his expression earnest. “I meant what I said last night—I love you, Jillian. I think we could have a fine life together.”

Jillian opened her mouth to respond, but the emotion clogging her throat stalled her effort. Instead she leaned over and lightly kissed him on the cheek, an inappropriate display but she no longer cared. In fact, if the idea was to convince people that she had made a choice then this should do the trick.

“Might I take that as a yes?” he asked in a husky voice.

She nodded.

“Soon?” he persisted.

“Why so soon?”

His eyes deepened with memory. “Because,” he whispered, “the next time there is a howling thunderstorm I want you in my bed as my wife. Can’t tell you how frustrated I feel every time it rains.”

His scrutiny was so compelling, Jillian could not drop her gaze from his as she felt the blood rush to her face with recollection. A heavy thudding in her breast corresponded with a dark, swirling excitement that began in her belly then drifted lower. The heat between them continued to quicken until she was fully aware the only thing keeping them from falling on one another was this public place.

Adrian shook his head slightly as though having to bring himself to his senses. “Would you like to take the ribbons?” he asked, although his eyes still burned with something else.

“What?”

“Would you like to drive my phaeton?”

“You would let me?” she asked eagerly.

“If you would allow me to oversee the operation. I only say that because I know how you hate for me to tell you what to do.”

She ignored that remark. “I know how to drive, you know.”

“Do you? Where did you receive your education?”

“Aunt Pru has an old gig I occasionally drive into our little village.”

The earl smiled. “That must have raised a few eyebrows.”

“But of course.” Jillian returned his smile as she reached for the reins. “Shall we?”

“By all means,” he said, chuckling.

The next thirty minutes were spent with Jillian learning the basics of handling a phaeton. Unfortunately, driving a one-horse gig in no way compared to the finesse needed to manage the earl’s sporting vehicle. At the end of Adrian’s patient lesson, Jillian was almost breathless with laughter after countless mistakes, and she gratefully returned the reins to him.

“I cannot remember when I’ve had so much fun,” she said.

“And me.” He gave her a sly look. “And just imagine we are still in one piece.”

She slapped at his wrist as she laughed again. “It only seemed as though we might hit that lamppost. Although,” she said, sobering, “I admit for a moment I came close to wondering what it would be like to be mangled in a carriage accident.”

“Indeed.”

“You needn’t sound sarcastic. I guarantee given time I would be quite proficient with the ribbons.”

Adrian leaned over, nudging her affectionately with his shoulder. “I have no doubt, love, that you could do anything you wanted and do it well.”

“Then you’ll let me try again?”

“Oh, I insist.”

Jillian felt a gratifying warmth spread through her chest, intensifying until she came near to tears. “Thank you, Adrian.”

She was glad he had the good sense not to say anything more as he brought the phaeton around and headed for the townhouse. She had almost told the earl she loved him also,and only the realization that those words once spoken would irrevocably seal her future had kept her from revealing what was in her heart.

Shyly, Jillian glanced at Adrian’s profile and her attraction to him sent a thrill of pleasure racing through her nervous system.

“Yes?” he queried, apparently aware of her scrutiny although he kept his eyes on the road.

Should she be honest?—she guessed she should. “I was thinking how handsome you are, my lord.”

The grin of out and out delight with which he favored her made the discomfort of her confession worthwhile. She grinned back at him because she could not help herself.

The streets were curiously free of traffic as they made their way home, the sun having lowered in the sky and the warmth of the day having diminished. Earlier Jillian had left the townhouse, nervous and ill at ease. But as she made the return journey she sensed a camaraderie with the man next to her, giving her reason to believe this thing could work.

Until now it had not occurred to her that she might actually be friends with Adrian. She understood the sexual part of a union, and she did not discount the importance of the marital bed. But enjoying each other’s company beyond the passion, that was an aspect of the relationship she particularly liked.

Her public appearance with the earl had been less painful than she had anticipated. Once she had endured the confrontation with the one group of individuals who had cut Adrian and her, she had simply ceased to care whether people acknowledged her or not. As she had tooled the phaeton through the streets, ignoring everyone but her companion, having quite possibly the most enjoyable time of her life, she had at last come to terms with her situation. Adrian accepted her, wanted her—in fact, loved her, he said—and suddenly that was all she needed.

He walked her to the front door, his hand cupping her elbow, and Jillian could feel his thumb gently rubbing the dimple there. “Not much privacy out here,” the earl said, the expression in his blue eyes meaningful as they paused on the step.

“Would you like to come in for a moment?” she asked softly.

“Yes, I believe I would.”

They entered the townhouse, walked past the footman, who eyed them with curiosity, and entered the parlor. Adrian closed the door and, reaching out to grab her hand, spun her around and pulled her into his arms.

“Is your aunt home?” he asked.

“She is usually at the Pump Room at this hour. Why?”

“Because when I kiss you,” he said huskily, staring down at her, “I don’t want to feel like a school lad who has committed a misdeed. Your aunt is a clever little woman who is just about as intelligent as she pretends to be obtuse.”

Jillian smiled her appreciation. “I love her, too.”

Adrian brought his right hand to the side of her face, rubbing her cheek with the length of his thumb. “Did you mean what you said in the carriage?” he asked.

“I said many things in the carriage, my lord.”

His gaze sharpened. “You will marry me?” he clarified.

“Yes, Adrian,” she said, unable to look away from him, snared by the insistence in his voice, “I will marry you.”

The edges of his eyes crinkled with elation, and he took her mouth then in a long, searing kiss Jillian felt all the way to her toes. She put her arms around his neck and held on as though for her very life. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that was exactly the truth, for it was not a kiss of reigned-in passion—although it felt very passionate—but more a coming together, an acknowledgment of the bonding of their destinies. When he finally released her lips, Jillian placed her ear next to his chest to absorb the erratic beating of his heart.

She said dreamily, “Your heart sounds like mine feels.”

“Did you think you were the only one who was nervous?” he asked, his arms still enfolding her.

“You were as well?”

“Of course.” He sounded almost exasperated with her lack of understanding. “I’m navigating unchartered waters here, Jillian. I’ve never been in love before, never felt the weight of responsibility that comes with commitment. And frankly,” he said, a trace of humor shading his words, “you’re not the easiest woman to convince.”

“No…no, I suppose not.”

Adrian sighed. “I have to leave Bath for a few days.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t been to Wickham Hall since I’ve been back in England, and there are some things I need to see to before it is habitable. It’s a perfect place for a post-nuptial respite,” he said his eyes darkening, “just you and me—unless of course you would rather take a tour of the continent?”

“And do what everyone else does? I think not. Wickham Hall sounds wonderful—just you and me.”

His arms tightened around her and he gave her a quick, fierce kiss. “You’ll like living there, I promise.”

“A-are you going to stay with me? All the time, I mean, not only in the beginning?”

The earl dropped his hold on her. “Do you still not trust me, Jillian?” he demanded. “Have I not made my intentions clear? If you think I will allow you to be anywhere I am not then you had best think again. In fact, I give you fair warning, I’m going to be unpleasantly overbearing on this issue.”

She nodded, appeased. “I will miss you, Adrian.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, “for I will certainly miss you.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Perhaps a sennight. Less, I hope, no longer for certain. I will stop by Sutherfield and inform Simon.”

Jillian saw him out and she stood on the threshold, watching him as he strode down the walk. Adrian climbed into the phaeton, his movements lithe, sinewy and sure. As he waved to her she could not imagine how she would endure the next week without seeing him, without talking to him—without kissing him.

She sighed heavily and closed the door.

*****

Shortly past dawn the next day Adrian pulled the strap on his leather satchel and glanced around his rented room, wondering if he had forgotten anything. Hopefully when he returned from his trip, his tenure in these small quarters would be nearly at an end. He had thought to terminate his lease but decided that move was precipitous. Jillian had been known to change her mind, and he did not want to be caught unaware.

Not that Adrian expected her to back out on him now. Unless he had misread the situation, the lady was ready to accept him. Certainly, she had said as much. And he believed her, for he had sensed her acquiescence, had felt her burgeoning desire. Knowing she wanted him caused a pounding in his chest and a gripping in his groin that proved equal parts ecstasy and torment.

When she had said yesterday she thought him handsome, Adrian had been surprised by how much the pretty compliment had meant to him. Frankly, though, he had been surprised she had said it at all. He suspected her attraction to him was something to which she did not want to yield for that yielding could lead to love, and with love came a certain loss of control.

And that brought Adrian to the one thing that bothered him, really bothered him. Though she’d had more than one opportunity, Jillian had not said she loved him. The most natural time for her to have said it would have been when he declared himself but she had held back. He found her reticence more than frustrating. It was a bit wounding. Bloody hell, he thought, be honest with yourself, old man—it was very wounding.

In the world of the ton, affection was hardly a prerequisite to marriage. He ought to be glad, he supposed, that he and Jillian desired one another, but he knew it was not enough. He wanted her to say she loved him. He wanted to know she meant it.

Adrian walked to the door of his room, clutching his satchel in one hand as he stepped into the corridor. He would return in a week and when he did, he would hear her declaration if he had to squeeze the words from her beautiful body. He knew she loved him, he just knew she did.

*****

CHAPTER 14

Jillian was restless. She wondered how she had tolerated her last separation from Adrian, for after five days of his absence the waiting had begun to eat at her nerves. She supposed she missed the earl more this time because she had finally acknowledged her feelings, and in doing so she could now admit her need for him.

She sat alone in the parlor—Auntie Pru was making late afternoon calls—trying to concentrate on a needlework project, but the intricate stitch had her baffled. Not a surprise, she thought in disgust, because she had never been much of a hand at stitchery anyway. Why she had picked up something that usually bored her to ease her boredom was a mystery even to herself. The door chime rang out and, though normally not a reason for excitement, the interruption offered the possibility of a rescue from her monotonous activity. Jillian tossed her needlework aside as male speech drifted from the entry.

The footman appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Biggs?”

“The Marquess of Edgeworth is here to see you, my lady.”

Jillian frowned as she came to her feet. “Lord Edgeworth? What does he want?”

“He did not say, my lady,” the servant said.

“Well…oh heavens, I’ll see him, I suppose.”

Moments later Lionel was shown into the room. “Jillian, good to see you.” He beamed at her, crossing the room to take her hand.

He looked handsome as always, but the side of his face, including his nose, sported a purple-green bruise—even after many days—a physical reminder of his confrontation with Adrian.

“Lionel, I am surprised to see you,” she said coolly, withdrawing her fingers from his. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see you, of course.”

“Of course,” she said dryly, continuing to eye him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

“I don’t think that is a good idea, my lord. You should not have come.”

