Julia Justiss (16 page)

Before he could master his violent, conflicting emotions, Jane returned, Mae’s parasol in hand.

“Here ye be, ma’am,” she said and then hesitated, gazing at Mae. When that lady gave the girl an encouraging nod, she turned toward Jack, her cheeks pinking.

“Captain, I wanted to thank you personal for helping me. Watson said they might have made off with me if you hadn’t been along. I’m so glad the Lord answered my prayers to make you heal! If ever I can do ought for you, I be more’n willing. I can mend and stitch right well.”

“You needn’t thank me, Jane. I was happy to assist.”

“I be forever grateful nonetheless,” the girl said. “Miss Mae, if you be needing anything, just call.” After bobbing another curtsy, Jane walked back to the house.

Mae laughed. “Didn’t I warn you? Stay long enough, and she’ll make you a whole new wardrobe.”

Though Jack spent another half hour on the terrace nodding politely at Mae’s inconsequential chatter, his mind seethed with the information he’d just learned—the infamy of Jane’s deception, the despicableness of Belle being controlled by a threat to her child, the natural affinity that must have led Belle to rescue Jane.

If Belle had a poor opinion of men in general and aristocrats in particular, he could hardly blame her. The customers whom the Mrs. Jarvises of the world sought to satisfy were drawn from this wealthy, powerful group.

’Twas almost enough to turn any honest man into a flaming revolutionary.

Except such men represented only a fraction, however noxious and visible, of the class into which Jack had been born. Many, most of Jack’s peers were honorable men, conscientious landlords, and if some were not always faith
ful to their ladies, they at least strayed into indiscretion only with willing and experienced partners.

However long fate and Lady Belle granted him to remain her guest, Jack vowed to show his hostess even greater respect and deference. And perhaps demonstrate to her how a true gentleman treated a lady.

S
HORTLY AFTER BREAKFAST
three days later, Mae helped Belle into a carriage dress for her drive with Captain Carrington to inspect the Bellehaven property.

“Such a treat you look, Belle,” Mae said approvingly. “If you can’t be talked outta wearing gowns cut for a spinster at her last prayers, you could at least have more made up in that pretty blue.” Mae gave her a wink. “The captain’s going to be that pleased.”

Belle felt a spurt of irrational irritation. “I’m not wearing this to please the captain,” she said stiffly. Even as an annoying voice in her head questioned the veracity of that statement.

Mae shrugged. “And iff’n you was, would it be so bad? The captain’s the finest gentleman I’ve met this age. If he was to take a fancy to you and you to him, what would be the harm in that?”

“Captain Carrington is about to escort his sister through her first Season—and since he intends to settle on his land, probably will be looking about for a wife. Plans which are not compatible with beginning a liaison with a well-known courtesan. Nor, must I remind you again, do I have the least intention of taking another lover.”

“So you’ve told me,” Mae agreed, but with a look on her face Belle could not like. However, since arguing would only encourage the matchmaking gleam in her friend’s eye, Belle let the matter drop.

“I don’t know how long the captain will need for his inspection, so I’ve ordered Cook to prepare us something to take along for nuncheon. I expect to return by afternoon.”

“There’s no hurry. ’Tis a lovely day—enjoy it.”
And the company
, Belle knew Mae refrained from adding.

Mae had justification for that twinkle in her eye, Belle thought grimly as she headed downstairs to meet Carrington. Belle’s actions of late virtually shouted her partiality for the captain’s company.

’Twas wanton self-indulgence for her to drive him on this inspection tour instead of sending him with Watson, just as it had been two days ago when she personally conducted him through the house, rather than delegating the task to her housekeeper.

She’d told the staff then that she wanted to make sure he did not overexert himself. But deep within, she knew that excuse was just a sham to camouflage her desire to savor his nearness, enjoy the warmth of his camaraderie and the stimulation of his conversation.

It was but a small sop to her conscience that she resisted seeking him out during daylight hours. For in the evenings after Watson removed the tea tray, they sat together later and later after Mae, with an arch look, excused herself—sipping wine, chatting or playing whist, at which the captain posed her a genuine challenge. Knowing that he would fight for every point rather than simply allow her to win,
she’d even succumbed to the temptation of challenging him to chess, a game at which she’d not tested her skill since her father’s death nearly ten years ago.

