The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12)

by Mary Lancaster

  Hesitantly, Jess reached between them and touched his hand, linking her fingers to his in comfort. He snapped his head around, staring at her. Then he looked hastily away. But his fingers squeezed back before he murmured, “Excuse me.”

  He vanished through the still madly appreciative audience.

  De Rizzo was induced to play one more piece, which he did with joy and grace, and then refreshments were served once more. Jess, despite being involved in pleasant conversation, noticed the moment Jonathan returned to the hall. Her heart gave a little skip—of relief she supposed—and she couldn’t help being glad when he strolled over to join her and Crabby. Kate had introduced her to several other people, both residents of Blackhaven and visitors. Two young men asked Crabby for permission to call on her charge tomorrow.

  “I told you you’d be a social success,” Jon murmured when they had a moment.

  “Everyone is so kind!” She looked about her. “I haven’t seen Hector here, have you?”

  “No. Do you wish to?”

  “No! It just makes me wonder what he’s up to.”

  “He’ll have gone back to London since you are engaged to me.”

  “You think he’ll give up so easily?” Jess asked with a trace of indignation. “He didn’t before, even after I told him I wouldn’t have him, and even if I did, my uncle wouldn’t leave his money to either of us.”

  He regarded her with amusement. “You don’t mince your words, do you? I can’t imagine Hector taking such a set-down very well.”

  “Oh, no, he was furious. Fortunately, Crabby brought his lordship into the room, and I wasn’t forced to suffer him any longer. The next time he came, he was conciliatory and hoped we could still be friends.”

  “Still?” Jon queried.

  “Well, I suppose we were never unfriends until the marriage thing came up. Apart from his constant scolds.”

  While they strolled around the room talking to each other or to new acquaintances, Jess caught the violinist’s gaze on her more than once. She suspected Jon noticed it, too, though he said nothing.

  After about half an hour, guests began to drift away, either to their next event of the evening or to bed. The Grants were so unfashionable as to leave arm-in-arm, and a little later. Jess suggested they go up and see his lordship before he retired to bed.

  Jon agreed without a quibble. “Always leave your admirers wanting more,” he advised.

  “You are absurd,” Jess said haughtily.

  “Oh, nicely done,” Jon approved, and she only just stopped herself sticking out her tongue at him.

  On their return, Holmes fetched tea and hot chocolate while Crabby told his lordship all about the concert and how admired Jess had been.

  “The musician was not the only one to single her out for special attention,” she said proudly.

  “Ha!” his lordship responded, turning to his son. “And what did you think of that?”

  “I was glad to see her make friends,” Jon said mildly.

  “Hmm. You won’t seem so exotic to her when she does!”

  “Exotic?” Jon repeated, clearly revolted. “I should hope not. What now, Father? Have you turned against the match you were insisting on yesterday? Or do you wish me to lock her up where she can’t find anyone better?”

  “Oh, be damned to you!” Lord Viscral growled.

  Jess rose to her feet. “Jon, will you walk with me before I retire?”

  “Of course,” Jon responded at once.

  “Take Crabby,” Lord Viscral said maliciously.

  “Crabby needs some rest,” Jess said.

  His lordship did not press the matter, merely advising them not to scandalize the town.

  Jess fetched her new evening cloak, and they left the room.

  “Is this to prevent an argument?” Jon asked.

  “Partly. I don’t know what’s the matter with you both. If he’s not provoking you, it’s the other way round.”

  “He enjoys it,” Jon said as they descended the stairs.

  “In so far as he would rather you here fighting with him than a thousand miles away ignoring him.”

  “Are you planning to scold me through our entire engagement?”

  “Probably.”

  He grinned and held open the front door for her. “Then here’s to a short engagement.”

  “Be sure I do not mistake that remark for gallantry.”

  “I am quite positive you do not.”

  “No, but I am grateful for what you’re doing. Giving me the gowns and introducing me to your influential society friends. Even if I spend the rest of my days buried at Viscral Hall, or in some position like Crabby’s, I will always remember with pleasure this time in Blackhaven.”

