He peered into her face. "What dear heart, what do you say?"
"I say I cannot marry you. I say, I will obey my father's wishes and, come All Saints Day, marry the Earl of Cleaves."
Jacob took her arm. "No, no dearest. You don't have to marry him. I'll take care of you." He started to lead her toward the two-man dogcart. "I swear I will."
Jillian pushed at him, giving a little laugh, though she saw nothing amusing about her situation. "Jacob, I'm serious. I cannot go with you. I can't marry you." She took a deep breath. "I don't want to marry you." There! She'd said it. She'd admitted not only to Jacob, but to herself.
But Jacob wasn't listening. Despite her own considerable strength, his was overpowering. Her sweet, yielding Jacob was suddenly out of control, forcing her into the cart!
"Don't worry, dear heart," he said. "I'll take you to a place where the bastard can't find you. We'll leave the country; we'll—"
"Jacob!" she protested. "Let go of me!" She still couldn't believe this was happening. She didn't want to make a scene, or hurt him any further, but damned if she wanted him to carry her off! "I'm not going with you," she repeated firmly. "I'm not going with you." But he grabbed her by her waist and forced her onto the narrow leather seat even as she struggled.
Jillian fully intended to jump out of the cart. This was all so ridiculous! Gentle, mild-mannered Jacob trying to kidnap her! Surely he was jesting. Surely he wouldn't carry off what was considered the Earl of Cleaves' property! But before Jillian could find her footing beneath her tangle of petticoats, Jacob pushed onto the seat beside her and took up the reins.
"Jacob!" she shouted, suddenly afraid, not for herself, but for him. "Let me—"
Her words were lost to the sound of splintering wood as the back door to the ordinary swung open with such force that the door ripped off its hinges.
Jillian immediately recognized the guilty party. "Duncan!" she cried, whirling back around. Sweet Jesus, it was Duncan. He would kill Jacob! She had to stop Jacob. But before she could get out another word, Jacob slapped the reins on the horse's back and the dogcart sped off.
"Come back here you futtering footpad! Bring her back! Bring her back or, so help me, I'll eat your liver!" boomed Duncan.
"Stop!" Jillian screamed, grabbing his arm as the cart rocked precariously up on one wheel as they turned the corner in the alley. "You've got to stop this madness! He'll kill you, for God's sake!"
"I don't care!" Jacob insisted passionately. "I'll give my life for yours! I won't let him take you. I won't let him hurt you!"
Now Jillian was scared. The dogcart was swaying wildly as Jacob careened down one side street and whipped onto another. She'd lost sight of Duncan, but she guessed he was not far behind.
"Look out!" she cried as the cart headed straight for a gaggle of geese waddling down the center of the road.
The gooseboy gave a cry of fright, waving his staff frantically in the air. Some geese ran; others attempted to take flight with their clipped wings. White feathers filled the air like those from a torn pillow.
Jillian wrapped her arms around Jacob's neck, partly to keep from being thrown from the vehicle, but also to try to get his attention. She'd never seen him like this, so determined, so out of control.
"Jacob," she begged. "Stop the cart. Stop the cart and put me out. The earl will kill you. I swear by all that's holy, he'll run you through."
Jacob shook his head with single-minded determination. "You don't have to marry him. They can't make you. I'll take you. I'll be your husband."
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Duncan on horseback coming around a street corner up ahead. He was headed straight for them.
"Jacob! Jacob, listen to me! I want to marry him. Do you hear me? I don't want to hurt you, but I want to marry Duncan."
After a moment, Jacob loosened the reins in his hand and the careening dogcart slowed. Duncan was still headed directly for them.
"You want to marry him?" Jacob said, as if in a daze. "But I thought you wanted to marry me."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She took his hand in hers. The cart had almost stopped now. "I didn't mean to hurt you. This is just a more suitable marriage. Your father is right. Mine is right. You and I wouldn't be good for each other. We're too different. Our families are too different."
