Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (7 page)

"Be silent, Jack," Jamie barked.

Sarah Carstairs peeked over to where Jack lurked like a berserker. A glance flickered between them that Jamie didn't comprehend. Then she curtsied politely.

"As you wish, Lord Gladstone."

If she was frightened about being tossed out without a penny, she gave no sign.

Insolently, she strolled by him, and as she passed, Jamie said, "Jack, before she departs, search her. Make sure she doesn't take anything of mine."

She scoffed. "Don't worry. I wouldn't sully myself."

He recognized that he was being a beast, but he couldn't remember when he'd last been so angry, and he couldn't stop lashing out.

He'd been ready to marry Anne Carstairs, to make her Countess of Gladstone, one of the most respected and wealthy women in the land. He'd been ready to provide for Sarah Carstairs—a female who wasn't even a blood relation—merely so Anne would be happy.

He'd never exhibited such kindness to anyone prior, yet the two sisters had flung his generosity in his face as if it had no value.

They were a pair of ungrateful, thankless curs!

Regal as a queen, Sarah sauntered out, but Jamie ignored her, and instead, stared at Percy, Ophelia, and Edith. They'd observed how Anne had humiliated him, and when he was surrounded by the Merricks he was standing in a nest of vipers. He couldn't let them see the smallest weakness.

"The rest of you will go, first thing in the morning."

Percy frowned, oozing feigned sincerity. "But you wanted us to attend the wedding."

"There will be no wedding."

"I could locate Anne for you," he cajoled. "I could talk to her again."

"There's no need," Jamie said. "She will be cast out, as her sister has been."

Ophelia piped up. "But Jamie, you can't mean to be rid of me. I thought..."

"Thought what?" His eyes were cold and hard.

"Wouldn't it be beneficial if I remained to aid you in the transition?"

"All of you are to go." He swept his hand, indicating mother, brother, and sister. "By tomorrow noon at the very latest."

He stormed into the hall and headed for the front door. Sarah Carstairs was in the foyer, huddled with Jack and whispering animatedly.

"Where are you off to?" Jack asked.

"I'm going to fetch Anne back to Gladstone."

"I thought you didn't know where she is."

"Oh, I know where she is, all right."

"And where is that?"

"The time is eleven forty. Do you see the vicar anywhere? He was supposed to arrive an hour ago to perform the ceremony."

"She's at the church?"

As Jack posed the question, Sarah trembled, proving that Jamie's deduction was correct.

"If not there, then somewhere close by."

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No. Stay here and escort Miss Carstairs off the property."

"Can't she at least wait for her sister?"

By arguing with a direct order, Jack was risking much. They were brothers, but captain and first mate, too. Usually, Jack was aware of what parts they were playing.

Apparently, Sarah Carstairs had rattled his wits—as Anne had rattled Jamie's.

"No. She had her chance to revel in my largesse, and she wasn't interested."

"But—"

"Just do it, Jack," Jamie snapped, "and be quick about it or you can return to the ship immediately. If you can't assist me in my endeavors here, then what good are you?"

"They're simply two anxious, poverty-stricken women who need your help."

"No, they don't. They've been very clear, and it's bad enough to have one of them plaguing me. I won't have two. I want her gone."

He marched out, and behind him, Sarah spoke to Jack.

"Will he hurt her?" she said.

"I don't know," Jack replied. "I've never seen him so enraged."

Jamie smirked, wondering himself what he might do. If Anne had been a man, he'd be loading his pistols, sharpening his sword, and checking the dagger in his boot.

No one refused him! No one! From the day he'd told the Prince Regent that he'd wed her, he'd felt that she was his—his charge, his chattel, his responsibility. Her skewed point of view was completely irrelevant, as Anne was about to learn to her peril.

He saddled his own horse in the stables and cantered off, the animal's hooves swiftly eating up the road to the village. Within minutes, he was dismounting outside the rectory. He proceeded to the door, rapped twice, then threw it open without his knock being answered.

They'd obviously been watching for him. He could hear frantic footsteps, hissing, and murmurs. Momentarily, the weasel of a vicar slithered in. He was all smiles and fawning courtesy, the precise sort of individual who aggravated Jamie the most.

