Redeeming Jack (13 page)

AFTER ARRANGING A future meeting in two days and bidding a reluctant Robert goodbye, Jack turned his attention to the documents Mr. Sprake had given him. Deep in thought, he made his way along the dark-paneled corridor to the rear of the inn. Gareth struck a flint and busied himself lighting a fire in the desolate private parlor.

“It seems as if Mrs. Forrester is residing in Oxwich Bay down the coast on the Gower peninsula.” Jack glanced up at Gareth. “Have you ever been there? It’s fairly remote.”

Gareth held his hands out to the fire. “I’ve visited the Gower on numerous occasions, but I don’t think I’ve had occasion to visit Oxwich recently. It’s a small community.”

Jack studied the precise drawing Mr. Sprake had made of the location of Oxwich and its various inhabitants. “I was taken by my tutor to visit Saint Iltyd’s, the medieval church at Oxwich, when I was a boy.” Jack half-frowned. “I remember little about it because I wanted to be down on the beach looking for cockles or exploring the marshes.” He pointed at a name written in bold type. “This is the location of Rose Edwards’s cottage, where the duke believes Mrs. Forrester is hiding.”

Gareth looked at the map over Jack’s shoulder. “She seems to have a few neighbors. We could start with them. As a Pastor, no one will wonder if I knock on their door and ask a few indiscreet questions.” He grinned at Jack. “If I drink tea and enjoy a little conversation without asking for a donation, their gratitude should be overwhelming and their confidences easy to come by.”

“I’ll pretend to be your manservant,” Jack said. “If I darken my hair and remember not to open my mouth too much, I should get by. I shouldn’t imagine many people around there remember me.”

Gareth looked thoughtful. “I think you’d be surprised. You were always the best-liked of your family.”

Jack carefully folded the map. “I think you’ll find that honor belongs to Robert.”

Gareth snorted. “I’ve never met anyone who finds it so difficult to accept a compliment. You spent most of your childhood running wild with the local children, while Robert sat dutifully with his tutor. You speak Welsh like a native and you thumbed your nose at your family to marry a Welsh girl from a lower social class.”

Jack ran his fingernail along the seam of the parchment, scoring the fold deeper. “And what a mess I made of that. My family treated Carys appallingly, and I wasn’t there to stop them.”

“She survived and it made her stronger. Do you think she regrets it? I don’t.”

Jack let out his breath. “She certainly regrets marrying me. Otherwise, why would she be seeking a divorce?”

“That’s a question you should be asking Carys, not me.”

Jack stared at the flickering fire. Gareth was right. He hadn’t asked her why she wanted to divorce him. He’d simply overreacted when she dared to suggest it. Picturing Carys’s calm expression at the solicitor’s office, Jack wondered anew at her lack of emotion.

If her child was indeed Rice’s, it might explain why she wanted to marry the dull fellow. But Jack couldn’t recall hearing any gossip or seeing Rice near Carys at the time of his disinheritance. Later, he’d heard from several sources, most of them malicious, about Carys’s child, but nothing about the supposed father.

Jack smoothed the velvety texture of the vellum beneath his fingertips. Did he have the courage to ask Carys about Rice and who was the father of her child? Something inside him shied away at the prospect. He wasn’t sure he could stand hearing her confirm his suspicions and cast him adrift from everything he’d ever wanted. He was as much a coward when it came to expressing his emotions as he was about the rest of his life. Carys knew that.

With a determined effort, Jack focused on the information in front of him. It was far easier to deal with Mrs. Forrester than grapple with the complications of his errant wife.

“Mr. Sprake has had the cottage watched for the past two weeks,” Jack said.

A knock sounded on the door, and Gareth got up to unlock it. He smiled as the innkeeper’s daughter entered with two tankards of ale, a plate of laver bread and a chicken pie balanced on a tray.

Jack swallowed hard as the fragrant scent of steaming-hot pastry caught his senses. “We can eat and talk, Gareth, but we really must get on. Every moment lost is an opportunity for Mrs. Forrester to escape.”