“Jillian, all I ask is a few minutes of your time. Is that too much to grant an old friend?” He reached out a hand to her in supplication.

“Oh, all right,” she said, taking a seat on the settee and indicating the chair across from her, “but make your point as quickly as possible.”

Instead of appearing offended by her attitude, he plunked down on the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and smiled at her—in a rather oily way, she thought.

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” he said.

“I’ll have to be the judge of that.” Jillian looked up and saw the footman hovering in the doorway. “Biggs? What is it?”

“I’m supposed to leave now,” the servant said. “My sister’s wedding in London—remember, my lady?”

“Yes, yes, I remember. Certainly you may go.”

“You don’t need anything, my lady?” Biggs’ gaze shifted to Lord Edgeworth. “I can wait a little longer if you would like.”

“No, you don’t want to miss your coach. Please, just tell Hannah you are leaving. And Biggs…?”

The footman, in the act of turning away, looked to her again. “Yes, My lady?”

“Enjoy yourself.”

Biggs face broke into a grin. “Thank you, my lady.”

As the servant retreated, Jillian brought her attention back to her guest. “Now, my lord, what can I do for you?”

Lionel still watched the doorway where Biggs had stood but when Jillian spoke to him, he brought his gaze to her, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Yes…” he said slowly. “I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other night.”

“You mean the night when Lord Wickham pummeled your face?” She watched him cringe beneath her brutal words.

“That would be the night,” he agreed.

“I believe he hit you very hard, my lord, because I can still see the marks.”

“Wickham has a certain brutishness about him that must be admired, I suppose. And to his credit he thought he was protecting your honor.” His expression turned spiteful. “Too bad he couldn’t manage to protect you eight years ago when it would have mattered.”

Jillian came to her feet. “This is getting us nowhere, my lord. You wanted to apologize—I accept. You should leave now.”

Lionel stood as well and moved toward her. “Jillian, please, I did not mean to offend. If you knew how much I’ve suffered, you would find it in your heart to forgive me. You cannot be as indifferent as you want me to believe.”

“Lionel, it’s not indifference. We’ve changed, you and I. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“I love you, Jillian.”

That was the second man to proclaim such feelings for her in less than a sennight. Adrian had warmed her heart. Her only response to Lionel’s declaration was irritation.

“I want you to go, my lord.” She moved toward the entry to see him from the house.

“There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he said in a hurried voice, following her across the room. “It’s Meredith.”

“Meredith? What do you mean?”

“She, uh…she wants to see you.”

“She does? Then why didn’t she come herself?”

The marquess placed his finger in his neckband as though his collar had become too tight. “She thought you might not receive her. She asked me to come in her stead.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. Only last week—”

Jillian paused because his gaze had turned watchful, and she feared revealing something Meredith had attempted to conceal. “Then tell her I would be happy to receive her.”

“Now there’s the problem,” he said, looking even more uncomfortable, “she’s not feeling well and she hoped you would be kind enough to pay a call on her.”

That sounded reasonable enough. For many women the first months of pregnancy were fraught with nausea and related discomforts.

“Tomorrow. Tell her I will call tomorrow when she is feeling better. Give me your card with your direction.” Jillian moved toward the door, almost desperate now for him to leave.

“She’s expecting you today. She’s set out tea and everything. I beg you, Jillian, I promised her.”

“Lionel—”

“Please,” he said again. “You have no idea how the loss of your friendship has pained her. She’s not been herself in weeks. You say you’ve forgiven me, now please forgive her.”

The way he put it made her feel less than charitable. She opened her mouth to refuse him but found herself accepting instead, albeit reluctantly.

“All right, but I’m doing this for Meredith not you.”

“Understood,” he said, pulling her toward the entrance. “Meredith will be so pleased you’ve consented to come.”

He was talking fast as though still trying to convince her, fearing it seemed that she might change her mind at any moment. He picked up his hat and cane from the hall table and ushered Jillian onto the walk. A rented conveyance waited for them as they reached the curb.

“This is a hackney, Lionel,” she stated when he released the door handle. “Where is your carriage?” Jillian asked only out of casual curiosity, but immediately she detected an altering in her companion’s demeanor.

He turned on her a brooding look. “Sometimes I like to travel without being recognized. A crest emblazoned on the carriage hardly allows for anonymity.”

“That is true but why would you want to go unrecognized?”

“I have my reasons,” he said.

His manner had transformed so swiftly and so completely, at once she felt nervous. Jillian wished she had followed her first inclination and stayed home. Only now did she think to wonder why Lionel, who was scarcely an admirable husband, would suddenly be concerned with his wife’s emotional state.

“I’ve reconsidered, my lord. I believe it would be best if I call on Meredith tomorrow as I said originally.”

Lionel grabbed her arm. She glanced down where he held her, his hand squeezing a little tighter than was necessary, then looked him in the face. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his upper lip, however, his expression appeared harmless enough.

“You gave your word, Jillian,” he said, all but pushing her into the carriage. “Think of Meredith.” The marquess lumbered in behind her, closing the door, and the hack rolled immediately. Jillian was flabbergasted by his behavior although she suppressed her initial reaction to fight him. After all, why was she afraid? This was Lionel—weak, ineffectual Lionel. She chanced a peek at him but he did not return her look, instead staring out the window as if engrossed by the passing scenery. “In what part of Bath do you reside, my lord?” She spoke, not because she cared where he lived, but because the unrelenting quiet made her nerves vibrate.

“Across the Avon,” he said abruptly.

Nonplussed by his vague answer, Jillian gave up trying to communicate with him and looked out her own window. Gradually the streets changed from ones she knew to ones she did not know. She expected any moment the carriage would turn onto one of the many avenues where the fashionable sought housing, but the hackney continued on its journey, and sure enough they took the bridge that crossed the River Avon. When at last they entered a neighborhood that could be called modest if one were being generous, she turned to her companion.

“Lionel, where are we?” she asked, not bothering to hide the consternation in her voice.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

“You still have not said where that is.”

“See for yourself. We are pulling to the curb as we speak.”

So they were. As the hackney came to a halt, Jillian peeked out the window to see a small townhouse in the midst of more houses much the same. Although the townhouse appeared newly painted and in decent condition, it showed in obvious contrast to the dilapidated residences on either side.

Jillian gave the marquess an incredulous look. “You live here?” she asked.

Lionel had opened the door and, after leaping out, helped her to the ground. “It’s not so bad,” he said, sounding defensive as he turned to pay the driver.

Jillian glanced at his face, and once again she noticed his truculent attitude. More and more she realized she had made a mistake in coming.

They were met at the door by a burly fellow with thick features and a dull look in his eye. The man wore no livery, thus Jillian assumed he was not a butler or footman. Even if he had been appropriately costumed, she could not imagine a less likely individual as an upper servant. Strange that this seedy person was opening the door to those who called on the Marquess.

“Riley,” Lionel said to the man, “everything quiet?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Riley answered in an ignorant accent, his gaze darting to Jillian. “Ain’t nobody been to see you ‘cept that one woman what was ‘ere last week. She was real angry—”

“That’s enough,” Lionel cut him off. “Tell me about it later.” Taking Jillian’s elbow, he said, “We have a guest Lady Jillian who will be with us for a little while.”

As the hulking servant centered his full attention on her, Jillian felt the energy drain from her body. Despite her weakness she pulled her arm free of Lionel’s grasp and backed away from the men as Riley’s face lit with interest.

“She’s more beautiful than the rest, m’lord,” the servant said on a lopsided grin.

“Indeed, she is,” Lionel agreed, his eyes narrowing with a less than subtle emotion that made her skin prickle in disgust. Oddly, his bad humor had fallen away as though it had not existed only moments earlier. As she watched him Jillian wondered how she could have ever fancied herself in love with this man.

“Lionel,” she said, her voice shaking with outrage, “where? Where is your wife? You told me Meredith wanted to see me.”

The marquess pursed his lips. “Yes, I believe I did—a necessary lie. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing?”

“Come into my parlor—it’s humble but comfortable,” he said silkily, indicating the first room off the entry, “and I will explain.”

“No!” She moved toward the main entrance, but Riley stepped in her way. Now feeling truly fearful, she said, “I demand that you take me home immediately.”

Lionel sighed. “Jillian, I’ve gone to some trouble to bring you here,” he said, the words patient. “If you fight I’ll have to employ Riley’s considerable brawn to change your mind.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Jillian looked first at Lionel and then into Riley’s grinning features and knew she was wrong.

“I’d rather not but if you give me no choice…” The marquess shrugged.

How could she have been so stupid? Though given countless alternatives she would never have guessed Lionel’s desire for her had become obsession. Unfortunately, clear thinking was useless at the moment. She either cooperated or would be forced to do what he wanted anyway. With as much dignity as she could muster she marched into the parlor, walking to the far side of the room before spinning around to face her captor.

“You planned this,” she hissed.

“I did.” Lionel closed the parlor door, leaving Riley in the hall, much to her relief. “Though, it was easier than I thought it would be. That servant of yours leaving was a stroke of luck.” He moved to the sideboard and the brandy. “Drink?”

She ignored the question. “When did you decide to bring me here?”

“When I discovered Wickham had left Bath,” he said, pouring brandy in two glasses.

“Why, Lionel, why?”

“Because you are about to make a dastardly mistake, and I feel it is my duty to stop you.” He looked sincere, and she knew he believed what he said.

“It is beyond your power to alter what I will or will not do, my lord. Your influence in my life ended long ago, and it was your decision.”

“You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?” he grumbled, crossing the room and handing her one of the glasses. When she shook her head in refusal, he barked, “Take it.”

Jillian reached for the drink, ashamed that her hand shook.

“Now take a sip. It will relax you,” he said. “I don’t want you quivering like a frightened mouse.”

She downed a small swig of the brandy, but her throat refused to participate, probably due to nerves. Her windpipe closed over the burning liquid and she coughed violently, eyes watering.

As her sight cleared, she wheezed, “I am frightened. What can you expect when I have no idea whether or not you mean to harm me.”

“Harm you? Do you think I would harm you?”

She gave him a long, considering look. “I don’t know what to think right now, Lionel. What I do know is if you don’t take me home before it is too late, this little escapade could escalate into a disaster.”

“Wickham?” He said Adrian’s name as though it were a curse.

“Among others. My brother will not take kindly to your treatment of me, either.”

That seemed to give him pause. “I had forgotten about Sutherfield. Well, no matter. I have tonight to convince you, and I aim to do just that.”

“Tonight?” Jillian’s chest filled with dread. “You can’t mean to keep me here overnight. I’ll be ruined.”

