Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  The dogs had stopped barking but the jangle of harnesses warned her that the men were dismounting.

  “Wait here.” Darien handed Ivy the gun.

  “Darien, I don’t think I can …” Ivy tried to push the weapon in his direction, but he arranged the weapon against her shoulder.

  “Pull the trigger if he moves.”

  “I won’t. I’ve never before purposely harmed another soul in my life. I’d never hurt a wee woman,” said the Scotsman.

  Darien left her standing face to face with the man who appeared far more afraid of her than she of him. He was painfully thin. His clothes hung on his frame. A poorly made wool jacket was torn and his buckskin breeches showed days of mud stains.

  They silently assessed each other. Ivy trembled under the weight of the musket, but she knew her exhaustion had more to do with the drain of the day than the current circumstances. She prayed she had done the right thing in telling Darien the truth. How could she deny Melody her father’s love? Especially since she knew the depths of Darien’s feelings. Once he adjusted to the shock, she knew he would do everything in his power to protect his daughter. Of that she was absolutely certain.

  Darien returned to the kitchen. Shortly after, the horses’ hooves pounded the dirt as the riders galloped away.

  “I told them I’d searched the place, and that no one was here.” He took the gun from Ivy. “Sit and start talking, Jacobson.”

  “Might I have a sip of water?” The man slipped into a chair at the scarred wooden table. “I’ve been running all day.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Ivy.

  Jacobson nodded and licked his dry lips. Darien sat across from him, the musket settled against his chair but in easy range if he chose to use it.

  “I thought this was a hunting lodge. I didn’t mean to frighten your wife. Ivy, is it?”

  Ivy poured a cup of water from an earthen pitcher. She glanced at Darien, but he said nothing. “Yes, it’s Ivy. Have we met, Mr. Jacobson?”

  “No, my lady, but Philip spoke of you often.” Collin Jacobson took the cup and gulped the water.

  “I didn’t think Philip knew I was alive.” Ivy placed the pitcher on the table and went to retrieve a wooden cutting board loaded with bread and cheese. Mr. Jacobson’s eyes widened at the food.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said as she set the sparse meal before him. “Philip knew you very well. He envied Darien here for finding someone he cared so much for.”

  “Go ahead. Eat.” Darien nodded at the food Jacobson stared at without touching.

  Jacobson tore into the humble offering of food as if it were his last meal.

  Ivy brought a bottle of whiskey and two glasses to the table, then sat beside Darien. He took her hand and she squeezed his in return. After a few minutes, Jacobson paused from stuffing cheese and bread into his mouth to slug back the whiskey Darien had poured.

  “Explain yourself.”

  “I sent the note, Darien. The first one before I left England. The second after I heard about the earl’s plans to wed Maddox’s daughter.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Philip was murdered!” Jacobson suddenly grew red in the face.

  “What happened?” Darien asked, remaining surprisingly calm.

  Jacobson swallowed hard and glanced at Ivy. “It’s not proper talk for a lady.”

  Ivy stood. “I’ll go check on Melody.”

  Darien gripped her hand. “Please sit. This concerns you, too. You can speak openly in front of Ivy.”

  “But can I speak openly in front of you, my lord? Philip and I had a special friendship.”

  Darien nodded. “Go on.”

  Jacobson pushed the food away and brought his drink closer.

  “I wanted to tell you more in the letters but I feared for my life. I didn’t want any of them to come looking for me.”

  “Who do you speak of?”

  Jacobson shrugged. “Maddox. Your father.”

  “Are you saying my father murdered Philip?” Darien balled his fists on the table. Ivy laid her hand gently on top of his, forcing him to relax.

  “I don’t know.” Jacobson shook his head and slumped. “But I know he’s dead and it wasn’t a hunting accident.”

  “Then what happened?” Ivy laid her hand on Darien’s tense shoulder.

  “Philip wanted us to be together. Like you and Ivy. We loved each other. I’m sorry, my lady.” Jacobson lowered his head and stared into his glass.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ivy said, gently. “We want the truth above all else. What happened to Philip? How do you know he was murdered?”

