Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4)

by Grace Burrowes

  Thank God for quick thinking, and for an ability to recite a credible version of the truth. Jack aimed a glower at Higgans’s henchmen.

  “Is that true? Was Pahdi approaching Higgans’s house with the bag in plain sight?”

  The larger of the two mumbled something.

  “I beg your pardon?” Jack prompted.

  “It’s true, he was walking toward the house, but it was dark. From across the street—”

  “Thank you,” Jack said. “Higgans, what sort of thief brings the contraband to the scene of the crime?”

  “My medical bag didn’t take itself to the livery, Sir Jack. What was this fellow doing in town tonight, if not trying to return the item he stole? He knew I’d be at this gathering, and chose his opportunity with the cunning his kind is known for.”

  Jeremy put a hand on Jack’s arm, as if sensing that the temptation to violence was growing irresistible. Higgans was befouling an evening that should have been special for Madeline, and he was threatening a blameless soul.

  “Perhaps Pahdi was patronizing the lending—”

  “The lending library is closed tonight!” Higgans bellowed. “Arrest this man, or admit that you have no more care for the king’s justice than this brigand does for—”

  Madeline prowled across the room and plucked the bag from Higgans’s grasp.

  “Enough of your bile.” She opened the bag and spilled its contents onto the dance floor. A scalpel tumbled out—none too clean—along with two bottles of some patent remedy or other, a double-ended scent bottle, and a cracked hand mirror.

  Also a sizeable silver pocket flask.

  Madeline jabbed a finger toward the floor. “That is your stolen property. That is your excuse for ruining the life of a man who did nothing to harm you. I stole your pathetic bag. It has been returned to you by one innocent of wrongdoing. Shall you ask the magistrate to arrest his own wife?”

  Oh, Madeline. No.

  Higgans gazed upon the detritus on the floor, his bravado faltering. “I never meant—I only wanted my bag back. A physician needs… This is all very brave of you, Miss Hennessey—”

  “Lady Fanning,” Madeline snapped. “I stole your bag because you refused to pay a call on an old, ailing woman who had nobody else to turn to for medical assistance. You treat the wealthy, you ignore the rest of us even when we have coin. I might be a criminal, but you are a disgrace.”

  Higgans picked up the flask and stuffed it in his pocket. “Miss—Lady—madam, I appreciate that you’re loyal to your husband’s staff, and one can see, given your antecedents, that is…” Higgans pointed at Pahdi. “Enough of this posturing. I’ll not be dissuaded by some female’s hysterical babbling. I want that man arrested.”

  Jack would never cease being proud of his wife, but he’d had more than enough of Higgans.

  “I agree, Higgans,” Jack said. “The idea that Madeline would resort to thievery, even though you disregarded a possibly fatal situation within her family, need not concern us. I stole your bag.”

  Madeline blew him a kiss. Jack bowed.

  “Oh, go on with the two of you,” Axel Belmont scoffed. “I stole your bag, Higgans. You know how botanists are, always taking what doesn’t belong to us. We go about the shire stealing plants from the very marshes and lanes. We’re little more than nature’s pickpockets.”

  “Mr. Belmont,” Abigail retorted, “It’s new mothers who cannot be trusted around smelly old medical bags. I took that bag while you were out in your glass house, and do not argue with a lady.”

  “I would never argue with a lady,” Jeremy said, “but Jack ought to arrest us all, for I sense that if we didn’t exactly steal that bag personally, perhaps we should have. Not the done thing, Higgans, to neglect our elders when they’re in need, or to turn our backs on the sick, or the poor, or the stranger far from home.”

  Mortimer Cotton cleared his throat. Hector McArdle stared into his cup of punch.

  Lucy Anne knelt and gathered up the mirror, bottles, and scalpel from the floor, put them into the battered satchel, and handed it to Higgans.

  He took the bag and held it to his middle as he peered around a room gone silent.

