The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12)

by Mary Lancaster

  He flicked the frippery dangling from her wrist. “And here it was all the time.”

  “As you say.”

  Still, he didn’t move out of the way. Instead, he kept looking at her until a faint smile flickered on his lips.

  “Out with it,” he said ruefully. “How have I offended you?”

  “You haven’t, of course,” she said at once. “I don’t know why you would think so.”

  “I feel dismissed.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “You had better get used to that, since it has been our plan all along.”

  “Do it now, if it makes you more comfortable.”

  It would break all ties with him. Although, surely, he would still come to see his father and continue mending their relationship. Or was their reconciliation still too frail to withstand such a blow?

  “Do you think I should?” she asked doubtfully.

  He took a step closer, and she caught the faint whiff of brandy on his breath. It wasn’t unpleasant, although her heart drummed even harder.

  “Actually, no,” he said. “Though I’m damned if I know why.” To her surprise, he placed both hands on her waist and swung her down against the landing wall. “Privilege of the betrothed,” he murmured and bent his head.

  She couldn’t breathe. She saw only his parted lips, their fine texture and the way they quirked in anticipation. Her stomach seemed to dive downward, and suddenly it didn’t matter that her determination had failed at the first temptation. All she wanted was another kiss.

  A door opened across the hall, letting out a blast of male voices and laughter. Jess gasped, but John didn’t move as footsteps sounded across the floor. “Put her down, Tallon. You’ll shock my mother, and you’ll be married soon enough.”

  The footsteps receded. Jon’s lips curved into a proper smile. His dancing eyes invited her to see the joke. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or slap him.

  “What a thought,” he murmured, his hands falling from her waist in a way that managed to caress her. Her whole body flamed. “What a thought, indeed.” He stood aside. “You had better flee before I ruin all our plans.”

  She swallowed, but pride compelled her to say, “I never flee.”

  She did not hurry as she walked across to the drawing room. But she was sure he watched her, for she didn’t hear his footsteps until she finally took hold of the door handle. For some reason, she felt both powerful and afraid, and she thought the knot in her heart would never go away.

  *

  The following day was market day in Whalen. Jon, desperate for something to do that did not involve Jess, donned the clothes he wore at sea and strolled around the stalls, taking particular note of spices, cloth, and tea. Then he bought a newly baked pie and sat on an upturned box to eat it.

  He didn’t have long to wait before he spotted a familiar face. One of the warehousemen he had spoken to, the one he had made open the box of saffron, was at the spice stall, examining things but never, apparently, making up his mind to buy. Two women, who might have been cooks or housekeepers, were also examining the wares. While one was being served, the man moved closer to the other woman, dragging his leg as he moved, and exchanged a few words with her. After a brief conversation, the woman moved away with him.

  Jon stood up and followed them to a busy corner just behind the market, where several horses and donkeys were tied up, some harnessed to carts. They went to one covered wagon. The man called out, and a boy stuck his head out from behind the canvas. A moment later, he delved back inside and passed three small parcels to the woman, who handed over money to the warehouseman, smiled, and nodded, then went on her way very cheerfully.

  The boy and the warehouseman exchanged grins and then the man limped back toward the stalls. This time, he skulked around the edges, watching the spice stall. Jon strolled past him and on to the main cloth stall. He fingered some fine muslin and a bolt of watered silk, and asked the stall keeper for the prices.

  In truth, they were very reasonable for the quality, but he forced a chastened smile to his lips and thanked her before moving reluctantly to courser cambric.

  “Looking for something a bit special?” asked a sympathetic voice in his ear.

  Jon glanced up and nodded. He recognized another of the warehousemen who, however, didn’t seem to connect him with the over-curious ship’s captain. “For my sister. She’s getting married, and I want her to have the best. Only…”

  “Only the best costs,” the other man sympathized. “I can see you’re a man of taste, so…I can give you a beautiful length of silk for half the price she’s charging. Make a beautiful gown for a young, married lady. I’ll show you if you like.”

  “Where’s your stall?” Jon asked innocently.