And all the while, they talked—ah, how they talked! Politics, literature, art, farming—the captain seemed well informed about almost every topic that interested her.

One evening they had debated the merit of the settlements established at Vienna, Belle questioning whether the German and Italian states would accept being arbitrarily placed back under the Austrian yoke, the captain countering that Castlereagh, the master realist, had exacted the best agreement possible.

Another night they debated the relative merits of Turner’s landscapes versus the stylized portraits of Lawrence, another whether Drury Lane’s manager was pandering to prurient masculine taste by abandoning Shakespeare for the appeal of plays featuring the lovely Vestris in breeches roles.

’Twas little wonder she’d not been able to keep herself from lingering while the fire burned low and the night stars rotated through the sky outside their window. The captain was the most accomplished and knowledgeable man she had encountered since quitting her father’s knee.

And as Mae had pointed out, the nicest.

Which made her predilection for his company all the more dangerous. The thaw in the ice wall behind which she’d hidden herself for so long had increased from a drip, to a trickle, to such a flood that her defenses had all but melted away. She had even grown almost used to the perilous physical attraction between them.

She’d certainly been wary enough of it initially. But as days passed and despite his recovery, the captain made no move to take advantage of that constant pull, she had gradually relaxed to the point that she now felt more comfortable with him than she had with any man in years.

Perversely enough, she thought with a wry grimace as she headed to the stables, even as the captain’s proper behavior—excessively proper when he knew he was dealing with a woman who was but high-priced harlot—set her at ease, she found herself wondering
why
he hadn’t tried to touch her.

Worst yet, as something dangerously akin to trust blossomed between them, she’d begun experiencing the oddest yearning to touch
him
—to explore the texture of his hair, run her fingertips along the line of his jaw or the muscle of his arms. This, from a woman who’d long viewed with distaste all physical contact between a man and a woman.

Last night she’d awakened from a dream in which he’d been caressing her, and instead of the familiar revulsion, her nerves had been singing with anticipation, her nipples tingling, a warm moist heat building between her thighs.

It was all most unsettling.

Even more unsettling, though, was the idea of having him leave. Much as she loved her country manor, the thought of remaining with only Mae and Watson for company, of losing his stimulating, charming, intelligent presence, caused an immediate pang of protest.

Made her feel empty. Alone.

Yet she must prepare herself for his imminent departure.
Once he finished the defensive plans after his inspection of the grounds today, and if their drive proved him able to travel by carriage without any ill effects, she would have no excuse to hold him.

With the Season soon to begin, his family must be expecting him daily. They would be distressed and resentful if they suspected his return was being delayed—especially if they knew who was delaying him.

Although to spare them the dismay such a revelation would certainly cause, the captain had probably not revealed precisely where he had gone after leaving London.

She paused at the turn of the path where he was to meet her. How much longer did she have to savor the delicious anticipation of seeing him again?

An ache squeezed her chest, sharp enough to send a lump into her throat and set her eyes stinging.

Oh, enough of this endless speculation, she told herself, brusquely dashing the moisture from her cheeks. He would leave soon enough and there was nothing to be done about it. ’Twas a glorious spring day and the circuit of her property would keep him in her company for several hours at the least. She would enjoy the day, and him.

He met her with that smile that warmed her from the inside out and helped her into the curricle, his hands at her waist so fleetingly she immediately regretted their removal. And though they conversed as she drove, him asking and her answering questions about the woods and fields they passed, she remained always conscious of him seated just a few inches beyond her elbow.

Though the captain seemed as careful to stay on his side
of the carriage as they jostled along as he was to keep his distance in the house.

Toward the end of their tour, Belle succumbed to the temptation to deliberately hit a few ruts, to see if she could throw him against her. Alas, he’d probably weathered much worse roads in the Peninsula, for he managed to maintain his position without bumping her.

It was early afternoon when they finished their circuit and Belle brought the curricle to a halt. “’Tis such a lovely day, I had Cook prepare us some refreshment. I thought we could share it up on the heights. The view is the finest on the property, so you can assess the land one last time and ask any questions that arise.”

“Sounds like an excellent suggestion.”

He helped her down, his brief touch at her waist again leaving warmth in its wake. Together they walked up a steep rise to where the land leveled out before falling away sharply. In a cleared space at the end of the trail stood a brushwork arbor, under which a felled tree served as a bench and cut rounds of log as makeshift tables.

