Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) (36 page)

Higgans shoved the bag at Madeline, turned on his heel, and stomped out.

Madeline tossed the bag aside, and barreled into Jack’s arms, and still nobody said anything.

He made my wife cry.
Jack was torn between anger at Higgans’s rudeness, and a fierce joy, because Madeline was
Lady Fanning
, and before this group of mostly
good, bewildered people, she’d defended an innocent man at cost to herself, and then turned to Jack for comfort and support.

“He’s gone,” Jack said. “If he comes near you, I’ll arrest him for being a common nuisance and a disgrace to the
species.”

“If he comes near you, or Pahdi, or my aunts, I won’t answer for my actions.” Madeline stepped back, but kept hold of Jack’s hand.
“Jack…” She nodded to her right.

Pahdi stood off to the side, looking stoic and wary. He didn’t dare leave, because Higgans might well await him in the street.

Madeline had chosen the right word earlier:
enough.
Enough making excuses for rural backwardness, enough being patient, enough letting a man
who’d saved Jack’s life be treated as a pariah.

“Pahdi,” Jack said, loudly enough to reach into every corner of the assembly room. “I should be honored if you’d stay for a cup of
punch. I apologize for Higgans’s behavior, and promise you it won’t happen again.”

“I stick to the ladies’ punchbowl,” Belmont said. “And not only because the ladies congregate in its vicinity.”

“Or you could mix the two,” Jeremy said. “A little sweetness, a little fire.” He lifted a glass in Lucy Anne’s direction.

“Please, Pahdi,” Madeline said, extending a hand to him. “My nerves need steadying. I can’t imagine yours don’t as
well.”

Pahdi did not drink spirits. Jack cast about for a polite way to diffuse awkwardness when Pahdi smiled at Madeline. He was a handsome devil, which several
of the young ladies present apparently noticed.

“The lady’s punch sounds like the safer offering,” Pahdi replied, “and perhaps a bite of that most delectable pear torte, or the
apple cake?”

“Try some of both,” Jack said. “I certainly intend to.”

And then, he’d collect his wife, take her directly home, and see about giving the lady a wedding night to make her forget all about bothersome
neighbors, neglected aunties, and crime sprees.

After lovemaking that had been by turns enthusiastic, tender, passionate, and inventive, Madeline had fallen asleep in her husband’s arms, at peace
for the first time in years. With Jack’s help, she’d take the situation with Theo and Hattie in hand, whether that meant selling their
properties, finding tenants for them, or adding their smallholdings to the acreage Jack farmed for his own purposes.

What mattered was that she wasn’t alone with the problem.

“Don’t fret,” Jack said, kissing her fingers as the first streaks of pale light outlined the window curtains. “You admitted to all
and sundry that you stole that dratted bag. If Higgans decides you were telling the truth, and seeks reparation, I will pay him such obscenely generous
damages that he retires from the shire. Mama could not stop gushing about what a fine woman I’ve chosen for my bride.”

Madeline linked her fingers with Jack’s. “Your mama wants us to be fruitful and multiply.”

“So do I, assuming you’re comfortable with the notion.”

Madeline had been blissfully comfortable with the notion twice during the night. She resisted the temptation to start the day with a third indulgence, and
instead remained lying side by side with her husband.

“I don’t want our children to have thieves for parents, Jack. I’m done skulking about in the dead of night, and I hope you are
too.”

“Shall I confess to borrowing Cotton’s ram?”

He was asking in all seriousness. “Don’t you dare. You can’t stand confinement, and Mr. Belmont might arrest you out of an excess of
masculine stupidity. I suggest we instead offer Cotton his pick of Hattie’s tups.”

 Jack shifted to his side, peering at Madeline in the predawn gloom. “That is brilliant. What about McArdle?”

“We will buy considerable coal from him for distribution to the poor, but insist that he give us a discount on such a large order.”

Jack kissed her cheek. “You should have been a judge. I think we should have Mr. Weekes to tea next week, and discuss his plan for managing the funds
from the poor box. Jeremy tells me that letting the coins pile up until the vicar notices an urgent need is not considered a well-informed approach.”

