by Diana Bold
Staring out her third-story bedroom window at the rain-drenched street below, she found it ironic to think she’d spent most of her life trying to get here.
As a lonely young girl, trapped in the country with no one except the servants to keep her company, London had seemed the very center of the universe. She’d imagined glittering ballrooms and nights spent at the theater and the opera. She’d dreamed of dancing until dawn in the arms of a handsome man who would change her life forever.
Perhaps, if Christian had done his duty and brought her to town for her debut, she might have had those things.
Instead, she’d taken matters into her own hands and given her heart unwisely. As a result, she’d arrived in London in disgrace. No parties waited in her future, no shopping trips or midnight dinners…
Her self-pitying thoughts ground to a halt as a hired hack pulled to a stop in front of the house. Hope, bright and fierce, flared within her, chasing away nearly four months of apathy and despair.
Pressing her face to the rain-streaked glass, she strained to make out the features of the man who stepped lightly down to the street. Was it James?
Please, God. Let it be James.
Christian had been wrong, so wrong, about the man she loved. And if James had come back for her, she’d be able to prove it to him.
More importantly, she’d be able to prove it to herself.
The man kept his back to her as he paid the driver, but his worn clothing marked him as a commoner and not one of her brother’s aristocratic, rakehell friends. She started to turn from the window, anxious to run downstairs and meet him, but then he tilted his face toward the sky as though he relished the feel of the rain upon his skin.
The last of her foolish hopes and dreams shriveled and died as she stared at his familiar features.
She knew him. But he wasn’t James.
* * * * *
Soft drizzle kissed Ethan’s skin as he stepped out of the hired coach in front of Christian’s London home. Pausing in the street, he took his time paying the fare, letting the mist dampen his clothes and hair. His only baggage was the glass case containing the purple orchid. The rest of his things would be delivered later.
Ever since he’d arrived at the docks this morning, he’d been overwhelmed with an unexpected sense of homecoming. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the fog and the sea, the cliffs and the gentle hills that comprised the country of his birth.
He’d lost far too much of himself in the jungle heat.
As the hired coach rattled off down the cobbled street, he sighed and mounted the short flight of stairs that led to Christian’s front door. He knocked sharply and girded himself to face the unthinkable.
For the first time in years, he managed to form a heartfelt prayer. God, please don’t let me be too late.
Long moments passed before the carved oak panel creaked open, revealing a prune-faced butler in faded blue livery. The elderly chap peered down his nose at Ethan’s travel-worn appearance. Quite a feat of snobbery, given the fact that Ethan towered over him by half a dozen inches.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to see Lord Harding.” Impatient with the endless rules of polite society, Ethan stared the old man down. He had no time for calling cards and subtleties.
The butler dropped his gaze when he realized Ethan would not be cowed. “And whom shall I say is calling?”
“Ethan Tremaine.”
“I’ll see if Lord Harding is at home.” With a haughty sniff, the old man closed the door and left Ethan on the step.
Ethan wiped his hand across his wet face and fought the instinct to storm his way inside. He hadn’t come all this way to be shut out in the rain by a servant.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Only a few moments passed before the door opened again, this time fairly flying off its hinges.
Startled, Ethan took an unconscious step back, only to find himself face to face with his old friend.
“Christ, it really is you.” Christian stood upon the threshold, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t believe it.”
Christian looked a bit pale, perhaps thinner than usual, but didn’t appear to be at death’s door. The intensity of Ethan’s relief nearly brought him to his knees.
“It’s good to see you, Chris.” Ethan pulled his friend into a bone-crushing hug, his frayed emotions manifesting themselves in a rare show of physical affection.
“You, too, Ethan. You’ve been gone far too long.” Christian returned the embrace awkwardly, then pulled away and ushered Ethan into the house. “Come in. Come in. I’ll have Beasley’s head for leaving you standing out in the rain.”
“I hardly look a proper guest. I came straight from the ship.” Ethan followed Christian down the hall, noticing with growing consternation the bright patches of wallpaper where paintings had once hung. Devoid of its sculptures and artwork, the empty foyer hinted at a major shift in fortune.
Entering a cozy little office toward the back of the house, Christian gestured at the empty chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll have a brandy.” Ethan placed his orchid on a table and sat down.
Christian filled two crystal tumblers with fine liquor at the sideboard.
“You look terrible,” Ethan said, needing to put his fears to rest. “Have you been ill?”
Christian laughed and handed Ethan a glass. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed. You’re still as tactless as hell.” He leaned down and stared at the glass case. “My God. You found one, didn’t you? A black orchid?”
“It’s purple.” Undeterred by Christian’s attempt to change the subject, Ethan met his friend’s gaze, determined to get to the heart of the matter. “Tell me the truth. Julian claims you’re ill. Dying of consumption.”
Christian leaned against the edge of the desk and drained the contents of his glass. “You’ve spoken to Julian?”
Ethan’s already frazzled nerves frayed completely. “Will you just answer the damned question?”
Christian met his gaze, then looked away. “I’ve never known your brother to lie.”