“Ruined you say?” He laughed cruelly. “That’s like saying I wet down the sea. You’re already ruined, and it’s hardly my fault. That bastard Wickham is at the root of your downfall and, by the by, the root of my ruined life as well. I refuse to take responsibility for his misdeeds.”

“The problems I have encountered recently with my reputation have been directly related to you, Lionel.”

“Enough!” he bellowed, startling her. He tossed off the rest of his drink, swallowing slowly as if composing himself. He slanted an irritated look at her. “I don’t want to argue about this right now. We are going to have supper, you and I, and we’ll talk then.” He moved to the door. “Riley will see you to a room where you can freshen yourself. We eat in one half hour.”

*****

Jillian glanced at the clock on the bedside table. In less than five minutes Lionel would expect her downstairs where, it seemed, they were to share food and “congenial” conversation. However, her time in this room had not been spent readying herself for the meal ahead. She had instead spent the allotted half hour attempting to devise an escape.

Her first inclination was to dash to the window. Unluckily, the window frame was nailed to the casing, but it didn’t matter. There were two floors beneath the one she was on and no secure foot or handholds that she might use to climb down the outer wall of the house. Had she been able to get through the window, she would have had to leap to the ground, most likely breaking bones.

She knew Riley stood watch in the hall, mainly because he had told her that’s where he would be. He was a barbarous fellow, clearly unintelligent, and under the right conditions she might be able to manipulate him. She would have to keep that possibility in mind if the opportunity arose.

The clock chimed the half hour and instantly Riley, as though listening for that very sound, banged on the door once with his meaty fist. “It’s time m’lady.”

Resigned, at least to the next few hours, Jillian opened the door and followed the servant down the stairs to the dining room.

Lionel was already there and seated but rose when he saw her. From the looks of him he had spent the last thirty minutes delving deeper into the brandy bottle, for his cheeks had taken on the reddened appearance of one who had been drinking.

“Come in, come in,” he said expansively, helping Jillian to the table. He turned to Riley. “Serve the entire meal and then retire, but stay close by. If I need you I’ll call.”

They sat without speaking while the servant did as he was told. Several hot dishes were plopped in the middle of the table before Riley withdrew, lumbering from the room. Jillian did not move but waited for her “host” to take the lead.

“Hungry?” Lionel asked her.

“Not really, no.”

“Neither am I. I’m thirsty, though.” The marquess reached for the brandy decanter at his elbow. “Care for any?” She shook her head, and he shrugged before filling his glass.

“Did that man cook the dinner?” Jillian asked because she could not believe Riley was capable of such a feat.

“I have a day servant who comes in. She’s gone now,” he said meaningfully.

“What is this place, my lord? You intimated this is where you reside, but I know Meredith would never live here.”

“And so she doesn’t. But I do—most of the time at any rate. Thus I didn’t really lie to you.” He sipped his drink, making a display of rolling it on his tongue before allowing the liquid to slip down his throat.

“You are being disingenuous, Lionel. You’ve lied to me and you know it. I want to know why you brought me here. What is the mistake you are trying to prevent me from making?”

“Let’s eat first,” he said smoothly.

“We’re not hungry, remember?”

“Fill the plates, Jillian.”

He was well on his way to being drunk, and drunken people rarely made an effort to be reasonable. She filled the plates.

When she completed the task, she said, “Now, I’ve done as you have asked. Tell me why I’m here.”

The marquess leaned forward and placed his drink on the table. “I’m afraid you are becoming serious about Wickham.”

“And if I am?”

“He’s no good for you.” He snarled the words.

“I happen to think he is very good for me.”

“I’m better.”

Jillian blinked at him. “Have you lost your mind? You are a married man. How could you possibly be better for me?”

“Because I truly care about you.”

“Adrian says he loves me. He has asked me to marry him.”

“Bah!”

“Why do you hate him so?”

Lionel picked up his glass again and took another mouthful. “I knew him at university. He never hid his contempt for me, even years later and him a murderer—how dare he judge me? And lest we forget, I lost you because of him.”

“Lionel,” Jillian said in a gentle voice, “it doesn’t signify. I love Adrian. I want to marry him. Somehow, after all this time it seems as though it was meant to be, that everything has come full circle.”

“I could strangle you for saying that,” he ground out, his features now malevolent. He stood from the table, drink in hand, and walked across the room. When he turned to look at her his manner had become sly. “So you think he loves you, do you?”

Jillian swallowed over a lump of sudden apprehension. “He says he does—I trust him.”

“What if I could prove he does not, what would you say then?”

“Be careful, Lionel, for I’m not prepared to believe you,” Jillian had grabbed the edge of the table, gripping so hard the tips of her fingers turned white.

“Your fancy man has revealed your relationship with him in a rather unsavory way,” he said, spite like a noxious film coating his words. “When he was in London he placed a wager in the book at White’s for all to see.”

“What was the bet?” she whispered.

“I see perhaps you are not as indifferent as you would like me to think.”

“What was the bet?” she demanded again.

“Ten thousand pounds on the promise that before the end of the year you will be his wife.”

Jillian wanted to speak, but she could not find the strength. Instead, she stared at him mute and stricken. At last, she said, “Why—?” the word coming out in a croak. She swallowed and tried again. “What would be the point of doing such a thing?”

“Who knows, a man like that, what he is thinking?” Lionel murmured. He ran an index finger around the rim of his glass. “Pride? Perhaps a challenge was made and he felt compelled to meet it. You know how men are. They drink, they gamble.”

“I’m sure you would know about that, my lord.”

“Come on, Jillian, Wickham received his reputation because he could not refuse a dare. The thing to remember is that he has dealt you a very public humiliation. The rumor of that wager is rife, not only in London but in Bath also. Is that the deed of a man who is in love? Makes one wonder,” he continued slyly, “if his marriage proposal is about him winning a bet.”

Jillian stared at him bleakly. It was as though he had stabbed her, cleaving her breast in two, and the love in her heart, all her hopes for the future, flowed unchecked through the gaping wound. What she felt surpassed pain, surpassed her ability to cry. Nevertheless, through the grief a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Lionel did not wish her relationship with Adrian to flourish. For now she would hang on to that thought because for her sanity she must.

“Do you think by telling me this that I will fall into your arms?” she asked, determined to hide her misery from him. “Do you have the ridiculous notion that one man is as good as the next?”

“What I think is if we remove the distraction of Wickham then you will be able to rediscover your feelings for me.”

“Your conceit is truly amazing, Lionel. Let me tell you something. The day you cried off because of a scandal is the day I fell out of love with you. Were Adrian to disappear from the earth without a trace, I still would feel nothing more for you than contempt.”

He had the gall to look hurt. “I don’t believe you. I still love you—you must still love me.”

Jillian pushed back her chair and stood. “Take me home, my lord, and go back to your wife. It is Meredith who loves you.”

She opened her mouth to mention his impending fatherhood, but a sense of honor—an honor that might be misplaced—kept her from revealing Meredith’s secret.

The marquess walked across the room, thrusting her chair out of his way to reach her side. He put his glass on the table and grabbed her, pulling her into his arms. He tried to kiss her but she squirmed frantically, tossing her head from side to side, thus his lips landed on her jaw.

“Jillian,” he beseeched her, “come above stairs with me. Let me prove my feelings for you.”

Smelling the brandy on his breath and the strange odor of nervous sweat that emanated from his body, she was overcome by nausea. Jillian was very glad she had not eaten dinner, for her rolling stomach would have tossed the meal at him as an answer. “Do you intend to force me, Lionel?” she asked, struggling against him, “for that is the only way it will happen.”

“I’ve never forced a woman in my life,” he said, sounding incensed. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

“Seems to me that’s what you are suggesting.”

“Why do you object? Is it your reputation? That’s gone. What could it matter to you now? And there are things you do not understand, things a mature woman should not have to live without,” here his voice deepened, “things I could show you.”

“I understand perfectly about those things, Lionel. There is nothing you can show me.” She knew the minute the words left her mouth that she had made a mistake.

His eyes narrowed, the black of his pupils obliterating the gray. “You’ve been with Wickham, haven’t you?” He shook her. “Haven’t you?”

Jillian’s head snapped back and she looked at him, aghast.

“I can see it in your face!” he bellowed.

Lionel threw her from him and she tripped over the chair, falling to the floor. She scrambled to her feet and backed away, but he made no effort to follow. Instead, he stared at her, his gaze turning thoughtful.

“Perhaps there is no reason to use scruples when dealing with a harlot,” he said. “After all, what do you have to lose? Certainly not your virtue. And,” he continued, “I think a comparison would be in order. If you are to choose the man, might as well have all the facts.”

“I’ve made my choice. Nothing you do will change that.”

“Wickham might not feel that way.”

“So, now you wish to play the despoiler?”

He ignored her. “Riley!” he called to his man. When the servant appeared in the doorway, he said, “Take Lady Jillian to her room. Make certain she stays there.”

“What are you going to do, Lionel?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I’ve some thinking to do. But be ready for me,” she saw him share a lascivious grin with Riley, “because one way or the other I’ll be up to see you tonight.”

A reprieve and a threat all at once. She wanted to be consoled by the respite, but his promised visit made her shudder with apprehension. As Jillian preceded Riley up the stairs, one thing came clear to her—she’d rather be dead than be touched by Lionel.

She hoped it would not come to that.

*****

Three hours before dawn Adrian, wearily lugging his satchel, released the lock to his room in Bath. He stopped because a note had been posted on his door. Grabbing the piece of paper, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He had arrived one day before he had planned, determined not to be away from Jillian any longer than necessary—like a lovesick school lad, he thought wryly. He dropped his bag and opened the missive, scanning the contents.

“Bloody hell!” he roared, sudden fear seizing him.

It was a scrawled message from Phillip Angsley. Sometime on the previous afternoon—that must be nearly ten hours ago by now—Jillian had disappeared from the townhouse she shared with her aunt. As soon as Adrian returned from his trip, it would be appreciated if he would come there to help in the search.

The earl tossed the note aside and strode from the room, the exhaustion falling from him as though it had not existed only moments earlier. Outside he hailed a hack, assuming that would be quicker than bringing around his carriage. But the hour being advanced and the streets deserted, it was ten minutes before he secured a ride. By that time he frothed with impotent rage.

Adrian arrived at the townhouse at thirty minutes past three in the morning. Every light in the place was lit and he pounded on the door, the anxiety he felt flowing through his fist. His knock was answered almost immediately.

“Wickham, thank God, man,” Phillip Angsley greeted. “Can’t say how happy I am to see you.”

The earl nodded curtly, brushing past the young man and into the hall. “Any news?” he asked tightly.

Phillip shook his head. “None. I’ve been making discreet inquiries since yesterday, but I’m afraid to keep the situation quiet any longer.”