  “I’m sorry I took your bag,” Madeline said. “I meant to return it after you’d spent a few days fretting. My aunt might have been taken from me, and I wanted you to know a little of that helplessness and upset. I should not have taken your bag. If you seek damages, I will gladly pay them, but no sum on earth could have compensated me for the loss of my aunt.”

  Apologize to my wife. Jack almost started forward to roar those words at Higgans, but Belmont was to Jack’s left, and Jeremy to his right. They were waiting to grab Jack by the arms, and that alone prevented Jack from letting his temper loose.

  Higgans shoved the bag at Madeline, turned on his heel, and stomped out.

  Madeline tossed the bag aside, and barreled into Jack’s arms, and still nobody said anything.

  He made my wife cry. Jack was torn between anger at Higgans’s rudeness, and a fierce joy, because Madeline was Lady Fanning, and before this group of mostly good, bewildered people, she’d defended an innocent man at cost to herself, and then turned to Jack for comfort and support.

  “He’s gone,” Jack said. “If he comes near you, I’ll arrest him for being a common nuisance and a disgrace to the species.”

  “If he comes near you, or Pahdi, or my aunts, I won’t answer for my actions.” Madeline stepped back, but kept hold of Jack’s hand. “Jack…” She nodded to her right.

  Pahdi stood off to the side, looking stoic and wary. He didn’t dare leave, because Higgans might well await him in the street.

  Madeline had chosen the right word earlier: enough. Enough making excuses for rural backwardness, enough being patient, enough letting a man who’d saved Jack’s life be treated as a pariah.

  “Pahdi,” Jack said, loudly enough to reach into every corner of the assembly room. “I should be honored if you’d stay for a cup of punch. I apologize for Higgans’s behavior, and promise you it won’t happen again.”

  “I stick to the ladies’ punchbowl,” Belmont said. “And not only because the ladies congregate in its vicinity.”

  “Or you could mix the two,” Jeremy said. “A little sweetness, a little fire.” He lifted a glass in Lucy Anne’s direction.

  “Please, Pahdi,” Madeline said, extending a hand to him. “My nerves need steadying. I can’t imagine yours don’t as well.”

  Pahdi did not drink spirits. Jack cast about for a polite way to diffuse awkwardness when Pahdi smiled at Madeline. He was a handsome devil, which several of the young ladies present apparently noticed.

  “The lady’s punch sounds like the safer offering,” Pahdi replied, “and perhaps a bite of that most delectable pear torte, or the apple cake?”

  “Try some of both,” Jack said. “I certainly intend to.”

  And then, he’d collect his wife, take her directly home, and see about giving the lady a wedding night to make her forget all about bothersome neighbors, neglected aunties, and crime sprees.

  * * *

  After lovemaking that had been by turns enthusiastic, tender, passionate, and inventive, Madeline had fallen asleep in her husband’s arms, at peace for the first time in years. With Jack’s help, she’d take the situation with Theo and Hattie in hand, whether that meant selling their properties, finding tenants for them, or adding their smallholdings to the acreage Jack farmed for his own purposes.

  What mattered was that she wasn’t alone with the problem.

  “Don’t fret,” Jack said, kissing her fingers as the first streaks of pale light outlined the window curtains. “You admitted to all and sundry that you stole that dratted bag. If Higgans decides you were telling the truth, and seeks reparation, I will pay him such obscenely generous damages that he retires from the shire. Mama could not stop gushing about what a fine woman I’ve chosen for my bride.”

  Madeline linked her fingers with Jack’s. “Your mama wants u
s to be fruitful and multiply.”

  “So do I, assuming you’re comfortable with the notion.”

  Madeline had been blissfully comfortable with the notion twice during the night. She resisted the temptation to start the day with a third indulgence, and instead remained lying side by side with her husband.

  “I don’t want our children to have thieves for parents, Jack. I’m done skulking about in the dead of night, and I hope you are too.”

  “Shall I confess to borrowing Cotton’s ram?”

