by Jacksons Way
Lindsay stood motionless and silent for a half-dozen long heartbeats. Then her shoulders slumped and, with a sigh, she reached back to massage her neck. Jack wanted to go to her, wanted to gently take the task of easing her tensions into his own hands. Tamping down the reckless impulse, he asked, “So how do I compare to Charles Martens?”
“You don't.”
“In a good way or in a bad way?” he pressed.
“In a good way,” she admitted. She went to the window seat and sat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her lips pursed and a faraway look in her eyes.
Jackson waited, willing to sit there with her for as long as it took for her to sort through it all, willing to accept whatever she could find to give him.
Lindsay watched the memories play across her mind's eye, heard again all the words that had been spoken. It was all so very familiar; she'd relived the debacle a thousand times before. But this time remembering was different in one significant way; she didn't feel anything. No twisting sense of shame. No stab of regret. No wave of stinging humiliation. Nothing. It was almost as though she had opened a trunk of memories that belonged to someone else.
Would the dispassion go into the telling as well? she wondered. She'd never had the courage to speak to anyone about what had happened and how she'd felt about it. Did she have the courage to now?
Lindsay looked up to find Jack watching her, his eyes dark and somber and infinitely patient. She knew in that instant that if there was ever a person who would listen and not judge, it was Jackson Stennett. And to think that she'd told Abigail that he was the spawn of Satan. She'd been wrong. Whatever else Jack was to her, he was also the best, most genuine friend she'd ever had. She could tell Jack anything.
“At the time, I thought I loved him,” she began. “In hindsight, I realize that I didn't.”
Jack nodded and gave her a smile that clearly said he'd already guessed that much on his own. Buoyed by his ease and acceptance, Lindsay started again, not truly planning what she was going to say, but trusting it to come out as it should.
“As Henry so gallantly mentioned, there were business considerations involved. My mother's only interest in Charles as a suitor lay in his family's wealth and prestige. She believed that no sacrifice was too great in the campaign to unite the MacPhaull fortune with that of the Terwilliger-Hampsteads. But as much as I'd like to lay the blame for it all at her feet, I can't. She pushed, Jack, but I didn't dig my heels in and refuse to do as I'd been told.”
“Why?”
“Such a simple question. The answer is anything but.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she contemplated how to go about the explanation. Deciding that there wasn't any particular right or wrong way, she shrugged and said, “You see, Charles lavished me with attention and gifts and it was so wonderful to feel special to someone, to think that he was going to take me away from this house, away from all the frustrations and ugliness.
“I let him seduce me, believing the promises, seeing only the rainbow I thought I was going to get, and thinking that I was gloriously in love and equally loved in return. And I was so naive and trusting.”
Lindsay smiled ruefully, wondering how she could have ever been so gullible. With a shrug, she went on, saying, “When he proposed to another, I thought I'd die of grief. Only it wasn't grief at all, Jack. It was nothing but wounded pride and humiliation. I'd been a complete fool and everyone in town knew it.”
“That's the thing about our first times, sweetheart,” he said gently, quietly, staring at the floor in front of him and remembering. “At that age, I think we're not so much in love with the person as we're in love with the notion of being in love. Everyone's made the mistake, including me. Falling out of it hurts like hell.” He smiled ruefully and added, “Makes you real cautious about ever trusting that much again.”
“But you did, didn't you?” she countered softly.
He started and looked up, his heart racing, to meet her gaze.
“I'm just guessing, Jack, but I think you were married once; that your wife and child died. I think it was very difficult for you to go see Jeb and Lucy that morning and that you struggled to hide the pain of your memories the entire time we were there.”
“Apparently I wasn't too good at it,” he observed with a tight smile.
“Why did you offer to go with me, Jack? Why did you put yourself through that ordeal?”
“Babies are a part of life,” he answered, then paused to swallow down the lump in his throat. “Avoiding them makes people wonder and ask questions. It's easier just to ride it out in silence than it is to try to explain what happened.”