  “Don’t,” he said too quickly. “It’s little enough.”

  They walked on in silence. Then she said, “I enjoyed this evening very much. I’m glad you like music, too.”

  A breath of bitter laughter shook him. “I don’t like it.”

  “But it moves you.”

  “That’s why I don’t like it.”

  She glanced at him. “I didn’t believe you. About Izlan.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “I suppose Lady Bella told you.”

  “I asked her,” Jess admitted. “I’m sorry. I should never have made you to go through this fake engagement of ours. It must seem like a mockery of—”

  “It has nothing to do with my marriage to Izlan,” he said shortly. “There is no comparison anywhere.”

  She swallowed. “I know that.” And she did. She ignored the silly hurt. For one thing, she didn’t really know where it came from or why it was there.

  He let out a muttered oath and abruptly swung his arm around her waist, dragging her off the high street and into the dark lane between two buildings.

  “I’m sorry,” he said intensely, gazing down at her. “You’re kind, and I’m ungracious.”

  “You loved her and lost her. I don’t need to understand, but I can care.”

  To her surprise, his forehead dropped to hers, warm and intimate. They stood very close together, and her heart drummed. She didn’t feel quite steady. And then his bare fingers touched her cheek. He bent further and kissed her mouth.

  At first, she thought it would be like his brief kiss the first night they met, the one he had later claimed was comfort. But it wasn’t like that at all. Perhaps he meant it to be, but from instinct, she pressed her lips against his in return, because this time, it was he who needed the comfort.

  But it seemed she opened a flood gate, for quite suddenly, his lips moved, parting hers, seizing them in the kind of kiss she’d never known, deep and slow, and the most sensual experience she had ever imagined.

  His arms were around her, holding her close against him. One of her hands clung to his upper arm, the other touched his rough cheek in wonder. She never wanted it to stop.

  But it did. Very gently, perhaps reluctantly, he parted his mouth from hers. Her eyes, which she couldn’t remember closing, fluttered open and found his, warm and turbulent, devouring her.

  She swallowed. “I suppose that is the difference.”

  A frown of confusion tugged at his brow, and then a breath of laughter brushed her lips. “Between comfort and desire? I suppose it is one of them. In the interests of honesty, I should also mention avoidance.”

  “Avoidance?” Of speaking about emotion, about Izlan, and grief.

  “And I should apologize. But the truth is, I like kissing you.” He bent toward her mouth once more, but she turned her face aside. He paused.

  “Perhaps you do,” she managed. After all, she had some pride. “However, I don’t.”

  He considered her. “Not honest, Jess.”

  She shrugged, extricating herself from his hold. He let her.

  “Honest enough,” she said with dignity. “I won’t deny I was intrigued. No one has ever kissed me like that before, but it’s not an experience I care to repeat.”

  “Very proper,” he approve
d. “And probably for the best.”

  She turned from him, back toward the high street, when suddenly a shadow moved—two shadows—rushing upon her so quickly that she gasped. The shadows resolved into black, very human figures, one with his arm raised to strike her.

  At the same time, she heard a thud and an Ouff! sound, as though someone had been struck and winded. And then, hands flung her back out of harm’s immediate way as Jon leapt in front of her.

  “Run,” he commanded.

  Blocking her attacker’s blow, he struck his own quickly, sending the man reeling backward. But the first man had recovered and was charging Jon, head-down like an angry bull.

  They both crashed into him at once. In panic, Jess seized her hat pin and ran at them, the hat tumbling from her head. One of the attackers fell, tripped by the swipe of Jon’s boot, but the other had him in an armlock from behind. Jon jumped, using the man behind as leverage, lashing out with both feet at the oncoming bully, who saw it in time to avoid more than a glancing blow, and then lurched in, both fists raised.

  One of the men held a blade, which glinted in a stray beam of moonlight.

