Much Ado About Jack

by Christy English

  He laughed softly, the heat of his arm close to her body. She breathed deeply to try to stave off the heat that rose from within to consume her.

  Arabella gave her a questioning look, but Angelique retreated, ignoring both her and James in favor of the baby on her lap. She found in that moment that she did not want to introduce him as just another lover she had taken, another lover she would one day discard. James Montgomery was different, and sitting there so close to her friends, she saw at once how true that was.

  Caroline peered down the row to smile warmly at their new acquaintance. Though Anthony had met James at Prinny’s card party, he managed to ignore him completely.

  James, however, refused to be ignored by anyone. “Forgive the Countess of Devonshire,” he said. “She is a noble savage with no manners but those used to seduce a man.”

  It was all Angelique could do not to laugh out loud at that. She turned her gaze on him but found that he was focused on Arabella, the center of their little group.

  “Allow me to present myself,” he went on. “I am Captain James Montgomery, formerly of His Majesty’s Navy, at your service.”

  Arabella’s warmth was palpable even from where Angelique sat. Her friend was one of the kindest, most loving women Angelique had ever known. Angelique might have brought a guttersnipe to her table, and Arabella would have welcomed him with open arms.

  “Good evening, Captain Montgomery,” Arabella said. “Any friend of Angelique’s is welcome in our circle. I am Arabella Hawthorne, and there you see the Earl and Countess of Ravensbrook.”

  Anthony had the civility to nod, though he did not spare a glance for James. Caroline seemed of the same opinion as Arabella, that any fine-looking man brought around by Angelique was worth welcoming. “Good evening, Captain. What brings you to Derbyshire?”

  Angelique turned her head to face James as baby Freddie made another grab for her necklace. She drew the diamonds from the baby’s fat fingers once again, as her tongue loosened just a little. No doubt her eyes were dancing with pleasure, but her voice was relatively smooth. “Indeed, Captain. What brings you here?”

  James Montgomery smiled and the setting sun seemed to surround her, driving away the shadows of twilight. “Why, Lady Devonshire, like the rest of London, I am here to see the play.”

  She swore under her breath at that ridiculous, blatant lie. Freddie looked at her questioningly, but fortunately Arabella and the rest of the company did not hear her lapse in civility, for the play had begun. James did hear her swear, and she turned her shoulder to him in an effort to keep a straight face as the warmth of his chuckle spread out over the skin of her bare shoulder like warm honey.

  She was fortunate in that the production was a good one, for she could almost keep her mind and thoughts focused on Titania, Oberon, and the young lovers. The rustics were a welcome relief as they always were when she saw this play staged, and she found herself laughing as heartily as she ever had in the past. As she listened, though, James’s laughter filled her ears, and she found herself distracted from the production, falling silent as she listened to the music of that laughter.

  She caressed the baby in her lap in an effort to keep her mind from the beautiful man beside her. Freddie snuggled close, his eyes drooping a little as a bit of drool escaped his lips and stained the front of her gown. She was distracted again by the thought of the apoplexy Lisette would experience when she discovered the lingering stain.

  If someone had told her even two months before that not only would she have adopted her husband’s bastard daughter as her own, but that she would be cradling Anthony and Caroline Carrington’s child in front of all the ton, she would have mocked them for a fool. But here she sat, a baby clutching her close, a warm, heavy burden in her arms, drool running down her breast, James Montgomery at her side. As odd a picture as this little tableau painted, she found that she would not change one moment of it.

  The play ended, and Pembroke and Titania took three ovations, bowing to the crowd with smiles wreathing their faces. Angelique knew that word of this production would spread through the north, and that their bookings in Leeds, Manchester, and York would be filled to capacity within a se’nnight. Shakespeare was always a hit in the north, as long as one stayed far away from the history plays. This comedy would take the northern towns by storm.

  The sun had almost set and the local villagers had lit the Midsummer bonfire. Angelique stood to walk with her friends to see it, enjoying James Montgomery’s presence as he clung to her side like a burr.

  The sight of the Scottish sea captain no doubt had already confused the gossips all around them. Angelique wondered if any of the fiction she had hoped to create regarding herself and Anthony’s family had been able to hold at all. She felt the weight of James’s regard like hands on her skin, and she hoped that for once in his life, he would hold his tongue until they were alone.

  James dogged her steps as she and Arabella walked with Caroline toward the Midsummer celebration. Their party had grown now, with Anthony flanking the women on one side and James Montgomery on the other. Baby Freddie, fully awake again, was cooing at James as at a long-lost friend. With a barely civil nod, Anthony moved to Angelique’s side and lifted his son into his arms.

  James took the opportunity to draw closer to her, taking her into the shadows with him. He held her a step back from the others, and Angelique watched as the rest of her escort moved away into the crowd of villagers toward the fire. Music was playing, and laughter filled the rising darkness.

  Arabella seemed safe, for Hawthorne had not shown his face once all evening, but Angelique was not sure he would stay gone. He was a menace and a bully, and like a dog with a bone, he was unlikely to let either Arabella or herself go.

