Escape with A Rogue (17 page)

Her heart gave an odd pang at the softness in his drawl, despite the iciness of his expression. This woman’s beauty had touched him. “Did she want you, even though she married him?” What she truly meant was, “Did you want
her
?”

He leaned back against the stone wall. “I don’t think she wanted me at the beginning. She disliked me. I’d assumed that was because she resented that the clubs took Stephen from her side. She was obsessed with him and wanted to see him every night. She was tempestuous, jealous of every woman who flirted with Stephen, but sweet and kind with him when she was happy. I thought she loved him.” Jack grimaced. “At least I did until she tried to seduce me. One night, I returned to the study in my townhouse after a late night at one of the clubs, and she was draped across my desk. Naked, with a warmed glass of brandy cupped in her hand, ready for me.”

His astonished tone told her exactly what had happened. “You turned her down.”

“She was Stephen’s
wife
.”

“But she did not stop pursuing you?”

“No. I pleaded with her to stop. I tried to push her away, but nothing I did worked. Once she even held a pistol on me and threatened to shoot me because she’d rather see me dead if she couldn’t have me. She was drunk and when I pried the gun out of her hands, she ran away.”

Embarrassment warred with icy horror. Did he think she was like Juliette—so obsessed with him that she would not see sense and leave him alone?
Was
she like this foolish woman?

“Finally, she came to me in tears,” Jack said softly. “With the bruise of Stephen’s fist showing on her cheek. She told me he’d always been brutal with her. He’d learned to survive by fighting, but I never dreamed he would hit his own wife. I held her in my arms and let her cry against my chest. I told her I would protect her. I made her promise she wouldn’t go back to him. I kissed her.” His shoulders jerked with emotion—she couldn’t tell if it was regret, anger, or sorrow.

“That gave her the mad courage to confront Stephen,” he said, “though I’d told her not to go back. She told him I wanted her and that I planned to run away with her. He came to our club, intending to kill me. She followed, believing we would duel over her. I handed Stephen my pistol and told him to blow a hole in me if he wanted to, because I wouldn’t shoot back. That night, I was already drunk because I felt guilty for kissing her. I told Juliette the truth. I wanted to make sure she was safe from Stephen’s fists, but I didn’t want her.”

Madeline’s stomach churned. She longed to touch him but she was afraid he wouldn’t want to be comforted. She was terrified he would think her obsessive and foolish, like this woman.

“What happened to her? You said it was an accident,”

“She burst into tears, swore she loved me, and said her life was no longer worth living if she could not have me. Stephen was so enraged, he lifted the pistol and aimed it at my skull, so I grabbed the seal from my desk and threw it at him. His shot missed; Juliette screamed and ran out of the room. We both chased her to the street and reached the door together. We saw her on the sidewalk, watching a racing carriage approach—”

“She fell in front of the carriage?”

He swallowed hard. “Stephen swore she deliberately jumped in front of it, because I’d rejected her. I don’t know. She was distraught and knew we were chasing her. She might have tried to run across the street to escape us. But she was trampled to death, and my best friend believed I’d seduced his wife away from him.”

“Could he not see it was not your fault? That you’d tried to stop her obsession?”

Jack’s eyes were cold in the shadows. “He needed someone to blame. A few days later, in retribution, my friend sent two paid assassins to kill me. I had to break their necks to save my life. I’m sorry, Madeline.”

Had she looked queasy? Hunger pangs rumbled in her stomach and she felt dizzily tired, but mostly her heart ached for him. “Was that why you left London? Even though you were not to blame, you were mourning her death.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know.” Warmth flooded down her face from her hairline. She had spent hours with him, thinking of kissing him. All the while, he had been mourning his friend’s wife and the loss of friendship. “You couldn’t have been happy and carefree then.”

“Perhaps seeing you at the stables, talking to you, made me feel that way.”

She knew she’d frowned because she didn’t believe him, and he began moving toward her. “The worst of it was that Juliette wouldn’t listen to me,” he said softly. “I wasn’t in love with her. I couldn’t be. Love is something I know nothing about. I’m not even capable of it.”

That astonished her. “I saw you with the horses at Eversleigh. My mare Penelope was yours at once, the very first moment you took a comb to her. She would do anything you wanted, even before you commanded it of her. I know you love horses.”