Jillian saw a blur as Duncan dismounted from his white horse and came charging toward the dogcart. "Get down from there, you cur!" he shouted, swinging his broad fist
"Duncan, please—" But before Jillian could finish her sentence, Duncan had grabbed Jacob by the collar of his poorly made coat and was dragging him down off the seat.
"Sir, sir, there's been a misunderstanding," Jacob gurgled.
"Duncan, I beg you, listen to me!" Jillian leaped out of the cart, hauling her petticoats up to her calves to run after them.
"How dare you! How dare you!" Duncan bellowed.
A crowd was beginning to gather. The gooseboy was there, his flock forgotten for the moment. Two gentlemen traveling in a hired hackney stopped to gawk. Shopkeepers stuck their noses out their doors; ragged children appeared from the shadows of the alleys.
"Duncan, please don't kill him!" Jillian cried, throwing herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"Don't kill your lover?"
"No, no it wasn't like that. It never was."
"You were leaving me!" Duncan swung around, still holding onto Jacob's coat. The half of his face left uncovered by the veil was bright red. She had never seen him so furious. She had never seen anyone so furious. "You were leaving me to go with him."
"No." She touched the sleeve of Duncan's doublet, half fearing he would strike her. "I came to tell him I was going to marry you. I came to tell him that I wanted you and not him."
"Liar." He was panting heavily.
"No. No, it's true." Jillian wanted him to believe her, but she didn't want to put any more blame on Jacob than necessary. "There was just a misunderstanding."
Duncan gritted his teeth, seeming now to be attempting to control his rage. "That's one hell of a misunderstanding." He gave Jacob a shake, and the young man cowered. "Carrying off a man's betrothed . . ."
Jacob was visibly trembling. "I—I—"
"Shut up. Don't open your mouth again," Duncan spat. Then he let go of Jacob, shoving him onto the filthy street. "I'd challenge you to a duel, but I don't fight children."
Then he swung around, turning his back on Jacob to face Jillian.
Jillian knew she had to be shaking. She would have taken a step back if it hadn't been for the crowd pressing closer.
"Come here." His voice reverberated in the still evening air.
Jillian couldn't bring herself to take the step. "I said I was sorry. I was trying to make amends with Jacob before you and I wed."
"He's the boy your father spoke of?"
She nodded. "We had intended to run off and be wed before—"
He stared at her, unyielding. "Before I came along and futtered your plans? "
"Yes . . . no . . ." She hung her head not knowing what to say, knowing she couldn't possibly make this right now.
Duncan stood for a moment as if trying to make some decision. Jacob still lay on the ground behind him, afraid to get up, no doubt. Jillian could only stand, frozen, wondering what Duncan was thinking. Would he send her home to her father in shame? Would he humiliate her by calling in a physician to exam her and determine whether or not she was still a virgin?
Jillian made herself take a step toward Duncan, not wanting to share her words with the greedy gawkers. "I assure you, sir," she said softly, "I did not compromise myself or your good name. What is rightfully my husband's is still fully intact."
Duncan scowled. "You betrayed me."
She shook her head violently, her own anger rising "I didn't; and if you would only listen to me, you would see that. I made a mistake and I was trying to fix it. I wanted to come to our marriage with the matter settled. For some reason which n
ow eludes me, I thought I owed it to you!"
Duncan's arm snaked, out and he caught her elbow.
"Ouch."
He gave her a little jerk. It didn't hurt. Her father had certainly handled her more severely, but something went off in Jillian's head. Before she had time to think, to consider the consequences, she reached out and struck Duncan hard across the face. As her hand ricocheted back, it caught on the purple gauze of his veil, tearing it away.
A sound of shock rose from the crowd.
Jillian lifted her head quickly in horror and struck her cheekbone hard against Duncan's elbow. "Duncan, oh, God, I'm sorry—" By the time she lifted her head, he had returned the veil to its proper place, his face a mask without emotion. She had seen nothing of his scarred face, but apparently the crowd had.
"Duncan," she whispered, her cheek and eye stinging with pain. "I'm sorry. Let me—" She reached to touch his face, but he pushed her hand away. "Let's go," he said beneath his breath.
