by Jaycee Clark
He turned a glare on Rayne, hoping they’d get the hell out.
She halted. “Stop glaring at them, they’re not leaving. We may need their help,” she muttered.
A damn whirlwind was what had suddenly come over her. She stalked around the room.
Jason took a deep breath and counted. It didn’t help, he wasn’t calming down.
I could have taken them both…
One cannot have two husbands…
She’s nothing more than your whore…
The words echoed in his brain, but he refused to acknowledge them.
“Emily, honey, we really should be going,” Rayne tried.
“Will everyone just stop and bloody listen,” she shouted, her voice cracking.
Jason walked to her, but she backed away. “Why?” she asked him, her eyes pleading.
“Why what?” he still didn’t know what was going on.
“Why now? Why? I knew this was too good to be true, that I’d wake up one morning and it…” Her hands fluttered. “It would all be a bloody dream.”
Jason shook his head and reached for her again. She backed up again.
“Don’t back away from me.”
“I’ll do whatever I like, my lord.”
Jason stared at her and cocked a brow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rayne and Nick exchange a glance and try to sneak out the door.
“Just stop,” she all but bellowed at them. “Sit down. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know…” Hysteria sounded in her voice.
“Emmaline, I think it’s time you sit down,” Jason said.
“Don’t take that patronizing tone with me.” Her watery eyes flashed fire at him. “You’ve taught me to stand up for myself and I believed what you told me. I believed.”
He’d never seen her like this, as if she were teetering on the brink of hysteria, yet defiantly standing up for the woman she was.
“We’re going to need their help,” she continued. “I thought maybe it was a nightmare, but one that would go away. I thought maybe it was some cruel mean joke, but it’s not. It’s not.” She started to cry. “And if I say it aloud, it will make it real. My dream—our dream will cease to be.”
Jason took a deep breath. Now was not the time for emotions, though God’s truth he felt like shouting. Taking her arm firmly in his, ignoring the fact she tried to pull away, he guided her to a chair.
Crouching beside her, he said, “Emmy, tell me what’s going on.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” she asked.
He knew better than to say a word. He simply waited.
The notes crumpled in her hand drew his attention. “What’s this?” He started to reach for them.
She fisted her hand, her eyes rising to his, tears trailing down her cheek. “I knew this couldn’t last. It was too good. I knew it must be a dream, but you made me believe. All a dream. I tried to tell myself that this—you—now, was all real.” She shook her head. “But it’s not. What was I thinking?”
“Then what is real?”
She looked over his shoulder, seeing something he couldn’t. Her mouth opened, then closed. “I could lie. I could if I had to. I could lie to him and then kill him, couldn’t I?” She blinked. “Do they send pregnant women to prison?”
Jason shook his head. “What? What the bloody hell—”
Her eyes widened and she grabbed hold of him. “You have to send Joy away. You have to send her away.”
“Why?” he snapped, at the end of his patience.
“Some place where he can’t find her.” She talked hurriedly, almost whispering. “If she’s away, he can’t hurt her. I can’t let him hurt her. Not like Mary.”
Enlightenment slithered through him, dark and dangerous.
“Like Mary?” he asked softly.
Her eyes were pools of heartache. “You’ll send her away won’t you? You’ll keep our little girl safe?” She shook her head. “She’s not safe anywhere near me. He sees her as his.”
Jason’s heart pounded. “Who?”
“Mary, he sees Joy as Mary.”
“Who sees her that way?” The tether on his patience was pulled taut.
Again she shook her head, looked down. Jason reached out and covered her hands with his. “Emmy.” He waited for her to look at him. When she didn’t, he tried again. “Emmy, who?”
Her warm tears plopped onto the back of his hand. “I can’t let him hurt her.”
He reached up and held her face. “Who?” he asked more forcefully.
Her lips trembled. “Theodore. Theodore Smith. My-my… Oh, God, Jason, he’s still my husband.”
Whatever color had been in her cheeks fled. She closed her eyes and swayed in the chair.
Jason sat there, not moving. He felt as if Fury had thrown him and stomped him into the ground.
Theodore Smith? No, there had to be some mistake.
She’s only your whore…
“What?” Rayne snapped.
Jason closed his eyes, his hands slid from her as he shook his head, and stood up. “Are you telling me, you think your bastard late husband is alive?”
What might have been a smile flitted around the edge of her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she swiped at her eyes and stood as well, or tried to.
“Sit down,” he ordered. “You look as if you’re about to pass out.”
She rolled her eyes, but sat back down. “I don’t think it, Jason. I know it.”
He took another deep breath. It was not helping. Someone was playing a wicked game on her and he’d find the bastard. When he did…
“There must be some mistake,” he said, his voice harsher than he’d intended.
“There’s not,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
His heart beat erratically, building fear and anger within him. He took a deep breath, turned and looked at the note on his desk.
The muscle in his jaw bunched. “What, pray tell, makes you so certain?”
“These.” The notes were held out to him. He looked from them to her. Finally he reached out and took them. The missives she’d received and she hadn’t said a damn word. “And what he left on the pillow.”