  He was asking in all seriousness. “Don’t you dare. You can’t stand confinement, and Mr. Belmont might arrest you out of an excess of masculine stupidity. I suggest we instead offer Cotton his pick of Hattie’s tups.”

  Jack shifted to his side, peering at Madeline in the predawn gloom. “That is brilliant. What about McArdle?”

  “We will buy considerable coal from him for distribution to the poor, but insist that he give us a discount on such a large order.”

  Jack kissed her cheek. “You should have been a judge. I think we should have Mr. Weekes to tea next week, and discuss his plan for managing the funds from the poor box. Jeremy tells me that letting the coins pile up until the vicar notices an urgent need is not considered a well-informed approach.”

  The more Madeline knew of Jeremy, the more she liked him. Lucy Anne DeWitt soon-to-be Fanning was enthralled with her fiancé, and her parents seemed very pleased with Jeremy as well.

  “We’ll have Weekes to tea, but not next week. Next month, please.”

  “Excellent notion. Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

  Madeline shifted to her side as well, the better to tell if Jack was teasing. “I have vivid dreams. What did I say?”

  “That I’m the most wonderful kisser and I have the most delightfully enormous—Madeline Fanning, marriage has made you bold.”

  “Be serious.”

  “If you continue to grasp that particular part of my anatomy, then conversation, much less serious talk, will be beyond me. I couldn’t make out a word you said in your sleep.”

  Madeline let go of Jack—for now—but tucked nearer and wrapped a leg over his hip. “I used to have the same dream, over and over. I am with my mama in London on a pretty, sunny day. The streets are busy, and everybody is happy. Then it changes.”

  Jack wrapped her close, so Madeline could feel his heart beat against her palm, a slow, steady tattoo of reassurance.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I’m holding my mother’s hand one moment, and then I can’t find her. I’m at a busy intersection, and I don’t recognize any of the buildings. The people aren’t happy, they’re all harried and rushing past. I don’t know which way to turn, and then I notice the crossing sweeper watching me. I’m frightened, but if I run, I know he’ll chase me.”

  “This is not a dream, Madeline. This is a nightmare.”

  “Everybody knows where they’re going, Jack, while I stand there, too frightened to take a single step.”

  Madeline loved breathing in his scent from this proximity. Loved being this close to him.

  “I’ll waken you, the next time I think you’re dreaming. You will do the same for me.”

  Oh, how she loved him. “Of course I will, but the dream took a different turn last night.”

  A soft triple-rap interrupted Madeline’s confidences.

  “Go to the devil, you shameless wretch,” Jack yelled. “Leave the damned tray outside the door and don’t come back for it until spring.”

  Laughter sounded in the corridor, amid the sound of retreating footsteps.

  “Remind me to turn Pahdi off without a character,” Jack said.

  “Just as soon as we name our firstborn after him.”

  “Fine notion. Now tell me the rest of your dream.”

  Madeline wouldn’t tell him all of it—her mother had claimed to have had the sight, and Madeline was prone to strong hunches. She could tell Jack the part that mattered the most, though.

  “I stood on that same terrible street corner, bewildered, battling panic, and you tooled past in the dog cart. The vehicle smelled slightly of sheep, but you had such kind eyes, that when you came around and offered me a hand up, I got in the cart, and then you drove us home to Teak House.”

  “You were taken with my eyes?”

  Those too. “Yes. Shall I fetch the tray?”

  Jack draped himself over her. “You are my bride. If you want the tea tray, you send me scampering across the room to get it for you, and you admire my form in all its natural glory, as is your right. Then I fix your tea exactly as you prefer, and meekly accept your instruction regarding the proper amount of butter for your toast.”

  He emphasized his point with delicate kisses to the side of Madeline’s neck, and she retaliated by wrapping her legs around his waist.

  Long, lovely moments later, Madeline decided that she could wait until Jack had fixed her tea to tell him that in her dream, on the bench of the dog cart, had sat three handsome little boys, all with their mama’s flaming red hair and their father’s devilish smile.

