by Lilly Gayle
Nausea roiled up from the pit of her stomach. “Can you not bring Papa to Ridge Point?”
Jack’s face softened, and the sympathy she saw in his gaze made her cringe. He touched her cheek sending a shiver down her spine to curl low in her belly.
“Do not worry, Abby,” he said softly. “I am your husband, and as long as I draw breath, no man will ever speak ill of you or our son.”
Our son. Jack had called Will “our” son.
Joy took flight as if on the fragile wings of a butterfly and hesitantly settled in her battered heart.
Chapter Twenty
Abby touched her straw hat, which was scarcely more than a diadem fastened with a pink ribbon around the chignon of curls at her nape. Her carriage dress of coral and white foulard had a trailing skirt trimmed with two deep scalloped flounces of coral silk that sloped in front to make room for several flounces and a striped foulard underskirt. Lacy rose gloves, a pink silk parasol, and wrought gold jewelry from the cache Jack had given her topped off her smart ensemble.
Besides the new clothes he had purchased for his family, Jack had also hired Nora Gabb’s sister, Gladys Smythe, to be her lady’s maid and another young woman from Seile to act as Will’s nursemaid. Yet, Mr. Stanley was acting as coachmen.
Was Jack running low on funds?
He smiled as he helped her down from the crested carriage Mr. Stanley had delivered from Ridge Point the day before. Then he raised her gloved hand to his lips, but rather than kiss the back of her fingers as any other gentleman would have done, he turned her hand palm upward and kissed the small patch of bare skin just above the lace edge of her glove. “You are as graceful as you are beautiful.”
His flattery should have set off warning bells. Simon had paid her similar compliments while campaigning to compromise her. A month ago, she would have suspected Jack’s motives as well, but his sincere smile and hot gaze made her pulse race. Could he feel it? Did he know the shocking thrill that raced up her arm when his lips touched her bare skin? Would that thrill eventually turn to fear?
She had felt a titillating tingle the first time Simon kissed her hand through the lace of her gloves, but the moment his bare lips touched her throat, she had felt sick with fear. It had only gotten worse when he shoved his hands up her skirts. But Jack’s lips on her bare flesh made her heart pound with something far more dangerous than fear. It beat with anticipation.
Would he be patient? Would he wait until she was ready before demanding his husbandly rights?
As if sensing her thoughts and fears, he squeezed her fingers. Then in a serious tone, he said, “Just remember to let me do the talking. My family can be ruthless, and I want them to address me with their barbs and not you.”
She nodded and smiled, despite the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was a viscountess now, and she must act with the utmost decorum.
Jack turned back to the carriage, took Will from the nursemaid’s arms, and handed the baby to Abby before helping Miss Parsons alight from the carriage. The moment the nursemaid’s feet touched the cobblestone drive, she reached for Will. Abby felt vulnerable and exposed without her son’s warm body nestled in her arms, but society expected a viscountess to leave the task of childrearing to nursemaids and nannies. Still, relinquishing her son left her feeling as gray as the overcast sky.
Repressing the need to cry, she snapped open her parasol and watched as Mr. Stanley helped the maid, Mrs. Smythe, from the carriage. Once she had her footing, Mr. Stanley relinquished her arm and turned to Jack. “Where would you like us to wait, Lord Ardmore?”
“You are not a servant, Quent,” Jack said with a scowl. “You are a friend offering assistance because I don’t yet trust the Ridge Point staff, and I could not find a man in Seile to drive the coach on such short notice. You also have leave to use my given name so I suggest you do.”
Mr. Stanley’s smile broadened, showing off fine straight teeth and the symmetry of his almost too handsome face. A shiver raced down Abby’s spine. He was dark where Simon Weston had been light, but they were both exceedingly handsome and charming men on the surface. Could Mr. Stanley be trusted?
He clapped Jack on the shoulder, his smile lighting his dark eyes. “You are my friend, Jack, and that is why I will continue to use your title in the presence of others. But I suppose I could be a bit less formal, Ardmore.” Jack cringed, but Mr. Stanley continued. “Since we are not family, Mrs. Smythe and I will wait here until you have established yourself as lord and master.”
