The Earl's Secret (12 page)

“Jenny is amazing.” Christopher smiled appreciatively at her and squeezed her hand. “She has an excellent historical background and makes all the right decisions.”

“I would love you to have a peek at a few of my rooms,” their hostess said with a hopeful smile. “Is it your business, restoration?”

“No,” Jennifer admitted, “but I wouldn't mind if it were. I'm enjoying myself immensely.”

“Well, let's have a look-see,” the woman said and gave Christopher a knowing wink. “If Lord Smythe can spare you?”

He kissed her heartily on the mouth and gave her an encouraging nudge. “Off you go, then. I'll stay with the horses.”

The peek at a few rooms turned out to be an hour-long excursion of the Victorian mansion. But Jennifer so enjoyed herself time didn't matter. She was able to give Emma Dorchester several ideas for redecorat
ing. And while they talked about furnishings, wallpaper, paint and historical details of the house, Jennifer learned more about Emma. All of which she liked. Married to a diamond importer, she was a granddaughter of a famous prime minister of England. Emma loved her extensive gardens and worked often in them, but her favorite hobby was jewelry design. Her creations were in high demand in exclusive London shops.

They ended up in front of a window overlooking the polo field. Riders were mounted and taking practice swats with long-handled mallets at small balls hidden by the grass.

“Oh, they're starting already,” Jennifer cried excitedly. This time she would be pulling for Christopher, not wishing for his demise.

“So they are.” Emma took her arm. “Let's go down. I thought we'd wait a little longer but someone must be eager.”

Chris,
Jennifer thought immediately.

She could see him tearing up and down the field on the glistening back of Prince's Pride. The black horse dug in its hooves as it spun in a sharp turn at the tug on his reins, sending clods of turf flying.

This is why we're here,
she realized.

For a few hours Christopher would try to wipe from his mind the bitter disappointment that plagued him. Visions of the tragic riding accident of a famous actor flashed through her mind. Jennifer felt the need to keep a close watch on him.

“Yes, let's go,” she said breathlessly.

 

Christopher saw Jennifer standing at the far end of the field. He finished negotiating a handicap with the
other team's field captain, spun his horse and rode at breakneck pace to pull up with just inches to spare in front of her.

He felt stronger than he had in days. Prince snuffled and flared his nostrils, dancing restlessly beneath him as if just as eager to begin.

“Wish me luck, luv. We've got a lot riding on this match, and I had to give the other side four bloody points!”

“More money for Lisa's school?” she asked.

“This time most will go to a school in Edinburgh for troubled kids.”

She smiled up at him and stroked his horse's velvety muzzle. “Fund-raising seems to be developing into a profession for you.”

He shrugged. “I like the kids, what can I say?”

“Just be careful out there,” she whispered.

He bent down from his saddle and kissed her on the mouth, amused but also warmed by the apprehension in her pretty green eyes.

Wheeling his mount, he left her to find a seat among the folding chairs arranged along one side of the field. He kept Prince moving while the remaining players took the field. Four to each team. The two umpires mounted up. The referee signaled the start of the first period, and they were off.

“Have you ever played?” Jennifer asked Emma when she took the seat beside her.

“Far too many broken bones for my taste. I'd rather watch.”

Jennifer followed the play, sliding farther and farther forward on her seat. The speed of the horses, shouts of the players, cracks of mallets and earth-
shaking hoofbeats made her feel part of the fierce action.

To her surprise the horses were all Thoroughbreds—big, strong animals topping a thousand pounds each, not the agile polo ponies she had imagined galloping lightly down the field. The first of the six, seven-minute periods came to an end with the score 1-to-2 in favor of the other side.

Christopher had ridden hard and taken far more risks than in the other match she had watched. Several players changed horses, but Christopher did not.

In the second period he played even more recklessly. He ran his horse full-out at the ball, swinging his long-handled mallet like a Scottish warrior attacking the enemy. Standing in his stirrups, he shouted commands to his teammates and traded curses or victorious bellows. High-strung mounts collided, were forced off the line of play, then retaliated by bumping an opponent out of range of a shot. As brutal as the game seemed to her, few fouls were called.

The rich appeared to enjoy playing rough.

At the second break Christopher still didn't bring Prince's Pride to the sidelines. Jennifer noticed Jamie waving at him from the edge of the field, holding the bridle of one of his other horses. Christopher shook him off.

“Damn him,” Jennifer muttered. She pushed up from her chair and jogged down the sideline to where the groom stood, looking annoyed. “What's wrong, Jamie?”

“Lord Smythe is like a madman t'day,” the older man grumbled. “If he don't change horses soon, he'll be killin' off that handsome animal.”

