The Secret Marriage Pact

by Georgie Lee

  ‘You there, you scoundrel,’ a woman’s voice rang out, silencing a few of the workmen stomping past Jasper, their backs bent under the weight of the casks they carried. ‘I’ll have a word with you.’

  Jasper faced the woman barrelling down on him the way Mrs Robillard had approached him once. Her clothes were too worn to make her a merchant’s wife, but the reticule weighed down by something heavy swinging by her thick hips set him on edge.

  ‘If you think I’m going to allow you to ruin my son the way my husband ruined himself, you are wrong.’ She jerked up the reticule and stuffed her hand inside. The memory of Mrs Sullivan pulling a gun on him the night she’d lost her prized diamond at a dice game rocked him. Mrs Sullivan had missed.

  He didn’t wait to see if this woman’s aim was any better, but closed the distance between them. ‘How can I help you, madam?’

  He offered her a hearty smile, the one he once employed with planters and their wives as he placed his hand on her wrist to stop her from removing whatever weighed down her reticule.

  ‘Let go of me, you wicked man.’ She jerked free of him and her hand came out of the bag empty. She was oblivious to the many workers taking an interest in the conversation. Jasper needed to quiet her and quickly. He didn’t possess enough money to silence them all.

  ‘Please, step inside my warehouse and we can speak.’

  ‘We can speak here. You think I don’t know what you’re getting up to in this place?’ she screeched. ‘I’ve seen the money Adam comes home with and I know there’s only one way he be can be earning it.’

  At last he understood who the woman was and how to deal with her. He stepped closer and dropped his voice, painfully aware of the men around him leaning against crates while they pretended not to listen. ‘Adam is my employee, not a client, and a very well-paid one because I trust him to remain quiet about my business, as I’m sure I can trust you, too.’

  He reached into his pocket and plucked out a banknote. He didn’t look to see the value before he took her hand and pressed it into her palm. She closed her fingers on the note and tugged it out of his grip. Then she opened the crumpled paper and her light eyebrows rose with surprise. Everything about her demeanour changed as she shoved the money inside her bodice.

  ‘I understand completely, sir. I’m so sorry if I misunderstood, only his father was a gambler, and a drinker, and all but ruined us, forcing us from our home and into the filth of St Giles.’ Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her faded dress. ‘When Adam started going out at night and coming home with money, I worried he was turning out like his father. I followed him here last night, heard the men talking about their wagers and I thought for sure I’d lost him.’

  ‘Your son is one of my best footmen.’ Jasper wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders. ‘But if the wrong people find out about this place and shut it down, he’ll lose his good wages.’

  She peered up at him with round and worried eyes before her gaze darted to the watching men as she realised her mistake. ‘I won’t tell anyone. You can count on me. His wages keep me and his sisters from starving and allowed us to move out of St Giles. I assure you, I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to jeopardise this place, Mr...?’

  ‘Patrick,’ he lied. She knew too much already.

  ‘Mr Patrick. Thank you for all you’ve done for him. I’m so sorry for thinking so little of you.’ She kissed the back of his hand, grateful in a way he didn’t deserve. He smiled and accepted it despite the urge to climb in the carriage and be alone with his shame. When at last she took her leave, hurrying off even faster than she’d approached, Jasper strolled to his carriage to appear to all as if nothing was amiss and give no one a reason to consider the matter.

  The men went back to their work and Jasper stepped into his carriage. Once inside, the vehicle set off and he sagged against the squabs, breathing for what seemed like the first time in days. ‘It’s all right.’

  Except it wasn’t. There’d been a moment when he’d feared her accusations would rise and the woman would announce to the entire wharf what took place above stairs at night. If too many people learned of it, then it would only be a matter of time before word spread and he could no longer keep this place a secret from his family. They’d already put him on a ship once and sent him off believing they’d never see him again. To be in London and banished from their circle would be worse, especially if he dragged Jane down with him.