  The man beckoned, and Jon duly walked with him across the square to the same covered cart.

  “Tommy,” the man called, and the same boy’s head poked out.

  The boy grinned. “Da.”

  “Show this gent the lovely silk.”

  As the canvas opened, Jon caught sight of a few pieces of neatly folded fabric and a few small, closed boxes. A smell of exotic spices wafted out to him. The boy pulled two of the fabrics toward him.

  “They are beautiful,” Jon said, raising his eyes to the man’s. “Which was why we bought them in the first place.”

  Recognition dawned at last in the man’s widening eyes. He swore, hurling himself at Jon to barge him out of the way. “Go!” he yelled to the boy.

  But Jon was ready and stepped smartly aside, letting the man fall to the ground while Jon threw himself at the cart and sat on it. The boy, halfway to the front, presumably to drive off at speed, paused in alarm.

  As the man picked himself up, the other from the spice stall came running unevenly over with surprising speed. People nearby began to look, wondering what was going on.

  “Don’t,” Jon said as the men advanced on him, rather desperate threats in both pairs of eyes.

  From behind, the boy seized him around the neck, but it was a half-hearted attempt, and Jon merely yanked him over his shoulder and plonked him down beside him on the edge of the cart. His father stilled.

  Jon sighed. “You remember me now? I know what you’ve done. Captain Alban knows. And there is evidence that leads directly to you.”

  “Then we got nothing to lose!” the lame man snarled.

  “Actually, I think you have. I believe you are acquainted with Miss Antonia Bliss.”

  “Aggie.” The lame man stared at him. “If you—”

  “All I mean to point out,” Jon interrupted, “is that it’s up to me, not you, what happens now. We can fight if you like, but I suggest you talk to me.”

  *

  Bella tells me you like babies, Mrs. Grant had written to Jess that morning. So I hope you may care to accompany my daughter and me to the King’s Head Inn for tea this afternoon.

  Intrigued, Jess accepted, and accordingly, was waiting with Crabby in the hotel foyer when Mrs. Grant came in to collect her, a baby of only a few weeks in her arms. Once they had both exclaimed and cooed over the sleeping infant, Mrs. Grant said, “But you are not dressed to go out, Miss Crabtree. Do you not accompany us?”

  “Oh, no,” Crabby said, rearing back and hastily wishing them well before scuttling off.

  Mrs. Grant blinked after her.

  “She doesn’t mean to be rude,” Jess said apologetically. “It’s just that she’s come to value a nap in the afternoon, so she rather likes it when I’m off her hands!”

  “You don’t mind walking?” Mrs. Grant asked. “It’s a fine afternoon, and we can always take it in turns to carry her royal highness here!”

  Jess agreed readily, and they set off together. “It’s an expedition of mixed charity and pleasure,” Mrs. Grant explained. “The new innkeeper’s wife was recently a patient at the town hospital, which is one of our charities, and she is, besides, setting up a kind of charity of her own—well, more of a cooperative—looking after children of worki
ng mothers.”

  “I don’t really know anything about babies,” Jess warned.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. We won’t be expected to do anything. The mothers do it themselves, largely. But I’m sure it’s good for Nichola to meet other babies.”

  Jess regarded the tiny creature doubtfully. “Do you think she notices other babies?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure she will!”

  “My old friend, Mr. Darcy, is staying at the inn,” Jess told her. “Though I don’t know if he will be there.”

  “We can invite him to tea if he is.”

  Jess wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this. On one hand, she was anxious to tell Claud that Jon was perfectly trustworthy and should not be doubted. On the other hand, she was reluctant to reveal that the engagement was a ruse of her own which Jon had only gone along with from kindness. Still, it was probably time to tell the truth anyway, to Claud and to her guardian. Lies seemed to grow tentacles until you were lying merely to justify the lie and not for whatever benevolent purpose the lie had been begun.

  Mind you, her purpose hadn’t been benevolent in the first place. Her purpose had been mere pride, to show Claud she cared little for their childish engagement as he did. Which would be a hard thing to admit to his face.

