Slightly Noble

by Lilly Gayle

  Envy burned a hole in Jack’s gut. “And did you oblige him?”

  “No. I did not want to do anything untoward that could ruin mine or my father’s tenuous positions in society. So, I politely declined, but I was so incredibly flattered.”

  Flattered? The bastard was attempting to seduce her, despite having a fiancée, and Abby was too naïve to be insulted. Halsey should have done a better job protecting his daughter.

  She sighed and her shoulders sagged. “Then last August, a little over a year after we met, I attended a race at Goodwood. Simon—Lord Drury—was there, and he offered to show me the racehorse he owned. I should not have gone with him to the stables, but there were so many people around—until there were none. And I suddenly found myself alone with him in an empty stall.”

  Tears flowed over her lashes and down her cheeks, each one tearing a whole in Jack’s heart. He slid closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her laced fingers never loosened their grip in her lap.

  “You do not have to say anything else.” He knew what happened next, and he did not want Abby reliving Drury’s betrayal.

  “He kissed me,” she said, as if she had not heard him or as if she were unable to dam the words that flowed from her heart, purging her soul. “He told me we belonged together, but he was engaged, so I resisted. And then…” She took a hiccuping breath. Jack tensed, fearing her next words, fearing what he already knew.

  Simon Weston, Viscount Drury had raped her.

  “He slapped me and called me horrible names,” she said unexpectedly. “I felt so ashamed and humiliated. The next time I saw him, he apologized, but I ignored him, refusing to believe his charming lies again. Then on the Glorious Twelfth, that final social event at the end of the season, he got me alone again. I don’t even know how he managed, but once again, I was alone with him in the stables. He begged my forgiveness, and it was just easier to accept his apology than to carry the heavy burden of a grudge. And when he asked for a kiss to seal our friendship, I allowed it. But then he tried taking liberties I had not granted. When I refused him, he twisted my arm and called me those horrid names again. Then he apologized and said it was my fault that he could not control himself when I was around. He said my beauty and wit tempted him beyond all self-control. I do not know if he expected me to feel flattered, because at that moment, I felt dirty and ashamed.”

  No wonder Abby was so mistrustful. She had been mistreated and manipulated by a man she considered a friend, a man she considered civilized and refined, a man who had convinced her that her lack of breeding was to blame for his abhorrent behavior.

  If I ever get my hands on that sonuvabitch…

  Abby took another shuddering breath. She looked both fragile and brave, an intoxicating combination that captured Jack’s attention. His jaw tightened; his fingers caressed her shoulder, silently encouraging her to continue.

  “I avoided him after that,” she added softly. “Then on October 26th, we were both invited to a grouse hunt at the Duke of Chivington’s country estate. I do not care for hunting, so I stayed behind, and Simon cornered me in the library. His hands were all over me—pulling at my clothes and tugging at my skirts. I fought him, I swear I did, but I could not scream or call for help. I could not stand the thought of anyone witnessing my humiliation. And as he was rutting over me, still dressed in his waistcoat and cravat, he told me I had seduced him.” Her voice hitched and a tear slid down her cheek. “He said I had all but begged for it with my wanton behavior. Then when he was done, he calmly readjusted his clothes and told me I was good for a rutting, but too low class to ever be a decent man’s wife.”

  A wave of blistering fury roared through Jack’s veins, but the pain etched so clearly on Abby’s face brought the beast to heel. With a groan of surrender, he pulled her into his arms as the tears flowed freely from her eyes.

  ****

  Abby nestled in the comfort of Jack’s embrace, absorbing his warmth and strength. She felt sheltered and…protected. It was as if he actually cared something for her. But how much better would it feel if he loved her? If she loved him?

  Would she ever experience the depth of emotion her parents had shared? Would she ever feel truly loved?

  With a sigh of regret, she slipped out of his arms and slid over, putting several inches of mattress between them. The caring expression in his eyes when he looked at her melted her heart. Jack did not love her, but she no longer felt as if she had married a stranger.

