Duncan looked at Atar, who stood quietly, as he always did, waiting to follow his bidding. As usual, he was dressed in his pressed red coat and, by contrast, hole-riddled shoes. "Refreshment for us all, Atar. White Rhenish for the lady, something sturdier for Galloway and me."
It was a strange relationship between Duncan and his servant, Jillian thought. Atar was at his master's beck and call, dawn until midnight. He saw to his every personal need, and yet there seemed to be no bond between them, no intimate relationship. Atar remained as cool and aloof as Duncan at all times. Perhaps that was what made them a good pair.
Duncan took the glass of white wine Atar poured for Jillian and offered it to her himself. He had dressed for dinner in a dark-green coat and gold breeches with a gold-garnitured sword case. "Did I invite you here?" he questioned Will good-naturedly. "I don't recall doing so."
"You did, indeed. Only last night."
Duncan offered Jillian the glass of sweet white wine. "I can't imagine why. Refresh my memory, will you?"
"Why?" Will reached for the glass Atar offered. "Why, to meet your betrothed, of course."
Duncan shook his head, serving himself a healthy portion of brandywine. "So, where was my head?"
"In your cups, no doubt." Will winked at Jillian.
"I know you can't behave properly. Why do I invite you anywhere?" Duncan threw up his hand. "So, go with you. Surely you're expected in some lady or gentleman's drawing room tonight?"
Jillian watched the two men exchange their nonsense. The longer she knew Duncan, the more complex he seemed to become. She could tell from the tone of the two men's voices that they respected each other. They were not just acquaintances, but friends, good friends. The idea that the earl could have a true friend spoke of his character.
"I have no other engagements tonight, thank you." Will took a drink of his brandy. "I'm yours, the lady's, and Grandmother's for the evening." He glanced about. "Tell me, where is the blessed dowager? I expected she'd be awaiting me."
"When I told her you were coming, she took to her bed. She'll not be joining us."
"Took to her bed with one of her footmen, is more likely." Will peeked around the corner to where a dining table had been set. "So, tell me, are we eating, or are we not, because I'm famished."
Duncan turned to Jillian. "Please accept my apologies, madame, for the rude supper guest. I should have known better than to invite him. He's not used to respectable women."
Jillian smiled at her betrothed. "Will is welcome at any table I'm seated at."
"Oh, he is, is he?" Duncan lifted an eyebrow with amusement. "Well, come then and serve as my hostess, will you?"
Will followed them into the dining parlor. "You two don't sound like you're going to be wed in two months time. You sound more like—"
"Good evening, madame, sirs." Algernon appeared in the doorway behind them, dressed for the evening. Tonight he wore canary yellow coat and breeches with lime-green, looped ribbons. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Duncan frowned. "Jillian, Will, and I are just sitting down to dine. Care to join us, cousin?" There was little attempt at persuasion in his voice.
Jillian stood near Duncan, alert to the tension in the room. She noticed that Will had wandered to the open window, barely acknowledging Algernon's arrival.
"No, I fear I cannot." Algernon glanced at Will's back and gave an obligatory smile. "I've other plans. I'm expected in a lady's drawing room shortly; and if I'm not on time, she's sure to be vexed. I just wanted to ask our dear Jillian if her apartments were comfortable." He turned to her. "Is there anything you or your sister have need of?"
"No. The rooms are quite satisfactory."
"Algernon," Duncan said sharply. "If my betrothed has need of anything, I'm certain I can see to it myself."
"Yes, well—" He smoothed his thin mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "—we all know how busy you can be, don't we?" He backed out of the room. "Your servant, madame, my lords."
A silence fell upon the room as Algernon made his exit.
Will came away from the window, his glass empty. "I don't know why you didn't kick that little eel out on his ass when you had the opportunity, Duncan. He's always slithering about, eavesdropping."
Duncan sighed. "We've been through this before, Will. First the monies and title were his, then they weren't. I feel bad for him."
"But not bad enough to hand the earldom back to him."
"No. It is rightfully mine. My father was the eldest son. But to offer my cousin a home and a small allowance is the least I can do."
