by Gaelen Foley
“But if I did that, wouldn’t you lose interest?”
He could not take his eyes off her. “Save me a dance, Miss Bryce.”
“For you, my lord, I should gladly save them all.”
He laughed softly. “How many men have you said that to tonight?”
“Lots,” she whispered, her dark eyes sparkling. “But I only meant it once.”
He shook his head at her, half in aggravation, half delight, then he savored the pleasure of watching her walk as she returned to the center of attention.
In the next moment, she had been surrounded by admiring males…just as she was now, in Delilah’s parlor.
Thirty seconds left for her to make the first move.
Jordan kept his taut smile welded into place, folded his arms across his chest, and pretended to listen to some drunken idiot telling him a tedious story about a recent fox-hunt.
The two minutes he’d given Mara to join him came and went, a total of ten from the time he had walked into the drawing room. Well, then, he thought tersely, that’s that.
He went over to Delilah and made an excuse. Thus, after the shortest possible stay in the drawing room, he took leave of their company with thanks to the hostess, polite farewells to the other guests, and naught but a cold glance over his shoulder at Mara.
Little did she know it was a wordless good-bye—for real, this time, he swore. As the butler showed him down the stairs, Jordan did not even know why he had gone to the dinner party.
He felt like a fool—duped once again by his own star-crossed desires. His slight hope that she had grown up while he was gone was all for naught. If anything, she was even worse now—the Regent’s latest doxy!
Good God, how could he have been so stupid, letting this woman rule his thoughts for all these years? There was only one thing to do: forget her once and for all and find somebody else. By God, he would. He meant it this time. He’d marry a wooden spoon before he’d ever think of involving himself with that woman again!
With a brooding stare fixed straight ahead, he stalked across the foyer. What was she, after all—a disease that, once contracted, a man was doomed to carry for the rest of his life?
No, he vowed. As of tonight, he declared himself officially cured of Mara Bryce. Then he strode outside, seeking solace from his anger in the cold black emptiness of the winter night.
Chapter 4
What is that man’s problem? Several days later, Mara still found herself shaking her head to herself over Jordan’s churlish exit from Delilah’s dinner party.
She could not believe he had left without making the slightest effort to speak to her. Beyond those few brief and mostly unpleasant exchanges over dinner—nothing.
But why should she be surprised?
Leaving without explanation was what Jordan Lennox did, she thought cynically as her carriage rumbled onto Knightsbridge. She and Thomas had just come from their dutiful, twice-monthly visit to her parents’ manor in South Kensington, and she was thoroughly drained, as always, after seeing them.
The warmly bundled baby on her lap was a comfort to her after the poisonous atmosphere at her parents’ house.
Thomas cooed away, shaking his rattle and chewing on it by turns, but she stopped him gently when he started trying to take off his hat. “Keep it on,” she chided. It was warmer today than it had been lately, but she was ever vigilant in keeping him snugly warm. He had just recovered from a cold and did not need another.
When Thomas turned his attention toward his shoes instead, her anger snaked back toward the earl.
Arrogant…stubborn…judgmental…
Had the poor fellow become jealous because she did not immediately throw aside her other male friends and go running over to worship at his feet?
Well, that was rather amusing. She was gratified to know she could trigger that much of a reaction from the aloof world traveler. But what did he expect after the way he had embarrassed her at dinner, asking why she only had one child. What an utterly barbarous question!
And how painful a subject—though, begrudgingly, she could admit he had probably not intended any malice. It was just that the question had plucked at hidden shame in her that Jordan probably did not even know existed.
Her late husband’s difficulties below the waistline had not been her fault, Mara reminded herself. Even the physician had told Tom that all his drinking was making him unable to perform.
Why her husband could not be persuaded to join the marriage bed in a sober state was a question to which Mara never had received a satisfying answer. All she knew was that it was a crushing blow to be rejected in bed by a husband she had never really wanted in the first place.