“Really, Quent,” Jack said in protest.
“If you want your cousin to treat you like a viscount, then you must be a viscount. Mr. Flick will not show you the respect you deserve otherwise.”
Jack raised his hand to his head as if to rake his fingers through his hair but stopped, apparently remembering his black bowler hat and the dark ribbon holding his hair at the nape. His fingers curled before he dropped his arm and smacked his thigh with his closed fist. “I did not like all these social rules as a child, and I like them even less now.”
“Ah, but you will get used to them,” Mr. Stanley said with another broad smile. “It is in your noble blood.”
“Damn your eyes,” Jack mumbled. He turned, caught Abby’s gaze, and flushed.
She was hard-pressed not to smile. Profanity in the presence of a lady was most unacceptable, but Jack was still struggling for acceptance. But, bless his soul, he was trying so hard. It made her that much more determined to be the viscountess he deserved.
Taking a step toward him, she looped her arm through his. “If you are ready to take on the role of viscount, then I am more than ready to be your viscountess.”
But can I be his wife?
The thought sent a delicious tingle straight to her core.
****
Abby’s gloved hand clung lightly to his arm as Jack led her up the cobbled walkway toward the front door. Miss Parsons followed behind, carrying Will, but before Jack could knock, a liveried servant answered the door. His white brows narrowed over a beak-like nose as he pulled his watch fob from his pocket. He looked at the attached timepiece, his lips firming with disapproval.
Jack almost smiled. It had been years since anyone forced him to follow the conventions of good society, but he remembered that only family paid house calls before three. Formal visits from strangers and acquaintances were permitted between three and four with less formal visits occurring from four to five. Only family and the closest of friends visited before three or after five, and it was just past noon.
The butler stared, his disdain obvious as he extended a silver tray. “Neither Mr. Flick nor Lady Margery is receiving visitors at this hour, but if you would like to leave your card…”
A smile twitched at the corner of Jack’s mouth. He reached into his coat pocket and removed a card that clearly displayed his title and placed it on the tray. The butler stepped back as if anxious to shut the door the moment Jack and his entourage were back inside the carriage. He never even glanced at the card, which hardly mattered. Jack did not intend to quietly slink away to await a more appropriate time to call.
He removed Abby’s parasol from her vise-like grip and closed it. Then he took her arm and guided her over the threshold, nudging past the startled butler. Behind him, Miss Parsons gasped but followed them inside. After dropping Abby’s frilly pink parasol into a brass umbrella stand in the corner, Jack removed his hat and hung it on the coat tree. A vein bulged in the butler’s forehead, and his jaw clenched.
To leave one’s hat or walking stick in the hall was considered a liberty reserved for family members who resided in the home. It was considered poor taste for a visitor to do so.
Repressing another smile, Jack turned to the obviously annoyed butler. “I am Lord Ardmore, master of Ridge Point, and this is my viscountess, Lady Ardmore.” He glanced behind him at the frightened nursemaid. Miss Parson’s eyes were round in her pale face. “Miss Parsons is holding my son and heir, William Henry Norton. So, if you
would kindly roust Mr. Flick and my aunt, I would like to see them in my drawing room.”
The butler sputtered, his wide eyes swinging from Jack to Abby and back again. Abby’s face paled, but she showed no other outward display of distress. She held her head high and nodded slightly, acknowledging the flustered man.
“I will meet with the staff later,” Jack added. “In the meantime, please have a servant prepare the nursery.”
The butler raised his chin, staring over Jack’s shoulder. “The nursery has not been used in decades, sir.”
“Then I suggest you send several servants to see to its cleaning. Now.”
The butler bowed and turned smartly on his heel. Jack turned to Abby and expelled a heavy breath. “I think our arrival is about to cause quite a stir.”
“Indeed.” She wrung her hands together, her eyes darting to Will as if forcing herself not to snatch him from the nursemaid’s arms. When he started to whimper, she strained toward him. Miss Parsons patted his bottom, her eyes darting from Abby to Jack and back again.