Jennifer's chest tightened as she watched Prince's
Pride stumble through a fast turn. Christopher's eyes were bright and fixed on the ball as he kicked the horse on. Prince snorted, strained, rolled his eyes but plunged on obediently.

Impulsively Jennifer dashed down the edge of the field as close as possible to the tangle of horses and riders engulfed in a cloud of dust.

“Christopher!” she shouted between cupped palms. “Take another horse!”

He flashed her a wild look and kept on riding.

“You'll destroy him if you—” Three horses veered in her direction. She jumped out of their way. Christopher shot her a warning glare. “That arrogant jerk,” she swore.

Her heart pounding, Jennifer ran back to Jamie.

“Don't be doin' that, miss,” he warned. “It's dangerous standin' out on the field like that.”

“Then give me that horse, and I won't be standing,” she shouted above the noise of thundering hooves.

He stared at her. “But Lord Smythe will be needin' him in—”

“He needs him
right now,
and he's going to take him if I have to knock him off one damn horse and throw him onto the other.”

Without waiting for a response, Jennifer seized the chestnut's reins.

It was fortunate that she had spent time riding between chores at Donan. The second horse was impatient to have his turn at the game. She was barely into the saddle before he broke into a gallop across the field. She didn't even have to steer him in the right direction. His instincts led him directly toward the crowd of horses, milling wildly around the ball.

A whistle shrieked, and shouts from the umpires brought play to a sudden halt. Christopher turned in his saddle with a puzzled glare and finally saw her riding toward him. “What the bloody hell are you—”

“You,”
she asserted, “are changing horses.
Now,
sir!” She brought the chestnut up close to Prince and slid from her saddle to the ground. Before Christopher could object, she gripped his mount's bridle to prevent him from riding away.

A burst of laughter rose from the dust-covered riders around them.

“Guess she told you, Smythe!”

“We know who's boss at Castle Donan these days!”

Jennifer feared the worst. Christopher had a temper, and his expression at the moment was black and volatile. Stepping closer, she reached up and laid her free hand on his knee as his horse's breath rattled in and out of its heaving chest. Its muzzle was thick with white froth.

“Kill yourself if you like,” she whispered urgently at him, “but don't take this loyal creature with you.”

Christopher stared at her in disbelief.
No one
ever interrupted play other than the ref or the umpires, and even they sometimes had trouble making themselves heard in a heated game. Jennifer was dwarfed by the ten restless horses and their athletic riders milling around her.

The rage drained from his heart. He was amazed by her nerve. Slowly his mind cleared and he took stock of his mount's condition. The horse's massive ribs expanded and contracted with effort; its forelegs were trembling; its coat streamed sweat. Another ten minutes, and he might have ruined him forever.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff with exertion as he pressed a damp palm over her hand and slid off Prince.

They walked the two horses to a table where cold drinks had been set out for the players. Jamie took Prince's Pride away for a good rubdown and rest, and Christopher drank thirstily from a bottle of spring water.

“Don't worry, you'll get your money for the schools,” she said, although she knew it was more than charity that drove him to gamble with his life.

Eventually Christopher's team won by a handsome margin, even with their handicap. But he was so exhausted they decided not to stay for Emma's dinner that evening.

“Would you mind driving?” he asked as he pulled off his muddy shirt and riding breeches, using the horse van as a changing room.

She handed him a clean shirt and pants. “I actually get to drive the Jaguar?” she teased. “You must really be tired to trust her to a female driver.”

“If I can trust her to anyone, it would be you.” He smiled wearily at her. “While you drive, I'll count the spoils.”

Fifteen minutes later Jennifer steered the sports car onto the back road leading to Donan.

“How much did we take in?” she asked, feeling like the getaway driver after a bank heist. She could see twenty-and hundred-pound notes, but also a dozen or more checks for amounts that danced with zeroes.

Christopher added up the proceeds silently. “Nearly five thousand.”

She gasped. “Five-thousand pounds!”

He laughed. “Should buy those little ruffians some new books and three or four computers for their classrooms, don't you think?”

“That's wonderful,” Jennifer said, then turned her attention to the road. He watched her drive for a while, then dozed off in the passenger seat as the adrenaline in his system slowly seeped away. When he opened his eyes, she was slanting a questioning look at him.

“Awake now?” she asked.

“Yup. Good as new.” Except when he moved a sharp pain jabbed at his left side, which made him wonder if he might have cracked a rib.

“Great, I have an interesting thought,” she said cautiously as she passed a slow-moving lorry. “Why don't I take the train into London someday this week, by myself.”

“To buy furniture?” he guessed.

