He bent and kissed her hand.
What? She felt his lips, sweet, gentle on her hand, and the touch shivered through her.
Oh…no…he hadn’t…
“Where’s Foster?”
Taking a closer look at him, she saw that he wore no moustache.
“He stayed in town to attend to some last minute duties.” Funny how his voice fell when he said it, and she could recognize the texture of a lie.
But that meant…
“When did you get here?”
“I arrived late. Foster’s valet brought me home, repaired me to one of your guest rooms. I apologize for the suddenness of my arrival.” He walked her to the table, held up a dismissive hand when the footman stepped forward to escort her into her chair. He pulled it out instead and helped her sit.
She nearly toppled into it, her knees suddenly liquid.
Oh no.
“Jinx, are you well?” Her mother looked up from her paper, frowning.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, now roiling. Swallowed and tasted bile. “No, I don’t think so. I think I need a walk outside. Some fresh air.”
“I’ll attend you,” Bennett said. Nothing of the inebriation of last night reflected in his clear blue eyes, especially when he offered his arm.
She stared at it, at the kind hand, and a flash of memory went through her, something so rich that, for a second, she felt his hands on her, warm and kind.
She might be ill. “No…I’m fine. I’m sorry.” She stood and pushed past him, nearly running down the corridor, through the massive, shadowed ballroom and out onto the terrace.
She gulped in the salty air. The heat of the sun, piercing in the unveiled sky, bore upon her, pressed through the cotton of her shirt, into her skin, her pores, her bones, as she sank down onto a chair and pressed a shaky hand to her lips.
Along the edge of the terrace the gardener tended the roses, cutting them back, petals falling like droplets of blood onto the grass.
Oh, please. Please. She hadn’t really—couldn’t have—spent the most important part of the night with her husband’s brother.
Chapter 7
“Jinx? Are you okay?”
Of course he hadn’t obeyed her. Of course Bennett Worth had followed her out to the terrace, probably to drive deeper her shame, the betrayals of the night. How had he ended up in Foster’s bed?
“Don’t come out here. Don’t talk to me.” She gripped the arms of the chair, stealing herself at his voice. She couldn’t look at him.
“Your mother is worried about you—”
“How could you?” Oh, she hadn’t meant for the words to lurch out of her like that, but oh… “You letch!”
She turned and caught his expression at the tail end of her words, the way he recoiled, as if they slapped him.
“What did you call me?”
Bile filled her throat. “You deserve it, and more. I’m not some chorus girl easily wooed into your chambers. I—I am not that girl.”
“Of course you’re not.” His tone mocked her, as if he might actually be confused.
“You make me sick. All the way through to my bones. I can’t believe…oh, what will Foster say?”
Dawning slipped over him slowly, she read it in his face. The frown, the flicker of memory in his eyes, the intake of breath, again a frown. “Wait a second. Last night. That was you?”
She shut her mouth, her jaw tight. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“Stop. I need to think.” He held out his hand to her, or rather to steady himself on a nearby chair. “I—no, this isn’t right. Listen, Jinx. I… .” He seemed to have a difficult time breathing, because he pressed his hand to his chest. He shook his head. “When I awoke this morning, I wasn’t exactly sure what happened.”
“You weren’t sure that…” She pressed her voice low, her breath knotted in her chest. “That you’d had a visitor in the night?” Her tone scared even her.
“I was… .not exactly sober. And very tired. So yes, when I woke this morning, I had a fuzzy memory, something that lingered as a pleasant experience—”
“A pleasant experience?” She needed to keep her voice down lest her mother or any of the babble-mouthed servants hear her, but… “A pleasant experience?”
He stared at her, as if he might be choosing his words carefully. “Yes. Very…pleasant. Well, wasn’t it pleasant?”
She closed her eyes, wishing herself anywhere else. “Just who did you think I was? Some servant girl, compliments of the house?” She stared at him, trying to skewer him, make him bleed. “Just what kind of household do you think we run here?”