  Jacobson sighed heavily, as if he couldn’t go on.

  “Tell me everything you know. From the beginning.” Darien’s harsh voice was more threatening than coaxing. Ivy picked up the whiskey bottle and leaned across the table to fill Jacobson’s glass.

  “Philip and I met in London.” He nodded his thank you to Ivy. “I was racing my best horse and winning like mad. You know how Philip liked a winner.” A grin tugged at his tired mouth every time Collin Jacobson mentioned Philip. Merely saying his name seemed to bring a little bit of Philip back into his dreary life.

  Darien nodded, his jaw tight.

  Well, we carried on a bit. In secret, of course. But then Philip realized he could not go through with the wedding to the Maddox girl. Not this one, but her older sister. Philip claimed he fell in love with me.”

  Darien’s face was a stony mask. “What did you do?”

  “Something I shouldn’t have. I had been wildly successful and had a farm in the highlands. My horses were fast and I thought I was unstoppable. I encouraged him to come live with me. We could be ourselves, live together without lies. Have a life like other people have.”

  “And Philip agreed.”

  “He did. He said it was the happiest he had been in his life.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I did not want to leave until I sold my stock. I was selling more horses than I could breed and I wanted to accumulate a few more orders for the coming years. We were going mad sneaking around. Philip suggested we take a holiday at his family’s estate in the country. Everyone else was in London, so he thought we would have some privacy.”

  “But my father was here.”

  “No, he came later. With Maddox. I know Maddox was the one who told him about us.”

  “That man knows everything,” said Ivy bitterly. She wished she felt surprised that Maddox loomed at the heart of this mischief, but she wasn’t.

  “He and Philip were lovers before I came along. Maddox had been the one to suggest his daughter as a bride. Philip warned me Maddox would not like being cast aside.”

  “Are you sure?” Darien’s calm question only wanted confirmation. He did not seem shocked in the least.

  “Very, though Philip did not take their relationship seriously. I sensed even then, Maddox did.”

  “So my father arrived.”

  “Yes, and caught us in an awkward position. The servants were asleep and—”

  Darien held up his hand for Jacobson to stop. “I understand. And apparently my father did, too.”

  “He was livid. Called Philip all sorts of horrible names. Said he was not his son. I wanted Philip to leave with me right then and there, but he said he could not, and he’d meet me later. He thought his father would calm down.”

  “What did Maddox do?”

  “The bastard smirked behind the earl’s back. Pretended to be offended on behalf of his daughter. Made all kinds of threats if the betrothal contract was broken. Philip was furious because he had already told Maddox there would be no wedding.”

  Darien flexed his fists. “So you think Henry Maddox killed my brother?”

  Jacobson shook his head. “I wish I knew for sure.”

  “But you tried to shoot him?” Darien said.

  “I was aiming for either of them. He or your dad. One of them did it.”

  Darien lunged for the man
across the table, grabbed the lapels of his jacket before the other man could properly react. Ivy stood, getting out of their way.

  “If you ever get near my father again, I swear, I’ll kill you.”

  Ivy touched Darien’s shoulder. “Not in here, Darien. You’ll frighten Melody.”

  Jacobson remained limp. “Easy, brother. The whole thing was a mistake. I never would have done more than watched if Maddox hadn’t hit you. I’ll never try anything like that again.”

  Darien released Jacobson with enough force to send him stumbling back into his chair. “Don’t call me that.”

  Jacobson straightened his twisted coat. “I thought by the way you acted all these years that you felt the same way about the old man as me. Philip never saw what a manipulating bastard he was. Worshiped the ground he walked on. Wanted to be just like him, with a dove in every tree. Course he’d be longing for the boys.”

  “All I ever wanted was the truth.” Darien remained standing, his stance ready for a fight. “What do you want, Jacobson?”

  “I want the bastard who stole Philip’s life to realize what he took.”

  Darien nodded. “Then we agree on that. We’ll confront my father together.”