“I understand, Jack, and I sincerely apologize for having broached the subject and opened the door to memories that hurt you. I wasn't thinking clearly or I wouldn't have. I knew that day that you were troubled by them.”
Telling himself that if Lindsay could dig deep to be honest with him, he couldn't do anything less for her. “Her name was Maria Arabella. I was eighteen. She was seventeen, and a miscalculation on a grand scale,” he said, staring blankly at the floor, remembering and regretting. “Like you, she was a lady and I should have had the good sense to keep my distance. But, as you know,” he added wryly, “I don't do all that well with resisting impulses.”
He exhaled hard and then took another deep breath to begin again. “She was beautiful and educated and when she danced … I wasn't the only man who wanted her and there were a lot of others who had better pedigrees and prospects than I did. But I was determined to have her any way I could get her and so I seduced her, hoping that would force her into choosing me over all the others.
“There's no way around the fact that it was a low thing to do. In looking back with older eyes, I can see that it was unforgivable. But at the time … When she told me she was carrying my child, I was over the moon. I braved her father's wrath, ignored Billy's misgivings, and happily waltzed her right up the aisle of the church.”
He chewed the inside of his mouth for a minute and then made a tsking sound. “I was still shaking the rice out of my hair when I discovered that wanting and having are two different things, Lindsay. We were so different. In the rush of seduction, that didn't matter and neither of us cared. It did matter, though, in the days and months that followed. We were strangers living under the same roof, sharing the same bed. We were just starting to close the distance when …” He swallowed the knot in his throat. “When she died giving birth to our son.”
He stared off, his attention clearly focused on the past, the shadows of pain evident in his eyes. Her heart aching for him, Lindsay tried to bring him back to her, calling softly, “Jack?”
“The was nothing the doc could do to save either of them,” he went on sadly. “Matthew was born too early, too small. Maria knew before she went that he wasn't going to make it. She asked me to wait to bury her until Matthew could be placed in her arms in the same casket. She said he was too little to go alone, that he'd be frightened without her.”
Dear God, how had he endured that loss? How had he gone on living? Tears tightened her throat and then welled in her eyes. She struggled to keep them from spilling over her lashes, part of her sensing that he needed her to be strong and composed so he could share the burden, part of her struggling against the impulse to cross the room and gather him into her arms, to offer him whatever comfort he needed or wanted from her.
“I realized,” he said, “as I sat there on the bed beside her, that I had grown to love her and that it was too late. I couldn't bear to ask her if she'd grown to love me, too. I was too afraid to hear that she didn't. In hindsight, I wish I'd found the courage. I'll wonder about that the rest of my life.”
“Oh, Jack,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry. So very sorry.”
He nodded and then looked up from the carpet to meet her gaze. She watched his eyes and saw him close away the painful memories.
“I'll let you have that one without paying the penalty,” he said with a wan smile.
“As punishments go,” she countered, sniffling and managing a smile in return, “I can think of far worse than your kisses, Jack. I think you misjudged the effect they'd have.”
“I've misjudged a lot of things in my time, Lindsay,” he countered, sobering and sitting up straight. “But the past is over and done and all I can do is keep from making the same mistakes again. I don't want you added to the list of my regrets. You need to know how I'm thinking and feeling about the two of us and you need to hear it in plain, blunt terms so that there isn't the slightest chance of a misunderstanding. I'm going to shoot straight from the hip with you, Lindsay, whether it bruises your sensibilities or not.”
“You think I have tender sensibilities?” she asked, chuckling quietly. “After a lifetime of enduring Henry and Agatha?”
“The way I see it,” he said, determined to avoid being sidetracked, “there's pure physical desire, being in love with love, and then real love. One doesn't necessarily lead to another.”
