The Bastard (44 page)

Outside, whoever waited gave up on the knocker and began to bang on the door itself.

“Lord St. Ives! Lord St. Ives! I bear a message for Lord St. Ives!”

“Damn Harripen.” Percy winced at the pain his gout caused him as he grabbed his cane, took the candle that burned on his desk, and made his way down the stairs. It was possible that the messenger had brought word of his missing bride.

Percy cracked open the door, then felt a moment’s trepidation at his own impulsiveness. It was late, and he carried no weapon. He could be opening his home to a band of thieves or murderers. But the deed was done. The wind whooshed into the house, tearing the door out of his grasp. It slammed against the interior wall, startling both him and the young man waiting on the other side.

Bundled up in a thick coat and long scarf, with a hat pulled low over his brow, a lad of about sixteen blinked at him in surprise. “I bear a message for the baron,” he announced before Percy could gather his wits enough to speak.

“From whom?”

“I must deliver it to Lord St. Ives himself.”

“I
am
Lord St. Ives, you little fool,” Percy snapped, irritated that Harripen had left him to do the job of a common servant. What good was a butler if he had to answer his own door during the most dangerous hours of the night?

Obviously doubtful, the messenger paused as though measuring the richness of St. Ives’s robe against the small, balding man inside it. “My apologies, milord,” he said at last.

Without his wig, St. Ives felt as old and shriveled as he knew he must look, which only made him angrier. “Well? Out with it!”

“Your solicitor bid me tell you to come to the King’s Arms in Aldgate—immediately. And bring some men with you. He has found your wife.”

Percy’s irritation evaporated. “Indeed! Then tell Mr. Moore I am coming.”

The boy hesitated, waiting for a stipend.

“I am in my damned robe. I haven’t got a half-penny,” he snapped and slammed the door.

“Milord? What is the matter?” The crash of the door had roused Harripen. The butler shuffled forward, holding a candelabra with one shaking hand while squinting against its light.

If his night visitor had been bent on murder or mayhem, the venerable butler was hardly able to defend him. Harripen carried a pistol, but he seemed more intent on shielding the flame of his candle with it than in protecting anyone.

“Nothing now,” he replied. “But you can rouse Price and tell him to bring the carriage round. I am going to Aldgate.”

“At this hour, sir?"

“Indeed. My lady will not escape me again.”

“Lady St. Ives has been found, milord?”

“She has.” Feeling more energetic than he had in years, he made his way up the stairs to dress.

“I do hope she is unhurt, milord,” Harripen called after him.

St. Ives paused. “Yes, so do I.”

The butler shuffled back toward the kitchen as, satisfied at last, St. Ives hurried up to his room. He would have his head footman hire some muscle off the docks, which was what he guessed Moore meant by men.

His lovely young wife would be home by morning.

Jeannette paced before the fire in her room at the King’s Arms, unable to sleep. Finally full and clean and wearing some decent clothes, she told herself she should be in high spirits. But dinner had been miserable. The atmosphere between her and Treynor had been tense, and when it had come time to retire, he had brushed a quick kiss across her brow and left as though relieved to be away.

With a sigh, she made another pass. She wanted nothing more than to see her family again. And yet...she dreaded the moment she would have to part ways with Treynor and face St. Ives.

Perhaps in her absence the baron had decided he didn’t want a wife who would fly from his home...

It was tempting to hope, but Jeannette suspected St. Ives would not let her out of the marriage so easily. A man who would resort to such extreme measures to acquire an heir wouldn’t give up simply because he met with resistance.

Jeannette heard Treynor’s movements in the room next door and realized he wasn’t sleeping either. She longed to go to him, to seek the comfort and reassurance she lacked.

Perhaps she had been foolish to deny them the pleasure of being in each other’s arms.

Ignoring her better judgment, she padded out into the hall and knocked softly at his door.

“Treynor?” she murmured through the panel. “Are you asleep?”

“Hardly.” The door opened immediately. He wore breeches but nothing else. “Is something wrong?”

Jeannette was almost too afraid to go through with the plan taking shape in the back of her mind. She simply stared into his face, her heart thudding until he pulled her inside, shut the door, and gathered her in his arms.

“Are you frightened, dearest?” he breathed into her hair.

She hated to admit that fear had driven her to his door. She wasn’t sure, exactly, what she felt. “I just want to talk,” she lied.

“I think you mean to drive me mad.”

Jeannette pulled away and moved to gaze out at the moonlit snow, which had nearly melted away. The rain had come and gone all evening, creating a muddy mess.

“What is it, Jeannette?” Treynor came to stand behind her as if ready, should she give him any kind of sign, to take her back into his arms.

She glanced at the bed, then closed her eyes. “All right.”

He turned her to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“Tomorrow I must return to my parents, but tonight is ours.”