  “Are you mad?” Jacobson stood, glancing toward the kitchen door for an escape route. “They’ll kill me. I’m nothing but a pox to them. If they could murder Philip, they won’t think twice about shooting me down in cold blood.

  “Not while I’m there.” Darien picked up his musket.

  Ivy blocked Darien’s exit, afraid to let him go.

  He must have recognized the fear in her desperate frown.

  “Fetch our daughter. Robert will want to see you. My sister will keep you safe.” He touched her cheek. “I can’t leave without knowing the truth, Ivy. Please. It will help both of us to put the past behind us.”

  “I do want to see Robert.” Ivy tried to smile. “Give me a moment to dress Melody.”

  Ivy headed up the stairs knowing that she could not run away without facing Darien’s family with her daughter in tow. She just wished the idea did not churn her stomach with anxiety. Things would never be the same. When would she learn that life had no happy endings and your one true love rarely turned out to be true no matter how hard he might try? She was a fool to hope otherwise.

  ***

  Darien stood outside his father’s suite of rooms. Collin Jacobson remained silent. He glanced down the long, empty hallway from which they came. No one had said a word to Darien as he’d marched through the manor’s marble entryway, toting a musket and herding a tall, dirty Scotsman. Even the family’s longtime butler made himself scarce, whisking Ivy and Melody to Robert’s sickroom. Thankfully, there was no sign of Henry Maddox.

  Instead of knocking, wondering if the butler had warned his father, Darien swung the door open. Westhaven sat in an overstuffed chair that had been pulled close to a roaring fire. Doctor Shipley hunched over him, his wig askew. All the windows were open and the drapes flung wide. The setting sun made room for the damp evening that crept into the shadowed study lit only by the furiously dancing flames.

  “Just in time.” The doctor turned with a bowl in his hand. He blinked in obvious confusion when he spotted Darien and Jacobson. “Lord Blackmore. I thought you were the footman.”

  Darien grabbed Jacobson’s coat and dragged him toward his father’s chair. Shipley stared at the musket in Darien’s hand and backed away.

  His father turned to see what had disturbed Shipley. He shook his head when he spotted Darien, then settled back into his chair. “If you’ve come to shoot me, you’ll be wasting perfectly good ammunition. I’m sure Doctor Shipley is slowly killing me.” He father held his arm over another small bowl where a cut had been made to bleed slowly into a dish.

  “It’s the bad blood, my lord. I assure you.”

  “It’s all bad. You won’t find any good blood in me, is that not right, Darien?”

  “That’s what I’ve come to find out, once and for all.” Darien dragged Jacobson closer to the fire so his father could get a better look at him. “You remember Collin Jacobson?”

  His father’s eyes widened and his already ruddy complexion reddened. He stared at Jacobson as if he’d seen a ghost. Collin Jacobson remained silent, and virtually motionless, but his glare at Westhaven was truly violent.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance, sir, but I’m performing a delicate procedure here.” The doctor straightened his black medical robes. “Neither the earl nor I wish to be disturbed.”

  His father grabbed a towel, pressing it to his wound and stood. “If you wish to shoot someone Darien, shoot him. He must own blame for your brother’s death just as surely as I.”

  “He was alive when I left him.” Jacobson eyed Darien’s father like a wild boar that might charge at any minute. Darien suddenly felt the need to insert himself between them. He gripped his musket more firmly.

  “Sit down, my lord. Your heart palpitations have been highly irregular. Do not strain yourself.” Shipley tried to ease Westhaven back into his chair.

  “Get out of my house, you filthy wretch.” The earl shrugged off Shipley’s assistance. “I do not know what you did to my son to lure him into your disgusting ways, but I will not stand your presence under my roof. Get him out of here, Darien, or I will not be responsible for my actions.”

  “Will there be another hunting accident, my lord?” Jacobson asked entirely too calmly. “Were you the one who pulled the trigger, or did you let Maddox do your dirty work?”

  Darien noticed the wild-eyed fury in his father’s eyes. And the grief.