“Do you have any information about what happened?”

“Hannah knows more than anyone, and that’s not much.”

“Bring her here,” Adrian said.

Phillip dashed up the stairs, and moments later appeared on the landing with the maid. She followed Mr. Angsley down the steps, her face a mask of grief-stricken misery.

“This is Hannah, Jillian’s maid,” Phillip said. “Tell Lord Wickham what you know, please.”

The earl acknowledged her with a nod. “Hannah and I are acquainted with each other.”

“I know so little, my lord,” the maid began, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “She just vanished.”

“Hannah,” Adrian tried to keep his voice calm, “anything you can remember would be helpful. Anything.”

“It’s like I told Mr. Angsley yesterday. About five o’clock Mr. Biggs—he’s the footman—came to me and said he was leaving for his trip to London—his sister’s getting married. The mistress was entertaining in the parlor and I should check on her shortly. I said I would, and not long after that—”

“How long?” Adrian interrupted.

“Twenty minutes, maybe less, my lord. Anyway, when I went to make certain she was all right, she was gone.” The maid began to bawl then, lifting her apron to dab at her eyes.

“This Biggs didn’t tell you who was with your mistress?” the earl inquired, unable to hide his impatience.

“No, my lord,” she continued to weep, “I should have asked, I know. It’s my fault.”

“That hardly seems fair,” the earl muttered. “I suspect there are several factors involved here, most unknown to you, so we’ll not place blame yet.” He paused. “Is there any chance your lady simply went out for the evening, not realizing how upset everyone would be?”

“Overnight?” Phillip put in. “Without letting anyone know? That would be irresponsible and Jillian is not irresponsible. Besides, where would she go? Society is not a very friendly place to her right now.”

“Just so,” Adrian said. “Where is Miss Milford?”

“Staying with a friend,” Phillip answered. “She became hysterical last evening when she heard, and we thought it best if she was with someone who could keep her calm until we discover what has happened to my cousin. I-I admit I expected Jilly to surface before now,” he said, sounding emotional.

“Come on,” Adrian said, putting his arm around the young man’s slumped shoulders and leading him to the parlor. “Tell me who you have seen and what’s been said. We’re probably going to have to go to the authorities, and Jillian will simply have to understand.” The earl looked back at the maid. “You too, Hannah. We can use all the help we can get.”

*****

CHAPTER 15

“Have you sent someone after the footman?” Adrian asked as Phillip and he entered the parlor with Hannah trailing in their wake. “We know for certain he can tell us who visited Jillian before she disappeared.”

Phillip brightened. “First thing I did, my lord. But that was several hours after the fact, I’m afraid. I do not believe Biggs could have gone so far that my messenger will not have spoken to the man by now and be on his way back with the information.”

“When do you expect him?”

“Hard to say, but by late morning, I should think.”

The earl looked to Hannah. “None of your mistress’ clothing is missing? You detected no preparation on her part for an overnight outing?”

“No, my lord. And as Mr. Angsley has said, my lady would not have done so without telling someone.”

Adrian ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “What I can’t understand is why she didn’t scream. If she went against her will, surely she would have made some noise.” Again to the maid, “Would you have heard her?”

“I’m certain of it, my lord. This is a small house. I was merely upstairs and down the hall.”

“All right, Hannah, you may go but stay near. I may need you later.”

Hannah said, “Yes, my lord,” and withdrew, dabbing at her watery eyes.

The earl turned to Phillip. “Damnation!” he said through gritted teeth, “there is nothing I hate more than having to wait, especially when I don’t know if Jillian is in danger. If this lead produces nothing then we have to go to the authorities and begin an all out search.”

Phillip nodded. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, moving to the table where the brandy resided.

Adrian shook his head irritably. “Spirits will dull my senses right now.”

“You’re correct,” Phillip said, sounding disappointed. “It’s just that my hands are shaking so badly, I thought a drink might steady them.”

Preoccupied with his own troubled thoughts, the earl stared at the young man without seeing him. He began pacing the room like a caged animal, back and forth, forth and back, the anxiety he felt threatening to rise and overwhelm him. He had completed about one half dozen rounds when the door chime rang out, causing him to pause in his tracks. It was the middle of the night—very late for the average caller. He glanced at Phillip with raised brows and, not waiting for a servant to answer the ring, strode to the entry. Jillian’s cousin came fast on his heels.

Adrian yanked open the door, hope reviving in his breast, but the person who stood on the step was no one he recognized, and he was seized by a sense of frustrated desperation. He turned without speaking, aware that he was rude and not caring, and allowed Phillip to address the caller.

“Lady Edgeworth,” Phillip said, “come in.”

The earl, in the act of moving away, spun around to look at the woman more closely. Yes, he believed he had seen her before—Jillian’s old nemesis who had hidden in the guise of a friend. Immediately he felt his antagonism rush to the fore.

As he watched Phillip usher the red-haired young woman into the parlor, seating her on the settee, Adrian thought he had never seen a more haggard individual. Meredith looked as though she had not slept in days, her complexion so bleached, he wondered if she had been ill. She held a handkerchief to her mouth which made him assume she was on the brink of losing the contents of her stomach. She glanced at the earl, and if he were not mistaken, that was trepidation he saw in her eyes. He let Phillip open the conversation, choosing to stand to one side while he took the lady’s measure.

“Lady Edgeworth,” Phillip began, sitting in a chair across from her, “have you thought of something since I talked to you a few hours ago?”

Again her gaze slid in Adrian’s direction, and she dabbed at her pale lips with the square of linen she held, swallowing audibly. “Yes—yes, I have. I…I didn’t want to believe it could be Lionel…” Her voice broke

“Edgeworth?” Adrian jumped into the dialogue, moving across the room toward Meredith to stand over her. His eyes narrowed and she flinched away from him. “That bastard, I should have realized. Is it he for certain or is this conjecture?”

Her face grew more pallid, a seeming impossibility as she looked near death. “When Mr. Angsley approached me last evening I did not think it was feasible, but after he left I began to wonder. You see, yesterday Lionel and I had a disagreement. He said he wanted to leave me, that he still loved Jillian” she gulped on a sob, “a-and he intended to try and convince her to go away with him.”

“Seems to me,” Adrian said, unable to hide the derision in his words, “you could have figured this out almost at once instead of allowing most of the night to pass before you decided to be honest. After all these hours, who knows in what way your husband has tried to ‘convince’ her?”

“He’s not that sort of man,” Meredith said hotly, evidently finding some of her spirit.

The earl snorted. “Even now you protect him? Do you think Jillian would go with him willingly for any other than a legitimate purpose? I can tell you I do not.”

As quickly as her anger came it fled. “No,” she said quietly, studying the handkerchief in her hands. “Jillian and I spoke last week. She told me she cared for another,” her gaze flicked in Adrian’s direction, “and that Lionel was wasting his time. I believed her then and I still do.”

“Where would he take her, do you know?” the earl asked. “I understand he keeps another residence in town for…” He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “At any rate, would he take her there?”

“In all likelihood,” she said. “At least, I can think of no other. Lionel lives there now for the most part.”

“Do you know the direction of this residence?”

“I discovered it, yes.”

The earl nodded curtly, asking for the address. When she gave it to him, he turned his attention to Phillip. “Stay here just in case we’re on the wrong track. I want you to talk to that messenger. If his report confirms our suspicion, you may join me if there is time. Hopefully, Edgeworth won’t be violent.”

Meredith gasped. “Please don’t hurt Lionel.”

For the first time Adrian was moved to pity. He eyed the young woman, a victim of her own conniving, and he finally understood how Jillian might forgive her old friend. However, his compassion did not include her reprehensible spouse.

“I can’t make you any promises, Lady Edgeworth. Your husband has set this scheme in motion, and I’m obliged to see it through to the end, whatever that end may be.”

“I can see that,” she said softly, the expression on her ravaged face one of resignation.

Adrian brought his regard back to Phillip. “Is your carriage here?” When the young man nodded, he continued. “I’ll need to borrow it. I came in a hack.”

Five minutes found the earl driving Mr. Angsley’s phaeton through the nearly deserted streets of Bath in the hour before sunrise. Jillian had better be all right, he thought as he smacked the reins over the backs of the matched bays with an aggression born of fear, or he might once again be forced to commit murder. In fact, contrary to his previous beliefs on the matter, the idea, rather than repelling him, had taken on a certain appeal. He whipped the reins again, this time harder.

*****

Jillian lay on the lumpy mattress, tired but watchful. It would be morning soon, and Lionel had not kept his promise to come to her. She supposed she should be grateful for his neglect, but waiting provided a different kind of torture.

Hours earlier she had tried the door, but an amused voice on the other side had informed her that the room was guarded.

“Riley,” she had said, making the words silky, “don’t you want to come in and keep me company?”

A long pause had ensued while she held her breath.

“You’re a tricky one, that you are, m’lady—a beautiful woman temptin’ an old wart the likes o’ me,” Riley replied, although he sounded less sure of himself. “Lord Edgeworth would have me hide for certain.”

Jillian released the air in her lungs, secretly relieved. After all, what would she have done if that behemoth of a man had decided to accept her invitation?—overpower him, making her escape?

Hardly.

Now much later, she felt the same relief over Riley’s refusal. And anyway, it was nearly five o’clock in the morning. Jillian felt confident that a search for her was in progress, thus she would be better served to bide her time.

She did have her doubts because she could not be certain anyone had figured out who had taken her. The only person who had seen Edgeworth had been Biggs, the footman—although she hoped he had shared that information with Hannah—and he was on his way to London. If Adrian were back in Bath she would feel assured that he would discover her whereabouts, but as it was she wondered if she should be making a more determined effort to deliver herself from her prison.

Remembering the earl made her ache with uncertainty. Between bouts of worry over her imprisonment, she found herself consumed by misgivings over Adrian’s supposed betrayal. Why would he publicly declare his relationship with her when he had stated over and over that he wanted to protect her from further gossip? White’s notorious betting book?—surely Lionel had lied. She felt exhausted, her thoughts spinning around and solving nothing, making her head throb in her confusion. Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes and, relaxing as best she could, allowed herself to drift.

The sound of a key releasing the lock on the door brought Jillian into a sitting position. She sent her bleary gaze across the chamber as the door eased open. Lionel had decided to make an appearance after all.

The marquess stood on the threshold, wearing a dressing gown, his hair mussed as though he had been asleep. “Been waiting for me, my dear?” he asked, pulling the door, but not quite closing it. “I thought I would be better able to serve you if I had a little rest. I hope you are well rested also.”

“Serve me?” she asked groggily.

“Come now, Jillian, you know what I mean,” he said, moving into the room.

