Yankee Earl (38 page)

      
Or three…

      
Jason made his morning toilette quickly and hurried downstairs to break his fast before anyone else was about. He had not reckoned on the early-rising marquess, who was tucking into a plate heaped with kippered herring and scones slathered in clotted cream. The earl chastised himself for not realizing that the old man would certainly be up and about to learn the outcome of the preceding night.

      
The thought affronted him greatly. What had passed between him and his wife was too intensely personal for servants' speculations. Or his grandfather's inquisition. Glowering, he walked to the sideboard and began filling his plate.

      
“I see you've an appetite,” Cargrave remarked smugly, wiping a bit of cream from the side of his mouth. “Good night's exertions will do that for a man,” he added, chuckling.

      
Jason dropped the serving fork back onto the tray of bacon and glared at the old man coldly. “I went riding this morning before breakfast.”

      
“And last night after dinner, too, I warrant,” the old man shot back gleefully.

      
Jason cursed his stupid tongue. “What manner of riding I may or may not have done is none of your concern.”

      
“Mayhap not, but it is the concern of your countess.”

      
Even his grandson's sharp ill humor could not dampen the marquess' jolly mood.

      
“Then let us settle the issue,” Jason replied, depositing a spoonful of clotted cream on his plate with a nasty splat.

      
Cargrave waved his napkin dismissively. “No need to act the frustrated swain. I know full well what transpired between you and your countess.”

      
“And so, I imagine, does all the staff of the city house and half of London!” Jason bellowed, setting his plate on the sideboard with sufficient force to crack the Sevres china. Suddenly all appetite had fled. He spun on his heel to quit the room, but the marquess stood up, his expression abruptly changed.

      
“Wait, my boy. I did not mean to make light of your wedding night, nor in any way to denigrate your lady, whom I hold in the highest regard. Surely you know that.”

      
Jason studied the imperious old man, startled by a flash of vulnerability on his face. Or had he imagined it? As quickly as it appeared, it was schooled away and the marquess' arrogance was back in place. “How could you not hold the Countess of Falconridge in high regard, since 'twas you who chose her for the title?” Jason said scathingly.

      
“And you, of course, found her so utterly unattractive that I'm certain you closed your eyes and thought of England all the while you were performing your duty!” Now it was Cargrave's turn to bellow.

      
“My duty! My bloody, damnable duty! Yes, m'lord, as I'm sure every footman and laundress in this mausoleum has informed you, I've performed my duty. Now, by your leave, I will collect my countess and repair to Falconridge for two weeks of uninterrupted
duty
.”

      
The marquess watched his grandson storm from the room, then sat back down at his plate, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then a slow smile warmed it after he recalled how very possessive he had felt about Mathilda when they first were wed. Damnation, he'd felt that way about her every day of their lives together. It was a good sign that Jason exhibited the same proprietary air. Humming to himself, he dipped another piece of scone in clotted cream and popped it in his mouth.

* * * *

      
By coach the journey to Jason’s seat took the better part of a day. Normally, Rachel rode one of her horses, but owing to her current tenderness, she made no protest when the marquess sent word that he had ordered up his most luxurious carriage for the bridal couple. Of course, she would have to sit in close quarters with Jason for hours. Would he glower at her…or could they find more pleasant ways to pass the afternoon? She was becoming positively incorrigible!

      
Unnerved by the thought, she finished dressing while Harry oversaw the packing of her trousseau. Then her sister shooed the gaggle of maids from the room and faced her sister. This was a moment Rachel was not anticipating with any relish.

      
“Well, I have heard the servants' gossip,” Harry said with a smug little grin. “Do tell me, are American men all they are said to be?”

      
“If you have heard the servants, then you know that I succeeded in seducing my husband. That is all I required.” Her tone was waspish to put Harry off, but it did not deter her sister.

      
“The servants only know that the marriage has been consummate—in
his
bed. You went to him. He did not come to you, so you are in a taking, I see, hmmm,” Harry said, tapping her fingernail against her cheek.

      
“I am not in a taking! Honestly, Harry, there are times when I could—”

      
“Tut. See? You are in a taking, never deny it.” Harry's grin widened. “Of course, I'm quite certain you had to tie your earl to the bedposts, then ravish him utterly against his will.”

      
The image of Jason bound spread-eagled on his huge bed flashed into Rachel's mind, and she could not hold on to her ill humor in spite of her guilty regrets. “Scarcely that. Once I opened the door…well, you were right about his…” she groped for the word—“virility.”

      
“Ha! Did I not tell you so? The man's mad for you.”

      
“Then why did he quit his own bed before dawn and go riding about the city like some lost soul?” Rachel shot back, her mood mercurially shifting once more.

      
“But he returned, did he not?” Harry countered.

      
“Yes, only to take one look at the evidence of our consummated marriage and retreat. He knows what I did and why, and he does not like it. We're still going to steal Fox and ride for Bristol on the morrow,” she said forlornly.

      
“Well,” Harry said, undaunted, “you still have from now until you reach Bristol.”

* * * *

      
Jason was confused and uncertain of what he should say to Rachel. Perhaps they could sort matters out when they reached Falconridge that evening. He needed to get away from the Cargrave city house, that was certain. His grandfather's smug satisfaction reminded him anew of exactly why he must thwart the old man's plans. Not that he should require reminding, he thought crossly. Why had she come to him last night?