When she recalled how Tom had blamed her for the problem with his manhood, it made her loath to risk “taking a lover,” as Delilah advised. She could not bear to be shamed like that by a man ever again.
Perhaps she should’ve heeded Jordan’s warnings that a bad match could indeed make her life worse than it had been under her parents’ roof. She had thought she had chosen well. Tom had chased her so hard and charmed both her parents in his campaign to win her; but once she was his, he had quickly lost interest.
In their new home, his courtship fervor soon turned to sarcasm and irritability. And when he was drinking, he sometimes turned downright dangerous.
Pushing away unpleasant memories, Mara turned her thoughts back to Jordan as her carriage rumbled on. She still could barely believe how much he had changed.
Gone was the tender young Galahad whose smile had warmed her starry summer nights. The beautiful man at the table had been so cold and distant, closed within himself behind his hard, worldly veneer.
The only person he seemed to relate to at Delilah’s party was the poor wounded major, who had surely been through Hell on earth. But goodness, she thought, the life of a diplomat could not be all that bad.
Thomas’s babbling drew her from her musings as he asked an incoherent question, banging his rattle cheerfully on the carriage window. He was learning language by fits and starts, and though clear words and even full sentences occasionally popped out, sometimes his baby babble puzzled even her. Especially when she was distracted, thinking about Jordan.
“Yes, Master Thomas, you know that place, that’s Hyde Park, clever boy!” Mrs. Busby exclaimed, fondly watching her charge. His faithful old nurse sat across from them wrapped in her cloak.
Thomas repeated his mysterious remarks more insistently, pointing again at the window, and both women suddenly grasped his request.
“He wants to feed the ducks!” Mara exclaimed with a sudden laugh.
Mrs. Busby clapped her hands at the baby. “Do ye want to feed the duckies, Master Thomas?”
He reacted with a full-body wiggle, babbling eagerly and kicking both legs. Both women chuckled.
“Stop squirming, you little imp!” Mara chided, pulling him more firmly onto her lap. “Very well, you were such a good boy at Grandmother’s house, you deserve to have some fun.” Mara nodded to Mrs. Busby, who dutifully lowered the carriage window.
“Take us into the park, Jack!” Mrs. Busby called to the coachman. “His little Lordship wants to feed the ducks!”
Mara smiled, hearing her trusty driver’s rumble of laughter. “Aye, ma’am!”
Mrs. Busby hastily closed the window again, knowing her mistress’s tendency to fret over any cold drafts that might menace her child. But Mara was not alarmed about the weather that day. The sun was shining. The air was healthy and clear. A spot of exercise outdoors was good for the constitution as long as one stayed warm, and Thomas was well protected from the mid-March chill by several layers of warm clothes and mittens and the colorful jester’s hat that she had knitted for him herself.
As Jack turned the coach into Hyde Park, Mara saw signs of spring already returning. Every week brought more changes to see. Most of the hedges were still russet brown, but now buds peeped out on the lilacs.
The trees’ spindled branches stood stark
and bare against the delicate blue sky, but the sap had begun to flow in their trunks. Soon would come the flowers. Closer to the ground, the crocuses and snowdrops were in full bloom. The sweet narcissus, too, had burst into color before the retreating patches of snow. Bright tulips still were tightly bundled, awaiting their cue like opera dancers watching from behind the stage curtain. Mara smiled at the fanciful thought as her carriage rolled to a halt beside the shimmering, wind-tossed waters of the Serpentine.
Thomas had spotted the ducks and was already bouncing with excitement on her lap when her driver came and helped the ladies and their little lord down from the carriage.
“Careful, milady. The ground’s a bit muddy,” he warned.
“Thank you, Jack.” Mara nodded and carried her son over to the finely graveled walk beside the ornamental lake, where she set him down to play.