He lowered himself into the chair next to her. Stared down at his polished shoes.
No, no, no. Fury—or perhaps shame—turned her voice to a fine, sharpened point. “I have to admit, Bennett, the stories I heard of you turned my ears red, but to meet you and your womanizing ways face-to-face? You come sneaking into my home—”
“Just one second here, Mrs. Worth, but just who did the sneaking around here?”
“Keep your voice down!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his jaw tighten, his face harden ing, a look she recognized from the Worth legacy. Here it would come—some sort of remark meant to cut her to the quick, something brutal and eviscerating. You trollop. She heard the slur in her own head in the voice of her mother.
But his voice emerged soft, almost hurt. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, Jinx, but I think perhaps my brother has been feeding you inaccuracies. I was overseas managing our father’s business. I had one or two girlfriends, French women, yes, but I…I’m not the kind of man who finds himself in the late-night company of women. Not usually.”
Did he think her an idiot? “Not usually? Then what about the parade of women to the yacht the past four days?”
His mouth tightened. He looked away.
Oh, she hated Foster then. The disgust burned inside her. He’d never find her knocking on his door late at night again.
Ever.
Last night had been a cruel, horrific mistake, the kind she’d have to bury inside her so deep Foster could never see it in her eyes. She’d have to tear from her mind the memory of the way she’d felt, as least for a slice of time, like she belonged in his arms.
As if he wanted her.
It was all a lie.
Her eyes burned as she watched another gardener gather hydrangeas. “If the cabaret girls weren’t for you, then why? Why did you…” She couldn’t even say it. Pretend you were my husband.
“I swear, Jinx.” His voice softened, and he looked at his hands. “I didn’t know it was you.”
Another memory raked up, so that she had to measure her breath lest a gasp leak out. How could she have mistaken him for Foster? He’d been nothing like Foster. He’d been tender, and sweet. No moustache, and now that she thought of it, he’d smelled different, his body thinner, his hands woven into hers.
What if she’d known? Deep inside her heart—what if she’d known and surrendered anyway?
Sweat trickled down her back, dribbled under her corset.
“You were just there.” His voice lowered, the tone soft and gentle. “And you smelled like roses, and you were soft and…” He actually lifted his hand as if to touch her hair. She jerked away.
He tightened his hand to a fist. “Yes, I am a letch. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He buried his hand back into his lap. “I haven’t been with a woman for a while, and maybe I just lost myself. I know it was wrong. But you acted like you wanted to be there, if I recall.”
“Of course I did. I thought you were my husband.”
“Yes, of course. You’re right. I—I don’t what to say.”
She glanced up at him then, at the texture of his blue eyes. He did look sorry, the way he looked at the sea, back to her, the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat.
“Foster can never know. Ever. It’s erased. It never happened.”
“We’ll
never speak of it again.” He blew out a breath, rubbing his hands now on his legs. “But, really, you couldn’t tell the difference between Foster…and me?”
She tightened her lips into a knot. Glanced at him. Tried to find words that wouldn’t scour up her shame. Finally, “Foster and I don’t often… have marital relations.” She turned away as her face heated.
“But you’ve been married for four years.”
“Yes. He travels a lot. And I summer in Newport.” She looked away, just barely stopping herself from fleeing the terrace, running across the lawn, perhaps throwing herself from the cliffs. “And I’ve been pregnant three times. There was a waiting period after the miscarriages.”
“Naturally.” He was silent then. Drew in a long breath. “I wish I could convey how truly repentant I am for what I did, Jinx. My inebriation was no excuse. I forgot where I was, and in the moment, simply gave into my loneliness. I should have been honorable.”
He met her eyes then, the blue in them so piercing she couldn’t breathe. “I also apologize for my brother’s neglect of his wife that would drive her to find solace with him in the middle of a stormy night. He should have been home three days ago, should have invited you to his chambers, or asked admittance to yours. He should not neglect you.”