All at once she came wide awake. “Lionel, I would like you to stop and consider. You could be making a mistake that will ruin not only my life but yours as well.” She watched him warily as he walked to the end of the bed.

“Do you think so?” he asked quietly, “and do you think it matters?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

She sidled to the edge of the mattress and threw her feet over the side because it made her feel less vulnerable. Lionel moved slowly in her direction, coming to stand over her, but she tried not to let her unease show, sensing that would incite him.

“I don’t want the life I have,” he said, taking hold of a lock of her hair that had come loose from the ribbon at her neck. He looked at the dark strands for several moments before his gaze returned to hers. “You intend to fight me, don’t you?”

Her stomach dropped anxiously. “If you give me no choice.”

“Why? What could it hurt you now to give me a few moments of your time, a few moments to make up for all the years we won’t have together? I loved you, Jillian—I love you still.”

“Because,” she spat, exasperation overcoming her fear, “I don’t use my body as an appeasement. And you never loved me,” she persisted, tired of him making light of that precious declaration, tossing the words at her as if they had meaning when they both knew it wasn’t true. “If you had you would have married me regardless of the scandal. But now that I’ve come to understand you better, I would like to thank you for throwing me over. You did me a great favor.”

Well, she had been known to allow her temper to cause her trouble, and the hostility that twisted his features made clear her mistake. He pulled on the hair he still held, coiling it tightly around his fingers until the heel of his hand rested uncomfortably against her scalp. Jillian bit the inside of her mouth to stem the cry of pain that sprang to her lips.

“It would seem reasoning with you will not benefit me,” he snarled. “So be it.”

He leaned down to take her mouth and, because of his hold on her hair, this time she could not evade him as she had earlier in the evening. He tasted of rancid alcohol consumed many hours earlier, and she felt bile rise in her throat. He leaned over her, forcing her shoulders onto the mattress as he covered her with his body.

At that point Jillian knew she should feel terrorized, almost frozen with fright. Oddly, she grew angrier instead, and fortunately with that anger came action. Lionel had not yet found it necessary to pin her arms, so she balled her hands and did the first thing that came to mind. With all her might she brought her fists down, one on each ear.

The marquess bellowed in pain, and he let fly an obscenity as he rolled away from her, clutching his head.

Jillian used the reprieve to leap from the bed and dash across the room. Frantically she searched for a weapon, and her hand lit on a heavy brass candlestick at least eighteen inches tall which rested on a small table. Grabbing it, she raised the holder rather forcefully over her head, and the unlit candle impaled on its spindle sailed behind her, striking the mantel of the fireplace with a soft, waxy thud.

Outside the bedchamber a disturbance in the hall arrested Jillian in motion. She heard what sounded like a large body hitting the wall, and suddenly she remembered Riley. Dear Lord, if that brute joined the fray, she didn’t have a chance.

Her glance flew to Lionel, who had slipped from the mattress to the floor still holding his head, but he appeared to be recovering. He looked up, his gaze filled with venom.

“I’ll make you pay for that,” he said, coming to his feet on legs that appeared to wobble. “You could have enjoyed yourself, you know. But now we’ll play it your way.”

It had grown quiet in the hall, and she wanted desperately to look over her shoulder at the door which hung slightly ajar, but she was afraid to take her eyes from the marquess. Jillian gripped the candlestick more firmly in hands now slick with nervous perspiration, holding it like a club.

“Perhaps you will win in the end, Lionel, but I swear you will suffer before you celebrate.”

He opened his mouth to respond but his gaze was drawn to something or—more horrific—someone at her back. Jillian’s heart lurched with dread. It must be Riley.

“I raced here like the perennial white knight to save the damsel in distress, but it would appear that damsel is quite capable of taking care of herself.”

Adrian!

Jillian whirled around, overcome with relief. When she did, she allowed her hands still grasping her improvised weapon to fall, and the weight of the heavy candlestick brought her arms down so quickly she staggered.

The earl was leaning casually in the doorway, radiating an air of quiet menace. Jillian moved toward him but Adrian’s gaze was riveted on Lionel.

“How did you get in here?” Lionel spluttered, clearly upset by the sudden change in events. “What did you do to my man?”

“One question at a time, Edgeworth,” Adrian said, the words deceptively cool. “I came in the front door because, believe it or not, it was unlocked. I would have rung, but under the circumstances that seemed inadvisable. As to your man, I admit he is large with the strength of a bull, but some fights are better won with finesse. That is where ‘your man’ fails.”

Lionel’s gaze skittered about the room, looking for escape. He had begun to sweat, and his hand shook when he ran his fingers through his hair.

“All right, Wickham, you are the victor. I admit defeat.” His regard glanced off Jillian. “These last hours have convinced me that the lady and I do not, as she has insisted, have anything in common. Please take her off and we’ll let the matter drop.”

Such patent cowardice caused Jillian to stare at the marquess with distaste. She took a quick check of Adrian’s features and found her reaction reflected on his face. His lips curled contemptuously.

“Let me see if I understand you,” the earl said, standing away from the door. In that instant Jillian realized he was in a deep rage although his features remained bland. “You’ll allow me to take Jillian away and all will be forgiven and forgotten. Is that correct?”

“It is the easiest way, isn’t it? We don’t wish to start tongues wagging,” the marquess said. “Jillian is the one who will suffer most.”

“You bring my future wife to this house where you entertain your paramours,” Adrian’s voice cracked across the predawn gloom like a whip, “and you expect me to believe you care about gossip, especially gossip that will hurt Jillian? Are you implying, because of the chance of talk, I’m to pretend all is well? I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

Lionel sagged against the bedpost. “What do you suggest?”

“Name your seconds, Edgeworth.”

Jillian gasped. “Adrian, no!”

Both men looked in her direction, Lionel’s expression one of outright terror and the earl’s coldly implacable. Adrian returned his attention to his opponent apparently unmoved by her outburst.

“Well?” he said.

The marquess, white around the mouth, squared his shoulders, appearing resigned to his fate. He could not refuse the challenge, Jillian knew, and still call himself honorable. Strange how a man could act with such vile deceit as he had when he kidnapped her, yet feel bound by the rules of conduct assigned to a gentleman.

“I must make preparations,” the marquess said.

“How long?”

“This afternoon?”

Adrian nodded curtly. “I will send Phillip Angsley here before the supper hour to meet with your people.” He turned to Jillian, taking her hand. At the door, he said, “Tomorrow morning, Edgeworth. Fail to show and I’ll find you. This will be settled between us one way or the other.”

Jillian’s last glimpse of the marquess as she left the room revealed a man on the verge of collapse. Evidently, Lionel was only stouthearted when he did not fear for his own skin.

They entered the hall, stepping around Riley’s large body where he had fallen after tangling with the earl. She wanted to ask what had happened but Adrian’s grim expression did not encourage discourse. They descended the stairs to the entry and walked out the front entrance of Lionel’s illicit hideaway.

As they reached the curb she recognized Phillip’s phaeton. The earl helped her into the vehicle then climbed in himself, but his stony attitude did not ease. With a fierce snap of the reins he sent the carriage into the lane.

Though the last remains of the night still lingered, dawn was fast approaching, the sun pinking the horizon to announce its arrival. The morning felt cool and damp, and Jillian wrapped her arms around herself, as much to ward off the chill of the man next to her as the chill in the air. Abruptly, she realized they were not headed back into town.

“Where are we going, my lord?”

“Adrian.”

“What?”

“Call me Adrian. I’ve had enough of your efforts to keep me at bay. ‘My lord’ is impersonal and I don’t like it.”

Jillian slid a glance at him. Oh, he was furious, so furious the heat of his displeasure singed her where she sat.

“Where are we going, Adrian?” she asked in a small voice.

He snapped the reins again, not sparing her a look. “It will be light soon. Can you imagine the uproar that will ensue should I be seen bringing you home at this hour of the day? I don’t want to take the risk of exposing you to more talk.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that.

“There is a small inn down this road. Hopefully, the dark will continue until I can get you ensconced in one of the rooms. You’ll be safe there until Phillip comes back for you later this evening.”

“This isn’t my fault, Adrian.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Then why are you mad at me?”

He did look at her then. “How could you let that fool bastard talk you into leaving the townhouse? Surely you went with him of your own will, or your maid would have heard the commotion. To make matters worse, no one was available to tell us who your visitor was.”

“Hannah?”

“Had been told you were entertaining someone. Your footman failed to mention who that someone was before he left. But that’s neither here nor there—why did you go with Edgeworth?”

“He said Meredith wanted to see me. I-I thought him sincere. I mean, why should I not?”

“Bah!” He shook his head, not hiding his contempt for her reasoning. “I’ve known Edgeworth since university, and in all that time he has never given me reason to believe he can be trusted. His actions lately should have warned you.”

He had a point.

“Tell me,” Adrian continued, “what did I interrupt back there? It appeared that you were the one with the upper hand.”

“I boxed his ears.”

“What?” He barked a laugh. “How did you manage that?”

“I’m not certain if you must know. He made me mad and I retaliated.”

“What did he do?”

“He kissed me.”

The earl’s expression sobered. “Did he…? Was that the extent of it?”

She knew what he asked. “Yes,” she said curtly, refusing to elaborate.

They rode in silence after that, shortly pulling into the deserted yard of a small inn. The earl yanked on the ribbons to halt the horses then handed the leather straps to Jillian as he climbed from his seat.

“I’ll be back shortly. Stay where you are,” he said and jogged across the yard and into the building.

Even though the only activity Jillian could see came from the stable some fifty yards away, she still felt conspicuous sitting in the phaeton all alone. She kept her head down, not looking up when another vehicle pulled onto the pebbled drive.

As he had promised Adrian was gone only briefly. He reappeared at the side of the carriage, his voice low. “Here, put this on your head.” He handed her a knitted wool shawl.

“How did you obtain that?”

“Money, dear heart—how do you think?”

“That doesn’t say from whom you bought it,” she muttered, not pleased at having to don the grubby-looking shawl.

“Come on, come on,” he said, “it is almost light.”

Jillian did as he asked, and the earl helped her from the carriage. He put his arm around her, spiriting her through the yard and into the inn, then took her directly up the stairs without speaking to anyone.

The earl led her to the chamber at the end of the narrow corridor and, slipping the lock with a key he produced from his pocket, pushed her into the tiny space. He came behind her and closed the door.

A lumpy bed, a night stand and one dilapidated chest of drawers made up the furnishings. Jillian walked to the window before turning around to face her companion. Adrian gazed back at her from where he leaned against the door, although he did not appear as peeved as he had earlier.

