Pleasures of a Tempted Lady

by Jennifer Haymore

  Jessica’s aunt Geraldine, who’d lived in the square forever, had said that once the square had consisted only of a large area of plain paved space with an ugly, dirty pool of water in its center. Jessica could vaguely remember seeing the square when she was a little girl and thinking it very bleak and unwelcoming indeed. It was much improved now.

  She usually bisected the square on her walk, and sometimes she’d stop in the middle, close her eyes, and smell the trees, dirt, and flowers above the pungent odors of coal and city sewage and grime. Even though she could still hear the distant shouts of street vendors, the clomp of horses’ hooves, and the rattling of carriage and cart wheels, she’d imagine she was in a quiet forest somewhere, alone and not surrounded by thousands and thousands of other souls.

  As she and Mr. Briggs began to walk through the square on a path lined with low bushes, she glanced at him. “Don’t you want to know why I wished to make that sound at you earlier?”

  He shrugged and looked away, as if she wasn’t worth looking at when he responded to her question. “Not particularly.”

  Her face instantly went scarlet—she could feel the burn of the blood rushing to her cheeks. Oh, what an insolent, ugly man he was!

  “It was because you’re very rude,” she snapped.

  He glanced at her, one side of his mouth curled upward. It looked like a cross between a smirk and genuine laughter.

  In all fairness, she had to admit he had a handsome mouth. Lovely, soft-looking lips, too.

  “Forgive me,” he said, sarcasm lacing his tone. “But I’m no London dandy who’s going to simper and grovel to every pretty female who passes by.”

  Had he just called her pretty? She’d never been complimented in such a maddening way before. “Nevertheless,” she said, “there is still a measure of politeness everyone should strive to achieve.”

  “Oh, is there? Then I suggest you strive a little harder, Miss Jessica.”

  “What?” Her flush deepened, if it was possible. She clenched her hands at her sides to prevent herself from shoving him. “I. Am. Always. Polite,” she bit out.

  “The way you were staring at me in the drawing room—well, it was difficult to restrain myself from raising my fingers with the sign to defend myself from the evil eye.”

  “Oh, what nonsense!” she cried. “I wasn’t looking at you in any such way.”

  He shrugged again. “If you say so.”

  Furious, she glanced back to see if her maid was hearing any of this. Apparently not—she was several paces behind them and humming to herself, a faraway look in her eyes.

  She turned back to glare at him. “If you’re worried about the evil eye, perhaps you should think of the way you were looking at my sister Meg.”

  “Which Meg?” he asked dryly.

  “The real one.”

  “Ah.” He didn’t elaborate.

  “Why don’t you like my sister?” she asked. “Surely you know her, don’t you? You spent time with her on Captain Langley’s ship.”

  “I was the one who first spotted her and the lad adrift in that jolly boat.”

  “And then she was on the ship, in your presence, for many days.”

  “Aye, she was. Along with the lad. Odd sort, that boy.”

  “So?” Jessica asked, not wanting to discuss Jake, whom she didn’t understand at all. She was always kind to the child, but he was so standoffish, she never quite knew what to do with him. Instead, she kept her focus on Meg. “How can you possibly not like her? Meg is a lovely person and certainly not deserving of anyone’s dislike.”

  He looked straight ahead. “It’s not that I dislike Miss Donovan.”

  “Then why look at her like you do?” Jessica pressed. “You look at her as if you despise her.”

  Mr. Briggs hesitated. Then he said, “Takes some time to earn my trust, is all.”

  “So it’s not that you dislike my sister, but you don’t trust her?” The man was obviously not quite right in the head. Meg was so guileless—how could anyone not trust her?

  Mr. Briggs made a noncommittal noise, and she looked sharply at him. “Why not?”

  “As I said”—Mr. Briggs spoke with such strained patience he might have been speaking to a slow child—“I’m not one to throw out my trust so easily. Not like Captain Langley.”

  “Why not?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I suppose I’ve been betrayed one too many times.”