  Jon was held from behind, his elbow only half free enough to thrust back into his captor’s chest, and he couldn’t hold off the blade man with his feet for very long.

  Instead, he spun, taking his captor by surprise, as well as the blade man, who had to pull up sharply to avoid stabbing his friend. The maneuver also brought Jon’s captor directly in front of Jess, and she struck hard, jabbing the pin right into his rear.

  The man howled, releasing Jon as he instinctively grasped at his backside with both hands. As Jess stepped smartly out of the way, Jon elbowed the man hard in the face and almost immediately struck out at the blade man, knocking the knife from his fingers before following that up with two hard blows to the head. While the man reeled back, Jess darted forward and swept up the knife. Jon turned on the man who had previously held him, who, however, backed off.

  “Enough,” he snarled, though whether at Jon or at his friend, wasn’t clear. At any rate, both of them ran off into the darkness, away from the lights in the high street.

  Panting, Jon strode to Jess, grasping her face between his hands. “Dear God, are you hurt?” he demanded, his eyes wild.

  She shook her head numbly. He swooped. His open mouth pressed briefly to hers, making her gasp—a breath of life—and then his hands dropped. He snatched up her poor, fallen hat, then strode a few more steps to pick up his own, which he clapped casually on to his head.

  “You?” she whispered, able to speak at last. “Did they hurt you?”

  “Devil a bit,” Jon said, apparently cheerful again. He took the assailant’s knife from her cold fingers and pocketed it. “Come, I think I should get you home before anything else happens. I’m sorry our walk has been curtailed.”

  She gave a shaky laugh, allowing him to draw her hand through his arm. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her tumbling hair as they walked into the streetlights.

  “Who were those men?” she demanded. “I didn’t realize Blackhaven was such a dangerous place!”

  “I don’t think it is. Usually. But there are always incidents.”

  “They didn’t even try to rob us! Perhaps it’s someone who hates you, Jon. The thieves you were talking about with Captain Alban?”

  “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “But it is certainly a lesson to us both… You’ll be careful where you walk when you go out without me? And no, there is no need to remind me that it was I who led you into the dark alley and kept you there. What on earth did you do to the fellow holding me in that vice-like grip?”

  “I stabbed him with my hat pin. In his rump,” she added with satisfaction.

  Jon let out a shout of laughter, “You are wonderful!”

  “Well, you were rather splendid yourself, taking on both of them.”

  “I didn’t have much choice. You should have run.” His lips quirked. “Though it turned out well that you didn’t.”

  “Perhaps I should join the crew of your pirate ship.”

  “I don’t have a pirate ship,” he said mildly. “I captain a trading vessel. And either way, I can’t have a crew that disobeys orders.”

  She sighed. “So much for gratitude.”

  As they stepped past the doorman and back into the hotel, the blaze of lamp and candlelight showed her the beginnings of a bruise on the side of Jon’s face. His knuckles were split and sluggishly bleeding. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he hastily dragged York-tan gloves from his pocket and pulled them on.

  “It’s nothing,” he said deprecatingly. “Schoolboy stuff.”

  She wasn’t sure about that. But when she thought of the glinting blade, and how much worse the whole attack could have been, she swallowed convulsively.

  “Did they mean to kill us?” she asked hoarsely as they climbed the stairs.

  His gloved hand covered hers. “If they did, they failed. Don’t think about it anymore. I’ll find them.”

  “Not alone,” she said in alarm.

  “I have friends if I need them,” he soothed.

  She hesitated, then said abruptly, “What do we tell his lordship?”

  “Nothing. He’ll only worry pointlessly. Let him assume we’ve had a row. You had probably better sort your hair out before he sees you, though, or he’ll accuse me of ravishing you.”

  She flushed, but met his gaze with a tilt of her chin. “You almost did, didn’t you?”

  He smiled, a wicked, predatory smile that deprived her of breath. “Another difference I shall have to show you at some point.”