Stunned, Ethan gulped his drink, grateful for the burning heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Are you certain?”
“Quite.” Christian reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. He sloshed a bit on the polished mahogany desk, the only indication that their discussion held any more importance than the weather. “I’ve been to half a dozen doctors. The consensus seems to be that I’ll be lucky to see spring.”
Ethan sank back in his chair. He felt winded. Shaken in some elemental way. Until this moment, he’d managed to convince himself Christian’s illness wasn’t so bad, that Julian had exaggerated or somehow misunderstood.
A dull flush spread across Christian’s pale cheeks. “Thank you for coming. It means more to me than I can say.”
“I would have come sooner, if you’d written me yourself.”
A flash of something—Guilt? Regret?—passed over Christian’s face, but then he shrugged. “I didn’t see any point in dragging you home when there was nothing you could do.”
Ethan sighed. He understood Christian’s misguided pride. Still, it hurt to think that if not for his brother’s intervention, he wouldn’t have known about Christian’s illness until it was too late.
He’d never expected to find himself beholden to Julian.
Christian raked a hand through his blond hair, which lacked its usual golden sheen. “I didn’t take the news well,” he admitted. “I raged against it, hid in the bottom of a bottle for months, only to wake up one morning and find I’d lost nearly everything at the gaming tables, including Jessalyn’s dowry.”
“Ah, Christian.” Ethan kept all traces of condemnation out of his voice. Who was he to judge? Unfortunately, Jessalyn would have to pay for her brother’s mistakes.
Jessalyn.
Ethan remembered a lovely little minx with skinned knees and
blonde pigtails who’d followed him around like a lost puppy when he visited Christian’s home during school holidays. She was six or seven years younger than the two of them, so she’d be about twenty-two now.
A young woman without a dowry, who would soon be all alone in the world.
Christian gave a bitter laugh. “I wasn’t thinking about my sister’s future. To tell you the truth, I think I forgot I even had a sister. I was hell-bent on wringing every bit of pleasure I could out of life and didn’t give a damn about what or who I left behind.”
“What about Harding Hall?” The estate had been in Christian’s family for generations. “Jessalyn can use the estate as a dowry. I’m sure suitors will stand in line for such a rich prize.”
Christian shook his head. “It’s gone.”
“I’ll buy it back for you.” Ethan felt slightly better knowing there was something he could do to help. “And I’ll replace Jessalyn’s dowry.” He’d made a fortune with his orchids during the last few years and could think of no worthier reason to tap into it.
Christian closed his eyes. His hand trembled as he lowered his empty glass to the desk. “Just like that?”
“Of course. You’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed. Of that, I have no doubt.” Holding his friend’s gaze, Ethan slid the cuff of his left sleeve up to reveal a thin white scar. “I owe you far more than a few thousand pounds.”
He’d been thirteen years old and already banished to Harrow for several endless months when he’d received the news of his mother’s death. She’d taken to her bed after the loss of her daughter and oldest son and simply wasted away.
Blaming himself, Ethan had slit his wrists in an attempt to escape the terrible guilt and grief. It had been Christian who had found him, Christian who’d pleaded with him to live when he’d been wracked with fever and weak from loss of blood.
His own father hadn’t even sent a note.
“Let me do this for you.” Ethan stood and squeezed Christian’s shoulder. “Please. Let me help.”
“Don’t be so quick to offer your services.” The sight of Ethan’s scar seemed to have shaken Christian. His forced cheerfulness fell away, and Ethan caught a glimpse of the fear and pain he’d tried to hide. “I haven’t told you the worst of it.”
Ethan let his hand fall away. “There’s more?”
“Jessalyn’s pregnant.” With a weary sigh, Christian pushed away from the desk and strode to the window. “Seduced by the groom in my own stables.”
“Good Lord.” Ethan sank back into the chair.
Christian clenched his fists in obvious frustration. “I blame myself. I never arranged for her to have a debut, never fulfilled any of my obligations to her until she and that bastard showed up here in the middle of a dinner party, asking for her dowry so they could wed. When I told them I’d lost it, he decided he didn’t want her anymore.”
“Would you like me to castrate him?” Ethan offered, only half-joking.
“Believe me, I’ve thought of that myself. After all, what could they do if I were caught? Hang me?” Christian laughed, a ragged, rough sound. “Unfortunately, the coward seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Poor Jess.” The girl had gotten herself into a terrible fix. Without Christian to protect her, she’d be shunned. An outcast in Society.
Christian turned and met Ethan’s gaze. “I appreciate your previous offer, but perhaps now you understand.” He took a deep breath. “What I really need is a husband for my sister. Someone I can trust. Someone who won’t make her spend the rest of her life paying for this one foolish mistake.”
Oh, hell. Anything but this.
Ethan’s hand tightened around his glass. “Don’t ask this of me.”
“It doesn’t have to be a marriage in truth,” Christian assured him. “Marry Jessalyn and give her child the protection of your name. You can leave for South America the day after the wedding, if that’s what you want. Just provide her with a modest income so she can live comfortably after I’m gone.”