  “Do you trust anyone?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Who, then?”

  He took a moment to answer. Finally, he said, “Langley.”

  Jessica waited for him to add more names. When she didn’t, she asked, “Is that all?”

  “Aye.”

  She blinked. “What about your family? Your parents? Brothers and sisters?”

  “No.”

  “Well,” she murmured. “I find that very sad.”

  Again, he shrugged.

  They walked in silence for a few moments, then Jessica said, “So, you don’t trust my sister, and you feel that Captain Langley has offered his trust to her too lightly.”

  “Close enough.”

  “But what could Meg possibly do to harm Captain Langley? What do you think her evil motivations could possibly be?”

  “I don’t know. But if she has any, I hope to expose them.”

  Jessica made a wide gesture with her arms. “So you’ve no idea how or why she’d possibly betray the captain, yet you consider her guilty until proven innocent.”

  He looked at her, again with that strange half smile. “I like that, I think,” he said, a musing tone in his voice. “Guilty until proven innocent.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Jessica snapped.

  “It’s a safer way to approach the world. Thinking of all human beings as guilty until they prove themselves worthy of your trust…”

  “I should think it’s a lonely way to approach the world. Looking at everyone with such dark suspicion—like you were looking at my sister—” She shuddered.

  “Well. To each his own, I suppose.”

  “Or her own.”

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised, scrunching the red scar to a higher spot on his forehead. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all,” Jessica said stiffly. “I am known, however, to be forthcoming to a fault.”

  “And defensive. Of a sister you hardly know.”

  “Oh, I know Meg.”

  “Do you? I wouldn’t be so certain about that. In the short time since I arrived at Lord Stratford’s house, I have already sensed a separation between her and the rest of you.”

  “There is no separation. She is…” Jessica didn’t know how much of Meg’s danger Briggs knew, so she chose her words carefully. “She has been away for a long time, trapped against her will and in a foreign place. And now she’s been thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire of London. Of course it will take some time for her to adjust to her new life here.”

  “That’s a mature assessment for someone so young.”

  She felt the band of muscle tighten all the way from one shoulder across the other. “I am not young.” And she was dashed tired of all her sisters and brothers-in-law treating her like an infant.

  “Really? How old are you? Seventeen? Sixteen?”

  She ground her teeth. “Nineteen years old, thank you very much.” She puffed out her chest, hoping to give the illusion of having a more womanly bosom than she actually had.

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Why would I lie to you about my age?”

  “I’m sure I can dream up many reasons,” he murmured.

  “Oh, right. I forgot about your distrustfulness,” she scoffed.

  They’d reached the middle of the square. Out of habit, Jessica paused there. He took a few steps forward and then looked over his shoulder at her. “Coming?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  He looked around in the dimming light of the most woodsy area of the park, fr
owning. “Is something wrong?”

  She sighed. “You do like to ruin a calm moment, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I always stop here. To take some breaths and calm myself. To, just for a few moments, pretend I am alone in some vast forest.”

  “Ah.” He paused, allowing her to close her eyes and take several deep breaths.

  Deliberately, she relaxed all her muscles that he had so successfully coiled within her body. There. She felt better already. She took another deep, deep breath, and opened her eyes.

  “Finished?”

  Already, she could feel those muscles starting to coil tight again.

  “I am.” She stood tall as a princess, staring him down.

  They began to walk again.

  “Why do you imagine yourself alone in a forest?”

  “Because the thought is calming to me.”

  He raised his brows. “The thought of wolves? Snakes? Other dangerous creatures?”

  “I may look like the kind of maiden who would simper at the mere mention of those animals, Mr. Briggs, but I assure you I am not.”

  For the first time, he smiled at her. It was a real smile, that reached his eyes and—amazingly!—made him appear very handsome indeed.