  The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the Charton house. Jasper climbed out and jogged up to the front door, hoping no one was about. He needed peace to think and cursed again the repairs to the town house. When he’d first arrived home, the noise of his nieces and nephews, the talk of his parents and the continued comings and goings of his sibling had been a welcome relief after the deathly still of Savannah. Today, they would be an annoyance.

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ Alton, the butler, asked when he pulled open the front door. The thin man with the wide nose had been with the family since Jasper was a little boy. He knew Jasper as well as his old nurse, forcing Jasper to lie to him the way he lied to everyone else.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ He made for the stairs, eager to reach the solitude of his room before anyone else noticed he was home. He didn’t make it.

  His mother came out of the front sitting room, concern furrowing her brow at the sight of him. ‘Jasper, you seem troubled. Is anything wrong? Perhaps something you’d like to discuss with me about your evenings?’

  She studied him the way she had when he was a boy and she used to summon him to her dressing room to interrogate him about what he’d been up to in the street. The vague notion she might know about the hell drifted through his mind before he dismissed it. If she had learned of it, she’d never be this coy in approaching him about it.

  ‘No, nothing.’ Jasper flashed the widest smile he could muster, feeling like a fool and a charlatan. But they were the ones who’d sent him away to learn his uncle’s trade, even if they’d been ignorant of what it’d really involved. With all the subtlety and finesse of a fifteen-year-old, he’d railed at them for their decision and done everything he could to make them change their minds. They’d remained firm in spite of their own doubts and love for him, believing Uncle Patrick would provide their second son with the best opportunity to make something of himself.

  His tension softened as he took in his mother’s concerned face. They hadn’t known the truth and they still didn’t. If they ever learned about it, their guilt would be as great as his. They’d done what they’d thought best for him. Now, he would do what he thought best for them by allowing them to remain ignorant of the real consequences of their decisions and his. ‘I’m fine. I had trouble sleeping again last night.’

  ‘The dreams again?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was the reason he’d been giving for weeks to explain his long nights out. There had truly been nightmares when he’d first come home, but now they’d faded. Sadly, his need to use the excuse had not. ‘After I woke up, I went to the theatre, and then to Mr Bronson’s. I needed to be around people and I didn’t want to disturb anyone here.’

  ‘Of course,’ his mother agreed with some hesitation. Then she reached up and took him by the chin, turning his face side to side to examine him. ‘You look like you did when you first came home.’

  He knew exactly what she meant. It was the reason they’d given him three months of peace before announcing his return. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well.’

  His mother removed her hands from his face and clasped them in front of her. ‘I think Jane will be good for you. She’ll help you to deal with many things and perhaps forget some of your old experiences.’

  Jane. He glanced at the side table in the entrance hall and the blue German glass pitcher the same deep azure as her eyes. It wasn’t only the risk of discovery he’d faced today, but the very real th
reat of violence. If Adam’s mother had had the chance to remove the pistol weighing down her bag, and Jasper and Jane had already wed, Jane might be a widow and left to deal with the revelations about Jasper and his club. He had too much honour to foist his embarrassments and troubles off on someone else the way Mr Robillard had done. ‘I must see her this morning. There are matters we need to discuss.’

  ‘Of course.’ His mother patted his hand. ‘Be good to her, Jasper. She deserves it and you deserve her care.’

  ‘Yes, she deserves the best.’ Sadly, it wasn’t him.

  Jasper removed his hand from hers and made for outside, refusing to hail a hack or summon the carriage again. He needed the brisk walk as he made for St Bride’s Lane.