With Mrs. Busby on one side of him and Mara on the other, Thomas screeched happily at the waterfowl and managed to scare them off a bit, but not for long. The hardy tribe of London Mallards and Mute Swans and assorted geese knew better than to stray too far when a free meal might be forthcoming. Having Thomas so near the water jangled Mara’s nerves a bit, but she told her overprotective side that between Mrs. Busby and herself, her boy was perfectly safe.
The ducks were nearly as tall as the two-year-old as he went toddling back and forth among them. His approach sent them waddling noisily out of his way, but they swarmed back when Mrs. Busby shook the tin of grain and seeds they kept in the carriage for this favorite activity. All the tension from visiting her parents was forgotten as Mara watched her son exulting in this taste of freedom.
While she kept a close eye on him, the chorus of songbirds filling the air charmed her ears. There was no surer sign of spring to revive one’s spirits. Throstles called gaily to each other from across the barren meadows, larks no doubt exchanging gossip from their winter travels.
A flutter of black and yellow swept past—a small party of goldfinches on the hunt for a suitable nuncheon. The food for the ducks must have lured them. Then a little dandyish male linnet alighted atop her carriage, smartly dressed in his bright red waistcoat and cap in the hopes of attracting a wife.
She no sooner pointed the cheeky visitor out to Thomas than the linnet flitted away like a proper Town gentleman off to his club. It was then, as she glanced after the linnet’s speedy exit, that she spotted Jordan.
She straightened up from bending to steady her son and went still, staring across the faded grass at the rider on the white horse.
She wasn’t sure how she knew it was he from a hundred yards away, but her recognition of the man was immediate and visceral.
As his horse galloped closer, thundering down the gentle ridge, Mara’s heart fluttered at the sight of the magnificent horse and rider.
Both man and steed were tall and powerful, beautifully muscled, lean and sure. Jordan’s white hunter was flecked with mud and so was he, from his black boots to his elegant dun riding coat billowing out behind him.
When his mount’s aggressive gallop suddenly slowed to a rocking canter, Mara realized he must have seen her.
It would have been hard to miss her. The park was not crowded; it was not yet the fashionable hour. There was no way for her to pretend she had not seen him, either.
Oh, how awkward. Her heart was pounding. Would he snub her and just ride on? she wondered, but then, with a trace of irony, she realized that dutiful Lord Falconridge was too civilized a gentleman ever to do that.
It was easy to see his reluctance in the halfhearted way he began to turn his cantering horse on an arcing path toward her parked carriage and her little group.
Well, it wasn’t necessary if he did not wish to trouble himself, she thought crossly, but she braced herself as she realized he was indeed coming over to pay his respects. She expected no more than a polite tip of his beaver hat and a short “Good day.” That would have been enough to satisfy courtesy, even for him.
And yet she could not deny that his approach lit a strange awareness in her body like a small, steady flame.
He curbed his horse’s pace from the lively canter to an easy, posting trot. Her carriage horses tossed their heads and craned their necks in curiosity, trying to peer past their blinders at his white hunter.
Standing next to Thomas, Mara held on firmly to her son’s mittened hand, but she offered Jordan a taut smile as he reached the edge of the graveled path and reined in to a walk. He stopped his blowing horse a few feet away from them. Resting his gauntleted hands on his horse’s withers, he studied her and Thomas for a long moment without a word.
The boy had gone silent, too, staring back at him uncertainly.
“Lord Falconridge,” Mara greeted him at last with a wary nod, nervously breaking the silence.
“Lady Pierson.” Jordan seemed torn about coming any closer, but his tone was carefully controlled. “So, this is the young fellow to whom your heart belongs.” He nodded at her son.
Mara smiled ruefully in spite of herself. “It is.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I won’t bother you. Just wanted to have a look at your young lad here, after hearing you sing his praises the other night. You were right to brag,” he added softly. “You have a fine boy there.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Mara lifted Thomas up and set him on her hip, eyeing Jordan warily. Well, he was a diplomat, all right, she thought.
