by Gaelen Foley
It seemed he had his work cut out for him.
Chapter 7
After the long tense day, a celebratory mood lightened the Pierson household, for the evening edition of the London papers had made no mention the attack on her carriage and her rescue by Lord Falconridge.
Her dignity was spared!
Mara felt as though the weight of a blacksmith’s anvil had been lifted off her back. She was free to enjoy the evening doting on her son.
Thomas opened his mouth, waiting for the next spoonful of applesauce as he sat in his high chair, cheerfully kicking his feet. He was covered in the stuff, having smeared it everywhere in his stubborn efforts to feed himself; but he was, as always, delighted by her attention.
Mara went on talking to him, trying to get him to practice his words between bites. For her part, she had barely touched her food, though tea and a light repast were laid out on the parlor table. Being on edge all day had robbed her of her appetite.
“Milady!” All of a sudden, as if to crown the day’s triumphs, Mrs. Busby looked over from the window. “Your visitor’s just arrived.” She nodded toward the street.
Mara drew in her breath. “Lord Falconridge?”
“Aye, ma’am. I’ll see to the boy.” The old nurse bustled over and began wiping the applesauce off Thomas’s face, making his sunny countenance more presentable for their visitor.
Mara glanced in the mirror over the sideboard, hurrying to smooth her hair and to brighten her cheeks with a few light pinches. “Reese,” she said absently to the butler, “show Lord Falconridge in straightaway.”
“Yes, madam.” As her butler walked back to the foyer to receive the earl, Mara peeked out the window.
Jordan had just ridden up astride his white hunter, both man and horse lit by the ruddy brilliance of sunset.
He had scarcely reined in outside the crescent when Sergeant Parker strode out to greet him.
Mara watched her caller in blushing admiration, her pulse racing. Clad in a dark blue coat with nankeen breeches and black boots, Jordan dismounted from his horse with a graceful swing. As he alighted, a groom from her stables ran out to take his horse. To be sure, after his rescue of their lady and young lord yesterday, the whole staff had decided Lord Falconridge was their hero.
Mara’s heart pounded as she watched him confer with her temporary bodyguards. When he nodded to the soldier and headed for the front door, she leaped back from the window to avoid being seen. Lord, what would he think to catch her ogling him like a seventeen-year-old!
A moment later, Reese returned to the parlor. “The Earl of Falconridge, my lady.”
Mara lifted her chin and put her shoulders back, linking her hands across her waist in a graceful pose to stop herself from fidgeting with nervous excitement.
Jordan stepped into the room.
As he swept off his beaver hat, her heart skipped a beat.
“My lord.” She greeted him with a modest curtsy.
He bowed, in turn, then he offered her a smile. “My lady. I am back, as promised, to see how you all are faring.” He nodded fondly to Mrs. Busby.
He then raised an eyebrow when Thomas pointed at him with his little spoon and babbled a friendly but incoherent question.
Why, it appeared Thomas recognized him! Mara thought in surprise.
“And a fine good evening to you, Lord Pierson,” Jordan answered the child.
Mara laughed, trying not to beam too much.
Jordan tossed her a sparkling glance. “I think he likes me.”
“I do believe you’re right.”
“How are we all tonight, then? Recovered from yesterday’s adventure?”
“We are,” Mara answered. “And you?”
“Never better,” he said lightly, setting his hat and riding gloves on the sideboard. That canny gaze of his never missed anything; it took in the open newspapers that she had left spread out there. He turned to her with a look of intrigue. “Parker tells me it was quiet overnight.”
“Indeed.” She gestured at the table. “May I offer you refreshments, my lord?”
He eyed the plate of cold cuts. “I could be tempted. How are you feeling today, Mrs. Busby? I was concerned about you yesterday. Any further chest pains?”
“No, thank ye, sir, I’m right as rain again.” The old woman looked startled that a peer of the Realm should inquire after her health.
“And what of Thomas? Did he do all right last night after that scare in the park? I trust our little master did not wake up crying with bad dreams.”
“No, sir, he slept sound the whole night through,” Mrs. Busby answered.
“Brave lad! You wait, Thomas. Someday you’ll be big enough to protect your lovely mama all by yourself.”
At Mara’s polite gesture of welcome, Jordan sat down at the table. She could not take her eyes off him, mesmerized by his easy charm.
He turned as though he felt her gaze and gave her a smile that warmed her all the way down to her toes.
“So, what have you got?” he asked with a roguish twinkle in those blue, blue eyes.
“I could make you a sandwich?”
“Really?” He seemed surprised at her simple offer. Why? she wondered. Because she was a viscountess?
Surely the two of them had got beyond that.
She raised her eyebrows in amusement, waiting for his answer.
“That would be charming,” he murmured, watching her oddly, as though this were the most fascinating operation in the world while she put a slice of the day’s fresh rye bread on a plate for him and began building a sandwich for him out of thinly cut slices of roast beef.
“Mustard?” she asked softly, pausing.
He held her gaze a little too long. “Please.”
Mara lowered her head, blushing she-knew-not why as she dipped a knife into the dish.