  The surety with which he’d pledged himself to Jane began to dim in the bright daylight. He’d had doubts once about what he did in Savannah and he’d ignored them, blithely carrying on until they had destroyed people. That had garnered his attention. He’d had reservations about bringing Jane into this sphere, but he’d ignored them, too, insisting the best course of action was to link her life with his. This morning’s encounter made him doubt his decision. It was one thing to burden her conscience with a few of his secrets. It was another to place her in real danger or set her up for potential embarrassment the way Milton had done. He couldn’t allow Jane to be hurt.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before Jasper reached the junction of St Bride’s Lane and Fleet Street. He stopped at the opening of the lane. It was calm compared to the bustle of the main thoroughfare. He should keep walking, go to his town house and make sure all was on course with the repair work to welcome them after the wedding, but his feet wouldn’t move. With the practised skill of a man always betting against others, he weighed his risks against the odds. Leaving her now would certainly hurt her and turn her against him for good. The risks of his lifestyle were less clear, but potentially more deadly. He didn’t want to deliberately hurt her, but he didn’t want to see her wounded because of his more illicit life. Perhaps, if she understood something of the danger, at least as much as he was capable of telling her, she might help him decide. It was a gamble he didn’t wish to take, but he couldn’t ignore his intuition this time.

  * * *

  A sick feeling swam in the pit of Jane’s stomach as she faced Jasper. Until this moment, his unexpected appearance had been a welcome distraction from drawing up guest lists, breakfast menus and packing her things. He hadn’t smiled once since he’d arrived, nor cracked a joke or made light of anything. It was eerily similar to the way Milton had approached her the morning before he’d eloped.

  ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Fear tightened her throat. He’s going to call it off. No, if he’d changed his mind he would have sent a note instead of coming here himself. It was slim comfort. There was a reason he was standing here viewing her as if he’d already lost her.

  ‘I want to make sure you understand fully what we’re about to do, including the potential dangers. It’s something we may have overlooked in our rush to wed.’ He glanced past her to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Then he shifted closer and dropped his voice. ‘Not every player loses. There’s a very real chance someone could win and bankrupt us, or a cheater I unmask might lash out at me or you. You must be sure this is the kind of life you want.’

  He’s trying to get me to cry off. She certainly would not. If she had to club him over the head and drag him up the aisle to ensure he said his vows, she would. She wouldn’t be humiliated in front of the Fleet Street community again. ‘After a lifetime of living here, having been in the house the night Laura’s uncle tried to kill her, I’m well aware of the risks involved in dealing with money and people.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you can handle any challenge our life together might create.’ His words were light, but there was no missing the deep furrow marring his brow, or his insistence in pressing on. She might not be willing to end things, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t. ‘But we can’t be so lax about it or the realities of our situations.’

  ‘Which are?’

  He hesitated before he answered. ‘The danger aligning yourself with me might put you in.’

  She waited, bracing herself in anticipation of the words she expected to follow and end everything. Outside, her niece’s and nephews’ high voices rang out, tensing Jane’s already tight nerves, but still Jasper didn’t speak.

  Don’t do it, please, don’t turn away from me. Her cheeks burned with her silent shame until she was sure they were the same red as her velvet dress. She didn’t want to beg or to be this weak in front of him, but his pulling back cut deeper than when Mrs Hale had moved away. He’d promised to create a life, home and business with her. They weren’t even married and he was already reneging on his word.

  ‘What’s really wrong, Jasper, please tell me?’

  * * *

  Jane studied Jasper with the same pleading look as the men who approached Mr Bronson in search of more credit. Her desperation cut him because he’d caused it. Instead of waiting and better thinking things through, he’d come here in a panic and created a doubt which hadn’t existed before and it had hurt her.

  Down the hall, the back door leading from the garden squeaked opened. The Rathbone children’s footsteps rang through the house, accompanied by their high voices as they called to one another. It echoed with the sound of his childhood when he and Milton used to tear through the same door and race upstairs to find Jane and bring her out to play. He especially remembered the months after her parents’ deaths when he’d come here to fetch her, eager to see his heartbroken friend smile again. Those days were gone, but Jane was here with him, as beautiful and trusting as back then. He couldn’t throw her over the way his brother had. If she’d set her mind to facing all challenges with him—and Heaven knew after living with Philip Rathbone she was the best woman to do it—he couldn’t push her away. He would find a way to keep her safe.