"The man is trouble, I warn you. You can see it in his little reptile eyes. And saints in hell, his taste in clothing is appalling."
Duncan frowned, pulling out a chair for Jillian at the square, mahogany dining table. "Enough of such talk. Shall we dine?"
The remainder of the evening went smoothly. Mostly Jillian sat and listened to the two men banter, joining in on occasion. They talked of politics, of the Dutch, and of the price of Colonial imports.
Truthfully, she enjoyed the evening more than she had anticipated. For the first time in her life she was included in male conversation, and she found it stimulating. All these years her father and male relatives had never been interested in her thoughts, only in what she looked like. Come to think of it, not even Jacob had ever cared to discuss anything of substance with her.
Before Jillian realized how late it was, Will was excusing himself for the evening and Duncan was escorting her up the dark, dilapidated grand staircase. At her door, she paused, wanting to say something, but not knowing what.
"I . . . enjoyed the evening. I like Will. He's quite charming."
Duncan stood close enough to her that she could feel the warmth of his body so near to hers. "I'm glad that you like him. We've been through a great deal, the two of us. He's a good friend."
Jillian looked up at Duncan, sensing he, too, felt awkward. Candlelight from the sconce on the wall cast shadows across his veiled face. He was staring at her intently.
"I told Grandmother what you were doing with the house. I think she's pleased. She likes you."
"And I like her.
He chuckled. "Once you get used to her bluntness."
She laughed softly with him. "I suppose you're right. Her garden is beautiful. I admire her dedication and her thoughtfulness."
"Her thoughtfulness?"
"Why, yes. She's left fresh flowers in my room yesterday and today. They make it seem more like home. I'll have to be sure to thank her."
He smiled at her, and again, she couldn't help but wonder what was under the green veil he wore. But for some reason it didn't seem that important tonight. She put her hand on the doorknob behind her, wondering if he were going to attempt to kiss her. Jacob never got her alone that he didn't. "Well, good night, Duncan."
"Good night, Jillian."
To her surprise, he made no attempt to touch her, but turned on his heels and disappeared down the dark hallway.
And to her surprise, she was just a little disappointed . . .
Algernon rolled onto his back with a satisfied groan, both arms stretched out to accommodate his young lovers. "Christ, you two wear me out," he murmured in the darkness of the tapestry bed curtains. "Have you a little wine for my throat, dear heart?"
"Aye. Anything for you." Mary slipped from his arm and bounced up, parting the heavy curtains. A breath of fresh air filled the dark bed space, chasing away the musky scent of their exploits.
Algernon caressed her tight, pale buttocks as she left his bed. The bed curtains fell, and again he was left in darkness.
"I'm so pleased the two of you could meet me tonight," he told the lover cradled in his arm. "I've had a blessed lousy day. The creditors are hounding me and that damned parsimonious cousin of mine refuses to give me an advance on my year's pittance." He scratched his hairy groin with a yawn. "I'll be lucky if I'm not in Newgate come Candlemas Eve."
"I'll visit you if you are."
Algernon brushed
his lips against his partner's. "You're sweet. That's why I like you. You're not only discreet, but a dear."
His lover drew a hand low across Algernon's belly. "That's not why I like you . . ."
Algernon chuckled. "Did I tell you about my cousin's betrothed?"
"No," came the soft, sensual voice.
"Comely little bitch. Innocent as an autumn's snow. He's got her locked up in the house for fear she'll lose her maidenhead before he can take it." Algernon chuckled. "I must admit it's tempting." He stared up at the mirror overhead. In the darkness of the bed curtains he could barely make out the silhouette of their two bodies twisted in the sheets. "I'm going to take the monies and the title back, you know."
"I know. I'm counting on it."
Algernon ran his fingers through his own short-cropped brown hair. "Perhaps I should take her, too. An earl needs a wife. She's from a good family, the Hollingsworths. She could bring an heir of dignity to the Roderick name." He turned over onto his side. "It's rightfully mine, you know. The monies. The title. It should have been mine. It was always mine."
"I know. You told me."
