In gazing at Lucius, Jess had opened herself bare and allowed his sister the perfect moment to attack. Like little knives, each of Lady Julia’s words hit their mark, and the wound was so intense, Jess feared she might bleed inwardly if she moved too quickly.
But she had to leave. She lifted her napkin with trembling hands and placed it on the table.
“Julia, what nonsense you speak. Surely we needn’t worry on that score where Miss Sedgwick is concerned. You are most welcome at Hartwell, Miss Sedgwick.” Lucius’s father’s voice was almost as deep as his son’s, though roughened with age, and he spoke of May with warmth, a certainty that she would soon be his daughter-in-law.
“Yes, Father. If Lucius does his duty, none of us need worry,” Julia agreed.
Jess pushed back in her chair, not bothering to wait for one of the footmen to assist her, the screech of the chair’s legs on polished wood drawing the attention of those seated nearby.
“My dear, are you all right?” Lady Stamford’s hand on her arm and whispered words of concern brought no comfort.
“No, I must leave.”
On her other side, Wellesley rose from his chair and moved to help her. Standing despite a wave of nausea, Jess reached out and Wellesley tucked her arm in his as if they were preparing for a pleasant stroll through the park.
As they drew near Lucius, he stood and threw his napkin on the table, nearly upsetting his wineglass.
“I’ll take her.” The deep rumble of his voice was a balm, but Jess couldn’t look at him. Not yet. If she looked at him, she might break into pieces or begin sobbing, and she couldn’t bear to let his sister see her tears.
“Lucius, don’t you have guests to attend to?” Julia’s voice hadn’t dulled and the sound of it made Jess wince.
“Don’t, Julia. You’ve said quite enough. Please excuse me, everyone, and do continue to enjoy your meal.”
Jess felt his hand on her right arm, though Wellesley had yet to let go of her left.
Lucius leaned toward the woman who’d been introduced as his father’s nurse and spoke in a near whisper. “Mrs. Ives, would you see that my father gets back to his rooms safely?”
Moments later, and without entirely recalling the journey from the dining room, Jess stood at an open window in Lucius’s study. She drew in gulps of fresh air while Lucius and Mr. Wellesley spoke together near the fireplace.
When she turned toward the two men, Mr. Wellesley approached and reached out to take her hands. Though she’d met the man only the day before, the familiar gesture felt natural, comforting.
“Please give no mind to Julia. She’s always been sharp-tongued. It’s all she has, really. She wasn’t gifted with Julian’s wit or Lucius’s cleverness.”
No one in her life had been cruel, unless one counted her father’s negligence at the end as cruelty. She’d never been the object of the kind of loathing Lady Julia clearly felt toward her. Yet, in the space of a few sentences, Robert Wellesley managed to stoke Jess’s sympathy, and she found herself pitying Lucius’s sister as much as she disliked her.
He gripped her hands more tightly. “Did you fight very hard to keep your bookshop, Miss Wright?”
“Yes, of course. It was what my father asked of me.”
He glanced back at Lucius. “How well matched you two are.”
When he turned back to Jess, he’d drawn his usually smiling mouth into a grim line. He leaned toward her and spoke quietly. “You’ll need that mettle to help him through this.”
Jess expected him to say more, but after releasing her hands, he strode to Lucius, offered him one firm pat on the back, and departed.
Lucius stared at her with a stark expression.
When she wrapped her arms around herself, he took a step toward her.
“Are you warm enough?”
The chill causing her to shiver had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. It was deeper, under her skin, bone-deep.
“Why did you plan to marry May?”
He cocked his head at the question, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Then he lifted a hand toward one of the chairs before the fire.
“Come away from the window and get warm.”
Jess’s legs felt as tense and tight as her chest, but she managed to seat herself in the chair he indicated.
Lucius closed the window behind her and then settled a blanket over her lap before taking the chair next to hers.