  “I was raised on a small island in the middle of a violent, unpredictable ocean, with an overbearing mother and four older sisters. My father died when I was very young. We lost Meg. My sister Olivia has been ill for the majority of my life. We ran out of money, and we learned how to work to keep food in our mouths. We survived malaria, cholera, two hurricanes, three droughts, and a flood. I’m rather inclined to think that after all that, if I was indeed a simpering maiden, I’d be quite dead by now.”

  She’d surprised him. She could tell by the slight raise of his brows.

  “Well,” he said softly. “I suppose it’s true.”

  “What’s true?”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  Jessica grinned. “Tell me, Mr. Briggs, how do I appear to you?”

  “Like a beautiful, spoiled English lady who’s never seen a day of hardship in her life.”

  He wasn’t the first man who’d called her beautiful. But somehow, it seemed more meaningful coming from his lips. Why? Perhaps because it didn’t seem like a word he’d toss around lightly, unlike so many of the other men who probably used it to coax kisses from young ladies on a weekly basis.

  “I suppose you’re right, then,” she murmured. “Looks often are deceiving.”

  And maybe his were, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next afternoon, Will, Briggs, and Meg’s brothers-in-law Stratford and the Duke of Wakefield sat in a tense circle in Will’s drawing room. The Freedom had arrived on the tide this morning, but Will was going to turn around and leave her again. The plan was for him and Meg to depart for Prescot at the beginning of next week, but he felt that might be too late. Serena had relayed to them Jessica’s odd experience with the Marquis of Millbridge, and Will was convinced Millbridge was on the hunt for Meg.

  Jessica had managed the situation with the marquis well, but since then, a strange man had accosted Stratford’s cook at the market, asking about the sisters. Though flustered, she’d managed to say nothing to give Meg away. But this ruse couldn’t go on forever.

  As much as Stratford trusted the members of his household, people could be forced to talk. Will trusted Meg when she said that Jacob Caversham would use any means necessary to glean information about his son and his “kidnapper.” For everyone’s safety, the servants hadn’t been told where Meg and Jake were traveling.

  “What we must do,” Stratford said, “is have enough evidence on hand to stop him before he becomes too desperate.”

  “We have evidence related to his smuggling activities, and at least one witness,” Will said. “But until Meg told me, no one comprehended the extent of those activities.”

  “We do have Meg’s testimony against him,” Wakefield said thoughtfully.

  “No. I want to keep her out of this,” Will said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Stratford nodded. “Agreed. Plus, since he’ll be accusing her of kidnapping, her accusations may be dismissed as simple retaliation.”

  “Ultimately,” Will said, “the evidence we have gathered thus far is negligible, and probably not enough to interest the authorities.”

  “At least not yet,” Briggs added. “I’m gathering information on the ships he owns and where they’ve all sailed. I think I can retrace his steps for the past few years, but I believe I’ll eventually need to travel back to Cornwall to collect evidence.” He gave them all a grim look. “If it’s there, I’ll find it.”

  “Take the Freedom,” Will told him. “You will have all my resources at your disposal.” Will would be with Meg and Jake in Lancashire, unable to lend his support in other ways.

  “We need to learn more about Caversham’s connection to the Marquis of Millbridge.” Stratford was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped under his chin.

  “Yes,” Will said, “and we’ll be better off not involving the Crown or the authorities until we know exactly how deep this goes.”

  The men sat quietly for a moment, no doubt thinking of the implications of this, considering Millbridge’s involvement with the royal family and with the government itself.

  “Since Millbridge is here in London,” Wakefield finally said, “I can look into his affairs here.” He shrugged. “The activities of the London Season are so tedious, and this will be a good distraction. And, of course, I want to do whatever I can to help Meg.”

  “I’ll speak with my solicitor,” Stratford said. “He might be able to help us build a stronger case against Caversham. We wouldn’t want to accuse the man and have the suit fall apart due to some annoying esoteric legal matter.” Stratford tapped his chin with his fingertips. “However, Millbridge might be a little more difficult to pin down. He’s a peer and an esteemed member of the House of Lords.”