“To have lunch with Lady Ellington.”

It felt as if she had driven a blade into his chest. Christopher straightened in the passenger seat but said nothing.

“I'm serious, Chris,” she said softly. “I might be able to reason with Sandra if I can just speak to her alone. Woman to woman. She can't possibly understand how difficult being apart from Lisa has been for—”

“No!” he roared.

Jennifer's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Her chin tilted defensively upward. “You're impossible,” she huffed. “I understand there's a matter of pride here. But it's foolish to go on like this. There must be a way to mediate the situation.”

“Stop the car!” he roared.

They were moving at well over fifty miles an hour, and the shoulder was nonexistent. “No,” she said stubbornly.

“Pull over. I'm going to drive.”

She pressed down on the accelerator.

“Bloody hell!” he growled, reaching for the steering wheel.

If she refused to steer the car to the side of the road, he would do it from where he sat. He was stronger, and she wouldn't be foolish enough to try to stop him.

“All right!” she cried. “Let go. You'll get us both killed. I'll do it.”

As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Christopher threw himself out the Jaguar's door and ran around to the driver's side. He swung open the door and yanked Jennifer out. She had no choice but to walk around and climb into the passenger seat. He could feel her anger with him, and he didn't care.

Christopher drove in silence. Few vehicles were moving fast enough for him. He passed three or four, then found a clear stretch of road.

“You're being unreasonable,” she said at last.

“I'm being practical. Anything you do or say to Sandra now will only make the situation worse. I forbid you to approach the woman.” He felt her glaring at him, but kept his eyes to the road.

“I don't see how things can be any worse than this,” she countered tightly. “You're miserable. Lisa's totally in the dark about her true history, which may someday be very important to her. And everyone around you from the stable boys to Mrs. Clark has to suffer your vile moods.”

“Get used to it,” he growled.

“I'm not sure that I can,” she said heatedly.

He stole a quick glance at her and saw fear mixed with stubbornness. She looked as if she might cry any second…or heave something at him.

Perhaps he had been too harsh, but he had to make her understand how strongly he felt about the risk of losing his daughter. He would make things right with Jennifer later.

J
ennifer had never let others make decisions for her. She wasn't about to let Christopher start now.

Besides, she was confident that she could find a way to convince the Ellingtons to tell Lisa about Christopher. A way that would protect Lisa's fragile relationship with Christopher while preventing damage to Sir Isaac's political career and his wife's social standing. Once she worked things out with the Ellingtons, Christopher would realize she had made the right decision for all concerned.

But what if she failed?

What price would she pay for following her instincts over Christopher's wishes? She might lose him and Castle Donan, which she'd grown to love almost as much as the man. Her only consolation then would be knowing she had done all she could for him.

One morning a week after the polo match, Jennifer
remained in bed after Christopher left for his morning ride. A thick gray mist swirled outside the windows. She heard the crunch of his boots as he crossed the gravel drive leading to the stables. He would be gone for several hours.

Jennifer threw off the bedcovers and dressed quickly, but not in her usual work clothes. Twenty minutes later she ran silently down the stone steps to the great hall and dropped a note on the foyer table where the mail was always left. “Gone shopping. Back by supper. Love, J.”

She asked one of the stable lads to drive her to the train station, bought her ticket and, later that morning, arrived at Victoria Station. The day before, it had occurred to her that the Ellingtons might not even be in the city, and she had called to be sure. A maid had told her Sir Isaac and his wife would be in residence for the rest of the week. Jennifer hadn't asked for Sandra. She felt sure the woman would refuse to speak to her. All she could do was hope she caught them at home.

She arrived by cab at the Ellingtons' town house in fashionable Chelsea, paid the driver and climbed the marble steps to tap the polished brass door knocker. Jennifer drew a deep breath to calm herself for the coming ordeal. Her hands trembled at her sides, her insides quivered, and she prayed she would find Lisa's mother in a more reasonable mood.

At last footsteps approached from the other side of the door. The same butler opened the door. He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.

“I wish to speak with Lady Ellington,” she said quickly.

“And you are?” he asked.

“Jennifer Murphy, a friend of the earl of Winchester.”

A flicker of recognition crossed his dull gray eyes. “Lady Ellington is entertaining luncheon guests. I will tell her you called, Miss Murphy.” He started to shut the door.

Hastily Jennifer stepped into the narrow opening. “This is a very important matter. It can't wait,” she insisted.

“I doubt that, miss.”

To her amazement he tried to force the door shut despite her standing in its way.

She braced her hands on either side of the door and thrust one foot into the foyer. “I'll wait here while you give Lady Ellington a message. Tell her that either she speaks with me now, in private, or I will be joining her party. Then we can all discuss her daughter's future over dessert.”