“First, know that I intend to speak to Julia—”
Jess rushed to stop him. “I want to forget all of it.”
“I can’t forget.”
The memory of the first time he’d spoken the three words were in his mind. She could see it when she gazed at him and saw the tremulous curve of his mouth. Jess reached for him and he lifted his hand to meet hers.
“What of my question? Can you tell me why?”
He stroked a thumb across the back of her hand as he spoke. “I suspect my aunt has warned you away from the eastern wing of the house.”
Lady Stamford had mentioned it once, indicating that portion of the estate was undergoing renovations.
“My parents used to share those rooms, and now my father refuses to be moved. He was quite . . . obsessed with my mother. Perhaps he remembers her best in those rooms.” He closed his eyes a moment before continuing. “He’s not well, you see. His emotions run riot and his memory often fails him completely.”
It explained why his father avoided public gatherings, why he preferred to keep to his rooms and required a nurse to accompany him to dinner. Suddenly, the aristocratic older man who’d struck her as intimidating seemed human, vulnerable. He needed Lucius, not simply as his heir, but as his steward, a man with the will and strength of character to take on the challenges of running the estate. And, apparently, repairing it.
“The renovations are extensive?”
Lifting his free hand, Lucius pinched the flesh at the top of nose, and Jess longed to reach a finger up and smooth the lines of worry creasing his brow.
“The renovations haven’t truly begun. The cost is . . . extensive.”
“And May is rich.”
He nodded and reached for her other hand.
“Very. And yet I have no more interest in marrying her than she does in marrying me.”
His words warmed her more effectively than the fire, but Jess knew May’s wishes and Lucius’s weren’t the end of the matter.
“But it’s what your father asked of you.” Jess tightened her grip on his hands as she echoed the answer she’d given Mr. Wellesley. She understood duty to one’s father. It had driven the last twelve years of her life.
“My father does not ask. He expects. He insists.”
Jess knew the sadness in Lucius’s gaze, knew the weight of a father’s expectations. She pulled her hands from his, but he held tight, only letting her go reluctantly.
Standing before the fire a moment, heart sore and mind muddled, she willed herself to turn to him. There was a truth they were both avoiding, and it was what mattered most.
Taking the few steps toward his desk, Jess took care not disturb to any of the implements on top, recalling Lady Stamford’s story about how very particular he was about arranging them.
“Even if you don’t marry May, you’ll have to marry someone like her. A lady with the dowry you need.”
She’d managed to say the words, but he didn’t give her time to dwell on them before approaching in three determined strides. Standing behind her, he rested his hands on her waist and pulled her in close, fitting her body against his.
“There’s something I need more than a rich girl’s dowry.”
His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, sliding stray tendrils of hair aside. Then he kissed her, a warm, firm press of his mouth that reverberated through her body, fizzing down her spine, and lower, until she felt it to the tips of her toes.
“I need you.”
Moving to her side, Lucius reached out to tilt her chin gently, just eno
ugh to meet his gaze.
“What sort of man did your father intend for you to marry?”
“He never expected me to marry at all. I told him I would keep the shop instead.” Now that she did consider it, now that she sometimes allowed herself to dream of the joy marriage could bring, it hurt to recall how easily her father had allowed her to renounce the notion. Shouldn’t he have wished for that kind of happiness for her?
Lucius looked contemplative before reaching up and stroking one finger down her check, skimming it along the edge of her chin.
“It seems we’ve found in each other what neither of us expected but always hoped for.”
Pleasure expanded in her chest, warm and sweet, filling every hollow space, every painful corner. Jess embraced it. No thoughts. No doubts. Just the love she’d kept locked away, waiting for Lucius to set it free.
She reached for him, but he’d already gathered her near, kissing the tip of her nose, each cheek, even the curve of her chin before taking her lips. He tortured her with slow, drugging kisses when she wanted to pull and press, to get as close to his body as she felt to his heart.
