Jillian did not bother to answer him. She stood from her kneeling position and dusted off her skirt then moved to where the fishing poles lay on the ground. The earl continued to watch her, she knew, but she pretended to be absorbed by the process of putting a fat worm on her hook and tossing her line in the stream. She sat on the grassy slope and prepared to wait.
Lord Wickham followed her lead. Jillian observed him surreptitiously from the edge of her eye as he baited his own hook and, with spare efficiency, flung his line into the water. The fluid movement reminded her of a night when he had flung a knife into a man’s chest.
He sat next to her—too close, she thought—and stretched his lean frame out on the embankment. He came up on his elbow while holding his pole loosely in both hands. Neither spoke, thus the only sound disturbing the silence was the soft gurgle of the stream as it flowed languidly by them. Shortly thereafter the rising sun brought the songs of the various forest birds.
“Tell me,” the earl said at last, although he continued to watch his line, “why is it so important to you to ride your horse without a saddle?”
“I think it is the best way to enjoy riding.”
“You are not bothered by the gossip?”
Jillian glared at him. “Gossip is the lowest form of human exchange,” she said tightly. “I’ve endured much over the years. At some point one cease to care.”
“But you seem to court the talk.”
“Are you questioning my motives?”
Lord Wickham shook his head. “No, I don’t know you well enough. I will say, though, rebellion for rebellion’s sake is not worthy of the pain you’ve suffered.”
She looked at him again, this time wondering if perhaps he did understand. Suddenly Jillian wanted to explain.
“I love to ride, my lord. Sometimes I take Raven out in the middle of the night and we race for miles, just the two of us.” Her voice had turned dreamy. “I can forget everything but the wind in my hair and the earth flowing beneath Raven’s hooves. Then and only then am I completely happy.”
She glanced at him sheepishly, realizing she had said more than she had intended. The earl met her gaze, and she saw the compassion in those clear blue eyes, eyes that radiated warmth despite their cool appearance. She wanted to respond, but in truth she didn’t know how.
“Do you think it unwise to ride alone in the middle of the night?” he asked gently.
She knew he had chosen the words to ease her embarrassment. The question was a goading one given her obvious belligerence, so she could bite back at him now if she wanted to with his tacit permission. However, Jillian decided she liked the congenial conversation more.
“You tell me something,” she said.
“If I can.”
“Why did you take the hackney I was in that night? I mean, wouldn’t it have been more expedient to use your own conveyance?”
“It would seem that way,” he said.
“Then why?”
“It’s as I’ve maintained from the start. What do you think the chances of the Earl of Wickham’s sporting vehicle going unnoticed as it barreled toward Dover? In a hack we were in less danger of attracting attention, perhaps better able to evade anyone who might be following us. Actually, James was the one who spotted your hackney. We thought it empty, rented by one of the spectators. There were plenty of them there that night,” he said in a dry voice.
“Makes sense,” she said.
“Thank you.” And then, his attitude turning casual, “Since we’re in the mood to answer questions today, explain to me how a young girl with the world at her feet would risk everything she had to attend something as depraved as a duel.”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
She paused, and he said, “Go on.”
“My friend Meredith suggested it—Meredith Tisbury. She had heard Lord Wicked was to participate in another duel.” She glanced at her companion and saw him wince. “Anyway, she would not rest until I promised to sneak out with her so we could witness the encounter. She said we should dress like servants to hide our identities. She was forever doing things she oughtn’t but somehow she never got caught. Phillip Angsley, my cousin, came along when he heard what we were about because he wanted to keep us from harm. Phillip has always felt bad about how things turned out, but to his credit he did try to stop us.”
“So it was Miss Tisbury’s idea and you paid the price. Her part in the escapade was never discovered?”
“No,” she said dully, but quickly added, “not that I wanted her to be, you understand.”
“Naturally. Why do I get the impression there is more to the story?”
Jillian considered not telling him but what did it matter anyway? He would find out the truth, and if she held back he would think she cared.
“Meredith married Lionel Hemsley.”
Lord Wickham gave her a puzzled look as though he did not understand, but then his expression changed and she knew he had made the connection. His gaze filled with pity.
“You’re too good for Edgeworth. It’s just as well,” he said.
The last thing Jillian wanted was his sympathy and she began to feel prickly again.
“What would you know about it?” she asked.
“I was acquainted with Edgeworth. He was not well liked even among his male contemporaries. When a man is not respected by other men I guarantee the ladies should take heed. I’m not surprised he cried off. I always thought him a coward.”
Perversely, Jillian felt the need to defend her former fiance. “What would you have had him do, my lord? I was ruined. He would have been pulled into the scandal by association. He had his future to think of and that of his progeny.”
“Be that as it may I cannot like his reaction to your predicament.”
“How would you have dealt with the situation?” She hoped she did not look as vulnerable as she suddenly felt.
“I’d like to think I would have done the noble thing, especially if I cared for you and believed you innocent of all but bad judgment. Talk eventually dies down, but his response left you stranded with few options. If he had stood by you much of the gossip would have been diffused.”