  “If his activities are as illegal and immoral as I think they are…” Briggs hesitated.

  “Then we’ll see him hang,” Will said coldly.

  The four of them sat in silence. Will imagined the Marquis of Millbridge swinging from the gallows. The thought made him vaguely nauseous but more determined than ever.

  He would see Caversham brought down before he could get to Meg and Jake. And if Millbridge was involved, Will would bring him down, too. He stood abruptly and then looked down at Stratford. “We need to leave.”

  Stratford raised his brows in confusion. “Who?”

  “Meg, Jake, and I. Not Monday.” He paced the length of the long, narrow room. The fact of the matter was that Millbridge was close—too damn close—and Caversham would be here soon. He needed to get Meg out of London. “Tomorrow.”

  “The carriages aren’t ready—”

  “Who gives a damn about the carriages?”

  The men shifted in their seats, clearly uncomfortable. Stratford frowned. “Are you all right, Langley?”

  “No, I am not all right. Millbridge is in Town—Christ, he lives in Mayfair, doesn’t he? The man is less than a mile away. It’s obvious he’s hunting for Meg, and when he finds her—”

  “Wait a moment.” Wakefield held up his hand. “That encounter with Jessica could have been coincidence.”

  “It wasn’t,” Will said flatly.

  Stratford’s brows climbed toward his hairline. “How can you be sure about that?”

  “Intuition.”

  “When did you start acting on intuition, Langley?” Stratford asked in a low voice. “You need to think about this logically. Even if he was digging for information about Meg’s whereabouts, he didn’t succeed in obtaining any.”

  “How can you be sure about that?” Will asked, tossing Stratford’s words back at him.

  “We’ve no evidence that anyone knows about Meg’s existence besides the men in this room, her sisters, and
Stratford’s servants,” Wakefield pointed out.

  Will shook his head. There was no turning back. Now that he’d made the decision, he knew it was the right one. “To hell with logic. To hell with evidence. If we have to stay up all night preparing the servants and packing the carriages, then that’s what we’ll do. But I’m leaving London tomorrow, and Meg and Jake will be with me.”

  Meg convinced Will to bring Thomas along with them to Prescot. The boy’s mother was traveling in France, and Meg couldn’t bear to think of him alone in London with only a few servants for company. So, at the very last minute, when they were literally mounting the carriage steps, she’d requested that he join them.

  Will’s hesitation had been palpable. Meg couldn’t imagine why he was so loath to bring his son with them, but speaking in low tones to him in an unmoving carriage while Jake squirmed with impatience, she’d finally drawn out the truth.

  Will harbored concerns that the child would remind Meg of his inconstancy. That had just made Meg shake her head. “Even if he does, Will, even if it does cause me a soul-deep pain every time I look at him, I won’t see you reject him for my ‘comfort.’ That would be infinitely worse.”

  “I’d never reject him,” Will had said. “But how could I subject you to him if he causes you pain?”

  “Listen,” she’d said softly. “If there is to be anything between you and me—even friendship—ever again, then I must learn to be with Thomas. I won’t have you hiding him from me. He’s too bright a child not to recognize what you’re doing. That would hurt him beyond repair. Above all, Thomas is innocent of any wrongdoing, and a child certainly shouldn’t be punished for someone else’s mistakes.”

  Will had finally relented, and he, Meg, Thomas, and Jake had traveled to Lancashire together. They’d taken two carriages—one for the four of them and another for the four servants Jonathan had insisted Meg bring along. The journey had been uneventful. Besides Meg and Will constantly striving to entertain two very active, restless boys, there was little else for them to discuss.

  Still, Meg had silently observed Will as the carriage rumbled through the English countryside. His patient tone with his son made her heart ache, but at the same time, it was comforting to her. It had taken him years to take on the responsibility, but unlike so many other men of his station, he’d sacrificed pride, reputation, and probably the opportunity for a good marriage in favor of an obvious and open devotion to his son.