When Lucius lowered his head to kiss her neck, Jess made the mistake of opening her eyes, of taking in the polished wainscoting, the elaborately carved fireplace, and the glinting silver-framed photographs on the mantel.
Doubt seeped in, fears and uncertainties. Lucius lifted his head as if he could sense the tumult in her mind.
He reached up, cupping her cheek in his palm. “What is it?”
Jess took a breath to express her worries and ruin their blissful moment, but the clicking patter of canine paws on the main hall’s marble floor drew their attention to the study door.
Lady Stamford swept in and Castor and Pollux ambled along behind her.
“Oh . . .” The countess looked momentarily abashed, and then lifted her chin. “Lucius, Miss Wright has had a most trying evening. I assumed you’d had a maid help her to her room.”
She lifted her arm toward Jessamin. “Come, my dear, let’s get you to bed. We should all get a sound sleep so that we may face the challenges ahead.”
Jess shifted her gaze from Lucius to his aunt and then back to the man she loved. She nodded to let him know she’d go with his aunt, but when she took a step to move from his side, he slid his hand down to grasp her wrist.
“Rest well, Jessamin. I spoke to my father last night, but I intend to speak to him again in the morning, and then I’ll have a rather important question for you.” He smiled, a quick, easy dip of his mouth and flash of teeth, as if he did it all the time.
Jess’s heart flipped and swelled in her chest.
As she preceded Lady Stamford from the study, the pugs trotting ahead of her as if to lead the way, Jess heard Lucius’s aunt whisper to him.
“Speak with me in the morning before you approach Maxim again. We must formulate a strategy.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
JESS WAS WELL practiced at sleepless nights. She’d found no rest for days upon first arriving at Marleston, and back in London, living in the cramped rooms over the shop, she’d lain awake many a night worrying over her father and money— always money. If not the root of all evil, it had certainly shaped her life. Her parents had constantly fretted over sales and debts, even before Father’s vices had begun whittling their funds.
And now she found herself in love with a man who said he needed her when she did not have the one thing he needed most—the wealth to help him repair his estate. If she’d learned anything from her parents’ marriage, it was the nature of partnership. They’d been true helpmates, allied in every trial, assisting each other with every task. It was no wonder her father had been so lost after losing his life’s partner.
Could she be that to Lucius? To be his wife—could there be a sweeter notion?
But could she take what she wanted—his love, his name, his heart in exchange for hers—and fail to give him the dowry he’d sought in a bride? Could she consign him to a life of worrying over money and watching his grand estate crumble around him? The love she’d seen in his eyes tonight had warmed her from the inside out, but what if some future day came when he turned on her with resentment in his eyes? The thought made her clench the blanket and bite her lip until she tasted blood.
Turning onto her belly, Jess buried her face in the plush pillow and concentrated on any other thoughts than worry over money. She silently recited poems she’d memorized as a child. Recalling favorite novels, she repeated whole paragraphs in her mind until coming to the edge of what she remembered. Finally, she turned to Shakespeare, grasping for a dark play, as somber as her mood, and began reciting lines from Macbeth. These she couldn’t resist speaking aloud and turned her head so that her voice was only half muffled by the pillow’s bulk.
“ ‘The night is long that never finds the day.’ ” That seemed particularly fitting. She repeated it until drowsiness drew her down into near sleep. When she heard the pitter-patter of raindrops beating at the windowpanes, a comforting sound that reminded her of the bookshop and London, she finally gave in and slept.
But a moment later, or so it seemed, she squinted one eye open.
“Drat!” A housemaid stood by a chair, bending down to rub her shin.
Jess usually woke to the sight of Tilly, who’d tended to her since their arrival at Hartwell, and she didn’t recognize the young woman grimacing in pain.
“Are you all right?”
“Oh yes, miss. Ever so sorry. I’m not familiar with this room to cross it in the dark. Shall I turn the up the gas and open the curtains?”