  Perhaps he would not be there…

  But in fact, once they were welcomed by the young, one-handed innkeeper and shown into the coffee room, Claud Darcy was the first person she saw.

  “You’ll be quiet enough in here,” the innkeeper told them. “There was just a couple of actors reading over their lines, but it’s gone quiet now, so they must have left…”

  When Jess walked in, Claud was laughing. He no longer wore the bandage on his head, and showed no signs of his recent injury. In fact, he held a lady by the hand, whirling her back to sit with him on the window seat. And it didn’t look much like playacting. For one thing, Claud was no actor, but the son of a well-to-do country squire. For another, he’d no sooner sat, with his arm around the young lady, than he became aware of Jess and Kate with her baby, and leapt to his feet again, almost knocking the girl to the floor in his hurry.

  Even worse, the woman concerned was none other than the dancer from the theatre, the girl in the red gown who had fawned upon Jon in the gaming club.

  “Jess!” Claude exclaimed.

  The whole situation should have appalled her, for it was quite clearly no play reading but a lover’s tryst. But in fact, the pure horror on Claude’s face made her lips twitch with sudden laughter.

  “Mrs. Grant,” he added, almost despairing now as he realized he’d been caught in a compromising situation by the vicar’s wife. Like a hunted animal, his eyes darted from her to Jess. “I hope you don’t imagine anything improper in the situation. In fact, I have been helping Miss Bliss with her lines.”

  “So we hear,” Mrs. Grant said pleasantly. “I believe I have seen you at the theatre, Miss Bliss. I look forward to seeing you in your speaking role next time.”

  The girl cast a somewhat wild look at Claud, who was no help whatsoever, merely tugging at his cravat and trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” she managed. “I’ll be on my way. I think he’s been as much help as he’s going to be.”

  “So do I,” Jess agreed. “Help Miss Bliss with her pelisse, Claude.”

  Claud sprang into action, his main aim being clearly speed as he all but hustled the dancer out of the coffee room before closing the door on her and leaning against it as he faced Jess and Kate.

  “Don’t feel obliged to stay,” Jess said coldly. “We didn’t come to see you, I’m very glad to say.”

  “I knew you would get the wrong end of the stick,” Claude began coming toward her.

  “No, you’re afraid I might get the right end,” Jess retorted, “and understand perfectly! Well, I do. And it’s none of my business. But still, I take leave to tell you, Claud Darcy, that while I never cared a great deal for Mary, she deserves better than you!”

  “Jess!” He sounded genuinely shocked. “Truly, this has nothing to with my love and duty to Mary. You are not wise in the ways of the world—”

  “No, but I am,” Kate interrupted, taking a seat by the fire, from where she regarded him pleasantly. “And whatever you might think and whatever Mary’s family might think, you may believe me when I tell them, Mary would see it very much as to do with her.”

  “Especially,” Jess said indignantly, “when you are cavorting about in public with a woman I last saw—” She broke off, remembering just in time that she wasn’t meant to have seen this woman apart from at the theatre. “On the stage,” she finished. Then she glared at him. “And you had the cheek to lecture me only yesterday, about Captain Tallon’s peccadillos!”

  Under Jess’s glare and Mrs. Grant’s haughtily raised eyebrows, Claude flushed to the roots of his hair.

  Then he straightened his shoulders. “You don’t understand,” he said grandly. “And I must ask for your discretion.”

  “What do you take me for?” Jess demanded. “But you must make this right, Claude, for I’ll not have Mary lied to and deceived anymore.”

  Claude bowed stiffly and stalked out of the room.

  “Well,” Mrs. Grant murmured. “That was well said.”

  Jess sighed. “I suppose you think me very naïve. Everyone does.”

  “On the contrary, I think you naturally principled and admire you greatly for taking such a stance. Young men are all too often brought up to believe they may do exactly as they please without considering anyone or anything but their own pleasure. It isn’t good for them.” She glanced at Jess as she sat opposite her and gave a quick smile. “It isn’t good for women, either. I should know.”