A burst of laughter and clink of silver against china came from the room to their right. Momentarily distracted, the butler turned. By the time he pivoted back, Jennifer had squeezed the rest of the way into the foyer.

“Please leave now, miss. I don't want to have to throw you out.”

He took a step forward, but she dodged to one side, then stood her ground.

“If you want to avoid a scene, just give her the message.”

What had possessed her? Until this day she would never have dreamed of forcing her way into another person's house. But desperate situations sometimes called for a little insanity. If threats and ultimatums
were what it took to bring Christopher and his daughter together, so be it!

With obvious reluctance the man nodded, then stepped around her into the dining room, shutting the door behind him.

Jennifer's heart raced. Her palms were moist with perspiration as she waited anxiously. Soon the latch clicked on the dining room door, and she looked up to see the grim-faced butler followed by the lady of the house.

“What do you think you're doing here?” the woman snapped.

“Our previous conversation was unsatisfactory,” Jennifer stated. “You're not treating Christopher Smythe or your daughter fairly. There has to be some kind of compromise.”

Sandra glared at her. “This is none of your business. My husband and I are doing what is best for Lisa.”

“You broke your promise to Christopher.”

Sandra lifted a precisely waxed brow. “Parker, put her out.”

Obedient old Parker moved with surprising agility. Before Jennifer could step aside, he had clamped a strong hand around her upper arm and was dragging her toward the front door.

“Stop it!” Jennifer shouted, struggling to free herself. “You have no right to—”

“
What
is going on here?” a voice boomed through the foyer.

Jennifer looked over her shoulder to see the man who had passed her and Chris as they were leaving the Ellingtons' house on their earlier visit. Sir Isaac.
He was ignoring her but looking questioningly at his wife.

“This young woman has forced her way into the house, and Parker is about to eject her.” Sandra's eyes blazed. “Why don't you return to our guests, dear. I will be right along.”

He turned to observe Jennifer, still trapped in Parker's claw-like grip. “I've seen you before,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” she gasped, “a few weeks ago. I came with Christopher Smythe to speak with your wife about—” She broke off. Was there a chance he didn't know about the meeting?

“Go on…go on…I was told the meeting was about Lisa. Sandra wanted to offer Lord Smythe a chance to take his daughter for the next school holiday. But as usual the man has no time for the child.”

Jennifer's heart leaped into her throat. She glanced quickly at Sandra Ellington's ashen face. A flash of panic crossed the cold gray eyes before the woman deliberately turned away.

Oh my gosh,
Jennifer thought. All this time Lisa's stepfather had been led to believe that Christopher wanted nothing to do with raising his little girl.

“Sir Isaac,” she began cautiously. “I believe there has been a terrible misunderstanding.”

 

Half an hour later Jennifer finished explaining to Sir Isaac how desperately Christopher had always wanted to be part of his daughter's life. He was silent for a long moment and appeared to be in a state of mild shock.

“Whenever I asked Sandra if she felt we should tell the child about her real father, she said that it
wasn't what Smythe wanted,” Sir Isaac explained, looking embarrassed by his wife's deception. She had returned to her guests at her husband's strong urging, leaving him alone with Jennifer. “Sandra said Christopher preferred to remain free of responsibility, except for his work on the board and the money he contributed to Lisa's education.”

“That's not true,” Jennifer stated firmly.

“I understand that now. But it all seemed very logical to me at the time. You must be aware of the man's reputation.” Sir Isaac's eyes softened, as if he feared hurting her feelings. He appeared to be in his fifties, but his features were vigorous and his eyes shone with intelligence and kindness. “Your earl runs in fast circles, my dear. He and my wife had a very brief affair, before we married. It was unfortunate that it resulted in a pregnancy, but I wouldn't give Lisa up for anything. She is as precious to me as if she were my own.” He smiled proudly.

“Maybe, subconsciously, you didn't want to share her,” Jennifer suggested.

“Perhaps that was part of my willingness to believe my wife,” he admitted. “But had I known that she was lying to me—”

“She might have been trying to protect you from scandal.”

An almost boyish laugh burst from Ellington. “I don't give a whit whether people believe Lisa is my daughter or the king of Siam's. When a man has as much money and power as I have, he stops worrying about what other people think.” His smile faded, and he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly looking serious again. “But Sandra didn't come from wealth. She's the daughter of working people and has always
been sensitive to gossip. I expect that's why she has worked so hard at this deception.”

Jennifer suddenly understood. Sandra Ellington hadn't wanted so much as a whisper of impropriety to mar the perfect aristocratic world she had married into. “So, what do we do now?”