“He will be getting hungry soon.” Abby flushed and nervously shuffled her feet, moving closer to Miss Parsons.
“Then I had best settle matters with my family quickly.” Turning on his heel, he led Abby and Miss Parsons into the drawing room.
He did not want his son going hungry, but he was not about to let Abby out of his sight until he confronted his cousin and aunt. Still, it would be most improper for her to feed their son in the drawing room. It would also be incredibly distracting. Just thinking of Abby’s breasts distracted him, sending heat to his loins.
He shuffled his feet and suppressed a frustrated groan. Abby had suffered enough abuse at the hands of Drury. She did not need an impatient husband demanding his conjugal rights. She needed a man who would be patient. And Jack was damn sure trying his best, though it went against his highly impatient nature.
Trying to distract himself from thoughts of Abby and her breasts, he surveyed his surroundings. He barely remembered this room from his time at Ridge Point as a child, but then, he had seldom entered the drawing room. His parents had firmly believed that children were to be seen and not heard, and once he was seen, he was promptly sent upstairs to the nursery or out into the garden with his nurse. Once Aunt Margery and Morris moved in, he had been sent outside with his cousin, who had tormented him. Now, it was time for Jack to torment Morris.
“Well, well. If it is not the prodigal son returned,” Morris sneered from the doorway. “Shall we kill the fatted calf?”
Nerves and fury twisted Jack’s gut into a knot. He turned. Morris held a glass of amber liquid up in a half-salute and listed to the left. He straightened, turned up the glass, and drained it. “Higgins!” he shouted.
The butler appeared in the doorway behind him. Morris thrust the glass into his hand. “Refill it.” Then Morris turned bloodshot eyes on Jack. “Care for a nip, cousin?”
Jack’s fury turned to pity. Morris was a beaten man. He had lost Ridge Point, and kicking him when he was down would not bring Jack the satisfaction he craved. He shook his head. “No. Thank you.”
“It is the best quality, I assure you,” Morris said with a bitter laugh. “Your father would have nothing less.” His drunken smile transformed into a sneer. “Pity he did not have better taste when choosing a wife.”
The words hit their mark, refueling Jack’s rage. His blood ran hot, his body shaking as he fought the urge to ram his fist so far down Morris’ throat that it exited through his arse. Since restraint had never been his strong suit, he took a step forward, but Abby’s hand on his forearm stalled his steps.
The sweet scent of lavender assailed his nostrils, and his shoulders relaxed. Then she stepped around him, sending his temper through the roof. What the hell did she think she was about! Morris was like a cornered animal, ready to strike at any time, and she was placing herself in harm’s way.
“It is a pleasure to meet one of Ardmore’s relatives,” she said, her voice soft and sweet with just a hint of nerves. “I am his wife, Lady Abigail Ardmore.”
“Lady?” Morris snorted. “Ha! Where did he meet you? A brothel?”
Before Abby could stop him, Jack stepped around her and punched Morris in the face. His fist did not exit Morris’ arse hole, but he gained a keen sense of satisfaction when he heard bone crunch.
Morris sank to his knees, cupping his face and whimpering like the coward he was.
“Jack!” Abby gave him a piercing glare that did little to diminish his joy. He had been wanting to slug the bastard since he was nine.
“Was that really necessary?” She dropped to her knees at his cousin’s side, pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of Morris’ waistcoat, and pressed it into his hands. Morris held the cloth to his nose and moaned, but it was not remorse that set Jack’s pulse to pounding. It was envy. Abby had never touched him as tenderly as she touched his bastard cousin.
“He insulted you!” Jack cringed at the petulance he heard in his own voice. But what did Abby expect? He had defended her honor, and she had responded by reprimanding him as if he were a child. Most women would have been all atwitter just thinking of a man physically defending her honor.
But Abby was not most women. She was unique. Special. And she was his. And he damned sure protected what was his. He glared. She shook her head and smiled.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I do not want you upsetting our son.” She gave him a meaningful look and then glanced behind him. It was then that he noticed the boy’s wails. Will was squalling, and the dumbstruck Miss Parsons was standing with her mouth open doing nothing to soothe him.