The more Madeline knew of Jeremy, the more she liked him. Lucy Anne DeWitt soon-to-be Fanning was enthralled with her fiancé, and her parents seemed
very pleased with Jeremy as well.

“We’ll have Weekes to tea, but not next week. Next month, please.”

“Excellent notion. Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Madeline shifted to her side as well, the better to tell if Jack was teasing. “I have vivid dreams. What did I say?”

“That I’m the most wonderful kisser and I have the most delightfully enormous—Madeline Fanning, marriage has made you bold.”

“Be serious.”

“If you continue to grasp that particular part of my anatomy, then conversation, much less serious talk, will be beyond me. I couldn’t make out
a word you said in your sleep.”

Madeline let go of Jack—for now—but tucked nearer and wrapped a leg over his hip. “I used to have the same dream, over and over. I am
with my mama in London on a pretty, sunny day. The streets are busy, and everybody is happy. Then it changes.”

Jack wrapped her close, so Madeline could feel his heart beat against her palm, a slow, steady tattoo of reassurance.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I’m holding my mother’s hand one moment, and then I can’t find her. I’m at a busy intersection, and I don’t recognize
any of the buildings. The people aren’t happy, they’re all harried and rushing past. I don’t know which way to turn, and then I notice
the crossing sweeper watching me. I’m frightened, but if I run, I know he’ll chase me.”

“This is not a dream, Madeline. This is a nightmare.”

“Everybody knows where they’re going, Jack, while I stand there, too frightened to take a single step.”

Madeline loved breathing in his scent from this proximity. Loved being this close to him.

“I’ll waken you, the next time I think you’re dreaming. You will do the same for me.”

Oh, how she loved him. “Of course I will, but the dream took a different turn last night.”

A soft triple-rap interrupted Madeline’s confidences.

“Go to the devil, you shameless wretch,” Jack yelled. “Leave the damned tray outside the door and don’t come back for it until
spring.”

Laughter sounded in the corridor, amid the sound of retreating footsteps. 

“Remind me to turn Pahdi off without a character,” Jack said.

“Just as soon as we name our firstborn after him.”

“Fine notion. Now tell me the rest of your dream.”

Madeline wouldn’t tell him all of it—her mother had claimed to have had the sight, and Madeline was prone to strong hunches. She could tell
Jack the part that mattered the most, though.

“I stood on that same terrible street corner, bewildered, battling panic, and you tooled past in the dog cart. The vehicle smelled slightly of sheep,
but you had such kind eyes, that when you came around and offered me a hand up, I got in the cart, and then you drove us home to Teak House.”

“You were taken with my eyes?”

Those too. “Yes. Shall I fetch the tray?”

Jack draped himself over her. “You are my bride. If you want the tea tray, you send me scampering across the room to get it for you, and you admire
my form in all its natural glory, as is your right. Then I fix your tea exactly as you prefer, and meekly accept your instruction regarding the proper
amount of butter for your toast.”

He emphasized his point with delicate kisses to the side of Madeline’s neck, and she retaliated by wrapping her legs around his waist.

Long, lovely moments later, Madeline decided that she could wait until Jack had fixed her tea to tell him that in her dream, on the bench of the dog cart,
had sat three handsome little boys, all with their mama’s flaming red hair and their father’s devilish smile.  

The fourth child, a girl older than the other three, had beckoned to Madeline, and whispered in her ear. “My name is Jacqueline, and my birthday is
in October.”

By the time Jack had got the tea right, Madeline had counted weeks, and started thinking up middle names. Jack noticed her distracted expression, and
well… they were late to luncheon. For the next week straight, they were late for luncheon, but Madeline won the argument, and the child was
christened Jacqueline Pahdi Fanning.

To my dear readers,

I hope you enjoyed Madeline and Jack’s story, because I certainly had fun writing it. I considered making their romance a Christmas story, but
didn’t want to wait another four months to release it when the holiday season approaches. It’s never too soon for a Happily Ever After, right?