“I believe we should talk to Lisa. She needs to know what has been kept so long from her. I have no doubt she will find the adjustment relatively easy. She obviously adores Smythe…has since she was a baby.”

Jennifer smiled, her heart soaring with gratitude. “Thank you. You don't know how much this will mean to Christopher.”

Sir Isaac stood and offered his hand to her. “Tell Smythe I will be contacting him. And please know that I appreciate your forthrightness, Miss Murphy. You are an admirable woman.”

 

Noon came and went before Christopher left the stables that day. He had ridden harder and farther than ever before. But his body still felt driven, and his heart still ached with a special kind of loneliness. The sort that only a parent separated from his child can know.

He left his muddy boots in the small tack room off the back of the house and slipped on leather house shoes before entering the kitchen.

“What will we be having for lunch, Mrs. Clark?” he asked.

“Whatever you like, sir,” she answered with a sigh, “it bein' there's only yourself today.”

He stopped and turned to face her. “What?”

“Miss Murphy has gone shoppin'. Didn't you see her note?”

“No,” he mumbled, irritably. “No, I did not.”

He had assumed that Jennifer was working on an upstairs chamber. Why hadn't she said anything to him yesterday about a shopping trip? It was thoughtless of her to just take off without giving him any warning.

After a quick sandwich, Christopher went to work again on the stone wall. He considered driving up to St. James to visit Lisa. Maybe bring her some of those special pastel pencils she had told him she needed for her art classes. He had ordered a set for her birthday, but he could always give them to her sooner.

In the end he decided he wouldn't go to the school again so soon. Seeing Lisa gave him a warm paternal feeling while he was with her. But as soon as he left the world turned bleak again. If he didn't have Jennifer in his life, he didn't know what he would do.

The day wore on. At last dusk fell over Loch Kerr and he returned, exhausted and dirty to the house, where Mrs. Clark met him at the back door.

“Miss Murphy just now returned, sir. Said she would be down for a light supper after a change of clothin'.”

He nodded. “I'll go up and speak to her. I have to wash up anyway.”

If Jennifer was like any other woman, she would have returned loaded down by parcels spilling over with the latest styles. He would be obligated to feign enthusiasm as she modeled each item for him.

He smiled with tired amusement at the thought. All he wanted to do was clean up, get some food into his
stomach and fall into bed. But, he supposed, for Jennifer he could pretend excitement over her choices.

Then he would silence her chatter as he did most every night, taking her in his arms and driving all the sadness from his life by making love to her.

 

Jennifer couldn't wait to tell Christopher the good news.

Tossing her purse and parcels on the bed, she undressed and dashed for the shower. Her skin prickled with anticipation as steamy water trickled down her body, and she hummed happily.

She heard the bedroom door open then close with a solid clack. “Chris, is that you?” she sang out.

“Jenny, is that you?” he teased.

She giggled, rinsing the soap from her body. “Naw. The local burglar has broken in to scrub up before running off with the good silver.”

A hand reached behind the shower curtain and groped at air. “Stop that!” she squealed. “I'll be out in a minute.”

“No, you won't,” his deep voice promised. His shadow shifted on the other side of the curtain.

She didn't have time to wonder what he meant. The plastic liner moved aside, and Christopher stepped under the spray with her. She shuddered at the breathtaking sight of his muscled body, naked under the stream. Rivulets of dusty water ran over the ridges of his body, trickled between darkly curling hairs and down the drain.

“You've been playing in mud again, I see. The garden wall?”

“I made good progress today.” He eyed her with undisguised lust and tweaked the brown peak of her
nipple between two fingers. His hands on her hips pulled her forward under the spray with him. “Lack of distractions, I suppose.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

Jennifer looped her arms up and around his neck and leaned into him. His body felt hard and long and lean against the softness of her breasts and stomach. She closed her eyes and sighed.

The night promised to be even better than she had imagined.

“I want you, Jenny.” Christopher ground out the words, his eyes flashing blue fire.

She smiled, delighted. “You have me.”

“Trouble is, I'm famished. Skipped lunch almost entirely.”

She nodded. “Later then. After we've eaten. And I have some exciting news for you.”

He quirked a dark eyebrow questioningly at her.

“The shower isn't the place. I'll tell you at the table,” she promised.

She dried herself and dressed quickly in a long satin lounging robe Christopher had bought her in London on one of their antiquing trips. The soft-peach hue set off her complexion well, and she loved the way it clung to her body in an uninterrupted flow—warm and cool all at the same time. When she walked, the fabric slid against her skin, reminding her of Christopher's hands on her body.