Jillian trusted the earl’s sincerity. The noble thing was to marry her, and he intended to do that very thing himself whether he liked the idea or not. She remembered the ache Lionel’s rejection had caused her and how much suffering she could have avoided had he championed her when it counted most. But it was dangerous to give Lord Wickham any latitude so, memories aside, she refused to acknowledge the pleasure his declaration gave her.
“Society makes the rules,” she said. “I broke one and I paid the price. I do not like people who whine, and I will not feel sorry for myself.”
“Commendable attitude…and practical.”
They fell quiet after that but the silence was a companionable one, and Jillian could almost believe she was enjoying herself. A delicious languor crept over her and, though continuing to sit upright, she allowed her eyes to drift shut.
“Whoa!” the earl shouted.
Jillian’s lids fluttered open and for a moment she was dazzled by the brightness of the morning sun. She had been closer to sleep than she thought. She blinked several times to clear her vision.
“I think I’ve hooked a fish!” he said. “By the feel it’s a large one.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, instantly feeling the excitement. “Oh, he’s giving you quite a tussle, isn’t he?”
For several moments the earl struggled with his catch, and all at once the fish broke the surface of the water.
“It’s a brown trout, my lord! And you’re right, it’s a nice-sized one. I usually catch perch and they’re never that big.” She jumped up from the bank, forgetting her own pole in her enthusiasm. “Let me help.”
“Be careful,” she heard him say. “I really think you should let me—”
He did not have time to finish his warning, for Jillian had moved to the edge of the shore and was trying to grab hold of
his line in effort to help land the struggling trout. As she leaned forward she stepped into the stream. The leather on the bottom of her boots slid across the smooth rocks in the shallows, and she lost her balance, toppling head first into the water.
Fortunately, the stream was not deep except in the middle. She came out of the waist-high water, coughing as she sought her feet. Lord Wickham was gaping at her dumbstruck, his fish apparently forgotten.
“Don’t lose him, don’t lose him!” Jillian yelled. “I’m all right.
The earl looked thoroughly nonplused but he did as she said and hauled his catch onto the bank. The poor fish lay on the ground, flopping this way and that as it gasped its last breath. They stared at the trout then at each other, and much to her chagrin he began to laugh.
“It occurs to me,” he said, “it isn’t necessary to swim with the fish in order to catch them.”
Jillian clamped her lips together. “I only wanted to help.”
“Perhaps we should decide on what kind of help is needed,” he said, chuckling. “Now come on, grab hold.”
He leaned forward over the water much as she had done and extended his hand to her. Jillian did not know what devilish impulse possessed her then, but she was tired of the earl making fun at her expense. She moved forward, the water tugging at her skirts as she reached for him. He must have realized her intent at the last moment, for his eyes widened in sudden understanding when she took his hand. She fell backwards, pulling him into the stream beside her.
“You wretch!” Lord Wickham spluttered, rising to his feet. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“I thought we should be on equal footing. It’s rather difficult to make fun of me when you are also wet.”
“Is that so?” he asked, an ominous light igniting his gaze.
He grabbed for her. Jillian managed to evade him but only just, her sodden skirts an impediment to free movement. She traveled the few feet to the shore, struggling against the weight of her clothing and the current, laughing breathlessly.
The earl tackled her as she reached the embankment. They both hit the ground and rolled together back toward the water, picking up mud and grass as they went. She lay there, stunned.
“Jillian, are you all right?”
On her abdomen, she faced away from him. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her onto her back as he loomed over her.
“That’s Lady Jillian to you.” She giggled up at him, an undignified sound but she couldn’t help herself.
“Why you little hellion, I ought to…”
He trailed off as something changed in his eyes. His gaze deepened, searching her features. Jillian felt her smile drift away. Her stomach dropped—an odd sensation since she was prone—for the look on his face had grown dark and hungry. He took her in his arms.
He meant to kiss her and she meant to fight him. At least, that’s what she believed. Strange how her good intentions could be waylaid by a yearning she did not even know she had. Until that moment she would have sworn her emotions could not be aroused, that the pain of years gone by had robbed her of her passion. Perhaps she was right, but then what was the beguiling warmth that had begun in her belly and was now slipping unchecked through her limbs?
He lowered his head and his eyelids drooped. Water droplets glistened on his lashes and as she watched, his lips parted. The earl’s full mouth wet and hot touched hers, and Jillian felt her insides contract.
He held still for a moment as though savoring the feel of her then slid smooth, sensitive skin tantalizingly back and forth, tasting her, allowing her to taste him. She felt his tongue trace a line along the bottom of her lower lip, wringing from her sweet, sweet desire. She reached up and curled a fist in the satiny dark hair at the nape of his neck.
Lord Wickham drew back, and Jillian was overcome with disappointment. She did not want him to stop and she suspected he knew it, for the hint of a gratified smile eased his mouth as he looked down at her. However, he made no effort to mask the craving that still gripped him.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered. She had to force the question over a tongue nearly frozen with shock.
“Why did I do what? Why did I kiss you or why did I stop?” he asked, the words thick with passion.