  Jess stared at her, stricken. “You are good. But you’re wrong about one thing. I’m not principled at all, not where my own behavior is concerned.”

  Kate searched her face. “Do you want to tell me?”

  For an instant, the temptation was overwhelming, for Kate’s eyes were kind and understanding and did not seem to judge. Then Nichola stretched in her mother’s arms and squawked. The moment vanished in the baby’s smiles, and then tea was brought in by the innkeeper’s wife and a maid.

  After tea, they went along to the back of the house to visit the creche, and Jess forced her mind to the usefulness of such a service for women who needed to work and still care for their children.

  They saw no further sign of Claud. Jess wondered ruefully if that was the end of their old friendship. She found she didn’t mind nearly as much as she’d imagined she would, considering that up until a week ago, she’d still harbored innocent ideas of becoming his wife. Now she knew she could never have married him, and not just because of Antonia. It wasn’t just Claude who had changed. She had, too.

  *

  As Jess and Kate bade farewell to the innkeeper and his wife, Jess’s attention was briefly distracted by the sight of a man slouching out of the gate. He limped, dragging one leg quite badly. Jess frowned, wondering if it was the same man she had once seen following Jon up High Street.

  Although the man paid them no attention, the sight of him made enough of an impression on her that she mentioned him to Jon when he joined them for dinner that evening.

  “I couldn’t see his face on either occasion,” she said as they sat in the sitting room waiting for Crabby and Lord Viscral to join them, “but he did look very similar.”

  Jon shrugged. “I would doubt it. There are a lot of injured soldiers and sailors in Blackhaven. Apart from anything else, the vicar runs a charity to look after those who can’t get work.”

  “I suppose you are right. I just keep remembering the men who attacked us the other evening for no reason.”

  He frowned. “Did you feel threatened by this man?”

  “No,” she admitted. “He was leaving, paid us no attention.” She gave a rueful laugh. “I’ve become frightened of my own shadow!”

  “Not frightened,” he a
ssured her, “just cautious. Which is no bad thing. So,” he added as Lord Viscral emerged from his bedchamber, attended by the faithful Holmes, “who joins us for dinner this evening.”

  “The Lamonts and the Whartons,” Jess replied. It was her guardian’s reluctant way of returning the Lamonts’ kindness to Jess. The Whartons were a much older couple, friends of his own.

  They dined downstairs in the hotel dining room. It would have been pleasant enough had not the Whartons congratulated Jon several times on his engagement and confided in Jess how pleased they were that she and Jon were obliging Lord Viscral in the dearest wish of his heart. Even her involuntary, pleading glance at Jon delighted them into arch comments, until she thought seriously about picking a quarrel with Jon there and then simply to end the charade.

  Fortunately, the company broke up early, since Bella was tired and Lord Viscral and the Whartons did not keep late hours. As Jon returned with them to their rooms to fetch his hat and coat, he held Jess back so that they fell behind on the staircase.

  “Is something wrong?” he murmured.

  “I suppose I’m discovering rather too late that I dislike lying.”

  “That will sort itself out,” he assured her, though on what basis he did not elaborate. “Is there nothing else? You seem almost…subdued.”

  She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I went with Mrs. Grant to the King’s Head today. Claud is staying there.”

  He glanced at her, his face unreadable. “Did you see him?”

  She nodded. “Yes. With that same dancer who practically sat in your lap the night we met.”

  “Ah.” He did not look surprised. He gazed upward, perhaps gauging how far ahead Lord Viscral and Crabby were, to be sure they would not be overheard. To her surprise, he said, “Do you mind?”

  She blinked. “He’s engaged to Mary!”

  “He has feet of clay. Most of us do.”

  She stared at him. “You knew. You already knew.”

  He shrugged.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.

  “I believe it’s not a proper discussion.”

  “Since when did you care about such things?”

  He was silent for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. In the end, they had reached the top of the stairs and were about to enter the rooms before he said abruptly, “I did not want you hurt anymore.”