“But a horse is far easier to understand than a woman.”

She blushed, her cheeks flaming. Had his words been meant as a warning to her?

He held out his hand. “You’ve heard enough of my wretched story. Your stomach’s grumbling, my lady.”

* * *

Madeline could barely eat the bread and cheese she spread out for the four of them on the cloth. Beausoleil spoke without pause, and Jack said nothing. He stretched out on his side beside her, and he watched her so intently it made her drop her food.

Grandfather had done an evil thing by letting Jack be arrested. When Jack had worked in the stables, she had not known how much pain he was in. He’d teased her and smiled so much.

But now he seemed to have no hope at all. He was driven to help her, but he looked like a man waiting for the hangman’s noose to drop around his neck.

Her heart was in a tangle. She didn’t know whether to despise Jack for who he’d been—a gaming hell owner who’d said he had killed—or care for the protective man he’d shown her he could be.

She was only half-listening when Jack asked in a low voice, “What are your plans, Beau? Are you still headed toward Fernworthy Forest?”

Despite his casual pose, Jack was alert. His gaze flicked from Beau to Simon, down toward the road, then across the blue-black hills. Stars massed above them, and though the bitter wind had died down, a chill swept down the back of her neck.

“I don’t know if that’s the route I’ll take, but I’m returning home to my wife.”

Jack had said Beau had three wives at once. She supposed she should keep quiet, but words came out before she could stop them. “Won’t that put your wife in danger?”

“Which wife are you returning to, Beau?” Simon asked, with a cheeky, boyish smile.

Beau cuffed him lightly above the ear. “The first one, of course. The legal one.”

How could he speak so lightheartedly? This she could not be unflappable about.

Beau must have seen the shock in her face. “Don’t approve, do you, my lady? I don’t blame you. What woman would want a man who kept three? But I’d like to see my wife one last time.”

She felt her forehead wrinkle. “One last time? What do you mean?”

“Any man who stays on English soil runs the risk of recapture.”

Jack was staying in England for her. She glanced to Jack’s face. He did not look like a man determined to disprove Beausoleil’s statement. He looked like a man resigned to his fate.

“W—why go home then?” she asked shakily. But her question was meant for Jack.
Why not run? Why stay for me?

Beausoleil answered, his cocky smile in place. “Because there are some women who draw a man to his doom and he can’t resist.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

She had never really admitted what it was that she wanted: not just to free Jack, but also to keep him. That was madness. Of course she could not keep him. She was not in love with him. She would not make the same mistake as her mother and fall in love with an inappropriate man. She asked a question that had long puzzled her. “Why were you in Dartmoor War Prison, when it is for prisoners of war?”

Beausoleil shrugged and pointed to Simon. “The young lad’s crime was to refuse to fight the French. He’s the only one of us with a crime related to the war.”

In the moonlight, she saw a flood of color come to the boy’s face. “I didn’t refuse to fight. I refused to
kill
.”

“The daft lad made a good scapegoat for a cunning spy who was working in Plymouth to sabotage the ports and the store yards,” Beau continued.

“I’m not daft,” Simon objected. “I didn’t know what was in the notes I took back and forth.”

“Let him alone, Beau.” Quiet and velvety as the night’s breeze, Jack’s voice settled on them. It forced them into silence. Simon shot him a grateful, admiring look.

“There were six of us Englishmen in Dartmoor,” Beau mused. “Interesting that we were all innocent men, all wrongfully convicted.”

“We weren’t all innocent,” Jack said. “Faulkner wasn’t. You admit to marrying three women.”

“Faulkner didn’t do the crime he was accused of. Simon’s no more a spy than I am. Travers, you’re too bloody noble to have killed two women.” Beau grinned. “As for me—there’s people who don’t think polygamy should be a crime. Men who believe the Bible doesn’t speak against it. I loved my first wife—I made a contract with the others, and they knew exactly what they were getting.” Beau turned to Jack. “What about Wycliffe? He claims to have been only a smuggler, and not a wrecker—”

“A wrecker?” she cried. All the men looked to her, so she stumbled on, “You mean one of those men who deliberately lures ships to their doom?”