The words burrowed in like a blade and turned her voice crisp. “I’m not a pet that he should attend to me. I’m his wife. I run his household. Keep his name in the social register. He doesn’t neglect me. He’s simply busy.”
“He’s simply a buffoon.”
“You can leave anytime.”
She glanced at him and tried to add daggers to her eyes.
He met her gaze, held it, anger in it. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jinx, and I’m sorry it was me in Foster’s bed last night. I’m sorry it wasn’t your husband. And I’m sorry I took advantage. And, this is probably despicable, but I’ve gotten to know my brother over the past few weeks, so I’m hoping that it was a pleasant experience. It was for me.”
“Get out of my house.”
“I’ll have Lewis collect my things.” He rose and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “It was nice to meet you, Jinx.”
She turned her face away from him, listening to his steps echo across the parquet floor of the ballroom.
Even his footsteps sounded lighter. She again pressed her hand to her mouth, to stave off the scream building inside. What if she had known? She searched her memory for a moment when she might have suspected he might not be Foster.
No. Never. But what if she had? Would she have pushed herself out of Bennett’s arms? After the relief of him not turning his back on her, after the tenderness of his attention awoke something dead inside her, would she have had the courage to turn away?
You’re a beautiful woman, Jinx.
She feared the answer of her thirsty heart.
The gardener, bearing a bouquet of hydrangeas, approached the terrace and replaced the sagging stalks in the vase on the table. She inhaled the fragrance. Foster could never know. If he did, he’d divorce her.
And without an heir, she’d be left penniless.
An heir. She closed her eyes, pinching away the prayers from the night before. No, no, no, she could not have conceived last night.
“Ma’am? Mr. Worth has asked for your presence in the salon.” Her butler, Neville, stood in the terrace doorway.
She turned away. “I don’t care what Mr. Worth has requested. You can gather his things and tell him to get—”
“Jinx?”
She jerked, the voice raking through her. There was a time when she longed for the deep tenor of his greeting, the way her name rolled off his tongue. Now, it just made her stiffen, made her fight for a smile.
Foster.
Perhaps if Bennett had said her name in the swaddle of darkness, she would have known, because there was no mistaking the difference in the delivery of her name.
She drew in a breath. Dredged up a smile, although she didn’t expect one in return, and rose from her chair. “Foster, darling. Finally. I’m glad you made it home.”
He looked older. More tidy. A pinstriped bow tie at his neck, he wore a dark frock over a black waistcoat, his boots sandy from the harbor, his dark hair oiled back on his head. His cool gray eyes held hers, an arrogant smile at his lips as he bent over and pecked her cheek. “I sent my brother on ahead last night. I take it you’ve met?”
He stepped aside, and Bennett looked past her as he nodded. She, however, kept her smile in place. “Of course. We had breakfast. Got acquainted. I’m just sorry we didn’t meet sooner.” The words tumbled out like grease, thick in her throat.
“Perfect, because he’ll be summering with us here at Rosehaven. I’ve asked Neville to prepare his rooms. I told Lewis to repair him to my chambers last night, given the late hour. I hope he didn’t disturb you.”
“Of course not.” Her glance went to Bennett, who made a significant attempt to stare through her to the ocean. “But are you sure he would like to stay here and not in town?”
Please, Bennett?
He seemed to rise to her inner pleas. “Yes, brother, I’m just as happy taking rooms in town. I hate to disturb you and your wife. I know you must have missed her. And she, you.”
Jinx cut a look at Bennett, and the way he stared at her—finally looking at her—her throat tightened. He didn’t take his eyes away from her, holding her gaze as Foster laughed, something harsh and bright. “Oh, we’ll be fine, Bennett. As you see, her mother has taken a suite as well. I hardly think Jinx has been lonely.”