The curtains parted, and lamplight sprang across the bed. Mary drew herself inside, a wine goblet between her delicate fingers. The curtains fell, leaving the lovers in darkness again.
"Here you are."
She offered the wine, and Algernon sipped from the goblet still in her hands. When a little of the Rhenish dribbled down his chin, Robert sat up.
"Here, let me get that for you." His tongue flicked out, catching the drop, and Algernon sighed with pleasure at the feel of the young man's warm tongue on his flesh.
"Yes, I'm definitely glad you two could make it," Algernon mused softly as he laid back on the heaped goose-down pillows. Already Mary and Robert were touching him the way they knew he liked to be touched. "Perhaps dear Jillian might want to join us one day," he whispered. "Perhaps one day soon . . ."
Six
Jillian stood on a ladder in the front hallway, her hands on her hips. "No, the right corner must be lifted," she ordered one of the workman. She groaned as the picture of Duncan's grandfather shifted perilously some ten feet off the floor. "If you drop that," she warned the hired man on the scaffold, "I'll have your head in a basket!"
The days were slipping through Jillian's fingers like the falling leaves in the dowager's garden. September had come and gone; and before Jillian realized it, October was upon the city of London and her marriage to the earl loomed ahead.
Jillian kept herself busy overseeing the work on Breckenridge, so busy that she had little time to think of Duncan. She saw him only three or four times a week, and then, almost always in a formal setting. Once, he took her to a bearbaiting, another time to Hyde Park to see the Birdcage Walk where there were exotic birds from Peru, China, and even the Indies. But wherever they went, they were accompanied by friends of his, and Beatrice always went along as chaperone, so there was little time for private talk.
Twice Will Galloway came to sup with them, and Jillian enjoyed those evenings immensely. She told herself that she found the suppers pleasurable because of Will and his antics, but the truth was that she enjoyed Duncan's company even more. She liked to listen to his voice as he talked and laughed with Will. She liked to watch him, imagining what he would look like without the veil, without the scars that must be beneath it.
"Good, good," Jillian called to the workman. "That's nearly perfect. Now fetch the next one. Yes, the woman with the large ears." She pointed to the row of family portraits leaning against the wall. Now that the walls of the entryway to the house had been replastered and painted, she was having all the portraits returned to their places of honor in the gallery. Next, the weapons would be returned to their proper locations.
"Heavens! What are you doing on that ladder, child?" The dowager appeared from behind a canvas drop meant to protect the other rooms from the dust of the sanded plaster. Beatrice trailed behind her.
Jillian gripped the ladder and came down the rungs. "I wanted to be certain this dolt lined the portraits up straight. I had to get higher to see." She smoothed her wrinkled, dusty gown as she crossed the hallway toward Daphne and Beatrice. "Did you have a pleasant walk in the orangery? I understand the lime trees are blossoming."
"Indeed they are." Daphne harrumphed. "No thanks to that blasted gardener of mine. I have instructed Simeon again and again on how to prune a lime, and still he mutilates my trees."
Jillian had to smile. The dowager was dressed this morning in a bright pink gown with a decolletage so low that the garment must surely have been meant for a woman fifty years younger, yet on Daphne it was becoming. Jillian had learned a great deal about the dowager in the last few weeks, certainly more than she'd learned about Duncan.
Jillian had quickly discovered that there was a reason why all of the dowager's servants were young, virile males. Once Jillian had gotten beyond the shock of the idea, she found it quite titillating. For despite the dowager's age, somewhere in her early eighties, her sexual appetite had not waned. Daphne Roderick had a full staff of young men who not only cooked for her, brought her meals, and helped her in the garden, but served as bed partners as well.
"I was just walking Daphne upstairs for her nap," Beatrice said, eyeing her sister. "A letter has come for you. Will you take it here or shall I leave it in your apartments?"
Jillian wrinkled her nose. Why in heavens was her sister behaving so oddly? What did she mean by that tone of voice? Then Jillian realized who the letter must have come from.
Jacob. He'd written to her again.