  He pulled her to him and clutched her tight against his chest. Resting his chin on her smooth hair, he inhaled her gardenia scent and allowed it to soothe his concerns. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you with my visit. I just wanted to make sure you were completely aware of what marrying me means.’

  She relaxed against him with a sigh of relief and slid her arms around his waist. ‘Of course I’m aware of it. Despite it all, I still want to be your wife and work with you.’

  ‘And you will.’

  She leaned back but didn’t pull away, her usual exuberance colouring her cheeks with a pink more alluring than the shameful red he’d brought to them a few minutes before, the weight of her as natural in his arms as his coat on his shoulders. ‘Philip spoke to Reverend Claire this morning. It’s all set for Friday at eleven o’clock, the soonest we could do it given the seven-day wait. The Reverend was stunned when he found out I’m marrying you. I’m surprised he didn’t look up the rules of consanguinity to make sure it’s all right for a woman to marry her former fiancé’s brother.’

  Jasper laughed, the first genuine one he’d enjoyed in ages. This was how it had always been between them and this was how it would continue. He’d make sure of it. ‘I don’t think he’s so medieval.’

  ‘I hope not for I have no desire to appeal to the Archbishop for a dispensation.’

  He softly cuffed her under her chin. ‘We could always elope and stun a few more people.’

  ‘And deny everyone in the Fleet the chance to come and gawk? Heavens, no. I want them to be there when we see this betrothal through. And we will.’ Her warning was clear. She would make him live up to his promise.

  ‘Yes, we will.’ He took her hand and brought it to rest over his heart. Her pulse flickered in each fingertip against his as he drank in her wide blue eyes and the full lips which were parted in anticipation. She wasn’t just his greatest friend; she was about to be his wife. At fifteen,
he’d longed for this, but he’d hesitated to tell her for fear she’d laugh at him. Then the night of his farewell party, with the single candle in the study making her eyes sparkle, she’d vowed to wait for his return. The missed opportunity had crushed him. It wasn’t only his family he’d been exiled from, but a future with her. It was why he’d denied any feelings other than friendship and why he hadn’t written despite dreaming of her. He’d been too angry over the chances stolen from him.

  But they hadn’t been stolen, only delayed.

  The old bitterness faded under the soft pressure of her fingertips on the back of his neck and her stomach against his as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. A charge of passion arched between them, driving away his exhaustion and worry, and invigorating him like nothing since before the dreaded summer in Savannah. In her arms, the future surrounded him and he wanted to embrace it as he did her. With her help, he’d build a new life and at last bury the old one. He’d finally leave Savannah behind and Jane would be there to help him do it.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Are you sure you want to wear this dress?’ Mrs Fairley, the blonde modiste, asked as she laid the silk creation across the back of the chaise in her fitting room. The modiste had sewn this dress for Jane’s wedding to Milton, making it the only one she could have ready before Friday. Jane had insisted Mrs Fairley keep it, determined to wear it to the next Charton party and give Milton a taste of what he’d rejected. When the opportunity had finally arisen, Mrs Fairley had talked her out of her revenge, making Jane realise she’d only embarrass herself.

  ‘Yes, I’m going to wear it.’ After Jasper’s visit this morning, Jane didn’t want to waste money on a new gown she might not use. If this one didn’t make it to the altar she’d sell it in Petticoat Lane herself instead of allowing it to moulder here like some shed skin. Then she’d use the money to buy a dog.

  ‘Let’s see it on you.’ Mrs Fairley helped her pull on the dress, then ushered her up on to the stool. The cream-silk skirt brushed the tops of Jane’s stocking-clad feet, the intricate embroidery of the interlaced diamonds decorating the hem and weighing it down. Blue-and-silver embroidered flowers coloured the bodice and set off her blue eyes. The dress was stunning, despite its past, and she craved the chance to wear it, at last to be a bride instead of a cast-off spinster—assuming Jasper intended to go through with the wedding.