Gareth nodded, his mouth too full of pie to speak. Jack picked up his fork and contemplated his plate. One benefit of working for the duke was the regularity of wages and good food. How was he going to survive if Carys and the duke decided they no longer needed him? He’d begun to believe he could make amends and reclaim his old life. But if he failed, would he have to rely on the crumbs thrown at him by the enigmatic Captain Fury?

After satisfying his hunger, Jack picked up Mr. Sprake’s report and read it through. “If Mrs. Forrester is staying at the cottage, she hasn’t ventured out much. She’s been seen once at the window since she arrived.”

His instincts nagged at him. Was Mrs. Forrester making this too easy? If it truly was her, surely she would be making contact with La Fleur, the spy master, for her removal to France rather than skulking around a miniscule village in Wales?

Jack remembered the variety of ships that regularly stole into the shore to put down their illegal cargoes. Smuggling was widespread in the Gower and had been for generations before quarrying and mining began. The removal of one small woman from Oxwich or Rhossili Bay would hardly cause a ripple of interest to the overworked authorities.

For all Jack knew, and it seemed likely, Mrs. Forrester had already fled and the woman at the cottage was a decoy. He needed to capture Mrs. Forrester if he stood any chance of redeeming his past mistakes and beginning a new life.

Captain Fury seemed close to discovering the whereabouts of Marcus Stortford, Jack’s fellow officer and friend who was taken by the French on his last disastrous expedition in Spain. If Jack could produce information for the captain about Mrs. Forrester, Marcus might be rescued.
If
Marcus was rescued, he could tell the authorities that Jack hadn’t led them into a trap, and thus clear Jack’s name. It was a familiar litany that had revolved in Jack’s thoughts for years now. He was almost afraid to believe he would ever come close to resolving it.

Jack re-read Mr. Sprake’s crabbed handwriting, aware that he was thinking too much. He was building a precarious house of cards that could collapse with flagrant ease. By allowing himself to hope again, had he opened the gates to disillusionment and disappointment?

Glancing up, Jack saw Gareth watching him, his round face full of concern. He’d gained so much already. His best friend’s forgiveness and Robert’s understanding—more than he deserved, more than he’d expected. Perhaps he should be content and not expect miracles. But in his soul he knew he wouldn’t be happy until he had regained Carys’s love, too.

Jack put down the sheet of parchment. “I suggest we set off to the Gower early tomorrow morning and put our plan into action. How does that sound to you?”

Gareth’s expression brightened. “At last, something to do! I will write a note to Gwyneth delaying my return for another day or so. As long as I’m back to take the service on Sunday, I shouldn’t be missed.”

Jack questioned whether Gareth’s wife would view her husband’s continued absence in quite such a benevolent light. He’d not met Gwyneth yet and hoped for Gareth’s sake that she was all a pastor’s wife should be—patient, long-suffering and forgiving.

“If you need to return home…” Jack offered, unwilling to dent Gareth’s enthusiasm but determined to give him a reprieve if he required it.

“Gwyneth is a treasure, and the girls are too young to know whether I’m there or not.” He stopped and a faint suggestion of doubt crossed his face. “You don’t think I’ll be in the way, do you?”

“Of course not. It simply occurred to me that I was being selfish keeping you to myself when you have a family waiting for you.”

Gareth stood and slapped Jack heartily on the back. “Come on, Jack! It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I helped you block up twenty of the chimneys at Llewelyn Hall and smoke out your entire family.”

“I was beaten and sent back to school for the remainder of the summer for that escapade.” He offered a wry smile in return. “But it was worth it to see my esteemed father covered in soot.”

Chuckling, Gareth departed to write his letter, leaving Jack alone in the small parlor. His own smile faded. In truth, he couldn’t manage without Gareth. Mrs. Forrester knew Jack too well. He’d been employed in her household for several weeks as a nurse while caring for Michael Waterstone.

A slight sound made him look up. Carys stood at the doorway, her expression guarded, her posture wary. “Have you regained your temper, my lord?”

“Have you, my love?”

She drew in a breath and her words came out in a rush. “I am ready to apologize if you are. I don’t wish to fight with you anymore. I want to get on with my life.”

Jack got to his feet, stowing the documents away in his coat pocket. “I’ll not apologize for existing.” He moved toward her but she held her ground, blocking his retreat. “You married me in good faith, ‘til death do us part. I admit it was inconvenient of me not to get myself killed during the war. That would have made everything so much easier for you, would it not?”