He gaped at her while holding himself rigidly in control. “But the annulment—”

“The baron chose me for my pedigree. No doubt he chose his sires according to the same criteria. If I give myself to you, if there is a chance I might be with child, your child, he will not want me.”

Treynor’s eyes narrowed. “But what if he does?”

“We both know how slim my chance is of getting an annulment, even with my virginity intact.”

“I will not let him hurt you.”

“There is nothing you can do,” she whispered.

He lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “Go back to your own room, where you are safe.”

“Treynor.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You cannot talk me out of it. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? At least I will have this night.”

“I cannot let you tempt me. What kind of man would I be—”

“Just a man,” she said, kissing the indentation above his collarbone.

His muscles went taut. She thought he’d set her from him again, but he didn’t move. “Jeannette—”

“Now, Treynor, take me now.”

Something akin to a growl sounded low in his throat. In one quick movement, he crushed her to him. His lips moved over her cheek, then paused to mold her mouth to his.

She didn’t refuse when his fingers hungrily worked the laces of the dress he had bought her earlier. He stood back to pull her bodice and shift down, baring her to the waist. Then his head descended, and he took one nipple and then the other into his mouth.

“You are beautiful, Jeannette. God, how I want you. I have wanted you since that first night.”

Jeannette thought she’d melt in his hands. He trailed kisses up her throat, causing her to drop her head back as she abandoned herself to his caress. She had never felt anything so vital as his lips moving over her skin or his heart beating beneath her hands.

“How I wish we had forever,” he whispered hoarsely.

Closing her eyes, Jeannette allowed herself to believe in forever as he placed one arm under her knees, swung her up, and carried her to his bed.

“Your arm is hurt. You will start it bleeding again,” she protested, only half-mindful of such practicalities.

He ignored her efforts to make him put her down. “I feel nothing but desire.”

As Jeannette slid down Treynor’s body, she felt the hardness that attested to his words. A small tremor of fear passed through her as she wondered what she had started and where it would end. But it no longer mattered. She could sooner turn the tide or deny the moon than leave Treynor at this moment.

Eager now that the decision had been made, Jeannette reached for the buttons of his breeches. He watched her as she began to undo each one—then the door seemed to explode.

Jeannette screamed and covered herself as best she could, and Treynor spun to protect her from whatever was coming. But it was too late. The Baron St. Ives stood in the hall between two burly giants. Ralston Moore followed in their wake.

“How dare you!” he thundered, entering the room. “Get away from my wife!”

Treynor tossed a blanket over Jeannette and moved to stand in front of her without bothering to fasten the top buttons of his breeches. “She plans to annul your marriage. You have no claim upon her.”

St. Ives’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. “What are you talking about? I own her! She is as much mine as Hawthorne House or any of my other properties. I will have you thrown into prison if you dare stand in my way.”

On the verge of tears, Jeannette did her best to make herself decent.

“Then I will be forced to protect her any way I can.” The rough edge to Treynor’s voice indicated his words were no bluff, but she feared there was little he could do. He was outnumbered four to one—and injured on top of that.

“I will not have them hurt you, Trey. I will go.” Finished lacing up her dress, she threw off the blanket, and moved toward St. Ives, even though the ugly glint in his eyes frightened her more than the presence of his hired help.

Ralston Moore stayed in the background, as if reluctant to become involved. But Jeannette had no doubt where his loyalties lay.

She stopped to look once more at Treynor. “We can appeal to Lord Darby in the morning and—”

“By then it will be too late and you know it.” Treynor caught her by the wrist and pulled her with him toward his pistol and sword, which rested on the bureau.

“Make one more move toward that, an’ I’ll drop ye where ye stand.” One of the hired brutes pointed a gun at Treynor’s chest.

“Whatever he is paying you fellows isn’t enough,” Treynor said.

“You are a fool!” St. Ives snapped.

“A gambling fool, perhaps. I am willing to wager I can kill you before they get me. Are you willing to bet against me?”

The tough spoke again. “An’ ye with a wounded arm. I’d like ter see that.”

“Wait.” Making a soothing gesture, Moore spoke for the first time. “This is getting out of hand, and there are...legal implications. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting in the morning. It is late after all, my lord—”

“Silence! I will wait no longer.” St. Ives studied Treynor as though trying to gauge just how determined he was. “Name your price,” he said at last. “A good toss is only worth so much. You could buy a hundred whores for what I am willing to pay to have Jeannette back.”

“I have no interest in your dirty bargain,” Treynor responded. “Like your man said, come back in the morning, preferably after we have had a chance to meet with the Earl of Darby and a man of the cloth who knows something about how to achieve an annulment.”

“You are an insolent dog. I have heard enough.” St. Ives snapped his fingers.