"May I help you?" he inquired, pretending he didn't know who Jamie was.

"I am Jamieson Merrick, Lord Gladstone. You're late for my wedding. So is my fiancee. Where is she hiding?"

"Are you referring to Miss Carstairs?"

"Where is she?" Jamie demanded again, out of patience.

"I'm sure we can resolve this situation in a civilized fashion. If you would be so kind as to join me in the parlor . . . ?"

The vicar gestured to the room off the vestibule, a salon crammed with fussy furniture and objects. Evidently, he enjoyed having money to treat himself in frivolous ways.

"As I am now the earl at Gladstone," Jamie threatened, "the vicar's living in this parish is mine to dole out. I can keep you, or I can give it to another."

The vicar blanched with alarm. "You wouldn't."

"I would. Where is Miss Carstairs?"

The man was no fool. He didn't hesitate. "Second door on the right, at the top of the stairs."

"Thank you."

Jamie pushed past him and stalked up. He could sense Anne listening to his approach, could practically feel her consternation. She'd been positive the vicar would be able to reason with him.

What a ninny she was! Jamie had been raised in a world where there were no rules, where only the fittest and most brutal survived.

What force, what power, could one such as she—an indigent female, with no name or family—hope to wield?

Without pausing, without missing a stride, he entered the room, as she stood—mute and mutinous— and stared him down.

In her straw bonnet and worn traveling cloak, she looked so young, so lost, and he steeled himself against any tender feelings.

"Have you something to say to me?" he inquired.

She bit her lip, struggling as to what her response should be. His fury was palpable, and she didn't want to further antagonize him. At the same time, she wasn't sorry for running off, so she wouldn't display any meekness or contrition.

"Spit it out," he pressed, and he stomped across the floor till they were toe-to-toe.

"I can't marry you."

"Why would you presume your opinion in the matter to be requested or welcome?"

"I saw you with Ophelia!" she accused. "On the very night before my wedding! I won't have a husband who is so... so ..."

She couldn't finish the sentence, so he finished it for her. "Who's so what? Dissolute? Reprehensible? Foul in his habits?"

"If you insist on putting it that way ... yes."

"Miss Carstairs, I am a blatant fornicator. I admit it, but my personal associations are not—and never will be—any of your affair. If I choose to copulate with a dozen women, with a thousand women, it's none of your business."

To his amazement, the atrocious comment appeared to wound her.

"You care so little about me. You could be marrying anyone."

"You're correct, I could be, but in order to stabilize your life and your sister's, I agreed to have you over all others. However, it recently occurred to me that I have no idea why I sought to exhibit any compassion when it is so unwarranted and so unappreciated. Now let's go."

"Go?" She was incensed. "To where?"

"To Gladstone Manor."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"It's not up to you, Miss Carstairs. And you need to realize that it will never be up to you."

He wrapped his hands around her slender waist and, in a smooth, brisk move hoisted her onto his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. Her head dangled down his back, her feet down his front, her shapely bottom hovering next to his ear. Amid much outraged screeching and pounding, he carted her out.

"Vicar!" she cried as they passed him in the foyer. "Vicar! Help me! Stop him!"

Jamie glared at the vicar, flashing a warning.

"Ah, I think this is for the best, Miss Carstairs," the sleazy preacher said, easily selling her out to the fattest purse. "I really do. You'll see. It will all work out in the end. I'll call on you in a few days to check how you're getting on...."

He continued to prattle, but Jamie ignored him and proceeded out to his horse. He tossed Anne over the saddle and jumped on behind her. Within seconds, they were galloping to Gladstone, and she spent the short journey casting aspersions on his mother's character and hurling curses he was surprised she knew.

Once they drew up in the yard, he leapt down and pulled her down, too, and though she fought and complained, he wrestled her up to the master suite. She was like a slippery eel, all arms and legs, and her determination to escape was very intense, but his determination to prevent her was even more strident.

He slammed the door, spun the key, and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Let me out!" she seethed.

"No."