Jillian followed him without another word. She didn't look back at Jacob, not even when Duncan mounted his horse and lifted her with his powerful arms onto the saddle in front of him. She looked up at Duncan, seated in his lap, sidesaddled as she was. "Please don't take me home, my lord. I haven't shamed you. Don't return me to my father . . . please."
Duncan swung the massive steed around and sunk his heels into its flanks. The horse leaped into the air, throwing Jillian against Duncan's broad chest.
"Where are you taking me?" she whispered, wishing she had been in the crowd that saw his face, wishing she understood the pain that she knew went deep. "Tell me," she pleaded, fighting tears.
"To the cathedral," he stated without a fleck of emotion in his voice. "We will be married tonight."
Eight
Jillian stood near the window in her white, silk nightdress, cradling a glass of rhenish. It was her second and, most likely, not her last. She drank from the fine Italian crystal, her jaw set.
Never in her life had Jillian been so humiliated. The Earl of Cleaves had neither called a physician nor returned her to her father. Instead, he had carted her from one place of worship to the next, all over London Town, until he had found a clergyman willing to marry them. Jillian had worn no wedding dress. There had been no band of gold to place on her finger. There were no wedding guests, no feast, no toast to the bride and groom. The only witnesses to the blessed event had been an old man and his wife, servants of the church. They had stood witness at the altar with a broom and a polishing cloth in their hands—not exactly the wedding Jillian had dreamed of.
She took a sip of the white wine, enjoying the warmth it created as it trickled down her throat. Breckenridge House was quiet, save for the sound of the patter of the rain on the slate roof. The servants had been turned away for the night so that the newly wed couple might have their privacy.
Jillian had only a moment with Beatrice when she arrived home with the earl. Because it was raining, Duncan had said Beatrice might spend the night and take the news of her sister's marriage home to their father in the morning. But Beatrice's belongings had been moved to another set of apartments in the far wing, leaving Jillian alone for her wedding night. Alone except for him.
Jillian glanced over her shoulder, her anger barely in check. There he sat, the Earl of Cleaves, on his wedding night, doing his correspondence. It was nearly midnight, and he was still writing, adding insult to injury. First, he had dragged her into that church to be married against her will; and now, he ignored her.
Jillian drained her glass and moved to pour herself another.
"Going to drink yourself into a stupor, are you?" came Duncan's voice, thick with caustic sarcasm.
It had been so long since he had spoken, that he startled her. Jillian went on pouring her wine, but her heart was pounding in her chest. "It's cold tonight. I should have called for a fire."
"Should I build one?" He asked it as if nothing had happened today—not the near-kidnapping by the parson's son, not the incident with his veil, not even the wedding.
Jillian set down her glass. She didn't want the wine. She didn't want to hear Duncan's voice so distant and cordial that it grated on her nerves. She wanted him to holler, to stomp his feet, to break glass. She wanted him to tell her what was under the veil. She wanted him to show her.
"No," she responded with an equal coolness. "The fire won't be necessary. I'm going to bed."
He did not look up from his writing; nor did he even lift his quill. "I'll be with you shortly."
Jillian stood beside the bed, her arms crossed over her breasts. "Son of a bitch," she muttered beneath her breath.
"What did you say?"
She whirled around to vent her frustration. "I said, you son of a bitch. You might as well sit there all night, because you're not going to lay a hand on me! Have you lost your head? Why, I wouldn't lie with you at this moment if you were the last futtering man on this godforsaken earth!"
Ah, Finally she'd gotten his attention.
He glanced up. "Come, come, madame," he said, talking to her as if she were her mother, or perhaps even a woman at the 'Change. "Don't tell me we are going to play these virginal games. You know what my right as your husband is. I will be quick, I promise you." He lifted his hand as if to swear by his name. "It'll be over in a matter of minutes."