Since leaving Lionel’s home Jillian had been struggling with one worry, and it wasn’t her fear of being caught in another disgrace. The earl had challenged Lord Edgeworth to a duel. Somehow she must dissuade him from such a disastrous course.

“Adrian, I would ask a favor of you.”

His brows lowered ominously. “The last time you said that to me, I’d have sworn you wielded a dagger rather than your tongue. Your favors tend to leave scars.”

Jillian felt her cheeks warm with regret. If an admission now would aid her cause then the sacrifice of her pride was worth it. In fact, she began to wonder why that sacrifice—in the face of what she had to gain—had ever mattered.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was an out and out lie. Even though it is an insane thing for an unmarried lady to wish, I hoped for a child—your child.”

His features softened instantly. “What is it, love?” he asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Cancel your duel with Lionel.”

Adrian shook his head. “I can’t do that, Jillian.”

“Why?”

“It is not negotiable,” he said, his voice becoming hard.

“But if I can allow the matter to drop, why can’t you? I am after all the one who was insulted.”

“It doesn’t happen that way.”

“But you haven’t said why.”

The earl reached for the doorknob, clearly unwilling to continue the discussion. “Phillip will return after dark. I’m sorry you must stay here alone all day but we have no choice.”

All at once Jillian was seized by panic. If he left now there was no hope. “Adrian,” she said, moving toward him.

“Yes?” He turned to look at her, but she could not tell what he was thinking as he watched her through light blue eyes.

“Please…please, don’t leave just yet.”

He went immobile, staring at her for so long her heart began to rattle oddly.

“Now I must ask you why,” he murmured.

Though she feared her courage might fail her, she forced herself to walk across the room, holding the earl’s mesmerizing gaze as she came toward him. When she was but a few inches away, she raised cool fingers to brush his jaw. His skin felt hot, the stubble of his course black beard rough beneath her touch, proof positive he had not bothered with mundane matters like shaving when he believed her in danger.

Still his gaze did not shift from hers, and her nervous heart surged with something new, something only now she could freely admit.

“Kiss me, Adrian,” she whispered.

His sensuous mouth curved into a smile of delight. “If I do,” the words deepened to a husky rumble, “I can’t be held responsible for the consequences.”

“And if you don’t I shall be disappointed, for it is the consequences that tempt me.” She grabbed hold of the lapels of his coat, and pulled him down to her.

She could see the minute he understood, for his eyes ignited with anticipation. “Ah, Jillian…” he ground out and, gathering her into his embrace, he took her lips.

His beard burned her chin, her cheeks as he kissed her, but Jillian relished the feeling. She kept her grip on his coat, afraid to let go for fear he might withdraw, meeting his onslaught with an aggression of her own.

She felt his fingers at her back, unfastening her hooks. He slid his hands inside the opening he created, and she aided his impatient efforts, shrugging out of the frock. They undressed in a frenzy, flinging their garments this way and that until the floor was littered with clothing.

Now both naked, he enveloped her in his arms as he found her mouth again. Edging toward the bed, he dragged her with him then fell backwards onto the mattress, pulling her on top of him lengthwise. Jillian came up on her elbows to look down at him, causing her breasts to float just above his face. The temptation must have been too much, for Adrian lifted his head, taking one of the pink tips in his mouth. He sucked hungrily. Exquisite sensation burst in her belly, and she moaned deep in her throat.

She leaned against him and she could feel the agitated knocking of his chest muscle, keeping time with the beating of her own. Adrian ran his open hands down her back, stopping at the curve of her waist then slowly, enticingly he moved lower. Cupping her bottom, he crushed her tightly to his aching groin. Abruptly he grew still.

Jillian sensed that he wanted something from her, and again she rose up to look at him. Blue eyes glittered back at her, filled with lust.

“Take me,” he grated.

She stared into his handsome face, for a moment confused before his meaning finally came clear to her. He had handed her the initiative—what a heady thought! Should she? she wondered as a thrill of excitement quickened her blood. Before she had time to more than consider, she positioned herself above him, and with one swift thrust, sheathed her body on his engorged member. She shivered in ecstasy as she engulfed him, that part of him feeling like warmed marble layered in silk.

At that same moment she heard him gasp aloud. “Jillian…my God!”

Adrian, his breathing coming harshly, grabbed hold of her, halting her movements.

“Be still, love, or you lose me now,” he said in a voice raw with hunger.

She could feel him calming himself, his chest expanding and contracting as he took deep, shaky breaths. Only after he had gained control did he grip her hips and begin slowly pulling her back and forth along his tempered length, setting up an irresistible rhythm.

Sweet, sweet pleasure—over and over the motion continued. Now Jillian knew where he was going—down an erotic path with a fiery conclusion—and she wanted to go with him. She pulled back then pressed against him, meeting his strokes as her excitement swelled.

“Kiss me, Jillian,” Adrian implored, the words seeming to come straight from his heart.

Jillian peered down at him, his dark features unmasked by a fierce craving, not just for the moment but for something more, and instantly all her doubts were banished.

“I love you, Adrian,” she said, the words feather-light, pristine, in the earthy heat that surrounded their lovemaking.

She saw his eyes widen in sudden comprehension, and she saw elation flare in his gaze. He clasped the back of her head, pulling her toward him, and as their lips met he bucked beneath her, releasing himself. He groaned savagely into her mouth, and when he did he drew her into the rapture.

For long moments neither moved as they strained against each other, and then Jillian went limp. Adrian also slackened his grip, gently rolling her onto her back and moving on top of her. With shaky fingers he brushed back a few damp curls that dusted her forehead.

“Do you know how long I have waited to hear those words?” he asked, cradling her in his arms. He dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth.

She smiled dreamily when he came up again. “Nearly as long as I’ve wanted to say them.”

Adrian eased off Jillian, laying next to her atop the muslin sheet, side by side. The morning sun flooded into the room from the small window, gilding their naked bodies with its healing warmth. He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, his hold tender and reassuring.

After such draining lovemaking—not to mention a night’s loss of sleep—Jillian could not remember ever having been more exhausted. She felt warm, sated and utterly paralyzed. And loved, she felt loved. She squeezed Adrian’s hand, returning his affection, and closed her eyes.

*****

CHAPTER 16

Jillian came awake with a start. She lay on the bed, covered in a sheet, instantly aware she was alone. However, she could hear someone stirring in the room. She opened her eyes, sitting up as she did. Adrian was donning his coat.

“Where are you going?” she asked, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s after eight, love. I have to leave. You have some anxious relatives waiting to hear that you are all right.”

She came up on her knees on the bed, bringing the sheet with her to shield her nakedness. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing’s changed, Jillian.”

“How can you say that? Everything has changed.”

“Phillip will be here in a few hours,” he said, not looking at her. He walked to the door and placed his hand on the knob.

“Adrian, please, listen to me.”

He glanced at her then, and when he did she let the sheet slip. His gaze, as she intended, wandered down her body, lingering. It was an obvious ploy and Jillian cringed inwardly, certain she would see derision in his eyes at her blatant attempt to distract him. Instead she saw compassion there, a gentle understanding.

“If anyone could deter me it would be you, Jillian.”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t. I let you stop me earlier, my love, because the truth is I wanted you—no, more than that—needed you. But what kind of a man would I be if in the end I let my baser needs prevent me from doing what is honorable?”

“Is not the desire for revenge a base need, Adrian? I see no honor in an unnecessary death.”

“Are you afraid for my life, Jillian?” he asked quietly.

“No. I’m afraid you will take a life. I do not remember Lionel being skilled with a pistol.”

“He should have thought of that before he undertook to be a scoundrel.

“You’ve humiliated him enough, Adrian. Why push for more?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You are right about that.” Jillian twitched the sheet impatiently, twisting it around herself as she scooted off the bed. “I do understand this, though—you made a promise to yourself, and that is the most damaging promise of all to break. In the end you will seek forgiveness, and if you are fortunate it will be forthcoming from everyone—everyone but you.”

His expression turned hard. “That is something with which I’ll have to learn to live.”

“But I won’t,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

His brows snapped together in a scowl. “What do you mean?”

“You are in the unique position of ending a disaster before it begins, Adrian. A legacy of pain has taught you what to expect. If you kill Lionel you will have to leave the country again, perhaps forever. I can’t go with you.”

At least she had his attention. “I don’t think it will come to that,” he said. “And if it will make you feel any better, I have no intention of killing Edgeworth.”

“But things happen unexpectedly. No one should know that better than you. Surely you did not intend to kill Viscount Lindley either.”

“He was to blame for his own demise.”

“Of course he was, Adrian, but in the end does it matter who is to blame?”

He shook his head, but it appeared to be a gesture aimed more at underscoring his determination than in finding agreement with her. She felt her spirits sink.

“You are going, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Jillian.” He paused as he opened the door, his gaze now filled with sadness. “I do love you.”

As he shut her into the room, Jillian felt her temper flare. Damn! she thought, surely she could have said something, done something that would have stopped him. Quite brazen of her to believe that all she had to do was tantalize him and he would retreat from his goal. Oh no, not Adrian St. John, the stubborn Earl of Wickham, a man who would rather sacrifice everything he had than concede his honor.

So be it. But the day wasn’t over yet and Phillip would be much easier to manage. She stalked across the room and yanked the bell pull to order water for the tub. She would bathe, she would dress and she would wait.

*****

“Jilly, please don’t ask this of me.”

“All right, Phillip, I shall refrain from making you uncomfortable, and you can watch the life I have planned with Adrian evaporate with your courage.

“Not fair,” her cousin said, his face flaring with indignation.

The night had arrived, clear with just a hint of cool. Minutes earlier Phillip had paid the remainder of her tab and was now helping Jillian into his phaeton.

“I’m not worried about fair,” she said. “We must stop that duel somehow.”

“It is not my place to stop it, Jilly,” he said, climbing in beside her and snapping the reins. “I’m Lord Wickham’s second, remember? You are putting me in an awkward position.”

“I’m giving you the opportunity to prevent a tragedy. Looking at it from that angle you should feel gratified—no, more than that—you should want to help.”

He snorted. “Of course, I should.”

Jillian smiled in the darkness, aware he was starting to relent. For several moments she remained silent, wanting to broach another subject that disturbed her, but not knowing how to begin.

“Phillip?” she said at last.

“Yes?” She heard the wary note in his voice.

“I…that is to say…” She swallowed. “I heard something that has me concerned, and I was hoping you might be able to put some light on the matter.”

“If I can.”

“Do you remember telling me about the gossip in London regarding Lord Edgeworth and me?”

“Hard to forget,” he said.

“Lionel told me that the talk reached the betting book at White’s. Is that true?”