I’m hard at work now on a story for our friend Asher Fenwick, who appeared in the
Loneliest Lords
title,
Hadrian: Lord of Hope
. Fen’s tale should be published in September, so be on the lookout for a
graceburrowes.com website
update to that effect. The first three
Loneliest Lords
(Worth/Trenton/Hadrian) are
also available from the website
as a bundle.

To keep up with all the releases and updates, you can
sign up for my newsletter
, which I publish every
other month or so. I will never, no never, sell or give away my mailing list, and I only issue a newsletter when I have something worth saying. 

Speaking of which…. I am very excited to be writing a new Windham family series, The Windham Brides. You may recall that Percival’s brother,
Lord Tony Windham, has four daughters, and we all know what
that
means. The first story,
The Trouble with Dukes
, comes out December 20, 2016, and I’ve included a sneak peek below. The
hardest thing about writing
Dukes
was keeping certain titled gentlemen from stealing scenes.

If
Jack
is your introduction to the
Jaded Gentlemen
series, you can catch up with the prequels
Thomas
,
Matthew
, and
Axel
. There’s even a bundled ebook version of those first three stories
available exclusively on the website
. Tell ’em Jack sent you.

Happy reading!

Grace Burrowes

Stay in touch on Facebook
.

Follow me on twitter
.

Miss Megan Windham is falling in love with Hamish MacHugh, the newly titled Duke of Murdoch. Megan’s cousins, however, Westhaven, St. Just, and
Valentine, will take an interest in her situation that closely resembles, well, meddling…

Gayle Windham, Earl of Westhaven was too self-disciplined to glance at the clock more than once every five minutes, but he could see the shadow of an oak
limb start its afternoon march up the wall of his study. The remains of a beef sandwich sat on a tray at his elbow, and soon his youngest child would go
down for a nap.

Westhaven brought his attention back to the pleasurable business of reviewing household expenses, though Anna’s accounting was meticulous. He obliged
his countess’s request to look over the books because of the small insights he gained regarding his family.

They were using fewer candles, testament to Spring’s arrival and longer hours of daylight.

The wine cellar had required some attention, another harbinger of the upcoming social season.

Anna had spent a bit much on Cousin Megan’s birthday gift, but a music box was a perfect choice for Megan.

“You haven’t moved in all the months I’ve been gone,” said a humorous baritone. “You’re like one of those statues,
standing guard through the seasons, until some obliging brother comes along to demand that you join him in the park for a hack on a pretty
afternoon.”

Home safe.
Devlin St. Just’s dark hair was tousled, his clothes wrinkled, his boots dusty, but he was once again,
home safe.

The words were an irrational product of Westhaven’s memory, for his mind produced them every time he saw his older half-brother after a prolonged
absence. Westhaven crossed the study with more swiftness than dignity, hand extended toward his brother.

“Good God, you stink, St. Just, and the dust of the road will befoul my carpets wherever you pass.”

St. Just took Westhaven’s proffered hand and yanked the earl close enough for a quick, back-thumping hug.

“I stink, you scold. Give a man a brandy while he befouls your carpets, and good day to you too.”

Westhaven obliged, mostly to have something to do other than gawk at his brother. Yorkshire was too far away, the winters were too long and miserable, and
St. Just visited too infrequently, but every time he did visit, he seemed…. Lighter. More settled, more at peace.

And if ever a man was happy to smell of horse, it was St. Just.

“I have whisky,” Westhaven said. “I’m told the barbarians to the north favor it over brandy.”

“If you had decent whisky, I might consider it, but you’re a brandy snob, so brandy it is. How are the children?”

Thank God for the topic of children, which allowed two men who’d missed each other terribly to avoid admitting as much.

“The children are noisy, expensive, and a trial to any parent’s nerves. Our parents come by, dispensing falsehoods regarding my own youth along
with a surfeit of sweets. Then their graces parents swan off, leaving my kingdom in utter disarray.”