Beyond the cliff edge before them spread a vista of cultivated fields interspersed with stands of forest. The manor house capped the rise opposite, its oak-bordered carriageway leading to the gatehouse and down the lane until it disappeared in the woods in the distance.

“What a lovely spot!” the captain exclaimed.

“I think so,” Belle returned with a smile, “though Mae was not impressed. Just a lot of empty fields and trees, she said, that would be much more jolly with a cluster of inns or shops to liven it up.”

As he laughed, Belle indicated the bench. “Please, be seated. ’Tis rather primitive, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve broken bread at many a site more primitive, but few so scenic,” he replied. “Let me pour you some wine.”

As they ate the bread, cheese and ham, Belle answered the captain’s questions about various features of the land they’d traveled through while he consulted his notes.

“I’ll have Watson station lookouts along the carriageway behind the gatehouse, there,” he said, pointing, “and assign more to patrol the high ground around the manor. One of the men he’s hired is a former rifleman, whom I’ve recommended he place in charge. The man’s a crack shot and has a good grasp of tactics. Though with luck, you shall never need your defenders, I believe with this team in place, you can feel safe from further threat.”

“How can I thank you?”

“I suppose I should rather thank you by, in the next day or so, ceasing to be a charge upon your household.”

So he did mean to leave—and soon! She had to struggle to suppress the cry of protest that sprang to her lips.

“Would it not be prudent,” she said, searching for an excuse to induce him to remain, “for you to tarry awhile after the men are in place? To…to make sure the plan functions as you envision it? Besides, you indicated that your home is still several days’ journey north. Although you have recovered amazingly, I cannot yet be easy about you attempting a journey of that length.”

He hesitated, his sober gaze resting on her. He’s thinking of a polite way to turn aside my concern and reaffirm his departure, she thought with a frisson of panic. She closed her eyes, waiting for his refusal.

“Perhaps it would be…prudent to stay a bit longer.”

At first she thought she must not have heard him correctly. Then a wave of relief swept through her so keen that for a moment she couldn’t reply.

“Y-yes, more prudent,” she echoed after a moment.

Though she knew, for her, it was not prudent at all.

“Another glass of wine?” she said, loath to return to the house—where in the solitude of her chamber she might have to confront the implications behind the desperate need she seemed to have developed for his company.

“Gladly. Let me offer congratulations. Everything I’ve seen of the land today speaks of diligent, careful tending.”

“I was lucky enough to inherit the estate manager when I acquired Bellehaven. His family has served here for generations.”

“He obviously both knows and loves the land.”

“As you obviously love your own. Tell me about Carrington Grove, if you would.”

Prompted by Belle, the captain described his fields and crops, the improvements he planned to implement once he was able to resume management of the land, how he hoped to win over some of his older tenants to the use of the newest seed drills and threshing machines his agent had been unable to persuade them to try.

Though he spoke only of mundane farming matters, she found herself leaning closer, listening as intently as if each word he spoke were a clue to the purpose of her life.

His lips themselves fascinated her. She felt an inexplicable need to touch them.

Have them touch hers.

Only dimly, at the back of her mind, did she note that this unusual desire did not trigger the automatic distaste that normally filled her at the thought of a man’s kiss. She was conscious instead of the breeze on her face, the sun heating her chest, legs, the skin beneath her gown.

Of his hand on the log seat, a few inches from her hip. His mouth just above hers, near enough that she could not tell whether what she felt was the wind—or his soft breath against her cheek.

Mesmerized by the golden flecks dancing in the irises of his dark brown eyes, she didn’t immediately notice that his lips had stilled, his voice gone silent. Then those eyes narrowed, darkened with a heat she recognized only too well.

Except this time, she was not revolted. Instead, she waited, scarcely breathing, as his lips descended nearer, nearer, until his sigh mingled with her own.

She closed her eyes, every nerve honed with anticipation. Awareness of him spiraled through her body, down to her toes, her fingertips, tightening her nipples, making the moist center of her throb.

How, she wondered, would he taste?

Hardly had that unprecedented thought registered in her dazed mind than suddenly the warmth vanished. She opened bewildered eyes to discover Captain Carrington drawing away. As she watched, uncomprehending, he sprang up and paced to the edge of the cliff and stood with his back to her, scanning the sky.