  “Angelique, I must speak with you.” James pitched his voice low, the sound of it making her shiver yet again.

  “Here?”

  A muscle in his jaw leaped, but that was the only evidence of his irritation.

  “Not in front of this country village. Come with me.”

  He took her arm and drew her into the darkness of the trees that lined the green. Sam stepped forward as if to stop them, but she waved him back. Angelique knew that she should not follow James into the darkened wood. All the ton would see her leave with him, and her well-placed gossip suggesting that she and Anthony had come together again, and brought Caroline into their bed, would vanish like so much smoke.

  But then she looked into James’s eyes and knew that she no longer cared what the damned ton thought. Arabella would be married on the morrow. Let Pembroke keep her safe, since he was sworn to do it.

  With her hand in James Montgomery’s, standing on that village green in the middle of nowhere, Angelique realized that there was no place she would rather be.

  She knew that she was being a fool. Arabella might be safe from Hawthorne, but Angelique herself was not. Still, her business troubles seemed very far away. As she took in the scent of James Montgomery’s skin, the rest of the world receded into the distance, Hawthorne included.

  Angelique let him take her hand and followed him into the woods.

  Thirty-three

  He had found her in the middle of nowhere in Derbyshire, just as her man of business had said he would. Instead of running into the unknown on the word of a drunkard like Carlyle, James had spoken with Smythe as well, who had a great deal to say about a certain duke who had threatened her livelihood, cutting her off from her cotton suppliers and from the mills who bought her wares in the North.

  Just the thought of it made James’s blood boil. He had thought to call the bastard out, but when he inquired for the duke at Hawthorne House in town, he had discovered that he was not there.

  Like the rest of Angelique’s so-called friends, save Prinny himself, Hawthorne had gone to Derbyshire to see a play.

  The play wasn’t bad, which was a pleasant surprise. But Jame
s was tired from travel, and tired of thinking of all Angelique hadn’t bothered to tell him. When he saw her again, looking luscious in a dark blue gown, sitting only a few seats down from her ex-lover Ravensbrook, and Hawthorne hiding only God knew where in the shadows, he found himself annoyed.

  The sun had set completely, and night had risen from the ground, filling in the spaces between the trees. James heard other couples slipping away from the Midsummer fire, seeking privacy and pleasure in the dark.

  Angelique did not speak, but stood with him beneath the spreading branches of a great oak and let him move close beside her.

  The moon was rising, but it was a mere sliver in the dark. In the distance, he could see the blaze of the great bonfire shedding its light into the copse of trees. The light was far away. James stood with her, safely wrapped in shadows.

  “I am happy to see you,” she said.

  He pulled her toward him, his arms light around her, his hands resting on her hips. The sweet scent of her orchid perfume filled his nostrils, and the warmth of her breasts rose against his chest. Despite the wool of his clothes and the silk of hers, he was as aware of her as if she were naked. He took a deep breath and drank her in.

  “We need to talk, Angelique,” he said for the second time that night, trying to keep his mind on the business at hand, on the things she had not told him, of the dangers she had faced, alone, until he discovered them.

  “I need to go back,” she said.

  “To Anthony Carrington? Have you and the earl arranged an assignation for later tonight, once his wife and child are safely abed?”

  He heard the jealousy in his own voice and the idiocy of his own words. She did not taunt him with them though, but answered honestly, as they both had agreed to in her bedroom the first time he had made love to her.

  “I am not meeting Anthony,” she said. “It was over between us long ago.”

  He relaxed, the muscles of his shoulder beginning to unknot. She raised her fingers behind his head, where she began to toy with the ribbon that bound his hair.

  “I take only one lover at a time,” she said.

  “Is that so?” He was breathless. She pressed the curves of her beautiful body against him, and he shuddered with sudden need.

  “You are my only lover,” she said.

  “At the moment,” he quipped, trying to stay in control of his lust, in a vain effort to keep the upper hand. If he had ever had the upper hand with this woman, he had never known it.

  “You’re the only man I want,” she said. “You were gone for weeks, and I wanted no other.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “No nubile girls in Aberdeen? No sloe-eyed beauties in Malta?”

  “I did not go to Malta,” he answered. “I came looking for you.”

  He kept his touch gentle but inexorable as he drew her even closer, and turned until her back was against the oak tree. Her lips were soft beneath his as he kissed her, feather light, as he explored the contours of her mouth. He dropped kisses along the edge of her lips, to her jaw, down her throat. He pressed her back against the tree, and the bark no doubt dug into her back. He tried to stop, he tried to rein his lust in, but his need for her rose like a flash tide, a wave of desire that threatened to make him forget everything else.

  Her skin was like heated silk beneath his fingertips as they slipped beneath the scooped neck of her gown, delving beneath her stays and shift until he found the soft curve of her breast. He stroked her then, very lightly, a caress that was intended to be more tempting, more intoxicating than if his hand had tried to devour her. It must have worked, because she opened her mouth beneath his.

  James dove in, drawing her tongue into a slow dance with his. He was careful with her, gentle, as if she was made of spun sugar and might melt if he heated her too quickly. But he could feel his control stretched tight, a thin thread that might break at any moment. Angelique began to tremble, and she pulled away, turning her head to the side to escape him.