  She had to close her mouth on whatever furious retort would have come out at that, for he reached past her and pushed open the door to Lord Viscral’s rooms.

  Chapter Eight

  Although he made light of the matter to Jess, the attack bothered Jon far more than he was willing to admit. He had learned early to defend himself—in more dangerous port towns than Blackhaven—and rarely came off worst. But he had never been in such a situation with a female, let alone one he was responsible for. Worse, they had attacked her directly.

  Off-hand, without robbery, he could only think of two possible reasons for such infamy. Neither seemed likely, but he considered them seriously as he left the hotel and strode in the direction of the harbor tavern.

  The tavern was not a salubrious establishment. In fact, it was little better than a thieves’ den with ale on tap and smuggled brandy for the more discerning palate. Despite this, the more reckless gentlemen occasionally drank here, even the great Earl of Braithwaite, whose castle overlooked the town and the sea.

  Jon found himself hoping he wouldn’t encounter any gentlemen on this particular quest, at least none that he knew. And in fact, he saw immediately that the one he would have hated most to discover was not present.

  However, as he strolled up to the counter, nodding to a couple of sailors he knew from past voyages, the smoke cleared, and he saw another gentleman alone in the corner, drinking somewhat gloomily.

  “Brandy, if you please,” he ordered. “And one for the gentleman there.” He nodded casually to the gloomy drinker and sauntered over to join him.

  “Good evening,” he said, pulling up a stool.

  Claud Darcy jerked his head up and blinked. “Oh. Mr. Tallon. How do you do?”

  “Very well, compared with you by the look of things.”

  “Oh, just thinking,” Darcy said with a tentative smile. “What would you do, sir, if you found the girl you had just given presents to, spends time with another man?”

  “Well, that would rather depend on the girl and the—er—quality of the time spent.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Darcy said wistfully. “Fascinating and elusive. Sweet and yet grasping.”

  For a moment, Jon thought he was talking about Jess, and only just stopped himself from giving the man a mouthful of pithy advice. The rest of the description might fit her, but he had long since decided she was not
remotely grasping. In fact, his words more clearly fitted someone else entirely.

  “If she is the delightful dancer I am thinking of, then I’m afraid you are unlikely to obtain exclusive loyalty. Without paying through the nose, at least.”

  “But I am at her feet,” Darcy confided. “Utterly.”

  Jon folded his arms, unwilling to rest his elbows on the sticky table. Two glasses of brandy were plonked in front of them.

  “Very civil of you, Tallon,” Darcy said gratefully.

  “Health and happiness,” Jon toasted, raising his glass and drinking. “Which,” he added, “is unlikely to be obtained by embarking on matrimony with the divine Antonia in your back pocket, as it were.”

  Darcy looked shocked. “Matrimony and Antonia are two separate things,” he protested. “They’ll never come in contact with each other.”

  “Your funeral,” Jon said, shrugging. “But if it was Jess you were still engaged to, I’d knock your teeth down your throat.”

  Darcy flushed at the unexpected attack. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that you seem to take your promises rather lightly.”

  “Damn it, Jess and I were never truly engaged!” Darcy protested. “We were children. And she, obviously, took it just as lightly as I, since she engaged herself to you!”

  It was a fair point and one, moreover, that would be emphasized when Jess broke her “engagement” to Jon, hopefully in order to marry someone else. “None of my business in any case,” he admitted.

  “Every man has his peccadillos,” Darcy said, still defensive. “In fact, it’s my belief Antonia was one of yours. She certainly speaks of you highly enough!”

  Jon said nothing. His liaison with Antonia had been brief, with no expectations on either side, over when he sailed to the east last year. But he’d had enough of Claud Darcy. Raising his half-empty glass to him, he stood up.

  “Good luck,” he said, and walked away. This time, he lounged against the counter and gazed toward one of his own crew, Bill Bains, currently with a skimpily dressed young woman draped on him, with a mug of ale in his hand.

  Eventually, Bains pushed her off and ambled over. “Evening, Captain.”