The room was unusually dim for morning, and when the maid drew the drapery back, Jess saw why. Storm clouds hovered, darkening the sky.
The ominous weather matched her mood, and the murky state of her mind.
“Is Tilly unwell?”
“No, miss. She’s helping in another part of the house. The storm last night caused some damage, or so I heard.”
The maid turned her attention back to sorting out Jess’s clothing, but news that the estate had suffered damage during the night had Jess out of bed and rushing through her morning tasks and pinning her hair. The maid huffed with frustration, so Jess accepted her help to dress, but then sent the girl on her way.
She needed to see Lucius, to know that he was safe and well, but when she reached the ground floor, Jess found herself in the midst of chaos. Maids and footman scurried past in both directions, some carrying furnishings, others weighed down with piles of folded linen.
When Tilly emerged from the far end of the hall, Jess rushed toward her, only to find the girl wide-eyed and frazzled, arms full of bloody clothing.
“It’s His Lordship, miss. There was an accident in that part of the house.”
Tilly cocked her head back to indicate the eastern portion of the house, and Jess moved past her to follow a maid carrying more clean linens.
Dirty, wet footprints provided a trail up a winding staircase that opened to a hallway. Most of the doors along the wall were closed, but outside one open door, two maids knelt on their hands and knees sopping up water.
Jess stepped between the young women and heard the rough voice of Lucius’s father.
“Then leave me here, damn you. Let me die here. I won’t leave this room.”
Mrs. Ives stood near the threshold, blocking the way, but Jess could see over the woman’s shoulder to the scene inside. Lucius’s father lay in the middle of an elaborately carved four-poster bed, and Lucius stood at his bedside. A blood-soaked bandage covered part of the earl’s head and dark stains marred his pillow and bedclothes. Chunks of plaster littered the floor and a gaping hole in the ceiling revealed the rafters above. Water ran down the walls, and nearly everything in the room looked wet or dusted with plaster.
Mrs. Ives stepped aside to allow a footman to carry a chair past her and out of the room. Turning, she caught sight of Jess.
“Careful, miss. The floor is still quite slippery.”
�
�Jessamin.”
The warmth in Lucius’s voice as he moved around his father’s bed and approached made her heart ache. But the sight of him, whole and safe, was such a relief Jess almost reached out to embrace him.
“I’m glad to see you.” Despite his earnest tone and the way he gazed at her as if she was the most appealing woman he’d ever seen, Jess didn’t believe him. She’d seen the dark half-moons under her eyes in her looking glass and noted the sallow tint of her skin.
Lucius looked exhausted too, and bloodstains marred his white shirt.
“Dr. Seagraves says Father will be fine. It’s a slight cut, but head wounds bleed quite a lot. Seagraves doesn’t think it will even leave a scar.” He leaned in and spoke low. “My main objective is to get him out of this room.”
“Your objective should be to marry that American and repair this bloody house.” His father’s call from the bed made Lucius wince, but then he looked at her and took a deep breath, as if preparing to reenter the fray.
“Can I help?” She itched to do something to aid him, to care for him, the man who seemed to be responsible for everyone else. She’d help his father too, if she could, and if the earl would let her.
He reached out to rest his hand on her upper arm. She could feel the chill in his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
“Would you wait for me downstairs in my study? Or the library, if you like.”
Jess peeked around at his father. Mrs. Ives was urging the earl to get up from his sodden bed.
“Can I do nothing here to help you?”
Lucius shocked her by stepping closer and kissing her forehead—one quick press of his mouth before pulling away.
“You help me more than you know.” He looked back at his father too. Mrs. Ives and two maids were easing Lord Dunthorpe into a simple wooden chair.
Lucius rubbed her arm gently and she hoped some of her body’s heat seeped through to warm his fingers.
“We must move him, and I suspect the less of an audience he has, the smaller the fuss he’ll make. At least I pray that’s the case.”
One Scandalous Kiss Page 24