Jillian was so angry now, so frustrated by Duncan's indifference, that she had to wipe at the tears in her eyes. She didn't understand what was happening. She had thought Duncan cared for her, at least a little. Why else would he have kissed her the way he had this afternoon?
She looked away, not wanting him to see her foolish tears. Didn't he understand? She didn't want him to discuss the matter of his husbandly rights with her. She knew what his rights were. What she wanted was what every bride wanted: She wanted him to woo her, to make love to her, to treat her as a man treats his wife on their first night together.
She turned to look at him, lifting her chin with determination. "I'll not give you my leave. You can rape me if you wish, sir, but you'll not have me otherwise."
He rose from his chair. He had removed his doublet and hose and wore only a pair of breeches and a soft cotton shirt. His hair fell loose about his shoulders with the veil in its usual place. "You are being infantile, ridiculous."
"Ridiculous? Ridiculous?" she stammered. "Look who's being ridiculous!" She pointed an accusing finger. "You force me into a wedding tonight without even a family member to witness it, and you think you're going to roll me like some stray bitch-hound?" She pressed her fists hard into the mattress, leaning forward. "God's teeth! What makes you think I would want to bed a man wearing a scarf over his head?"
Duncan lifted his hand to touch the veil lightly. His attitude changed in an instant. "What do you want of me?" he asked softly.
Jillian took a moment to answer. What a paradox Duncan was. This was the man she cared for. This was the voice she recognized, the voice she wanted to comfort. "I want to make this marriage more than an arrangement between families. I want you to care for me."
"I do care for you, Jillian. If I didn't, I'd not have married you tonight."
She shook her head, watching him in the shadows of the candlelight. "How can you say that? You don't know me, Duncan. You don't know what I like to eat, what I read. You don't know the name of my kitten that died when I was eight."
Duncan ran a hand through his hair. "Why must women make everything so difficult?"
"Why must men insist everything be so simple?" She took a step toward him. "All I'm saying is that now that we're wed, I think we should make the best of the matter. We're going to be together the rest of our born days, Duncan. Don't you think we ought to attempt to—"
"What? Love each other? Please don't tell me you expect me to fall in love with you."
His words hurt. "No," she answered softly, looking down. "Don't be silly. I just think we need to get along."
Duncan reached out and touched the bruised place beneath her eye.
It had happened in their struggle on the street. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No." She watched him. "I'm sorry for what happened today. I didn't mean to embarrass you in public." She felt her breath catch.
He was watching her with a most intense gaze. "No harm done," he answered. "I knew no one on that street. It will be nothing more than fuel to feed the fire of gossip in this damned city."
She couldn't tear her gaze from him. She couldn't stop thinking about that veil and what lay behind it. "Would you take off the veil, here in the privacy of our bed chamber, Duncan? It would be the best way to begin this marriage anew. Would you do it for me?"
"No."
Jillian turned away, hurt again by his words. "Then good night." She walked to the massive bed and climbed beneath the counterpane. Without as much as glancing at him, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She didn't know what to expect. Would he rape her as was his legal right?
But after a long, frightening silence, she heard his footsteps crossing the room. The chair at the small desk scraped wood on wood as he eased into it. When next she opened her eyes, the room was dark and she was alone on her wedding night.
"You did what?"
Duncan tipped back the glass and drained it. "I married the chit."
"When?"
"Tonight, at St. John's."
"You son of a poxed whore! And you didn't invite me?"
"We didn't invite anyone," Duncan answered grumpily. Then, he added, "She tried to leave me, Will. She tried to run away with some pale-faced boy."
"Jillian?" Will poured Duncan another drink. The two of them were sitting in the dark in the parlor of Will's apartment. Will wore nothing but a silk dressing gown, for it was well after midnight. "You must not have it right. Jillian is mad for you."
Duncan set down his glass. He really wasn't in a drinking mood. What was wrong with him? He should have been at Breckenridge now, in bed with his lovely young wife. Why had he left the house in a thunderstorm to come here? He knew Will had a young lady waiting in the bedchamber. This was his problem, not Will's. Will couldn't help with this one.
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 8