His gaze ripped from the notes in his hands to her. “What pillow?”
“The pillow in our room.”
Jason stared at her hard, then with a nod to Rayne strode from the room. “Stay here, Emily. Nick stay with her.”
He took the stairs two at a time. There had been nothing. Nothing in there when he checked her not half an hour ago.
At their room, he threw the door open and saw the sheer curtains sway in the breeze.
On the pristine white pillow—his pillow—lay something coiled. He walked closer, rage flowing through him, hot and thick.
“What the hell is it?” Rayne asked, walking past him to look at the window.
Jason reached out and picked it up, the braided leather a weapon used to scar, to enforce submission, to rule through fear and blood.
His hand shook. “Goddamn bastard.”
“What is it?” Rayne asked again.
“A bloody whip. What the hell does it look like?” It felt evil in his hand, as if the rage pumped from him into the object in his grasp. He’d love nothing more than to flay the one who’d brought the object into his house. Preferably until the man was dead.
Emily had been worried about Joy.
“We search the rest of the house.” Like he damn well should have done the first time around.
“I’ll send word to Hobbs, have him send a few of the boys up here.”
Jason nodded. Hobbs was the man they went to when they needed trustworthy individuals to do a job, or when they needed help. The man would just as soon cut the throat of most, but he respected the three of them, and they, in turn respected him. It was where Jason had found Furgus.
“Have him send at least four men,” Jason said.
Rayne shook his head. “Six.”
“Whatever, just get it done. I’m going to check on Joy.�
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* * * * *
“Here.” Nick held a cup of tea between them. He’d rung for it earlier.
Emily took the cup, smiled at him and sipped. The tea roiled in her stomach.
Nick watched her and watched her some more. He was good at reading people and one Mrs. Claymere didn’t hide her feelings very well. She was scared and worried from the looks of her lip nibbling, white knuckles and tight mouth.
“So I take it you want to obtain a divorce from the first husband?” The idea was almost unheard of. Women did not divorce their husbands. It simply wasn’t done. The scandal alone would be devastating.
Her glare singed him on the spot.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I wish I were a widow.” She sighed, leaned her head back against the chair back and closed her eyes, one hand playing with the belt of her wrapper.
“You mean you wish you really had been a widow so that your marriage to Jason would be valid?” The woman said the oddest things. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. If Jason has his way, your wish is his command.”
For a moment she didn’t say a word, then she opened her eyes and simply stared at him. “I can’t let him do that.”
“Why not?” Nick took a sip of his tea and watched the play of emotions on her face. She fascinated him. She appeared so vulnerable, yet strength radiated out of her.
Her eyes flashed at him in outrage. “It’s not his place. He can’t just-just-just—”
“Can’t just kill a man who is terrorizing his family? Why the hell not? And what court would hold him accountable if he did?” Nick took another drink of his tea, wishing it were the brandy.
Her mouth opened. “But that would be wrong.”
He leaned back. “Do you still have feelings for this man then? This—what did you say his name was—Theodore Smith?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Perhaps you still love him.”
“There was never any love between Theodore and myself. He’s a horrible, horrible man.”
“So, then, what’s the problem?” He probably shouldn’t have said anything.
“The problem? It would be murder. Jason could go to prison, be deported. I would never, never do that to him. Never.” She stood up and paced along the carpet, from the chair to the window and back. “It’s bad enough that some will find out we’ve been no more than lovers for the last few months. That our child…” She stopped.
Nick did not think now was the time to inform her that her husband had killed before. Some on orders of the government, war was strange about that, others simply deserved it. There were, Nick knew, some people, who simply should not be alive to torment and terrorize others. Though he felt his hostess would not appreciate his observation, so Nick kept his mouth shut.
Hoping to appease her, he said, “I doubt Jason would go to prison. You can’t expect him to just sit quietly by, while a man whom you fear, who is a threat to all Jason holds dear, wrecks havoc with your life. No one who knows Ravensworth, would expect that of him.” He brushed a fleck of lint off his sleeve.
She was watching him now. “What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “Jason acts differently around you. He is charming, as always, but he’s softer. Jase is not soft around anyone.” Hell he was making a mess of this. The last thing he wanted to do was cause discord between Jason and Emily. Jason would kill him. Especially in his current frame of mind. “That is, well, I suppose since you are his wife, he would act differently.”
“You mean others fear him?”
God, did they ever.
“Let’s just say, people either steer clear of Ravensworth or they seek out his friendship.”
She shook her head. “But why? He’s the kindest man I know.”
“Yes, he is. Some might even use that kindness for their own means.” Her eyes flashed in anger. “Not you, that’s not what I meant.”
“Who fears my husband?” She took a breath. “Who fears Jason?”
“I don’t think you really want an answer to that, my dear. Suffice it to say, enough do that no one dare harm anything that Jason considers his.” He lifted his cup to her. “And you, Emily, Jason most definitely considers his.”
“No one ever goes against him?” she asked, frowning.
Nick shrugged. “Depends.”
“He’s that powerful then?”