  The fourth child, a girl older than the other three, had beckoned to Madeline, and whispered in her ear. “My name is Jacqueline, and my birthday is in October.”

  By the time Jack had got the tea right, Madeline had counted weeks, and started thinking up middle names. Jack noticed her distracted expression, and well… they were late to luncheon. For the next week straight, they were late for luncheon, but Madeline won the argument, and the child was christened Jacqueline Pahdi Fanning.

  -THE END-

  To my dear readers,

  I hope you enjoyed Madeline and Jack’s story, because I certainly had fun writing it. I considered making their romance a Christmas story, but didn’t want to wait another four months to release it when the holiday season approaches. It’s never too soon for a Happily Ever After, right?

  I’m hard at work now on a story for our friend Asher Fenwick, who appeared in the Loneliest Lords title, Hadrian: Lord of Hope. Fen’s tale should be published in September, so be on the lookout for a graceburrowes.com website update to that effect. The first three Loneliest Lords (Worth/Trenton/Hadrian) are also available from the website as a bundle.

  To keep up with all the releases and updates, you can sign up for my newsletter, which I publish every other month or so. I will never, no never, sell or give away my mailing list, and I only issue a newsletter when I have something worth saying.

  Speaking of which…. I am very excited to be writing a new Windham family series, The Windham Brides. You may recall that Percival’s brother, Lord Tony Windham, has four daughters, and we all know what that means. The first story, The Trouble with Dukes, comes out December 20, 2016, and I’ve included a sneak peek below. The hardest thing about writing Dukes was keeping certain titled gentlemen from stealing scenes.

  If Jack is your introduction to the Jaded Gentlemen series, you can catch up with the prequels Thomas,Matthew, and Axel. There’s even a bundled ebook version of those first three stories available exclusively on the website. Tell ’em Jack sent you.

  Happy reading!

  Grace Burrowes

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  * * *

  The Trouble with Dukes by Grace Burrowes (December 20, 2016)

  * * *

  Miss Megan Windham is falling in love with Hamish MacHugh, the newly titled Duke of Murdoch. Megan’s cousins, however, Westhaven, St. Just, and Valentine, will take an interest in her situation that closely resembles, well, meddling…

  Gayle Windham, Earl of Westhaven was too self-disciplined to glance at the clock more than once every five minutes, but he could see the shadow of an oak limb start its afternoon march up the wall of his study. The remains of a beef sandwich sat on a tray at his elbow, and soon his youngest child would go down for a nap.

  Westhaven brought his attention back to the pleasurable business of reviewing household expenses, though An
na’s accounting was meticulous. He obliged his countess’s request to look over the books because of the small insights he gained regarding his family.

  They were using fewer candles, testament to Spring’s arrival and longer hours of daylight.

  The wine cellar had required some attention, another harbinger of the upcoming social season.

  Anna had spent a bit much on Cousin Megan’s birthday gift, but a music box was a perfect choice for Megan.

  “You haven’t moved in all the months I’ve been gone,” said a humorous baritone. “You’re like one of those statues, standing guard through the seasons, until some obliging brother comes along to demand that you join him in the park for a hack on a pretty afternoon.”

  Home safe. Devlin St. Just’s dark hair was tousled, his clothes wrinkled, his boots dusty, but he was once again, home safe.

  The words were an irrational product of Westhaven’s memory, for his mind produced them every time he saw his older half-brother after a prolonged absence. Westhaven crossed the study with more swiftness than dignity, hand extended toward his brother.

  “Good God, you stink, St. Just, and the dust of the road will befoul my carpets wherever you pass.”

  St. Just took Westhaven’s proffered hand and yanked the earl close enough for a quick, back-thumping hug.

  “I stink, you scold. Give a man a brandy while he befouls your carpets, and good day to you too.”

  Westhaven obliged, mostly to have something to do other than gawk at his brother. Yorkshire was too far away, the winters were too long and miserable, and St. Just visited too infrequently, but every time he did visit, he seemed…. Lighter. More settled, more at peace.