There was nothing sensual about a sandwich, she told herself, which did not explain why she had butterflies in her stomach. But she could feel him watching her with heated intensity as she spread the mustard across the slice of bread.
She flicked another cautious glance his way, pointing to the Swiss cheese on the serving plate in question.
He nodded, staring hungrily at her.
As she reached for a slice of the cheese to add to his sandwich, the strangest image came into her mind of Jordan licking the taste of the food off her fingers, a sudden, wild urge to feed him while sitting astride his lap.
A searing blush climbed up all the way from her throat into her cheeks.
Mrs. Busby cleared her throat and turned away. “I think His little Lordship is finished eating, ma’am.”
“Er, yes.” Blushing, Mara chuckled nervously. “He’s wearing more of his supper than he ate tonight.”
“Shall I take him up for his bath?”
“Yes, do—thank you. But let me know when he’s ready for bed. I’ll put him down myself.”
“Aye, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
“Good night, Mrs. Busby,” Jordan replied, as the old woman lifted Thomas into her arms and sped him away to the nursery to be cleaned up.
Mara wondered if it was as obvious to him as it was to her that the nurse had fled with Thomas in order to leave the two of them alone.
They exchanged a speculative smile.
She completed the sandwich and cut it in half, presenting it to her guest. “What would you like to drink?”
“Whatever you’re willing to give me,” he murmured, his gaze skimming the neck of her gown as she leaned near to set the plate before him.
“Tea, wine? Merlot might be nice with that. There’s a keg of brown ale that was just delivered today. I thought your men might like it. I so appreciate them keeping watch over us.”
“You know the way to a soldier’s heart, don’t you?” He smiled. “The ale sounds perfect.”
She summoned Mary to fetch it for him, then looked over in surprise as Jordan’s first bite of the sandwich evoked a near groan of pleasure from him.
“Delicious!”
She chuckled at his hyperbole.
“No—I mean it,” he vowed, swallowing. “This is the best damned sandwich I have ever had in my life.”
She shook her head at him with a curious chuckle. Mary returned in short order and presented him with a pewter tankard of the dark ale on a tray.
He accepted it, and the maid retreated.
“I’m in heaven. Cheers,” he added. “Aren’t you going to have anything?”
She shook her head ruefully. She could hardly eat when her stomach was aquiver. As she sat watching him, she almost couldn’t believe she was sitting here at the table with her idol, Jordan Lennox in the flesh. The man of her dreams. He was different now, but she still caught glimpses under that hardened, polished surface of the gallant youth she had known at twenty-two.
Before long, Mary returned to clear the few dishes on the table. Reese also made an appearance, lighting the three-armed candelabra on the table as the day’s light faded.
When both servants retreated, the butler pulling the double doors closed behind him, they were left staring at each, smiling slightly in warm, savoring companionship.
“So,” Mara murmured, resting her chin on her hand as she propped her elbow on the table. “Are you ready to confess?”
“Confess?”
She nodded over her shoulder at the broadsheets strewn on the sideboard. “Yesterday’s adventure, as you called it, did not make it into the papers. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Really? Yes, remarkable.”
“I know! It’s most mysterious, is it not? Neither the morning nor evening editions. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now, would you, Jordan?”
“Me? Heavens, no.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying him as she smiled archly. “You did something, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” He leaned back in his chair with an easy half smile, resting an idle arm across the back of hers. “I told you not to worry, didn’t I? When are you going to learn to listen to me?”
“What did you do?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”
She snorted at this blandishment and poked him in the waistcoat.
He laughed at her protest. “Somebody owed me a favor. Beyond that, it does not signify. As long as you are pleased.”
“Pleased? I am utterly relieved! You saved my reputation.”
“Ah, I’m not so sure you’re out of the woods yet.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in alarm.
“This rumor about you and the Regent.” He shook his head. “It’s got to stop.”
“Yes.” She sighed, nodding. The attack on her carriage certainly proved it had gone on long enough. “What do you suggest? I am sure you have some advice.”
He smirked at her mild taunt. “Actually, the solution is quite obvious. If you want to discourage the gossips from talking about you and the Regent, then logically you must take care to be seen in the company of some other man.”
“I see, so they can start a new rumor.”
“Precisely. A less controversial one. At least, one that won’t get you hissed in the streets.” He took a swallow of ale.
She watched him, fighting a smile, but she had a feeling she knew where he was going with this. “What sort of man do you suppose I should look for to aid me in this scheme?”
“Oh, I don’t know, someone…universally well thought of, respected, and admired. Unfortunately, Wellington’s busy, but if you wish to make do with me, I am willing to volunteer my services.”
“How generous of you!”
“Yes, well, I am told I’m a capital fellow.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her in amusement. “I trust you see the practical benefits of this arrangement, Lady Pierson.”
“I must admit I do. But…I also see the dangers.”
“What dangers do you mean?”
“I told you I’m not looking for a lover,” she said in a firm but gentle tone.
“Well, hell, neither am I! Don’t worry. That won’t be a problem. And if it is, there’s always Delilah.”
