The Bastard (28 page)

Except he didn’t really feel that way. Not after learning what St. Ives had in store for her. He applauded her courage and determination and vowed to see her safely away from her powerful husband, but to do that meant he had to keep her safe from
him.
She’d never get an annulment if he took her virginity. It was the only weapon she possessed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

He dunked his head and washed his hair. Then he warned her that he was getting out and stepped over the edge of the tub to towel himself off. “The bath is yours.”

He promptly dressed. He wanted to take Jeannette into his arms and kiss away the damage he’d done, but he told himself things were better this way. She would be safer if she kept him at a distance.

The way he was feeling, she couldn’t get far enough away.

Jeannette waited for Treynor to dress and turn his back before she removed her clothes. It wasn’t easy to ignore his presence, or his unkind words, but she concentrated on the water that would wash the grime from her body and give her a reprieve from her dirty boy’s costume.

Treynor stood in the corner, feet spread wide, as he finished buttoning his shirt. His thick, wet hair fell partway down a back that was straight and true. He’d asked what she was doing to him, but Jeannette could have demanded the same of him. This so-called bastard had turned her whole world upside down. He invaded her thoughts, her dreams, and sometimes even...her hopes.

She swallowed against the lump that had lodged itself in her throat and sank into the barrel. The water was tepid, as if some attempt had been made to warm it. Better than that, it was as fresh as he’d indicated.

“Did you really bribe
everyone
?” Hoping to establish a truce between them, she leaned back and closed her eyes. “Everyone else bathes and washes their clothes and hammocks in seawater, yes?”

Several seconds passed before he answered. “Not most of the officers. Mrs. Hawker collects rainwater for me. She uses it for my laundry, and I use it to bathe in.” He sounded distant, composed.

For a moment, Jeannette resented his indifference, especially when her heart still raced at the memory of holding him in her arms. But it had been kind of him to share the luxury of his rainwater bath. She opened her eyes to thank him and caught him watching her in the mirror.

A slow smile curled his lips when their gazes met and locked in the glass. Evidently he wasn’t so unaffected after all.

“At least have the decency to look away now that I have caught you.” She gave her words plenty of starch, but the way she’d worshipped his body only minutes earlier stole any basis she had for real indignation—that and the relief that she wasn’t the only one feeling what she was feeling.

“I have been quite the gentleman so far, despite my low birth. You certainly can’t begrudge me a view of your loveliness in return for my bath.”

Jeannette smiled. She was growing weary of Treynor’s damned restraint and, perverse though it was, she somehow wanted to punish him for it. “As you wish.” Standing, she lathered her body, purposefully ignoring him as she worked her hands around her breasts.

Treynor didn’t say a word, but Jeannette caught him staring at her with slack-jawed appreciation.

“Do you not have work to do, Lieutenant?”

His eyes narrowed. “You are playing with fire, Jeannette. I am not one of your drooling beaux. I am used to getting what I want.”

“I didn’t ask you to stand there and ogle me.”

“And yet you tempt me to do far more.”

Finally embarrassed by her own behavior, she ducked down. He had her acting like a common whore one minute and a nun the next. She hardly knew herself anymore. But, when she pictured herself with child and returning to her parents, unable to hide her shame, she had sense enough left to know that she wouldn’t thank him for taking advantage of the situation.

Something had to be done, before it was too late. “I am going to the captain,” she said, her newfound resolution giving her strength. “Certainly we are far enough from England now.”

A frown settled on Treynor’s face. He looked as though he would argue with her, but he didn’t. “Perhaps that is best for both of us,” he said at last.

When Jeannette got out of the bath and dried off, she quickly pulled on her clothes and fled.

A fire raged in the hearth of the drawing room at the baron’s London townhouse. Percy sat before it with Thomas Villard, staring pensively into the flames. Jeannette had been gone for nearly four days. He had men scouring the teeming city and every route into it, but to no avail. They had given him a report as soon as he arrived an hour ago.

Something must have happened to her. Or had she outsmarted him after all?

Sir Thomas cleared his throat. “Providing your lady is alive and well, why not proceed with an annulment so you can seek a new wife? Hard as an annulment is to obtain, you might be better off,” he said, lifting his glass of brandy to the light of the fire where he could better examine the golden liquid.

Percy turned a scowl on his friend. “And admit to being impotent? We both know that is likely what it would require, and I will do no such thing. How would I ever get an heir?” He shook his head. “No, I am committed to this path. Jeannette is ideal for my purposes. I knew it the moment Lord Darby contacted me about her.”

“He contacted you?”

“Indeed. He was so eager to be rid of his poor French relations that he wrote to say he thought she would make me a perfect wife. He all but begged me to marry the chit.” He watched Sir Thomas drain his glass. “And what we arranged is no less than fair. You have to give me that.”

“I agree, of course.”

“I ask Jeannette’s forbearance for one night,” Percy went on. “What is one night? In return she and her family are provided with financial security. Her sons will inherit all I have.” He shifted to ease the pain in his foot. “She could never do better. She had no dowry besides a nominal amount from Darby.”