He paused, considering the truth and knowing it for that. “Being in love with love is for the young and the hopeful. Ten years ago I managed to survive it. I'm too damn old and battered to tumble into it anymore. And giving someone a piece of my heart isn't something I ever intend to do again. Putting it six feet under hurts too badly. What's left for me is physical desire. Nothing more, nothing less.
“I won't lie to you, Lindsay. I've never been a monk. There were women before Maria Arabella and there have been women since she died. I treated them all well and kindly, but being with them was physical and nothing more.
It's not ever going to lead anywhere beyond that. I won't let it. I hope you can understand that and why it has to be that way. It doesn't have anything to do with you.”
“I understand completely,” she answered. “And I appreciate your honesty. Truth be told, Jack,” she added, “I'd have serious questions about your sanity if you were willing to risk your heart. It seems to me that only a fool would ask to be hurt like that again.”
He nodded and pursed his lips as he stared unseeingly at the far wall.
“Jack?” she asked softly, tentatively. “Do you desire me?”
His smile returned, and when he looked at her his eyes sparkled. “To be real honest, sweetheart, I haven't wanted a woman as badly since I can't remember when. I get around you and my blood heats, my heart races, and my good intentions get trampled in the dust.”
“You do the same to mine,” she admitted, greatly relieved. “And when you touch me, you take my breath away and make my knees go weak. I never felt any of that with Charles. It makes me wonder about what else I might have missed with him.”
Jack smiled, thinking that if she didn't mind being celibate, then she'd missed a helluva lot. “You know what they say about curiosity and the cat,” he reminded her with a wink. “You might want to keep that in mind.”
“I have no good reputation to protect, Jack,” she confidently rejoined, obviously undaunted by the warning. “And I have no prospects for marriage. It seems to me that curiosity is all that I do have and that there isn't a price for it that I haven't already paid.”
Damn. He hadn't thought about that. He suspected there were a lot of facets to his relationship with Lindsay that he hadn't given the consideration they deserved. “I'm hearing this tiny voice in the back of my head; common sense, I think.” He rose to his feet, adding, “It's saying that I ought to get out of here and give it all some serious thought before we set fire to any bridges.”
“Then I'll wish you a good night, Jack,” she said, rising from the window seat. “Thank you for barging in here and making me think things through. I appreciate it very much. You can't know how much I wish that I'd known you five years ago.”
If he'd been around then, Charles Martens wouldn't have gotten within a mile of her. “Just so you know,” he said, his hand on the doorknob, “I kissed you before I ever heard the name Charles Martens. And if I kiss you again, it won't be because I think you might give me what you gave him. I'll kiss you because I like the way you taste; because I like the feel of you in my arms, and I like the way you kiss me back. And if I end up losing the battle with good judgment and seducing you, then you damn well better leave Charles Martens outside the bedroom. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she answered, not hesitating for so much as a blink. “And you need to understand that if I decide to go to your bed, it's not because I'm motivated by business interests or because I have illusions of there being a forever for us. It will be because I want my curiosity satisfied. I don't expect anything of you beyond that. It'll be that simple.”
Jackson chuckled. “Sweetheart, nothing about you is simple. Good night. Sweet dreams.”
The door closed soundlessly behind him and Lindsay sank back down onto the window seat, her legs too shaky to hold her upright. She was complicated? Not compared to Jackson Stennett. He was far more vulnerable than she could have ever imagined, far more emotionally battered that anyone could have guessed. Her mother would have called it a weakness and demanded that it be exploited for the benefit of the MacPhaull Company. Richard would have been less strident in his exhortation, but his words would have been an echo of her mother's just the same.
Use him before he has a chance to use you. All's fair in love and business. And there's no such thing as love in business.
Lindsay shuddered and shook her head, studying the door connecting her room and Jack's. Jack wouldn't use her. He was better than that. And she wouldn't deliberately add to his pain for all the money in the world.