“But then Cole will put a bullet hole in you,” she said with a mild wince of regret.
“Egads,” he murmured softly. “Perhaps not one of my better ideas. No, but really,” he said after a moment. “I have no intention of seducing you.” Unless you want me to, his blue eyes seemed to say.
“Randy males have their uses, darling,” she could still hear Delilah saying. “You’ll learn to enjoy them in time.” Mara lowered her gaze as a heated blush crept up her neck and blossomed in her cheeks.
“Ahem, would you like another pint?” she asked cautiously, remembering how many of those Tom could guzzle down in an evening.
Jordan shook his head as he set his empty tankard down, then, thankfully, changed the subject. “You know, you really impressed me yesterday, the way you handled yourself in the midst of that row.”
“I did?”
“You kept a cool head in a bad situation.”
“There wasn’t much else I could do.”
“Which is why I gave Jack an excellent new musket to keep under the seat inside your carriage from now on. You ask me, it should’ve bloody been there in the first place.”
“A musket?” she exclaimed. “What, for me?”
“I will not have you defenseless if another such situation should ever arise. Don’t argue, please.”
“But Jordan, I could never shoot someone!”
“Even if they were threatening your son?”
Mara met his cool stare and remembered her determined vow to be both mother and father to Thomas. Mothers nurtured, but fathers generally protected. If she was going to do both, then maybe he was right. “I don’t know how to shoot.”
“Then I will teach you. It’s not that difficult. We can’t spare Sergeant Parker forever, and I may not always be there to protect you.”
“You really think I can do it?”
“If illiterate farm boys of twelve can shoot a musket, so can you, love. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”
Mara still could not imagine herself firing a musket, but she shrugged, eyeing him with cautious interest. “I’ll tell you one thing I did enjoy—your display of prowess yesterday in the ‘manly art of self-defense.’”
He laughed.
“It’s true! You quite deserved a headline. ‘Lone Earl Holds Off Rabid Mob.’ It’s a pity the papers missed it.”
“Why thank you, my dear. What is it?” he added when he noticed her studying him intently.
Mara chose her words with care. “Seeing you fight like that made me realize you must’ve been in more dangerous places while you were gone than I had any idea.”
“Well, there was the small matter of a war going on.”
She stared at him. “You saw action, didn’t you?”
He just looked at her. No glib remarks forthcoming.
“So, that’s why you were so sympathetic to the major at Delilah’s.” She shook her head, reached out, and laid her hand on his forearm. “My God, if I had known that, I would’ve been beside myself with worry. Were you ever injured?”
“Ah, bumps and bruises, can’t complain. What of your marriage? How did that go for you?”
Smooth as silk, he turned the tables on her. Mara stiffened and withdrew her touch, instantly on guard. She dropped her gaze, not sure what to say.
“Hmm, suddenly quiet,” he observed in a low tone. “Is this a widow’s grief, or have we both been through a war?”
She met his gaze soulfully, mute with regret.
“How bad was it?” he whispered.
She lowered her head, but it was a long moment before she could speak. “Viscount Pierson gave me Thomas. For that—I cannot speak ill of him.”
Jordan had tensed; now he stared at her. “Did he mistreat you?”
“It doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.” She gave him a look that refused further discussion on this topic.
&nbs
p; “So he is,” Jordan said in a taut murmur, but dropping his gaze, he visibly strove to curb his anger.
She took a deep breath and exhaled it.
“Mara…I’ve been thinking,” he spoke up quietly after a moment.
“Yes?”
Slowly, he reached for her hand.
Her heart pounded; his gaze remained fixed on their joined hands.
“I want to come back into your life…in whatever capacity you’ll have me.”
She held her breath, staring at him.
“You don’t want a lover, and I can respect that. But you don’t know how I’ve missed you. I wrote you so many letters.”
“You did?” she asked, her eyes widening.
He nodded in regret. “But I couldn’t send them.”
“Why?”
“Turns out a junior diplomat’s love letters don’t rate very high as parcels for the few couriers who were able to get through the battle lines.”
She stared at him in amazement. “Do you still have them?”
He shook his head. “I burned them when I heard that you had married Lord Pierson.”
She winced and searched his face in pensive wonder. “What did they say?”
“I can’t remember. Probably paeans to your eyes. That sort of nonsense. Most of all, they said how much I missed you. You don’t know how many times I regretted trying to be so mature and responsible that night in the garden. Remember, when you proposed to me?”
She gasped, though his eyes twinkled fondly. “Oh, you are not a gentleman, bringing that up!”
“You were incredible—so sure about us. So passionate.”
“You mean when I kissed you.”
He smiled, holding her gaze until she was lost in his blue eyes. “I’ve thought of that kiss often.”
“So have I,” she admitted in a cautious whisper.
Jordan leaned closer and pressed his lips gently to her own. Mara shivered with desire, but when he started to deepen the kiss, she pulled away, her heart pounding.
“I can’t do this! I can’t afford to be hurt again. I have to be strong for my son—”
“I’m sorry.” He sat back in his chair, his gaze lowered in chagrin. “I shouldn’t have done that.”