"I'm done here." Jillian put her hand out. "See Daphne to her apartments and I'll take the letter."
"God's breath, girls. I don't need an escort to my bed." She lowered her voice. "Unless it's one of those boys painting that wall." She gave a wink.
Beatrice's eyes grew round, aghast. For though she had become as much a companion to Daphne as to Jillian, she did not share Jillian's liberal view of the old woman's idiosyncrasy. More than once Beatrice had lectured Daphne on passages in the Bible concerning adultery. The dowager, luckily, had not been offended, but rather amused.
Daphne threw back her head, filling the chamber with rich laughter as she parted the canvas drops and headed up the staircase.
Jillian thrust out her hand again. "Give me the letter."
Beatrice tucked her hand behind her back. "This is the place to end it, Jilly," she whispered, turning on her heels.
Jillian followed her sister out of the front hall and down a dark hallway. "Give me my letter!"
"I'll respond for you. I'll simply tell Jacob that you'll be marrying the earl."
Jillian crossed her arms angrily over her chest.
"Oh, come on, Jilly. You like the earl, admit it. I see the way you look at him." She reached out and seized her sister's hand. "I see the way he looks at you. Heavens, Jilly, the man's already half in love with you."
Jillian smiled. "Do you think so? He certainly doesn't act it."
Beatrice let go of her sister's hand. "You have no future with Jacob Brentwood. He's a boy, and this is a man who is willing to wed you. Use your head, Jilly. You're not in love with the parson's son. You're only in love with the idea of love."
Jillian bit down on her lower lip. Beatrice understood her all too well. The truth was that Jillian thought less and less about Jacob each day, and more about Duncan. It was Duncan's face she saw when she closed her eyes. In her fantasies, it was Duncan who swept her into his arms and kissed her with passion. Of course it was all a fabrication. Duncan had not even attempted to kiss her yet.
Jillian looked up at her sister. "Even if I've decided to follow my father's wishes, I should answer Jacob's letter. I owe him that."
"You mean you'll marry the earl?" Beatrice leaned against the wall behind her with a smile. "I think it's the right thing to do, Jilly. I think you'll be happy."
Jillian's brow creased. "Happy?" She took the letter from her sister's hand. "You think I'
ll be happy with the man who was your betrothed?"
Beatrice lowered her gaze, studying the uneven floorboards. The carpenters had not reached the rooms in the east wing yet. "It would never have worked, he and I. I'm too weak a female, but you, Jilly—" She looked up. "You could make him happy. You could heal whatever it is that hurts him, whatever it is that makes him so gruff and demanding."
Jillian toyed with the letter from one man while thinking of another. Did Beatrice speak the truth? Jillian realized that it was unrealistic to think she and Jacob could elope and live happily the rest of their days. Where would they live? How would they feed their children? But would it be possible with the earl? Could she convince him to pull aside his veil? Could she reach him? Could she make him care for her? The thought made her cheeks grow warm. Jillian didn't know how it had happened, but she knew she was infatuated with her betrothed. What an amusing thought.
Slowly Jillian opened the wax seal on the letter and read it.
"What does he say?" Beatrice asked, keeping her voice low.
"He wants me to meet him." She folded the letter carefully. "In an ordinary in Haymarket near the Park. This afternoon. He's waiting for me now."
Beatrice watched her sister's face in the shadows with care. "Will you meet him?"
"I would be a coward if I didn't."
"No. You would be saving him the pain and a great deal of trouble, should the earl discover the meeting. Heavens, Jilly. The earl could demand a duel. It would be his right. Jacob could die."
Jillian exhaled slowly. "It seems cruel to just send him a note. I feel badly. I was the one that initiated the contact after I arrived here. I told him that I wanted to see him."
"And do you . . . now?"
"No," Jillian whispered. "Not really. He and I weren't much alike. It was just that he paid some attention to me."
"And that he was forbidden?" Beatrice added.
Jillian felt childish. "I suppose so."
Beatrice reached out and took the letter from Jillian's hand. "I'll go for you," she said softly. "I'll tell him that you will obey your father's wishes and marry the earl."
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 6