  James felt cut off, adrift. His breathing was harsh in his own ears. He remembered where they were then. He knew that he did not want to make love to her up against the trunk of an oak tree in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Derbyshire.

  He stopped moving his fingers against the softness of her flesh, but they stayed within her bodice, as if in rebellion, as if they did not want to let her go. James drew his hands away from her and found they were shaking, as he was.

  “I didn’t mean to molest you in the woods,” he said.

  Her sultry laugh made his blood heat a second time. He did not want to leave her, but he took one step back.

  “You need to tell me about Hawthorne,” James said.

  “Here in the woods of Derbyshire, where anyone might hear?”

  She did not sound reluctant to discuss her affairs. James wondered what the hell he was doing out there. He needed to take her home.

  The light from the bonfire caught her eye then, and he saw her smile. “Not here. At your cottage, where Lisette is no doubt waiting for us.”

  “She’ll be angry that you’ve ruined my silk gown, pushing me up against trees.”

  James laughed. “Ravensbrook’s son ruined it already by drooling on it. Not that I blame him.”

  Angelique laughed with him, taking a moment to smooth her dress, to refasten one of the pins in her hair. She looked as if she had been thoroughly kissed, but then, no doubt so had every woman present.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you away from your friends,” James said.

  “I’m not. It’s been too long since you had your hands on me.”

  James almost swallowed his tongue, but he kept a tight grip on his control as he took her hand gently and walked with her back into the circle of light on the village green.

  The rest of her friends had gone, but the Duke of Hawthorne stood waiting.

  If Angelique was surprised, she did not look it. James smiled to see her stand and face her foe as a man might have done. She was one amazing woman.

  “I thought you had gone, Hawthorne,” Angelique said. “Ravensbrook seemed to think you left for London as soon as he dealt with your solicitor.”

  “And good evening to you, Countess. You seem to know as much about my affairs as I know about yours. I suppose you are still Ravensbrook’s light o’love after all.”

  James tensed on hearing that insult, his hand tightening into a fist as he tried to draw away from her. She clutched his hand in both of hers, no doubt knowing that if she did not, he would strike the duke down.

  “Speak that way to her again, and you’ll have my fist down your throat.”

  Hawthorne turned his cold gray eyes on James. “Indeed? Captain Jack, is it?”

  “My name is for my friends. My words are for you. Stay away from Angelique.”

  Hawthorne laughed and James wanted to kill him on the spot. He had known men like this all his life, bastards who would burn your ship and take your cargo, but only if they didn’t have to get their hands dirty. James had dealt with cowards like this before by putting a bullet through their brains.

  Maybe he would do the same for Hawthorne.

  The duke ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken, but James knew that Hawthorne was aware of him. James cased the crowd and found three men lurking at the edges of the firelight, ready to move in and slit James’s throat if the duke so much as raised a fingertip.

  James waited and watched. He wouldn’t be much good to Angelique dead. And he couldn’t take three of them and still keep her safe.

  Hawthorne turned away from James as if he were not there, focusing his attack on Angelique, his original target. “I have a bit of information about the bastard you have taken into your home.”

  “I would thank you to hold your tongue where my daughter is concerned.”

  “Your daughter, is it? It seems the chit has come up in th
e world. But then, who better to train a future whore than Angelique Beauchamp?”

  James felt the world go white. His hand came up in a fist, but it did not connect with the duke’s smirking face because Angelique hung onto it.

  She stepped between the two men, turning to James, taking his face between her hands. She pressed herself against him, staring up into his eyes, as if willing him to draw his glare from Hawthorne and to turn it on her.

  “He is not worth it, James. Let him go. Please. For me.”

  When the word please passed her lips, James met her eyes. She pressed her lips to his, heedless of all those watching. Her lips touched his once, gently, and the world seemed to shift. When she drew back, he was staring down at her. His fist was still clenched, but he lowered his arm.

  “Only because you ask it,” he said.

  Ravensbrook’s voice broke in between them then, and James wanted to turn his wrath on him. Angelique knew too many smug men, himself included.

  “A very moving scene,” her old lover said. James looked around for his blonde wife, but it seemed she had vanished. “I would expect such theatrics from the Countess of Devonshire, but not from you, Your Grace.”

  Hawthorne sneered, not noticing that Anthony had placed himself between the duke and Angelique. James tensed under her hands, ready to strike at both men and take his chances, but she pressed herself against him again, silently pleading with him to stand down.

  It would have been the perfect moment to strike, because Hawthorne was focused solely on Anthony as the only threat. James stayed still because the duke’s men still lingered, their hands inside their jackets. No doubt they would not fight like men, but draw guns and shoot him down like a dog in the street.

  James took Angelique by the hand and led her away. He kept his eye on Hawthorne’s men, but they did not move to follow. Let Ravensbrook deal with him, if he was so keen on it. James had had enough of Angelique’s so-called friends for one night.

  “That’s the bastard who’s trying to ruin you?” James asked.