A Season of Seduction (45 page)

“To be sure that there was no chance of your forgiving me. No chance for us. To be together.”

“I was so angry with you,” she said. “I thought I could never forgive you. But… oh, God, I
have
forgiven you, Jack.”

“I’m not the man I was when I first met you.”

“I know.”

“I love you. So much.”

She suddenly felt shy. It was hard to say, to admit to it after so many days of anger and hurt, and guilt. “I love you, too.”

Once the words escaped her mouth, she felt light. Lighter than she had in years.

Slowly, a smile curved his wicked, handsome lips. She glanced at his arm, which he held protectively against his torso. “Is your arm—?”

“It is better.”

“Did you hurt it when you fought Mr. Wortingham?”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry I shot you.”

“I was never angry at you for it, Becky.”

“I know.” She tried to smile, but her lips wobbled, and the expression disintegrated before it could take shape.

Ever so slightly, his face darkened. “I must leave England. I must leave this place—my homeland—forever.”

Fear for him flared in her chest. “Every moment you spend here increases your danger.” Truly cognizant of their surroundings for the first time, she glanced up and down the street, then to the gate, where one of Garrett’s men watched them.

She turned up to the twilight sky, and a snowflake fell on her eyelash, clinging for a second before it melted away. “Look, it’s snowing.”

He tilted his face upward. “So it is.”

She took hold of his good arm. “Come inside with us. It’s safe and warm in the house.”

This would be Becky’s last Christmas in London. And she wanted nothing more than to say a proper good-bye to her family, with Jack at her side.

Becky’s family welcomed him into the house warily, but within moments it was as if Jack wasn’t a fugitive from the law who’d deceived their beloved sister, who’d tried to swindle them of their money, who’d hurt and betrayed them all. Amazingly, miraculously, they treated him as a member of the family. As a brother.

Becky sent for Lady Devore to join them for Christmas dinner, for the lady possessed no family in London, and Becky wanted to say good-bye. The ever-thoughtful duchess pulled Jack aside to ask after Stratford, and hearing he would be spending the holiday alone, she hastened to send him an invitation as well.

After dinner, the Duke of Calton’s family and their guests assembled in the drawing room. The duke and duchess reigned over the proceedings. Lord Westcliff and his wife, Sophie, were there, and Gary, Westcliff’s son by his first marriage. Lady Bertrice was present as well, dressed in a green gown reminiscent of the enormous tree that brushed the ceiling. Lady Devore had arrived just before dinner, and Stratford had arrived as they were eating the turkey with sage and onion stuffing and mince pie.

Jack remained at Becky’s side as if he were glued there. When she went to the wassail bowl, he followed her and fetched himself a glass as well. When she leaned toward the fire to warm her hands, he did the same. When she looked out the window to gaze out at the streetlamps casting a golden glow over the snow-covered street, he stood beside her. During dinner, at which the whole family was present, even the children, Jack asked Lord Westcliff to change seats with him so he could be near Becky. The viscount had agreed with a smile.

His sitting beside Becky had been against protocol, of course, but Jack had learned by now that this family cared very little for protocol. He rather thought they approved of his desire to sit beside the woman he loved.

After they’d retired to the drawing room, his gaze kept wandering toward the fir tree standing in the center of the room. It was brilliantly lit with tiny tapers and small wrapped gifts tied to all its branches. Becky, noticing his stare, chuckled. “Do you like it?”

“Well, yes, I do.” He turned to her. “But… why?”

“When Tristan and Garrett were boys, they spent a Christmas at court. They did not have very happy childhoods, either of them, but that Christmas, Queen Charlotte had a tree erected at Windsor Castle. It was tied all round with strings of almonds and raisins, lit with candles, and each of the children who visited was given one of the toys from its branches. Ever since, Garrett has erected a tree of his own at Christmas, to make the day special for everyone, but most of all, I think, to delight the children as he was once delighted.” She grinned. “And I think you are delighted as well.”

“I think I am,” he said, turning to her. He
was
delighted. By the tree, by the smell of plum pudding, by the smiles on the faces of the children. But mostly by the fact that Becky was at his side. And she showed no intention—or desire—to leave it.

She wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Finally, there were no secrets between them.

“He’ll give the children their gifts tomorrow. But for today, we just enjoy the beauty of the tree and its decorations.”

“I am enjoying the beauty of the tree, and the beauty of this night,” he said quietly. He took her hand in his and turned it over, tracing the delicate back with his thumb. “But I’m enjoying the beauty of my companion far more.”

Her smile was dazzling. “You shouldn’t flatter me.”

“Nothing I say to you is flattery, Becky. I swear on my life, everything I ever say to you from this point forward is truth. I will never insult you with anything less.”

She blinked those eyes—shaded indigo in the candlelight—at him. “Thank you.”

Stratford sauntered up to them, holding a glass of wassail. He took up Becky’s hand and kissed it, then slanted a glance at Jack. “So the truth is finally out.”