Beau was the one to nod. “Then murders the survivors so he can steal the cargo.”

“I’ve heard men like that are merciless. They drown children—innocent children—”

Jack’s hand rested on her ankle and he stroked her. Just that caress stole her breath—a testament to the immense power his touch had over her. “Wycliffe denied it,” he said. “He claimed he was trying to capture the wreckers to turn them over to the law.”

Softly, Jack then explained the other men’s crimes to her. Hammond Faulkner, who had died in the escape, had been a forger, living at the Scottish border, escaping into the hills when necessary, but was finally caught when he’d gone to London with his forged notes. “Liam Black was in for murder, as I was. He claimed he was innocent,” Jack said. “He swears he never hurt anyone. He was seventeen at the time.”

“That does not sound so innocent. Nor does Wycliffe sound innocent, not if he was a smuggler.”

Jack gave a wry smile. “Most criminals see themselves as innocent men. A criminal believes he’s just a hard-working man trying to do a job, put food on his family’s table, serve his boss, survive.”

“But you don’t see yourself that way.” Madeline looked from Beausoleil’s glittering blue eyes to Jack’s shuttered green ones. “Why were the six of you taken to Dartmoor Prison?”

Beau spoke. “The Crown wants something from us. Travers should have been hanged. Along with Black for murder, Wycliffe for wrecking, and Simon for treason. I’ll be damned if I know why we’re valuable to the British Service, but it appears we are. At least we’ve outwitted them. The soldiers went after Wycliffe and Black, thinking we were all heading toward Plymouth.”

Grandfather had told her he had been the one to ensure Jack’s sentence was commuted from execution, because he’d believed Jack was innocent of the murders. Had that not been true? She looked to Jack. “What did the Crown want from you?”

He sprang to his feet. “You must be tired, my lady.”

“Simon and I will stay out here a while.” Beausoleil laughed. “Let the two of you settle into our comfortable inn.”

There was an edge to his words that made Madeline’s heart pound. She almost wanted to shout, “Nothing naughty is going to happen,” but that would be foolish.

“I’ll keep watch a few hours,” Beausoleil added. “Let the rest of you sleep. Then, Jack, you’ll relieve me—”

Jack’s brow shot up. “Leave her alone with you? Not likely.”

“I will wake when Jack does and keep watch too,” she said quickly.

Jack went through the doorway first and she followed, holding up her waistband. He headed for the low stone plinth. “An ancient bed. Not too comfortable, but it will keep you dry.”

“What will you do?”

“The ground will suffice. I’ll sleep near you.”

“It’s wet. You’ll catch your death if you sleep on that. There’s no other choice—we can share the plinth.”

He shoved back his hair in the way she knew so well now, and his rueful smile made her heart tilt and tremble. “Lady M., I’m beginning to think you are the punishment for my sins.”

* * *

Lady Madeline was in his arms without any clothes and she was on top. Her breasts pushed against his chest, her legs were on either side of his. There was a soft bed beneath them and she rolled onto her back and spread her legs in carnal invitation—

“Jack!”

Jack jerked awake and fell off the stone bed. Soggy ground met his arse with a slap.

“I just heard Simon and Beausoleil speaking. But I’m sure I heard another voice. A third man.”

“Shit.” It came out instinctively.

Lady Madeline didn’t flinch from his curse. He was aching between his legs, hard as a ship’s mast, his ass wet. He hadn’t trusted Beau—so he had stayed awake while Lady M. had slept. Then, she’d awoken, and said she would watch. Leaping up, he reached the doorway in an instant, but he already knew what he’d find.

Or wouldn’t find.

Madeline’s voice came from behind him before she reached the doorway. “They’re gone, aren’t they? The horses, too.”

 He turned just as her voice rose in panic. “I should have woken you the moment I heard them and I didn’t.” Her hands were fisted, waving in impotent rage. Then she pressed her fists to her cheeks. “What have I done?”

Cool, restrained Lady M. was about to crack.

“Easy, lass.” He tried to lay his hands on her shoulders to calm her.

She slapped at his forearms. “Just don’t, Jack! I was so stupid. I listened instead of getting up and doing something! I didn’t think they could get away so quickly.”