He certainly knew what to say to get into her good graces. Nevertheless, she was pleased with his compliment to her son.
It also occurred to her it would not hurt Thomas to get a look at a grown man of Jordan’s quality, in turn. With his own father dead, so far her boy had had little exposure to first-rate men of his own class. His future lack of a strong male to look up to already worried her. Thus, she told herself, it was only concern for her child that made her speak up.
“Would you care for a—proper introduction, my lord?” she ventured just as Jordan started to turn his horse back toward the green.
He glanced back at her, considering. Then he shrugged and clipped out, “I’d be honored.” His expression was guarded as he swung down off his horse and sauntered toward them.
Mara lifted her chin as he approached, but Thomas stared at him in wonder, particularly intrigued by his black beaver hat.
For her part, she could not look away from his handsome face. The clear pale blue of his eyes matched that of the afternoon sky; the color was high in his cheeks from exercising his horse.
“Lord Falconridge,” she said, shaking off her daze, “allow me to present Thomas, Viscount Pierson.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. I look forward to your maiden speech in Parliament.” Jordan sketched a bow to the baby; Mara fiercely fought a smile. Thomas pointed at Jordan’s hat and uttered something in his own peculiar language.
“Oh, you like this, do you? Here you are, and may I say you have excellent taste, young man.” Jordan swept off his hat and perched it atop the baby’s head.
Thomas laughed, though the man’s top hat promptly slipped down over his eyes. Jordan smiled, glancing over to acknowledge Mrs. Busby and Jack with a courteous nod.
“We are feeding the ducks,” Mara informed him, warming to him slightly after the unpleasantness of the other night. “You may join us if you like.”
He dropped his gaze, hesitating. “My horse will need a walk to cool, but, ah, I suppose I can stay for a moment.”
“He’s a beautiful animal.”
“Thank you. He’s as weary of being cooped up inside as I am. Fine day like this is a welcome foretaste of spring, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes—I agree.” She winced to hear them speaking in such stiff tones of the weather when they once had been so close, but she supposed they had to start somewhere.
She set Thomas down and laughed as he pushed Jordan’s hat up again so he could see. The boy craned his neck to peer up at the earl.
“He has your eyes,” Jor
dan said softly, studying her son.
“Yes.” Mara smiled.
“Why, you barely come up to the top of my riding boots.” Laughing softly, Jordan bent down to steady the tot, taking hold of his wrist as Thomas attempted to eat a piece of gravel he had clutched. “Not wise, my lad.”
“You like children,” Mara observed as she pried the pebble out of her son’s hand.
“I have two dozen nieces and nephews, my lady. Learning to manage them was a matter of my own survival.” The warmth in his eyes belied his sardonic tone.
“Two dozen,” she echoed softly. “Your siblings have been fruitful.”
“To be sure. At least the title’s in no danger if something untoward were ever to happen to me.”
“Your family is well?”
“They are, thanks. Yours?”
Mara gave him a wry look. “You know my parents. They are not happy unless they have something to gripe about.”
He sent her a warm, rueful half smile. “I remember.”
“We were just visiting them,” she added, then let out a sigh. “After that, a trip to the park was definitely in order. And perhaps a large brandy.”
“No doubt,” he murmured with a soft laugh. His knowing look was exactly what she needed after the day’s always-difficult visit.
But the wary smile they exchanged shook her. Her pulse leaped; she looked away. Watching Thomas chase the ducks, she was keenly aware of Jordan beside her, the worldly, hardened man he had become, and for a moment, she ached for all the lost years when he had vanished from her life.
Suddenly anxious that he might leave again in a moment, ride off on his fine blood horse, never to be seen again, she realized he had made the first move, coming over to see her, and that meant it was her turn to respond.
Indeed, this might be her last chance to reach out to him. Her heart pounded. Keeping her gaze fixed on her son at play, she spoke up at last with the utmost caution. “You left too soon the other night.”