  “You son of a whore. You disgusting sodomite. I did not pull the trigger on Philip. You did. You shamed him. Humiliated him. He’s the one who killed your brother, Darien. He’s the one you should have been looking to destroy all these years. Not me.” His father’s voice rose and his breathing grew heavy.

  Darien glanced from Jacobson, who had tears in his eyes and a strange smirk on his face, then looked back at his father. Westhaven didn’t lie. He believed every word he spoke.

  “He did everything you wanted, down to marrying a woman he could never love. He loved me and you disowned him for it. Told him he was dead to you and then you made it happen.” Jacobson swiped at the tears. His voice grew harsh with emotion.

  His father’s eyes bulged. He opened his mouth to respond, and then stumbled backwards, falling into his chair. The doctor ran to his side. “We need to get him into bed. His feet should be elevated. Help me. Hurry.”

  Jacobson watched the scene as if he were in shook. He blinked rapidly and swayed on his feet. Even so, Darien did not want to put down his musket. He didn’t trust Jacobson, and feared he might be lying. Perhaps he’d been Philip’s killer all along.

  Darien turned back to his father, who stared with unseeing eyes. The left side of his face drooped. Drool ran from his mouth which opened and closed in desperate gasps.

  “Sit on the floor.” He aimed the weapon at Jacobson.

  “I risked my life to help you find the truth.” Jacobson raised his hands and backed away, his eyes wide with horror. “I didn’t have to return to England.”

  “I’m not going to shoot you. I’ll untie you after I help him get to bed.”

  Jacobson lowered himself to the floor, his knees bent in front of him. Darien took the cloth from his neck and tied Jacobson’s hands and feet together like a sheep ready for shearing. Jacobson could probably break free, but not before Darien could safely retrieve his weapon. Darien tugged at the knots of his ruined neckcloth to ensure the bonds were tight. He sprinted into his father’s bedroom and laid the musket near the bed before he returned to help the doctor.

  “He shouldn’t stand.” Dr. Shipley held a small brass listening horn to his father’s wrist. “We should summon a footman. His rhythm is entirely too fast.”

  His father reached his free hand up to Darien and tried to speak. Finally, he shook his head, trying to express something to Darien he could not see
m to say.

  “Get him underneath his other arm.” Darien did not want to leave his father for long enough to find a servant. “We’ll get him in bed together. Just keep him steady, I’ll take most of the weight.” They dragged his father into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. Dr. Shipley immediately began to take off his father’s boots and loosen his neckcloth. Darien turned to leave, uncomfortable seeing his father so weak. A desperate grip on his arm stopped him.

  His father mumbled unintelligible words.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Calm down, my lord.” The doctor came around the bed and tried to loosen his grip. “I shall give you something to calm your nerves.”

  His father’s grip tightened. He raised his voice but his words became even more garbled. His mouth drooped at an impossible angle.

  “Talk. To you,” his father finally shouted clearly enough for Darien to understand.

  “Lord Blackmore will stay.” Shipley loosened his father’s grip and encouraged him to relax against the pillows. “Release him and he’ll wait in that chair until we have you settled.”

  Darien caught the doctor’s desperate look.

  “I’m just going to fetch that chair and sit it by your bed,” Darien said in the same coaxing voice he had used to encourage Melody to take her bottle. “Do as Dr. Shipley says. He’s trying to help you.”

  His father held his gaze for a long time.

  “I promise. I won’t go anywhere.” Darien grabbed a chair set against the wall and planted it firmly in front of his father’s bed.

  His father drank the sherry glass full of Shipley’s elixir and his breathing immediately began to slow. Darien watched his father’s eyelids flutter shut, no doubt due to Shipley’s special blend of laudanum, as much as pure distress.

  Darien sank into the deerskin-upholstered chair. The doctor had lit a candle by the bed and a couple of sconces on the wall. Dr. Shipley slipped pillows under his father’s feet, raising them well above his head.

  “I don’t know if he’ll survive this episode.” The doctor patted his father’s face, damp with perspiration, tears and drool.

  “So he has been like this before?” Darien rubbed his forehead, unable to watch his formidable father be cared for like an infant. “What’s wrong with him?”