Thomas reached for the brandy decanter on the table next to him. “I remember.”

“And she is beautiful, which makes your job easier, does it not?” Percy imagined his wife's young, supple body lying naked on the sheets as Villard drove into her.

“The ‘job’, as you call it, would be easy enough were you not going to be there watching every move.” Thomas grimaced. “I have never had another man in the room before. I am not sure I will like it at all.”

“Whether you like it or not is of no matter to me. I have to make sure I get what I am paying for.” Percy admired Thomas’s tall, thin build and the other physical characteristics he would like his son to have. “You were more than willing when I first approached you—eager enough to offer your brother a chance to participate. That foolish decision is at the root of all our problems.”

Letting his gaze drop to the carpet, Sir Thomas loosened his cravat. “How was I to know he would refuse? You said you were looking for a number of men. I tried to help you find likely candidates, those with acceptable bloodlines.”

“You should have known Richard better than that!”

“The money tempted him. I have no idea what went wrong. I think he refused just to spite me. Anyway, I did what I could to remedy the situation.” Thomas’s words had fallen to a mumble. “Her parents believed us, at least.”

“That is what I am paying you for, is it not? Quick thinking and discretion? Unfortunately for me, those commodities do not come cheaply.”

Sir Thomas smiled ruefully. “They come cheaply enough. The money goes too fast.”

“Just remember that there is more where that came from when the deed is done.”

“Then I shall do my part the moment you retrieve the sacrificial virgin.” Thomas smiled and leaned his head back against the soft leather of his seat. “And what of Desmond?”

“He is with us still.”

“I am not surprised. He is the type to enjoy you sitting next to the bed, urging him on when he lifts your wife's skirts. Putting on a show is his
forte
, not mine.”

Just the mention of the spectacle he had anticipated ever since he’d met Jeannette caused a spark of arousal to leap through Percy's veins. Impotency was becoming a problem for him, but not when he pictured watching Sir Thomas with Jeannette. Perhaps he would be able to take a turn after all.

Thomas smiled at his silence. “Does the thought of having other men rock your marriage bed excite you, my lord?”

“Begetting an heir excites me,” Percy snapped, irritated that he had been so transparent. “Do you think I will let Hawthorne House and all I own go to a distant cousin? And one I loathe at that?”

Sir Thomas covered his mouth against a belch. “Evidently not. But your new wife has certainly complicated our plans. I doubt her parents will give you the unbridled freedom they would have before.”

Percy’s desire turned to a dull ache in his joints, reminding him of his age and making him angrier still. “It won’t be difficult to discredit her or her parents. When Lord Darby hears Jeannette’s accusations, he might pay me a cursory visit, but he would hardly allow himself to lose face by trying to wrench her back. And by the time he does, it will all be over anyway. She will be with child, a child she will relinquish to me the moment it is born.”

“Providing, of course, that we find her.”

Percy rose from his chair and moved to where Sir Thomas sat, farther away from the fire. He grasped the man’s arm, curling his nails, clawlike, into Villard’s flesh. “No girl makes a fool of me. I will find her,” he promised. “And when I do, she will cooperate. Then you will give me everything I have paid for, too.”

Sir Thomas looked uneasy. “I have already given you my word. There is no need for any...unpleasantness.”

“Very well.” With a grunt, Percy pulled away and turned to pace—stiffly—on the expensive rug.

“Just because your first wife bore you no children does not mean you were at fault,” Villard said. “Perhaps she was barren.”

Percy faced his friend. He’d once thought the same thing, had blamed Elsie for everything—until years of bedding young servants, peasant women, prostitutes, and the wives of several friends hadn’t yielded him a single illegitimate child either. “It wasn’t Elsie.”

“But if this goes on much longer, our plan might not work. I mean—”

Percy swiped the glass from Thomas’s hand, sending it crashing into the hearth. “It will work! The babe shall have the finest blood in all of England! And,” he added, looking at it from a practical perspective, “no one will know who the father is, even the sires, which will protect my property from any future claims—”

A rap at the door halted Percy’s tirade. “Damn you,” he muttered, afraid Harripen, his butler, might have overheard. “What is it?” he called out.

Harripen entered, followed closely by Ralston Moore, the baron’s solicitor.

“Moore, you were to meet us when we arrived,” Percy growled. “Where have you been?”

“I came as soon as I could.” Noticing the broken glass on the floor, he raised a questioning eyebrow, but Percy ignored it.

“Tell me you had good reason to be detained.”

A smile crinkled the corners of the solicitor’s eyes. “I believe I know where your wife is hiding, sir.”

Percy’s heart skipped a beat. “Where?”

Moore reached into his pocket and withdrew a small leather pouch. Wearing the same self-satisfied smile, he handed it to Percy.

Percy loosened the drawstrings and gazed inside, only to find a few long tresses of dark hair. “What is this?”

“Your lady’s hair, I believe.”