“I never wished that, Jack. I swear I never wished you dead.” To his astonishment, her eyes filled with tears. She brushed them away from her cheek as if she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Don’t cry,
bach
, please…”

Hope surged through him and he dropped his gaze to her luscious mouth, struggling with the desire to claim her, to
order her
to forget the ridiculous notion that they were meant to be apart. How could she contemplate leaving him, when every fiber of his being screamed out for her touch? How could she lie in his arms and welcome him into her body if she felt nothing for him?

He stifled the impulse, knowing from experience how she’d react. She’d be outraged by his demands and determined not to comply with any of his arrogant male assumptions. He would have to tread carefully.

Carys was meant to be his. He wouldn’t settle for less.

He inhaled her scent as if it were his last breath and tried to find words to reach her. “Think about what you’re doing, Carys. Will you at least promise me that? I have to go to the Gower on business tomorrow. When I return, perhaps we can discuss our problems more rationally.”

“You are the one who is incapable of being rational, Jack. You tell me you have changed, and I begin to hope, and then you lose your temper with me.”

He slowly inhaled. “You’re right. I do get angry with you, and it isn’t fair.” She studied him for so long that he shifted his stance. “What’s wrong?”

“That is the first time you’ve admitted you have a temper.”

“You’ve always known that.”

She swallowed hard. “I have a temper too.”

“Do you?”

She mock-frowned at him. “
You’ve
always known that. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I simply meant to give you the facts.”

“That you want to marry Rice?”

She sighed. “I want this uncertainty to end for both of us.”

“And Rice is your solution to our problems?”

“He loves me, Jack.”

“And I don’t?” He took a step away from her. “If I didn’t love you, and if you didn’t love me, why would we bother to get angry with each other? We fight because deep down, we still care about each other. Can’t you see that?”

He waited, his heart beating so hard he could hear it, his attention riveted on her beautiful face. He saw his defeat in her eyes before she even opened her mouth.

“But it’s not as simple as that is it? Maybe love isn’t enough, and we have to grow up and find a different kind of love, a more mature, more realistic kind.”

“And Rice can give you that?”

“I think he can.”

Jack released his death grip on the doorframe and reached for the latch. “And I am not allowed to have changed? I am forever doomed to be pitied as a foolish, spoiled young hothead?”

She bit her lip and said nothing.

“And if I can prove to your satisfaction that I am a better man than Rice? Will you reconsider our marriage then?”

“I don’t know, Jack. It’s not a competition.” She sighed. “I just want this turmoil to end, for all our sakes. Can’t you see that?”

“He opened the door and turned to look at her. “I won’t give you up, Carys. I won’t make this easy for you.”

Anger flared in her eyes, replacing the signs of defeat. “When have you
ever
made anything easy for me?”

He turned away and closed the door deliberately behind him.

* * *

Jack narrowed his eyes as Gareth, still in his role of cupid, disappeared from the dinner table and left him alone with Carys. She wore a gown of deep cream with lace around the bodice and hem. Jack couldn’t hazard a guess as to what fancy color a modiste would call it, but it suited her admirably. Why she had chosen to wear it for dinner in a simple country inn was another mystery.

His jaw tightened as Carys rose and came across to pour him more wine. If he didn’t know better, he would think his wife was flirting with him. He amended that notion as she smiled brazenly into his eyes. No, not flirting with him, challenging him. It seemed she had decided to fight fire with fire.

His senses ignited and he rose to the lure like a well-trained hawk to the prey. “Would Lord Rice approve of the gown you are wearing this evening, my love?”

Carys looked down at her skimpy bodice and shrugged. “I don’t believe he has seen me in this particular gown, my lord. Why do you ask?”

“Because it is scarcely decent for company.” Jack couldn’t believe he’d said that. He sounded like his father. “If you lean any farther toward me, the wine is not the only thing that will end up in my glass.”

Carys held his gaze and slowly bent forward another inch. Sparks of temper smoldered dangerously in her blue eyes. “You have obviously been out of circulation for too long, my lord. This gown is the
height
of fashion.”