“All of it,” Jack agreed.

Stratford released a breath. “Glad to hear it.” He grinned at Becky. “The chap was madly besotted, and terrified of botching it.”

“Well,” she said quietly. “He did botch it, and rather badly. But—” she returned his smile, “—I think he’s atoned for his sins.”

“Good.” Lowering her hand, Stratford sobered. “So… you’ll be leaving England then?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “There’s no other way—not now. We need to go quickly. We’ll be leaving for Portsmouth tomorrow.”

“Where are you headed?”

“America,” Becky breathed. Jack squeezed her arm.

Stratford raised a brow. “So far away?”

“Yes. Becky’s always wanted to visit America. We don’t know if we’ll stay—maybe we’ll end somewhere else. But we thought we’d try it. Explore a little.”

Stratford didn’t respond. A melancholy expression crossed his face. “I’ll miss you, old chap.”

Becky excused herself to play a carol for the children on the pianoforte, and as she walked away, Jack asked him, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. What will you do?”

Stratford blew out a breath. “Ah, what I’ve always done, I suppose. Sleep my days away and drown my nights in debauchery and vice.”

“Do you know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

“I think you need to find a woman.”

Stratford laughed bitterly. “I have women aplenty.” He rubbed his thumb along the lip of his cup of wassail. “I don’t know how to change my life, but I’ve tried just about every woman I could, and none has changed a damn thing.”

“But you want it to change, don’t you?”

Stratford shrugged. “Not really. What for?”

Jack’s gut clenched. He reached out with his good hand to grasp Stratford’s shoulder. God, but he didn’t want the earl to end like Tom Wortingham. “Good luck, man.”

Stratford nodded. “And you, too. I daresay you’ll be needing it more than me.”

“That might be true.”

He took his leave of Stratford and headed to the pianoforte as Becky readied herself to play. Just as he approached her, the Duke of Calton asked for a private word.

Becky looked up at her brother in alarm, but Jack gave her a reassuring smile. He’d seen this coming, and he was ready for it. Her brother—her entire family—cared deeply for her, and it was his responsibility to convey the fact that he cared as deeply as they did.

Exiting the room to the opening strains of “God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen,” he followed the duke into the dark, wood-paneled study where he’d first proposed to Becky. The duke slid behind the desk and lowered himself onto his chair. He grabbed the decanter sitting on the desk’s edge and held it toward Jack. “Brandy?”

“No, thank you.”

The duke set it down. He didn’t pour himself a glass, either. “Sit, Fulton.”

Jack lowered himself into the closest chair, and keeping his injured arm pressed tightly against his chest, he placed his good hand on the arm.

“Wortingham was blackmailing you. Why?”

“I never asked him details about why he needed themoney, but he said it was a gambling debt. I just thought…” Jack closed his eyes.

“What did you think?” the duke asked.

Jack shook his head. “As angry as I was with Tom for making those demands, a part of me understood him. I hoped that somehow… if I could get the money, I could heal him, mend his mind, bring him back to the person he once was.” He laughed without humor. “And in doing so, I could finally leave the past behind.
Stupid
. There was only one thing that could bring me out of my past.”

“What was that?”

Jack met the duke’s gaze. “Becky.”

Calton made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “The authorities are hunting for you.”

“Yes, they are.”

“You put us all at risk this night by coming to my house.”

“I am sorry for that.”

The duke leaned forward. He hadn’t blinked, hadn’t taken his eyes from Jack.

“Rebecca has told me everything. Everything that passed between the two of you.” He spoke very slowly. “She wishes to marry you.”

Jack nodded slowly. “I certainly hope so, sir. I wish to marry her, as well. That hasn’t changed, not since the first time we spoke in this room.”

“I’m going to make you an offer.”

Jack raised his brows. “Are you?”

“Leave this house. Leave my sister in peace, and I’ll ensure you get out of England safely. With your pockets brimming.”

Jack went stiff all over. “No.”

The duke cocked his head. “Don’t you wish to know the amount?”

“No.”

“It’s more than Rebecca will bring you.”

Jack ground his teeth. “Do you think—after all that has passed—that I want her damn money?” Rising, he thrust a frustrated hand through his hair. “God damn it.”

Steepling his hands in front of him, the duke leaned back in his chair. “It is a good offer.”

Jack stared at him, too furious to speak, not trusting himself to move.

“Think on it.”

Jack slapped his good hand on the desk and leaned forward until his nose was inches from the duke’s. “I’m not going to think on it. I don’t want your damned money or your damned freedom. I want Becky.”

The duke appeared unaffected by Jack’s show of temper. “You intend to take her away from her family. From those who love her and want nothing more than to keep her safe. With you, her happiness, her life, and her livelihood will be at risk. What man wants that for his sister?”

“Her happiness is my only priority.
I
will keep her safe.”

“And when have you proven that you can be trusted to do that? You have hurt her.”

“No more,” Jack ground out. “You have my word.”