Nick saw Jason in the doorway. “My dear, Jason is powerful enough that all he’d have to do is put the word out that a deranged man is threatening your life and the life of his daughter.”
“And?” she asked.
Jason glared at him, Rayne followed, carrying Joy on one shoulder. Jason said, “And the man will cease to exist within a very short amount of time.”
She whirled around.
Emily almost tripped, her foot caught in her robe. She grabbed the back of the chair to keep from pitching to the floor.
Something told her they were not joking, that they were indeed, dead serious.
Jason’s words, months before drifted back to her.
“…I could tell you that I almost wish your husband were still alive so that I could kill him with my bare hands. Slowly.”
She whispered, “You mean that.”
“But, I have a feeling you really don’t want to hear or see how serious I can be about some things.”
“But, but…”
He cocked one brow over cold, sharp eyes. “Yes?”
She looked from him to Joy settled asleep on Rayne’s shoulder. They were all that were important to her. No matter the price, she would not allow them to be hurt in any way.
“But what about the scandal?” she asked. “If anyone finds out… Joy would be hurt, you would be cut, no one would—”
Jason only stared at her. “Emily, you’re fretting and I distinctly remember the doctor telling you not to worry.” He waved his hand at her and she realized what he held.
The whip.
She swallowed and took an ingrained step back.
The feel of it snapped through her memories, branding her thoughts. Jason’s voice sounded down the tunnel of her past.
“You should have told me about the bloody notes the bastard sent you. Where are they?” he asked, walking toward her.
Emily looked at what he held. “Please, put that down.”
He stopped, looked at her, then what he held. “Christ, Emmy, I’d never… You don’t think—“
“Of course not.” Her eyes jerked back to his at the utter disbelief in his voice. His eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed. She sighed. “No, Jason. I just-I just don’t like it. I know that’s stupid and cowardly, but the sight of it makes me ill.”
He took a deep breath, and tossed the leather away without even looking at it. She watched it land on the rug by the curtain, uncoil and lay as though it were a wicked adder just waiting to bite.
“Emmy.”
She tore her eyes from the whip and looked at him.
“Emmy, sit down.” He propped his hands on his hips, his fingers drumming on his hip bones. “Please.”
Even angry, the man was so proper. From somewhere through the turmoil of this night, she wanted to grin.
Instead, knowing Jason would think her losing what grasp she held on reality, she simply sat. “Yes, my lord?”
She watched as Rayne settled Joy on the sofa and covered her with a small blanket. Why had they brought her down here? Emily didn’t want her overhearing anything. She frowned.
“I want you both where I can see you,” Jason said.
Her scarred knight, her vengeful warrior, her dream come true stood there glaring at her.
“I love you,” she said.
He cocked a brow. “Madam, your love is not the issue here. The question is why I wasn’t informed when the first damn note arrived.” He walked to her, a panther stalking its prey. “Now, where are the blasted missives?”
She pointed to the desk. “You dropped them earlier.”
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nbsp; He looked over his shoulder, then reached over and snatched them off his desk. She knew what he would read. The words that would glare up at him.
As he read, she watched as his face hardened even more. The skin tightening across his cheekbones, the tense lines around his mouth. When angry, his scar stood out. It did now, a pale contrast twitching in his tanned cheek. One note became the second, then the third.
“Damn the man,” he muttered.
His gaze rose to hers and the fury roiling in the blue depths of his eyes reminded her of the storm spitting ocean. Lightning and thunder, wind and water, the rage of nature. His was the rage of a man.
They held each other’s gaze, until finally, Emily dropped her eyes to her lap. She scraped the stitches of her belt with her fingernail. Licking her lips, she wondered what to say.
“What is Leviticus 20:10?” he asked.
Emily looked up. “What?”
“Leviticus 20:10?”
She shuffled through her memories of hours reading God’s Word, and clarity came. “If a man commits adultery with another man’s wife, the two shall be put to death.”
Why did he ask her that?
His jaw moved out then back as he ground his teeth. His eyes narrowed on her. “You are not the only one to receive mysterious notes.”
He handed her a single sheet of foolscap. She read the words on it, then looked up to him.
She started to ask him why he didn’t say anything, but smartly managed to keep the hypocritical question behind her teeth.
An unamused smiled lifted one corner of his mouth. “Not going to ask?”
Emily sighed and leaned back. “What are we going to do, Jason?”
Someone cleared their throat and she looked over to her uncle and Nickolas.
Nickolas shook his head. “I don’t think we need to worry who sent what when. This matter is one easily handled.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your way to end it is not exactly ethical is it?”
Nickolas tried to look wounded, with a frown and droopy eyes, but it failed, only looking comical on him. “That does hurt. Indeed it does. I’m the epitome of ethics.”
Rayne muttered something under his breath that she didn’t catch.
“You,” Nickolas said, walking to her, “are the Marchioness of Ravensworth. Your husband has many enemies, and what better way to get back at him than to hurt his family?” His eyes narrowed and shadows moved in them. Shadows she’d seen in this man before. “A man will do anything to protect his family from harm.”