"You can't keep me here against my will." "Yes, I can."

"You're a bully, and I hate you."

She stormed to the door, rattled the knob, and banged on the wood, begging for assistance, but the corridors were suspiciously empty, and no one rushed to her aid.

She whirled around, her eyes blazing. She was spitting mad, a ferocious sight, and he could only marvel at her foolishness.

The pins were gone from her hair so that it was falling. Her bonnet and cloak were lost in the fray. The sleeve of her dress was ripped, as was some of the stitching along the waist, and he couldn't remember how the fabric had been torn.

He'd never been acquainted with a female who spurred him to such pinnacles of temper, and he couldn't decipher what it meant. She was lucky he wasn't holding a switch. If he had been, he'd have thrown her over his knee and given her a good paddling.

"I'm tired of fussing with you," he advised. "I'm not too keen on having to deal with you, either."

"Get your ass into my bedchamber."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"What are you going to do to me?" He hadn't decided, but he threatened, "I'll let you know when we arrive." "Tell me first."

"Walk in there on your own, or I shall carry you." "No." She didn't budge.

"Go!" he shouted with such vehemence that she skirted by him and raced into the other room.

He followed her, and as he entered, he was annoyed to note that she was trembling with terror. He wasn't an ogre unless driven to act like one, and she seemed to have no clue that his current ill humor was all her fault. She'd humiliated him in front of his enemies, yet she hadn't the vaguest notion of how he'd been wronged. The woman was a menace!

When the Prince had insisted they wed, he'd obviously never met her. What rational man—royal or no— would deliberately burden a husband with such a fickle, ridiculous wife?

"I demand to speak with my sister," she bravely said.

"You demand?" Jamie bellowed, causing her to cringe. "By what gall do you demand of me?"

"She's my only family, and I... I wish to see her."

"Sarah has left."

"Left?"

"The terms of our bargain, Miss Carstairs, were that your sister would stay if you married me. Your chance to secure her future passed at eleven o'clock. She was evicted thirty minutes later."

"You sent her away?"

"Why wouldn't I? Do you think this a game? Do you think we play for jest? For sport?"

She was horror-stricken, on the verge of weeping. · He felt as if he were kicking a puppy.

"But where will she go? What will she do?"

"What concern is it of mine?" he heartlessly asked, shamed by his ruthlessness.

He was a hard taskmaster, but he strutted and blustered for the benefit of recalcitrant men. At having reduced her to tears, he was disgusted with himself. What was the matter with him? Why did he allow her to goad him to insanity?

"Have you any idea of where she is?"

"No, I don't. Perhaps you should have thought of her plight a tad more carefully prior to your sneaking off."

"Oh, Jamie, how could you?"

At her use of his Christian name, he was thoroughly chastened, and his cheeks reddened with chagrin. His wrist began to ache, the old memory suddenly plaguing him, and he could barely keep from rubbing it to soothe himself.

She collapsed onto a chair, her head bowed, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked so beautiful, so forlorn, like a Madonna in a painting.

He fidgeted with dismay, trying to deduce what his next move should be. He spent such a small amount of time around women, deigning to fraternize mainly for carnal purposes, most of his encounters having been with whores in port towns. His exchanges were strictly business, money paid for services rendered.

At witnessing her anguish, he was so far out of his element that he might have been standing on the moon.

He was prepared to bestow a life of wealth and ease. Why would she reject such a boon? Why wasn't it enough?

He walked over to where she was sitting, and he reached out, as if he might comfortingly stroke her back or shoulder, but he let his arm fall away.

"We'll wed tomorrow, instead," he gently told her. "I'll have Jack find your sister and bring her home."

It was the largest stab at an apology Jamie had ever taken, yet she peered up at him and said, "Why won't you listen to me? I can't marry you."

"Can't? Can't?" .

Rage made his voice shrill. His gaze narrowed till her saw her through a red haze. A vein pounded so violently at his temple that he wondered if he was about to suffer an apoplexy.

"We'd have to speak vows before God," she explained. "You'd have to promise to be true to me, but we both know you never would be. I can't let you lie to God."