  She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “How is Papa? Did he look well?”

  The kindness faded from his eyes, and a frown marred his brow. “He is worried about you.”

  Flushing, she ducked her chin, unable to face the censure in his gaze. “I know. I have been such a great disappointment to him. But now that he has met my husband, he must be greatly relieved.”

  “I did not tell him I was your husband.”

  Her pulse tripped. “What did you tell him?”

  “I introduced myself as Captain Jack Norton,” he said, watching her closely. “I told him you were married and safely stowed on my ship while your husband secured his inheritance.”

  Why would Jack keep silent about the truth now? Her father knew she was married. She had sent him a letter. She just had not named her husband because she had been unsure of Jack’s character at the time. So, why had Jack misled him? Why had he not admitted to being her husband? Was he ashamed of his reasons for marrying her? Was he ashamed of her?

  Even if Lord Drury had learned she was with child, he would not have married her. He would never have considered marrying the daughter of a merchant, even a rich one. Lord Drury had wanted a rich wife with noble blood. Did Jack feel the same? Had he been ashamed to learn his wife’s father was a commoner?

  Perhaps, he would have been more relieved had he discovered she was the daughter of a bankrupt baron or the ruined daughter of a duke who had disowned her.

  Hesitant to meet Jack’s gaze, she stared at his left shoulder. “Once you met him, why did you not admit to being my husband?”

  The mattress dipped as he shifted. His hand moved closer, his fingers not quite touching hers. “You kept your father’s identity a secret, and you did not contact him after we married. I thought perhaps you were afraid of him.”

  Had she not been so confused, she would have laughed. Her father was one of the kindest men she had ever known. “I wrote my father a letter on our wedding day. I told you about it then. I did not mention your name, but I can assure you, there was a letter. I gave it to Sister Mary Daphne.”

  Relief flickered briefly in his gaze before he beetled his brow. “I do not think she delivered it. The reverend mother told your father you ran away, and he hired an inquiry agent to find you.”

  A thousand thoughts and fears swirled in Abby’s mind. What dire events had prevented the nun from delivering the letter? “Even if Sister Mary Daphne never returned to the convent and Papa never got the second letter, the reverend mother should have known I had not run away. Before Sister Mary Daphne and I left for Shrivenham, I wrote both the reverend mother and Papa a letter.”

  When her father arrived at the convent to fetch her home so she could marry Lord Ruston, he should have learned of her original plans. He would not have hired an inquiry agent. “Why didn’t Papa go to Shrivenham? If he had, the nun’s sister would have told him I had married a viscount, unless Sister Mary Daphne did not go to Shrivenham either.”

  A chill shivered down her spine, and with little thought to her actions, she inched closer to her husband. The fifth finger of her left hand grazed his right fifth finger. Warmth traveled up her arm and settled in her chest. Contentment mingled with confusion. “I do not understand. Even if something happened to Sister Mary Daphne after we left Sheep’s Crossing, what happened to the letter I wrote to the reverend mother before I left the convent? Why didn’t she or Papa contact Sister Mary Daphne’s sister. Why didn’t someone inquire after me in Shrivenham?”

  Jack shrug
ged his wide shoulders. “I do not know what happened to the letters, but I do not believe the nun returned to the Sisters of Mercy when she left Sheep’s Crossing. Most likely, she took off with the money I gave her. Maybe she decided she had had enough of poverty. Or maybe, she went to Shrivenham to take a more active role in her unwed mothers’ charity.”

  “That would explain why my father did not get the letter, but it does not explain why the reverend mother thought I had run away. Unless Sister Mary Daphne lied about her Charity for Unwed Mothers.”

  Unwed mothers often paid monthly stipends for temporary placement of unwanted children, but the baby farmers spent precious little on the children. The helpless infants lived in squalid, crowded rooms, unwashed and unfed by those paid to care for them. When the money ran out, the baby farmers stopped feeding the babies or murdered them outright. The rest died of starvation or disease before their second birthday.