“You know what I mean,” she said, beginning to struggle from his grasp.
The earl’s grip tightened. “I suspect you will think me odd but I like a woman with mud on her face. Strange impulse, I admit, but there it is.”
To prove his point, he raised an index finger to her cheek and gently removed the mud she had apparently picked up when she rolled down the embankment.
“You ought to see your own face, my lord,” she said, trying for but not quite attaining anger.
“I can see my face,” Lord Wickham’s voice dropped seductively, “reflected in the most beautiful pair of brown eyes I have ever seen.” He looked as if he might kiss her once more.
Jillian had had enough. If he began his assault on her senses again, she felt certain she would melt on the spot. The last thing she wanted was to give him that satisfaction.
“Let me up,” she said coldly. “I think we’ve indulged in enough foolishness for one day.”
“Foolishness?” the earl drawled, rolling off her and coming into a sitting position. “I’ve reveled in many things foolish in my life, however, I hardly think these last moments qualify.” Before she could respond, he said, “I suppose now that you are mussed you’ll want to return home.”
“Do I look like someone who allows a little water to ruin her day?” she asked, drawing away from him and standing. “The way you said that you are accusing me of being female. Well, I am female, but I’m no spoilsport. I do not intend to go home until there are enough fish for dinner. You, of course, are welcome to do as you please.”
“Then I am pleased to remain with you,” the earl said, his attitude dogged in the face of her rejection. “Two hooks are better than one.” He sent her an engaging smile, clearly enjoying his own cleverness.
Jillian, in the midst of retrieving her fishing pole, tossed him a look of displeasure. “Humph,” was all she said.
*****
Jillian and Lord Wickham started home shortly after noon. They carried eight fish, mostly perch and the one trout, on a makeshift string fashioned from braided strips of her petticoat, a discreet donation, naturally. Nevertheless, she knew Auntie Pru would not approve of that resourceful contribution.
“Are you always this unprepared?” the earl asked as they turned their horses from the main road and onto the drive that led to her aunt’s house. “I’d feel ridiculous if my mates could see me now carrying home fish on a petticoat.”
“I think men worry too much about what other men think,” she said. “Can’t be caught doing something womanly, oh no. As a female I have the same problem. Fishing is not feminine so I shouldn’t fish. And riding astride is simply not done. Well, those are society’s rules, and society will no longer have anything to do with me. Why should I bother?”
Lord Wickham shrugged. “Perhaps if you made an effort they might let you come back.”
Jillian gave him an incredulous look. “Do you really believe that?”
“Not as things stand, but if we can change your situation there is a chance.”
She did not get the opportunity to answer as they had reached the house. She was glad for the reprieve, for she was not ready to talk about the change his words implied.
Aunt Prudence met them as they dismounted.
“Jillian, where is your saddle?” she fretted, wringing her hands. “Lord Wickham, you must forgive her lack—” she stopped abruptly when she saw them, really saw them. “What has happened to you two? You look as though you have fallen into the river.”
The earl took the lead. “Miss Milford, I do apologize for bringing your niece home in such a disreputable condition,” he said, patently ignoring the disgruntled look Jillian shot his way, “but we had an accident as we tried to land this big fe
llow here.” He held up the string of fish, indicating the trout.
“Oh, I see.” Aunt Prudence took in a gulp of air. “B-but what is that holding the fish? It looks like it has lace on it.”
This time Jillian did not give the earl a chance to speak. “That’s just a piece of cloth, nothing to worry about.”
“But it has lace in it, lace that looks like…oh, dear me,” her aunt began to wail as she evidently put and two and two together. She clamped her hand to her bosom. “Jillian, what am I to do with you?”
“Now, Aunt Pru, Lord Wickham and I needed to store our catch. I could have used my hat, though I don’t supposed it would have held many fish. Besides, I’d already used it for the worms.”
Her aunt stared at her in blank amazement. She blinked, opened her mouth to speak only to close her it as if unsure how to proceed. She tried once more.
“Yes…well, I…yes, I see what you mean.” The effort must have been too much for her, for she gave up and turned to the earl. “Lord Wickham, do you join us for dinner?” she asked, all the while darting bemused glances at her niece.
The earl had maintained his composure, although Jillian knew he was exercising great restraint. Perhaps she was warned by the way he kept clamping his teeth together and pursing his lips as though he were near to unleashing a gust of laughter. He did not meet her gaze which was probably just as well, as her own sense of the hilarious had begun to overwhelm her.
“I would be honored, ma’am,” he said, his stoical expression still firmly in place.
“Good, good,” Prudence gushed. “I don’t know what we have in the way of clean clothing for you, but we will find something. Let me show you to your room, my lord.” Her aunt linked arms with Lord Wickham, leading him and the string of fish inside. At the front door she looked over her shoulder, eyes pleading. “Jillian, I suggest you clean up as well, my dear.”
As if I didn’t intend to, Jillian thought in irritation. She came in the house, ignoring the footman and the housemaid who exchanged looks as she crossed the threshold.
In the Garden of Disgrace Page 7