Jack mumbled a profanity under his breath and turned. Miss Parson’s cringed, wrapping her arms around Will and taking a step back as if she thought Jack would punch her next. He sighed and gentled his voice. “Hand me my son.”
She shook her head and took another step away. The woman had more balls than brains, but at least she was prepared to protect his son. He would have to remember she was braver than she appeared the next time she stared at him like a frightened rabbit. “Then please take him back outside and try to settle him. I do not like hearing him cry.”
She nodded and ran from the room as if he had issued a vile threat. It was only after he turned back around and saw Abby that he realized the nursemaid had mistook his meaning. Apparently, Abby had too because the fearful expression in her eyes told him she now feared for their son’s wellbeing. Apparently, both Abby and Will’s nurse believed him capable of committing violence if the boy cried.
If caterwauling and wails were all it took to spark his temper, he would have strangled Captain Whiskers years ago. When hungry or determined to gain entry through a closed door, that monster of a cat could howl like a banshee. Will’s cry was not nearly as loud…or annoying.
“It breaks my heart to hear him cry,” he said, hoping the truthful words would erase the fear from Abby’s eyes. She visibly swallowed, then nodded before rising to her feet and coming to stand next to him.
Her gloved hand touched his forearm. “Mine too,” she said with a tremulous smile.
Blood rushed to his chest, warming his heart before traveling lower to heat his loins. Abby was definitely a woman worth wooing, and woo her he would. Just as soon as he dispensed with this nasty business with his cousin and aunt.
Morris slid backward on his rump until his hips came up against the wall. The handkerchief in his hand sported bright red splotches, but it appeared he was no longer bleeding. Perhaps he had not broken the bastard’s nose after all.
“You uncouth, backwater colonial,” Morris spat through lips tinged with blood. “How dare you strike me! My grandfather was the third Viscount Ardmore. Noble blood runs through my veins.”
“The same blood that runs through mine, you fool. We are cousins, and well you know it.”
Morris rose to his feet, stumbled, and leaned against the wall. “You sir, are an impostor. My cousin was banished to the colonies, and there he
resides.”
Jack inhaled sharply, trying to relieve the tension in his shoulders. “Uncle William, your own mother’s brother, vouched for me. As did Lord Willoughby and Lord Gilchrest. I am your cousin, Jackson Henry Norton. Jack. Now, Viscount Ardmore. There is no disputing my claim.”
Morris’ red eyes glistened wetly. He swiped at his nose and then his eyes, streaking his face with blood. “You left with your mother. I was here, hiding in this room when Uncle William begged Lord Ardmore to reconsider. He said he would take her back if she returned to him, swearing on her father’s grave that you were his son. Then Uncle William went after her, but he did not bring her back, and he did not return to Ridge Point. Mother said she had made her choice. She chose Uncle William, the father of her child, over her own husband.”
Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs with enough force to steel his breath. He felt lightheaded and nauseous. His stomach churned. Fury was the only thing that kept him from tossing his breakfast.
Chapter Twenty-One
Abby laid her hand on Jack’s arm, hoping to reach him as she had before. Her touch seemed to have a soothing effect on his temper. Yet this time, he did not seem to notice. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.
“You bastard.” He snarled, and his face was a mask of hatred. “My father sent us away. He purchased a home for our banishment and set my mother aside as if she were nothing more than a kept woman. And he denied me, his own son, because your mother spread her malicious lies.”
“Is that the lie your mother told?” Mr. Flick sneered. “Did you believe Uncle William came after you to bring you home? He wanted her for himself!”
“You sonuvabitch!” Jack moved as if to raise his fist and nearly pulled Abbey off the ground. He looked down, the fury blazing in his eyes nearly blinding him to her presence.
She clung to his arm, just barely preventing him from raising his fist to strike his cousin again. Her toes scarcely touched the polished marble floor. “Jack, please!”
His vision seemed to clear as if finally seeing her, but his jaw remained clenched. “Perhaps you should go outside and check on our son.”