Phillip glanced at her and she caught the consternation on his face. “You shouldn’t know about such things, Jilly. Are you positive you want to talk about this?”

“I see. It’s all right for my name to appear on the pages in a derogatory manner. I’m just not supposed to know about it, is that it?”

“You misunderstand what I’m trying to say.”

“Let’s not argue about this, Phillip, please. Just tell me, do you know if Adrian placed a bet in the book regarding me?”

“He declared his intention to marry you, yes.”

Jillian was crushed. “Oh. I-I had hoped Lionel had lied.”

“Why? What did Edgeworth say?”

“Mostly that Adrian had dealt me a public humiliation by exposing my relationship with him.”

“Ha! That’s an interesting way to look at it.”

The derision in her cousin’s voice caused her to look at him with a trace of optimism.

Phillip continued. “What Wickham did went as far as possible toward rescuing your reputation which, I might add, others seemed determined to destroy.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re certain you want to hear this?” He looked at her again clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

She nodded, not certain at all.

“There was boasting going on in White’s that night—I was there so I can verify. One man in particular proclaimed to know you and the variety of woman you are. Said you and Edgeworth were already lovers if one were to ask him. Wickham was infuriated and I feared he meant to challenge the man to a duel. I think everyone did. Instead, he made the fellow admit to lying, and then he placed a bet in the book.”

“I see.”

“Yes, indeed. With that wager he told the world he found you worthy to be his countess. Somehow I find it difficult to believe he meant to insult you.”

Jillian was too overcome with relief and thankfulness to do more than murmur, “I suppose you are right.”

“Feel better now?”

“Much.” And then, “The wager says we will marry before the end of the year?”

“Yes. And if it doesn’t happen Wickham stands to lose ten thousand pounds.”

“Oh, he’ll win,” Jillian said, “he’ll win.”

Phillip turned on her a look of outright pleasure. “I’m glad to hear it, Jilly, I really am.” He smacked the reins with renewed vigor. “Now, let’s return to our earlier discussion—I assume, given that Wickham did the unthinkable and left you alone for hours to scheme, you’ve been doing that very thing.”

“Actually, I have,” Jillian said, folding her hands primly in her lap. “And with what you’ve just told me, now more than ever I know stopping that duel is the right thing to do. If you’ll listen I think you’ll agree that my idea has merit.”

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugged.

“I see. You intend to force my hand regardless.” Phillip sighed. “Right then, tell me what you have.”

Jillian gave him a smile she hoped reflected her gratitude. “First we need to stop by the home of Lady Edgeworth. I believe Meredith’s cooperation will prove invaluable.”

*****

Later that evening in the hour past midnight, Jillian stood in the middle of her parlor. Her arms outstretched, she twirled for her two companions, displaying the male clothing she wore.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“You do not look masculine enough,” Meredith said as she eyed the costume. “Impossible that anyone will mistake you for a man, Jillian.”

“No man I’d want to be,” Phillip muttered. “Too many curves. And if you think you’ve been talked about before, Jilly, wait until the wrong person sees you in that attire.”

“Do you think so?” Jillian asked. “I wonder. Course I’d probably be recognized, hence the domino.” She pointed to the black cape and mask that lay on the settee. “I’m not as tall or broad as a man, I admit, but wearing that will hide much.”

Meredith wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how you can tolerate wearing those trousers.”

“Really? Curious, but I believe I like wearing them. Gives me a sense of freedom. Why, I can plop onto a chair and never worry about whom I might offend with my rising skirts. Do you think Adrian will mind if I wear trousers once in a while?—only in the country, you understand.”

Just as she had intended both Meredith and Phillip stared at her in stupefaction.

“Tell you what, Jilly,” Phillip said, shaking his head, “I think I should feel sorry for your intended.”

Jillian smiled. “It is a good thing Aunt Pru has already gone to bed or I would never hear the end of it. You must promise not to tell her about the trousers, Phillip. She will be upset enough when she finds out how we spent this evening.” When he gave her a reluctant nod, she asked, “What time is it?”

Her cousin checked his timepiece. “Just after one o’clock. I promised Wickham I would meet him at the site at fifteen minutes before five. We should leave about four.”

“We have a few hours to waste then. What does everyone suggest?”

The consensus was food since, with all the excitement, no one seemed to have eaten. They piled into the kitchen, raiding the larder, and for a brief while Jillian was transported to another time eight years before when she had felt the same camaraderie with these two individuals she felt tonight. Not that things could ever be like they were, but at least for a little while it was nice to pretend.

Plates laden, they wandered into the small dining room and sat at the table.

“I’ve not had this much fun in ages,” Meredith said. And that did appear to be the truth, for she looked more composed and less ragged than she had in recent days. “If I weren’t so worried about Lionel everything would be perfect.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Merry,” Phillip put in, “but I don’t see how you could still care for your husband. I think something is fundamentally wrong there.”

“One can’t always choose where to love,” Meredith said, evidently unoffended. “I’ve done things, things of which I’m ashamed,” her gaze slid in Jillian’s direction, “to have a life with Lionel. I know you both must believe me insane, but I’m happier with him than without him.”

“Do you think the baby will make a difference?” Jillian asked.

Phillip, who had been staring at his plate of food, shaking his head with an attitude of outright amazement as Meredith spoke, looked up when Jillian asked the question.

“Baby?” he inquired.

Meredith nodded. “Lionel and I are expecting a child.”

The expression on Phillip’s face indicated that he wondered the same thing Jillian had wondered when she first heard the news—how had that couple stopped hurting one another long enough to make a child? However, if the marquess still took his wife to his bed, it was obvious why Meredith still had hopes.

After that the trio spent the remainder of the night speaking on topics of a less personal nature, much to Jillian’s relief. They returned to the parlor after eating, all three complaining of drowsiness. Meredith and Phillip on opposite sides of the settee dozed, thus Jillian found herself alone with her thoughts.

She could hear the ticking of the grandfather’s clock in the entry hall, the time between the hourly chimes seeming interminable. She paced the floor, a nervous crawling under her skin caused by the odd sensation of exhaustion mixed with an inability to sleep.

Five minutes before the hour of four she roused her companions.

*****

The air was cooler than Jillian had expected for a morning late in August. What remained of the night sky was clear, an unending expanse of blue-black sporting a few lingering stars. She and her partners in subterfuge had ridden in a hired carriage to the dueling site, a field outside Bath on the west side of the town. Phillip had the driver park some distance away, hoping, he indicated, to avoid discovery.

“You ladies stay here unless absolutely necessary,” he said. “I don’t want either of you hurt.”

“Phillip,” Jillian said, “do you really believe they will cancel this madness without someone’s intervention? Merry and I are prepared to do what we must, aren’t we Merry?”

Meredith, her face a study in stoicism, nodded.

They watched Phillip trot to the field where several male bodies—no one Jillian could identify—milled around.

“How does news travel so fast?” Jillian asked, shaking her head. “Look at all the people who have come out to witness the bloodshed.”

“Can’t imagine what kind of person would be interested in something this depraved,” Meredith said, her eyes like shiny crystals in the shadows of the carriage. “This reminds me of eight years ago, doing what we really oughtn’t and having a wonderful time. Strange how things have come about. It has taken you a long time to recover, Jillian, but I feel certain you will be happy.”

“I wish the same for you, Merry. Hopefully this baby—”

“I am under no delusions,” Meredith interrupted, “that this baby will turn Lionel into the man he should be. But maybe he will feel more loyalty toward me, being as I’m carrying his child. I hope it is a boy,” she said wistfully.

Jillian, moved by pity, did not know what to say to that. Instead, she turned her attention to the field. Frustrated by her inability to see, she grabbed the mask on the seat that matched the domino she wore and opened the carriage door.

“Come on, Merry, there’s no sense waiting here until it is all over and we can do no good—which is, by the way, what I think Phillip has in mind.” She climbed to the ground and helped the other woman do the same. To the driver, she said, “Remember what I told you. If all goes as we discussed you will be handsomely rewarded.”

“Aye, m’lady,” the man said.

The two ladies, holding hands, skirted the field, staying in the shadows and hopefully far enough from the main event to remain undetected. Since Jillian wore male clothing, if someone did see them, from such a distance they would probably be perceived as a young couple out on an adventure.

A hedgerow grew along the westerly side of the field and they made for that, hunching low which brought them close enough to hear voices but still provided protection. Peeking through the foliage, Jillian put her index finger to her lips, signaling her companion to silence.

From what she could determine the rules of etiquette were being discussed, rules that would guide the two gentlemen as they tried to kill one another. She shook her head, baffled by the demented quality of the proceedings.

She wished Adrian would turn around, for his back was to her and she could not see his expression. However, she could see Lionel. In the light of a torch held by a person Jillian did not know, Meredith’s husband resembled a man near death, his pasty face pinched with apprehension.

“Oh, Jillian,” Meredith moaned, “Lionel looks terrible.”

“He’s terrified, Merry, and with good reason. Though I think, given his obvious fright, you might want to be proud of him because he did come. Many men have run under such overwhelming circumstances.”

“I don’t care for that—I just want him to be all right.” At once Meredith gasped. “They are taking out the pistols!”

And they were. Another man, also unknown to Jillian, held open the box that contained the weapons. She turned to her friend.

“I’m afraid it is now or never. Are you able to continue?”

Meredith brought trembling fingers to her lips. “I think I’m about to be ill,” she whimpered.

“You can’t give into weakness, not now. See here, they are lining up.”

The two combatants stood back to back, pistols held in the air, the barrels of their respective guns vertical to the ground. Any moment the count would begin, a count that would end in gunfire and possible death. At the very least one of the men would be wounded.

Jillian gave Meredith a fierce shove. “Go!”

Meredith, eyes alight with dread, rose up and bounded awkwardly over the hedgerow. Twigs caught at her skirt and Jillian heard the rending of cloth. Merry stumbled free of the bushes, almost losing her balance. Before she had fully righted herself she began to run. It was probably the best diversion she could have provided, for the Marchioness of Edgeworth was pitched headlong—due to her own clumsiness—onto the field, only yards from where the hostilities were in progress.

As Jillian had hoped, Meredith had created a spectacular distraction. The lady was on her feet now, weeping loudly, begging Lord Wickham not to kill her husband.

Lionel approached his wife. “Meredith,” Jillian heard him say, “you shouldn’t be here. This is no place for a woman.”

“Lionel, please, there is something I must tell you. I-I can’t let you die without knowing.”

Meredith clung to him and, with a gentleness that amazed Jillian for its unexpectedness, Lionel put his arm around his wife and led her away from the gawkers. Maybe the threat of death had made him realize what he was about to lose.