  Raw emotion tightened Abby’s throat just thinking about it. Was the nun’s sister running a baby farm in Shrivenham instead of a boarding house? Was Sister Mary Daphne procuring infants for her?

  But she did not take money from me.

  “Even if she lied about helping unwed mothers, her concern seemed genuine,” Jack said, as if reading her thoughts. “Perhaps, she has to keep her charity work a secret. If neither the Church of England nor its clergy support it, she would most likely not want to risk banishment from the convent if the reverend mother discovered the truth.”

  “Why would the church object to her charity?” Sister Mary Daphne had not mentioned having the church or the reverend mother’s support. But Abby had been so desperate to keep her child and avoid a marriage to Lord Ruston that she had not asked many questions.

  Jack shrugged again. “I cannot say for sure, but I assume the church would not support any organization that encouraged unwed mothers to lie about dead husbands who never existed so they might keep their illegitimate children.”

  Guilt flushed Abby’s cheeks, but a warm glow settled in her chest. She had been prepared to live a lie in order to keep her child, but Jack did not seem to condemn her for it. “I suppose Sister Mary Daphne could be helping unwed mothers without the church’s knowledge. That would explain why she did not give the reverend mother my letter and why I did not know about Lydia before we left for Shrivenham.”

  Jack shifted closer. His fingers partially covered hers, sending a warm tingle up her arm. Her breath caught in her lungs, but she did not move her hand.

  “Who is Lydia?” he asked.

  “A serving girl sent to the convent after her lecherous employer took advantage of her. I thought she had run away until Sister Mary Daphne told me she was living in her sister’s boarding house in Shrivenham and working as a baker’s assistant.”

  Jack furrowed his brow. “How many other women disappeared while you were there?”

  “I am not sure.” She thought for a moment. There had been others, but she had thought nothing of it before. “Besides Lydia, Janet Beasley was the only other woman who ‘ran away’ while I was there. But I had heard rumors of other women leaving the convent before they gave birth. At first, I feared it was because they had been ill-treated. But the nuns were nothing but kind. So I assumed Sister Mary Daphne had helped them, too.”

  “I guess your mystery is solved then. Sister Mary Daphne took the money to help her unwed mothers. I just wonder if she returned to the convent or not.” Jack rose from the bed.

  Missing the warmth of his big hand resting on hers, Abby sighed. “Does it matter?”

  “Probably not.” Jack smiled, but Abby sensed a dissatisfaction in her response. He seemed to ponder the situation for a moment, and a frown briefly marred his brow before he shrugged and unexpectedly pulled her to her feet.

  The warm touch of his palms against her bare flesh sent heat rising in her cheeks. Her skin tingled where his thumbs lightly caressed the backs of her hands, sending an electric shock to her core. Then without warning, he released her hands and took a step back. “How good a sailor are you?”

  She blinked, feeling blind-sided and out of sorts. His touch had been so intimate. So personal. Now, he was looking at her with a determination that frightened her. Had he sensed her wanton response to his touch? Did he now wish to rid himself of a most inappropriate wife?

  Her heart dropped to her stomach. “Excuse me?”

  “I have secured my inheritance. Ridge Point is mine.” He held his hands at his sides, his fingers curled into tight fists as if he were trying to restrain himself to keep from shaking her—or perhaps, devouring her.

  Heat seared her skin and settled low in her belly, but then, he turned away as if he could no longer stand the sight of her. Her heart sank, and bile rose in the back of her throat.

  Why must she always have her head in the clouds? Jack was a viscount. He had an heir, and he had his inheritance. He did not need a common wife with a slightly jaded opinion of men. “Where are you sending me, my lord?”