There was no denying that she was physically drawn to him. She liked the way she felt when in his arms. But to talk confidently about bedding a man was one thing. Actually sliding under the sheets with him was another matter entirely. She knew that from bitter experience. And she knew the risks of abandonment and public humiliation that could go with it. With a sigh, Lindsay rose from her seat, blew out the oil lamp on the vanity, and then crawled into bed knowing that in the scales of decision, the past still weighed heavily. For her. And for Jack.
JACKSON DRAPED HIS TROUSERS and shirt over the back of the chair in front of the window, then turned to look at the door separating him from Lindsay. God, he was tempted to walk over to it, knock, and ask her if she'd be interested in spending the night with him. His room or hers, it didn't matter to him one way or the other.
What did matter, though, he reminded himself as he turned toward his bed, was accomplishing the task that had brought him to New York. Becoming Lindsay's lover would complicate the hell out of making decisions, and neither one of them needed it to be any more difficult that it already was. And then there was Henry's tendency to insult. To provide the man with ammunition was unthinkable. Added into the ugly mix was the likelihood of social condemnation if word got out that Lindsay had involved herself in another short-term affair.
Jack raked his fingers through his hair and sank down on the edge of his bed. He didn't want to leave Lindsay with more battles to fight than she already had. Of the two of them, he had the clearer perspective on the risks and consequences of becoming lovers. That meant that he was the one who was going to have to exercise self-discipline and restraint. The best way of keeping to that narrow, safe track was to focus all of his energy on business, on figuring out who had been stripping away the MacPhaull Company assets.
He fell backward onto the soft bed and stared up at the ceiling, forcing his mind to analyze what he knew of the Byzantine maze that was Lindsay's world. It was so much less painful than remembering and dealing with the shadows of his own.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LINDSAY CROSSED THE FOYER at an angle that allowed her to see into the dining room well before she arrived there. She saw Abigail Beechum at the buffet, putting silverware back into the velvet-lined storage chest. There was no sign or sound of Jack, and Lindsay felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment.
“Ah, breakfast smells good,” Lindsay said, sweeping into the room. “How ar
e you this morning, Mrs. Beechum?”
“Fine, thank you. And yourself, Miss Lindsay?” “I had a restless night,” she admitted, settling into her place at the table. “I think I went to bed with too much on my mind.” Taking the silver cover off her plate and putting it aside, she noted that hers was the only breakfast on the table. “Where's Mr. Stennett's place setting?” “He's eaten and left for the office already.” “My, he's certainly the early bird this morning.” “He said he was pressed for time and that he had much to do. He also asked me to relay a message for him.” She paused just long enough that Lindsay knew she needed to mentally brace herself. “Mr. Stennett requests that you pack a bag for traveling and prepare to be gone for the better part of a week. He suggested that you might want to take simple, comfortably fitting clothes.”
Lindsay's mind whirled with possibilities. As with his absence this morning, she felt an unsettling combination of emotions; some exhilarating and some deeply troubling. Telling herself that it was foolish to presume and react before ascertaining the facts, she mustered enough poise to casually ask, “Did he happen to say where I'm going?”
“No. I inquired and he—very apologetically, mind you—told me that your destination must be kept a secret for the time being. And I think I should mention that you aren't traveling alone. Mr. Stennett's accompanying you. His bag is already packed and is to be brought down when yours are. He said that since John is injured, he'll make arrangements to have a hack come by the house for you at ten-thirty this morning.”
“At which point I'm to be standing in the foyer, sweetly obedient to his command,” Lindsay observed sardonically, her ire the easiest of her tumbling emotions to grasp.
“I believe that's an unfair characterization of the situation, Miss Lindsay.”
Her housekeeper's gentle rebuke stung, but Lindsay wasn't going to abandon her pique without putting up a bit of struggle to defend it. “How else would you state it, Abigail?” Even to her own ears she sounded peevish. Why was she in such a difficult mood this morning? The night before certainly hadn't been the first relatively sleepless one she'd had in recent weeks and months.