Jillian, her fingers shaking with the audacity of what she intended to do, put the mask she carried over her face and laced the ties. Everyone appeared to be watching the Edgeworths thus she came to her feet, straightening as she did, and began running down the length of the hedgerow. The first gap in the bushes, she stepped through the opening and onto the field. That strategy, coming from the angle she did, allowed her to sidle toward the group while garnering the least amount of attention.

Where is Phillip? she thought frantically as she joined the spectators. She had seen her cousin only moments before but the people had shifted. She was terrified of being stopped and questioned. Luckily, no one had paid her any heed, the drama between Lord and Lady Edgeworth and the impending duel receiving more interest than one lone masked individual.

If anyone did challenge her, she decided the young man she was supposed to be would say he had been attending a masquerade ball where he first heard of the duel and had wanted to see the conflict for himself. She wondered if she could make her voice sound masculine enough to be believable. It might work, hidden in her domino and mask, if she were perceived to be not much more than a lad. She prayed that would be the case, for as Meredith and Phillip had forcefully reminded her, under close scrutiny she would not be taken for even that.

A hand from behind grabbed her elbow and Jillian almost shrieked aloud like the woman she was. That surely would have given her away. She swung around and met Phillip’s furious stare.

“You nearly scared the life out of me,” she whispered.

“I’d like to squeeze the life out of you,” he countered. “I knew when I saw Meredith you could not be far behind. Why didn’t you wait in the carriage as I told you to do?”

“From the looks of things you intended to leave us there until all was finished.”

“Unlike you, Jillian, I trust Wickham.”

For the flicker of a moment his statement forced Jillian to recognize the uncertainty of her plan, but she cast off the thought before it could take hold.

“Give me your pistol, Phillip.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Don’t you dare tell me that. I saw it hidden beneath your coat when we were in the carriage.”

“Jillian, I don’t like this part of the arrangement. I’d be a fool to give you a gun. Why, you’re the most unpredictable—”

“Give it to me.”

For long moments Phillip stared at her, lips compressed in a tense line. Then he glanced from side to side, checking to see if they were being watched. Extracting the pistol from under his coat, he covertly palmed it off to her.

“What if something goes wrong?” he asked. “There’s no bullet in the chamber, but no one else knows that. What if you are regarded as a danger?”

Jillian, now holding the pistol in her right hand, pulled the weapon into the sleeve of her domino.

“You think too much,” she said, turning her attention to the couple still talking on the other side of the field.

As she watched the marquess patted Meredith’s hand, and from Jillian’s vantage point he looked to be offering his distraught wife words of comfort. At last he pulled away.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Jillian said, “it appears Meredith cannot detain her husband any longer. He’s coming back. But, Phillip, can you see the expression on his face? I think Meredith’s announcement has touched him because he seems positively shaken.”

“One can only hope.”

“Quick, I must confront Adrian now or lose my opportunity.”

Phillip took her arm. “I can’t help you, Jilly, if things go awry.”

“I understand, really I do.”

Having said that Jillian eased her way around the small crowd with her cousin following in her wake. Lord Wickham stood off to one side, a scowl of impatience marking his features. Fortunately, he was alone which would make it easier to approach him, although at the moment he looked anything but approachable. He glanced up as Phillip and Jillian came abreast of him.

“Yes?” the earl said, eyebrows raised as his gaze darted between the two of them.

Her cousin opened his mouth to respond but Jillian feared his nervousness would cause him to say the wrong thing, thus she was propelled into action. In an instant she slipped her left hand through the crook in Adrian’s right arm and, as she did, pressed the barrel of the pistol into his side.

“Don’t move, my lord.” She growled the words, dropping her voice to a timbre that hurt her throat.

At once she felt him stiffen and he looked down at her, his eyes narrowing ominously.

“What is this?” he snapped. His gaze shifted to her cousin. “Angsley?”

Adrian made to pull away from her, and Jillian drew back the hammer on the gun. The audible click seemed to reverberate through the night.

“Mr. Angsley,” Jillian said, “please tell the organizers of this little event that Lord Wickham needs to share a few words with the gentleman in the domino and they have taken a short walk. His lordship will return presently, and then the contest can proceed.”

Jillian gave the earl’s arm a tug. After a brief hesitation he moved with her, for she had shoved the pistol more firmly into his side as an incentive for his cooperation.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

“Don’t talk.” Which was a most practical request, given that if she continued to communicate in that rasping voice, she would begin to cough uncontrollably.

Jillian led him across the field in the direction of the hackney, the quiet between them emphasizing their footsteps as they plodded over the ground. While they walked she could feel the moisture in the ankle-high grasses soaking into and weighing down the hem of her domino. Any moment she expected to hear a shout from behind them, ending her little game, but it never came. Phillip must have done as he promised and kept the curious preoccupied.

When they reached the carriage, Jillian nudged Adrian again. “Open the door and get in.”

He reached for the handle, snapping open the latch. “Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked as he placed his foot on the step.

“Absolutely, my lord. Get in.”

He eyed her once more then hauled himself into the hack. As he did, Jillian met the gaze of the driver. She gave the man a curt nod before following the earl inside.

The vehicle flew into the lane and Jillian, in the act of sitting, was nearly tossed to the floorboards. Quickly she righted herself and took her seat, all the while waving the pistol at the earl like a disoriented drunkard.

Across the carriage Adrian stared at her, arms folded casually over his chest, his demeanor almost lazy. Suddenly he leaned forward.

“Give me the gun,” he said.

She pulled back, shocked. “No!” she said, forgetting to lower her voice.

At that his patience must have snapped, for he snaked out his arm and, grabbing the pistol around the barrel, yanked it out of her hand.

“Now you tell me, Jillian Fitzgerald,” he roared, “what the hell do you think you are doing?”

She was so stunned she could think of nothing to say. Then in a small voice, “You knew it was me?”

“Yes,” he barked.

“All along?”

“Yes, and take off that damned mask.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” Her words were muffled as she untied and removed the cloth disguise.

“And expose your foolishness to everyone on that field? My God, woman, when will you learn?”

“Adrian, please try to understand. I couldn’t let you do it.”

“Couldn’t let me? You can’t stop me.”

“I already have.”

He went very still. “You’ve only postponed it, Jillian,” he said quietly.

And that of course was the one hole in her plan. If she could not convince him this fight was unnecessary then tonight would be replayed at a later date.

“Perhaps I’ve only postponed it, but I don’t think so.”

“Why do you say that?”

She smiled at him across the darkened space. “The point of a duel is to fight when tempers are at their worst, when the insult is fresh. No one says, ‘Name your seconds. I’ll meet you on the field of honor at the end of the month of May.’”

“I know you are trying to tell me something,” he muttered.

She tried again. “Even now, Adrian, you can’t be as angry as you were twenty-four hours ago. When you first confronted Lionel a duel would have had more meaning. Now it has less and tomorrow even less.”

“You miss the point.”

Why must he be so pig-headed? Jillian thought in frustration. Aloud she said, “There’s something that might change your mind.”

“Oh?” Adrian’s skepticism seeped through his words.

“Meredith is increasing. That’s what she came to tell Lionel tonight. You don’t want to kill another father, do you?”

“Damn! You do know how to draw blood with that rapier you call a tongue.”

“I’m sorry, truly I am, but I wanted to spare you the pain of regret.”

Adrian stared at her for so long, she began to feel the heat of his gaze, compelling, exciting. He had eased back against the squabs as though relaxed, and for the first time the knot in Jillian’s stomach—a knot she had been unaware of until that moment—relaxed as well.

“Come here.” The words were so softly spoken she thought she misunderstood him.

She hesitated briefly then moved across the carriage to sit next to him. He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tightly to his side.

“Interesting ensemble for a young lady,” Adrian said gruffly. “What were you thinking tonight?”

“Why, my dear Lord Wicked, I wanted to kidnap you as you once kidnapped me.”

“Did you now? Hardly the same situation, love. I can honestly say I never intended to kidnap you. Your actions this evening were quite premeditated.” He leaned close and kissed the tip of her nose.

Jillian felt the warmth of his love flow over her like a soothing cloak, and she nestled into his embrace, soaking in his dynamic presence.

“Doesn’t it worry you that I might be considered a coward?” he asked.

“Why? Because you were forced away from the contest? And really, after all this time does it matter to either one of us what people may think? I know you are no coward.”

He squeezed her again in answer. After several moments, he said, “Where are we going? This is not the road into Bath.” He shifted in his seat, looking out the window. “We’d better alert the driver.”

“There is no mistake.”

“Indeed?”

“How would you like to take a journey?”

Adrian gaped at her. “Not to Dover, Jillian? You’ve recreated enough of that damned night.”

“Of course not, silly.” She smiled like a contented cat. “I instructed the driver to take us to Gretna Green.”

His eyes gleamed back at her. “Did you, by God!”

“I did.”

“Would you like to explain what sudden impulse brought this on? You are not attempting to remove me from Bath and any opportunity to seek my revenge on Edgeworth, are you?”

“Oh, something much more important than that.” Jillian waited for him to grow impatient for her explanation. He did not disappoint her.

“Well?”

“Seems to me, Adrian, you have a wager to win.”

He took her chin in his hand as he scanned her features. “You heard about that?” he asked gently.

She nodded, holding his gaze.

“I did not mean it as an insult.”

“I know.”

“We don’t have to do this thing now, sweetheart. The wager is not lost until January first. And frankly, it was never about winning or losing a bet. I’m willing to wait if that’s what you want.”

“But, Adrian,” she said slyly, “don’t you think after yesterday morning, perhaps it becomes expedient? I could find myself in the same condition as Meredith. You remember—those repercussions you mentioned to me once upon a time.”

“Ah, yes, repercussions…Well, then,” he said on a contented sigh, “Gretna Green it is.” He pulled her more tightly into his arms. “Do you think Aunt Pru will be very disappointed when she finds out?”

“Relieved, Adrian, she’ll be relieved.”

“Humm…” he said into her hair.

“You know,” she splayed her hand in the middle of his chest, “it is a long ride to Gretna Green.”

The earl looked down at her, a sensuous smile easing his mouth. “And…?”

“Kiss me, Adrian,” Jillian whispered, the words like the rustle of fine silk.

“I don’t know,” his light blue eyes sparkled with sudden enthusiasm, “I’ve never kissed anyone in trousers before.”

“You’d best get used to it, for I’ve come to think I like them more than a little.”

Adrian shook his dark head, his warm, husky chuckle filling the carriage. “You always surprise me, love, you always surprise me.”

And then with the promise of a new day cresting the horizon, the Earl of Wickham commenced to instruct his future bride on a few delightful surprises of his own.

*****

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In the Garden of Disgrace