After I’m gone.
Ethan had been searching for a reasonable excuse to avoid his friend’s appeal, but Christian’s words jarred him and filled him with a renewed surge of grief. This marriage was a deathbed request from his only friend. How could he refuse?
“You’re right. It’s too much to ask.” A wealth of weariness laced Christian’s soft words. “You don’t have to do it. I’ll find another way.”
Resignation settled over Ethan like a deep, heavy fog. They both knew Christian had run out of options. Jessalyn was ruined and penniless—an impossible combination. If he didn’t marry her, who would?
Ethan would be happy to provide for her financially, but without the protection of his name, her child would be made to suffer the circumstances of his birth in a thousand cruel ways.
“I’ll do it,” he muttered, obligation toward his friend stronger for once than his ever-present sense of self-preservation. “Of course, I’ll do it.”
Chapter Three
Jessalyn turned from the window, her heart breaking all over again. The man who’d alighted from the coach wasn’t James. Though she’d only caught a glimpse of his upturned face, she’d recognized him immediately.
Ethan Tremaine.
Her brother’s handsome, melancholy best friend had been the focus of all her childhood yearnings. She hadn’t seen him in half a dozen years, but she should have known he’d return now that Christian needed him.
No wonder she’d mistaken him for James. Until this very moment, she hadn’t realized how much they resembled one another. Dear God. Was that resemblance what had drawn her to James in the first place?
For years, she’d waited for Ethan to return and notice she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She’d prayed for a letter and dreamed of running away with him, traveling the world and sharing his adventures. But eventually, she’d come to accept that in Ethan’s eyes, she’d never be anything more than Christian’s annoying little sister.
She’d been lonely, stranded at Harding Hall, deprived of her London Season year after year because of Christian’s precarious finances. So, when James Flint had courted her, she’d fallen head over heels.
He’d claimed to love her, but he’d walked away without a backward glance when Christian told him her dowry was gone. He hadn’t cared that she might be carrying his child. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
She pressed her hand to her still-flat stomach, her shoulders shaking with a shuddering sob. Nearly three months had passed since he’d abandoned her, and she had to face the truth. All James had wanted from her was a ticket out of the stables.
But if Christian had given them his blessing and turned over the dowry he’d had no right to spend, perhaps she’d have spent the rest of her life in blissful ignorance.
Now there was nothing left for her. She had less than six months before the baby came and no idea how she’d support herself once it did. She couldn’t count on Christian; he was drowning in debt and illness.
She wished desperately for the mother who had died giving birth to her. She needed to talk to someone about the daily changes her body was undergoing, wanted someone to calm the terror that threatened to overwhelm her every time she thought about sharing her mother’s fate.
As much as she wanted to love her child, she resented the constant reminder of James’ betrayal. Most days, she tried to pretend nothing was wrong, that her nausea and exhaustion were only symptoms of a persistent illness. Anything other than the bitter truth.
A sound in the hallway drew her attention, and she scrubbed away an errant tear. Funny, she hadn’t thought she had any left to shed.
“Jessalyn?” Christian knocked on her half-open door, then peered inside. “May I come in?”
She nodded, a bit taken aback by the sight of him. His pale face was flushed with healthy color for the first time in weeks, and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
“I’ve done it,” he announced. “I’ve foun
d the solution to all our problems.”
“All our problems?” Unable to share his enthusiasm, Jessalyn raised a skeptical brow. Somehow, she doubted he’d managed to find a cure for either consumption or pregnancy.
“Some of them,” Christian clarified, looking crestfallen.
“I’m sorry.” Since he’d told her of his illness, she’d done her best to keep her anger and bitterness at bay, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. In an attempt to change the subject, she forced a smile. “I saw Ethan’s coach arrive.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Christian’s good humor returned. “He’s going to help us.”
“How?” She refused to allow herself to hope or to treat Ethan as a knight in shining armor. She’d already learned the hard way that heroes didn’t exist.
Christian took her hands and squeezed them. “He’s going to purchase a home in England, and he’s asked us to stay with him once we move from here.”
Was this Christian’s way of telling her he’d lost the London house, too?
If he weren’t so sick, she’d shake him until he realized just how much his careless gambling had hurt her. Didn’t he ever wonder what she’d do once he was gone and she had to make her way alone in the world—penniless, homeless, and pregnant?
For an agonizing moment, she feared she’d start screaming and never stop. Ruthlessly, she forced her panic down to a manageable level. She shouldn’t dwell on things that had not yet come to pass.
“That’s… very generous.” Though she gave her brother the response he wanted, Jessalyn hated the thought of being beholden to Ethan Tremaine. She couldn’t remain his unwelcome houseguest forever.
“Yes, it is.” Wariness crept into Christian’s eyes. “In fact, he’s offered to do even more than that. He’s going to marry you, Jess, and take care of you for me once I’m gone.”
“You want me to marry Ethan?” Jessalyn shot to her feet and stared at Christian in stunned disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”