  He had turned toward his wardrobe. His hand froze as he was reaching for the door. He pivoted on his heel and glared. “Knowing how I feel about my father, do you honestly think I would do to you and Will what he did to my mother and me?”

  Will. He had called her son by name. She heard nothing else. Just her son’s name on his lips.

  She rose on shaky legs and stepped toward him. He bristled, his dark eyes flashing with pride and rage. She raised her hand and cupped the side of his face. He stiffened and some other emotion flashed behind those dark eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said, before standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for acknowledging our son and calling him by his name.”

  Before she could lower her hand or drop back down to her heels, his arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her flush against his hard, masculine body. That male part of him swelled as it pressed against her belly, causing her pulse to race and her knees to shake.

  Would he force himself on her now, the way Drury had? Would he rut over her like a sweating pig, sating his lust and filling her with self-loathing. Or would he take her in a loving embrace that would melt the fear from her heart?

  “By God, woman, you tempt me,” he said in a raw and raspy voice that raised the hair on her arms. “If I thought for one moment you were ready, I would brand you as mine and make you forget that bastard Drury ever put his hands on you.”

  How could she forget, when his firm grasp brought back every painful memory in vivid detail? Then, he gentled his touch and loosened his grip. Her heart drummed in her chest, stealing her breath. She was his wife. If he demanded it of her, she would have to submit. It was her duty.

  A quivering sigh shook him as he bent his head and lightly brushed her lips with his. Her mouth opened on a gasp. He breathed it in and dipped his tongue between her parted lips. Teetering between fear and desire, she hesitated—unable to move and unable to respond.

  Jack released her on a groan and dropped his hands to his sides. “Do not think for one moment that I do not want you.” He took a step back, and his voice was as unsteady as the pulse pounding in her ears when he added, “You are not ready. Until you are, I will keep my distance.”

  Disappointment warred with relief, twisting her into an emotional knot. She felt safe and sheltered in his arms, as if he could protect her from the Simon Westons of the world. It was only after she thought of Lord Drury and the awful things men did to women beneath their clothes that her courage failed her. But she did not want Jack keeping his distance. She wanted to be a wife in every sense of the word. She just could not stomach the thought of his big hands on her bare flesh reminding her of Lord Drury.

  “Thank you,” she whispered once she found her voice.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, Jack turned his back to her, but she did not miss the subtle movement of his hands as he adjusted his clothing. Her flush deepened. She did not want to think about that horrible part of a man that invaded a woman’s body, inflicting pain and humiliation.<
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  So why did she tremble just imagining how it would feel to have that part of Jack touching her so intimately?

  He took another deep breath and turned back around to face her. “As I was saying, Ridge Point is mine. I had planned to go there before returning to Seile, but I changed my plans when I met your father.”

  Ram’s Head was the seat of his viscountcy. Now that the crown had recognized his marriage and legitimized his heir, would he settle her in the rundown estate while he moved into Ridge Point? He had promised to keep his distance, but she no longer wished it. She wanted him close. She wanted him to drive away the last vestige of Simon Weston’s hands on her flesh.

  She swallowed her fears and disappointment. “Do you wish to send Will and me to Ram’s Head then?”

  “Of course not. Ram’s Head needs too many repairs for anyone to live there. I will see what I can do to restore that lumbering pile of rocks after we are settled at Ridge Point.”

  Warmth flooded her chest. “Then you are taking us with you?”

  He tapped her nose, sending a shiver down her spine. “You are my wife. And I keep what is mine. Of course, I am taking you. And just as soon as I evict my aunt and cousin from Ridge Point, I will take you to London to see your father.”

  She wanted to introduce her father to his grandson, but fear of a chance encounter with Lord Drury dampened her enthusiasm and diminished her joy. As soon as Simon learned she had a son, he would know he was the father. He had taken her innocence and Will had been born nine months later.

  Would he risk offending his new wife by claiming Will as his by-blow? Would Lord Ruston gossip about her father’s attempt to pass Will off as his child?