      
He vaguely recalled something about annulments being easier to obtain than divorces under English law. Was that her reason? She had certainly appeared as eager to have him make love to her as he had been to oblige. He needed time to think about it, and spending hours confined in a coach with his quick-witted wife would not allow him that luxury. He went to the mews and instructed the head groom to saddle Araby as soon as he had the carriage horses hitched up and ready to go.

      
When he made his way back to the house, Fox waylaid him on the brick pathway through the garden. “Good morning, Jace.”

      
Jason could deduce by the boy's fidgeting that he had something on his mind. Looking about to be certain no one was within earshot, Jason asked, “Grandfather has not decided to leave for the country before the first of the week, has he?”

      
“No. He and the viscount are going for dinner at their club tomorrow night,” the boy reported, shuffling from foot to foot anxiously.

      
“Good. Then they'll be too well occupied to cause any difficulty. Be ready to ride by midnight.”

      
Fox's expression was crestfallen. “Then you haven't changed your mind…about deserting Rachel?”

      
Jason muttered an oath beneath his breath. “And why should I?” The instant he asked the question, he wanted to withdraw it, but it was too late.

      
“I thought after last night…well, that is, everyone knows—”

      
“You may discuss country matters when they pertain to ship's mates and serving wenches, but you are not to utter one syllable about the Countess of Falconridge. Is that clear?”

      
Fox's eyes grew round as he observed Jace's fierce expression. No, it was not clear at all, but he knew better than to say so. “Yes, sir.” Adults were even more impossible to understand than he had believed a scant few weeks ago. Well, they had at least three days' ride to Bristol. Who knew what might happen between now and then? he thought with renewed optimism as they resumed their walk to the house.

      
Rachel came downstairs accompanied by her sister, who was busily instructing a small army of footmen how to stow the myriad of trunks and boxes in the baggage coach which was to follow them. Jason could not help admiring the way his bride's emerald velvet traveling dress flattered her rich coloring, bringing out the green in her hazel eyes. A matching Spencer trimmed with black satin piping emphasized her slim waist. She moved with such elegance that Jason could not imagine any man being immune to her cool beauty.

      
He certainly was not. “Countess,” he said, taking her hand as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

      
She could see he was dressed to ride, but surely he did not intend to leave her alone in the coach for the long journey. Or did he? He'd abandoned his scandalous old shirt in favor of a cutaway coat of tan twill and beautifully polished Hessians. The doeskin riding pants fit like second skin, and she remembered how powerful his thighs had been in bed last night. Grateful that the rim of her bonnet hid her flushed face, she tilted her head away from him and concentrated on saying goodbye to the gaggle of well-wishers gathered on the front steps to see them off.

      
Fox seemed preoccupied as he made his bow. The marquess, her father and Harry were all smiles, as was Melvin. Always early risers, Roger and Garnet offered cheery good wishes. Evelyn stood back, studying Rachel with brooding dark eyes. Then when all the others had said their goodbyes, he kissed her hand with a courtly flourish that she knew drew Jason's ire.

      
“I'll be toddling along to m'country place in a few days, but Garnet and Ev have to return to work,” Roger said, giving Jason a hearty slap on the back, oblivious to the jealous interplay between his stepson and his cousin. “Perhaps we'll get together in a week or two after you've had time…well, er, in a few weeks, then,” he harrumphed with a red face.

      
“I shall look forward to it, coz.” With thinly veiled hostility Jason turned to Evelyn and said, “How unfortunate you won't be joining us in the country.”

      
“Yes,” Garnet's son replied smoothly. “A pity we must attend to matters at the shipyard. I shall look forward to seeing you at Christmas.” His eyes moved from the earl to the countess when he made the promise.

      
Rachel could practically hear Harry titter in satisfaction. She knew Jason was furious as he took her hand and assisted her into the coach. She took her seat and waited for him to join her.

      
He stepped back, saying, “Araby is restive when he's tied behind a carriage. I'll ride him to Falconridge.” With no further ado, he nodded to the driver as he closed the carriage door.

      
Startled and embarrassed at the abrupt announcement, Rachel leaned back against the squabs and seethed silently as the coach started up with a lurch. Jason swung up on Araby and trotted beside the window, as if devotedly keeping company with his bride. Only Rachel knew that he intended no such thing.

      
Well, once they arrived at his seat, there would be an accounting.

Chapter Twenty

      
As he rode beside the closed carriage, Jason could not keep his thoughts from the woman inside. Thanks to her magnificent enticement in that cream lace night rail, they were well and truly married. There could be no annulment. Not that he had ever wanted one. No, bugger it, he reminded himself, it was that he never wanted a wife in the first place!

      
Or did he?

      
He trembled at the question, startling Araby into a skitter. As he calmed the big black, he considered what it might be like if he remained in England with his countess. Would life truly be so terrible? Not so long ago, he would have yelled from the rooftops a resounding “Yes!” But in thinking about the past few weeks with her, Jason was no longer so sure. Certainly the delights of the marriage bed had been as marvelous as he had imagined they would be. He had no cold and prim English icicle for a bride!

      
Had Rachel begun to change her mind about him as he had about her? Or had she merely been making certain her father could not annul their marriage? Suddenly another thought came to him like a bolt from the blue. What if she had conceived a child of their passion? The thought of using a French letter with Rachel had never occurred to him, even though he had never failed to take that precaution with a woman before.