He clamped his brother on the shoulder. “Your trunks are being unloaded as we speak. My house is yours. Besides, in a few days, I must continue on to New York. I have shipments to greet and accounts to settle.”
“But you’ve only just returned.”
Had she said it? She’d thought it, yes, but the protest issued from Bennett.
“Business calls. Someone needs to keep my wife in gowns and jewelry, right Jinx?”
“But—but I have to talk to you. It’s about…” She glanced at Bennett, who was now inspecting the gardeners’ work, a real horticulturist.
Foster glanced at him, back to her.
Fine. She cut her voice to low. “I am no longer with child, Foster.”
He made no response, just breathed in the news. Bennett closed his eyes, something like a wince on his face.
Finally, Foster nodded. “I expected it, frankly, Jinx. It seems you can give me nothing of worth.”
She flinched.
“But fear not, I heard the news in port a few days ago. I trust you’re feeling better?” His gaze ran over her, and she knew he had to be comparing her.
“Somewhat.”
“Splendid. I’ll return in time for the motor coach cotillion,” he said. “As long as work doesn’t tarry me.” He winked at Bennett.
She watched Bennett’s mouth tighten, just a bit, on the edges.
“In the meantime, Bennett can fill in as your escort to your summer soiree and fripperies. Introduce him around. I’ve already paid his fee for the Casino—he loves a good game of lawn tennis, don’t you, Bennett?”
“I don’t need a nanny.”
“Jinx plays a passable game of lawn tennis. And she’s brutal in croquet, aren’t you, peach?”
Bennett looked at her again, compassion in his eyes.
Clearly, he’d heard her confession. She wanted to dissolve into the terrace.
However, a lady didn’t air her pain before guests. “Do you know how to drive a car, Bennett?”
“I haven’t yet had the pleasure.”
“Great idea, Jinx. Take him motoring. And to all the lawn parties and to Bailey’s Beach.” He boxed his brother on the shoulder. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and find yourself a wife.”
Bennett glanced at him, but Foster hadn’t finished. In fact he rounded on Jinx, something dark and sharp in his eyes. “If anyone can marry you off, it’s Jinx.”
* * * * *
She could lose herself under the glitter of the Newport night sky. Jinx sat on a chair, her gaze more on the way the moon flowed like syrup across the ocean than Puck’s soliloquy in the final scene of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The back lawn of Beechwood Estates, the milky white mansion of Caroline Astor, spilled out to the sea, the moon turning the lawn to silver. On the terrace, a stage and light showcased a private group of players shipped in for the Astor’s amusement.
“‘If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended…’”
“Penny for your thoughts?” Bennett leaned close, his voice low, sending a tremor through her. She glared at him and he sat upright as, on stage, the player Puck finished then bowed to the applause of his audience. It seemed Caroline Astor had invited the entirety of Newport to her gathering under the clear August skies for the Shakespearean festival.
At least Foster had finally left for New York City. He managed to turn a few days into two interminable weeks that stretched out into painful silences and a fog of cigarette smoke drifting from his billiards room. He and Bennett jaunted off to the port every day, lost in some business transactions. They left her to plan the motor chase cotillion, make her daily coaching tour along Bellevue, attend one of Mamie Fish’s lawn parties, and take in her daily dip at Bailey’s Beach.
Fully clothed and under the canopy of the bathing cart, of course.
She’d also managed to spread the word that Foster’s younger brother had returned to the States in need of a wife.
An influx of calling cards appeared at her door that very afternoon.
Jinx applauded with the crowd then allowed Bennett to help her to her feet. She slid her hand through his cocked arm, necessary to keep up appearances.
“You were daydreaming at the end, Mrs. Worth,” he said, nodding to Alice Vanderbilt. Jinx had spent the past three days introducing him to as many of society’s notables as she could, making a list of the eligible ladies still unspoken for, responding to calling cards. If Foster wanted his brother married off, yes, she could manage that. Anything to get Bennett out of the house and out of her thoughts.
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