Tales of a Viscount_Heirs of High Society

by Eleanor Meyers

“Darling, you're awake. Thank God!”

  James came to sit on the other side of the narrow bed, taking Jo's hand as if they had known each other all their lives. She smiled uneasily at him, but there was nothing in his face except the concern of a loving husband for his ailing wife.

  “Lady Waters, I cannot thank you enough for the help you have given to me and my wife. After everything that happened to us, finding someone who is willing to be the least little bit kind is incredible.”

  “Such a terrible time you have had of it, and I can only thank heaven that it was not worse. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see to having something a bit more fortifying than soup sent up, and perhaps I can see about finding you some clothes as well, poor dear.”

  When the door closed softly behind Clarine, Jo turned fully to James. “I certainly hope that you have an explanation for this?”

  In response, James opened his jacket and withdrew a crumpled broadsheet, offering it to her wordlessly.

  “What in the world—”

  It was a wanted poster, offering a full five pounds sterling for information regarding the capture of a young man who was a West Riding horse thief. There was some text about crimes committed, but more alarming by far was the ink sketch of her face below, cap hiding her hair just as it did in real life.

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  7

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

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  James rubbed a hand over his eyes. It felt as if he had been awake for days, and he watched with some wry amusement as Jo looked over her own wanted poster with wide eyes.

  “You were out for almost two days, and this morning, a rider came through posting that throughout the town before moving on to do the same in other towns, no doubt. You have to admit, it's a good likeness.”

  “It's terrible! And I was unconscious for two days? How in the world did that happen?”

  “Malnutrition and exhaustion. The doctor said you were simply worn out. How do you feel?”

  “Better, I think? Sore, but I'm not in a bad way. I simply hadn't slept since I left Fairport some few days ago.”

  “And then you rode away from people who were trying to capture you, and then you single-handedly delivered a foal in the field.”

  “You helped.”

  James grinned at her loyalty, shaking his head. “I watched. And then I threw you over Gunner's saddle in front of me and got you here, something for which I will take credit.”

  “Tempest! Is she—?”

  “She's fine, I promise. She's stabled quite happily with Lady Waters’ horses at the moment, and as soon as you are feeling well enough, which hopefully should be very soon, we should take her and be on our way.”

  Jo looked as if she were dizzy with all of this information, not that James could blame her. It had been a strange and tense two days while he had waited for her to awaken, and that was before he had found out she was being hunted as a criminal.

  “And... married?”

  “I... Well.”

  The truth was that he hadn't wanted to let her out of his sight. Clarine looked so sweet she probably couldn't have imagined anyone taking liberties, but her old Scottish housekeeper had watched him with gimlet eyes, asking him what his relationship to the 'poor wee lass' was. If he had said anything resembling the truth, they would have likely called a magistrate on him for whatever he was doing to Jo, but somehow more terrifying than that, they would have separated them.

  “It was the easiest thing to tell them we were married. They saw your hair, and there was no way they would believe you were a boy anyway after they had the doctor in. So, I told them we were traveling to Devon and bandits stole everything we had. We had our horses, but that was it, and now we were just looking to make our way home.”

  Jo stared at him. “And they believed you?”

  “Believe me, I told it with more panache than that, but yes. We are a well-to-do couple from Devon, and we are looking to return home as soon as we can.”

  “My God, if you made that story that convincing, you surely belong on the stage.”

  That familiar dark rage rose up in James’ heart, but almost before it surfaced, he fought it back down. Jo had no idea what kind of response those words brought out in him, and if there was anyone in the world innocent of giving that black offense, it was her. Indeed, instead of watching his face to see if the sting had hit its mark, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, testing her feet carefully.

  “Well, I'm as fit as I might be, though I'm still quite hungry. I think I'm ready to go.”

  She blinked as she realized he was staring at her.

  “James, what is it?”

  James swallowed hard. “You're moving. You're talking. You're smiling.”

  “Well, yes. That's part and parcel of being a person.”

  “You weren't doing any of those things for two days, and...”

  He trailed off, unable to explain to her how terrifying it had been to see her so still. He had only known her a short time, but he already knew that Jo should be in motion, smiling and laughing and as much a part of the living world as the birds in the sky or the horses that ran in the paddocks.

  Jo smiled at him wryly. “Why, you're sentimental. Who knew that the Earl of Westmont was hiding such a soft heart?”

  She was standing so close he could feel the heat of her body through his shirt, and when she reached up to touch his face gently, James lost whatever control he had been mustering before. Instead of taking her playful prod and moving on, he swept her into his arms, closing his mouth over hers. It was a pure relief to have her alive and warm in his arms, but when his mouth tasted hers, a deep and wild passion swept over him, and suddenly James wasn't sure he could let her go.

  For a moment, she was frozen in his grasp, and then her lips parted, letting his tongue gain cautious entrance to her mouth. A part of him, remembering the sullen boy he had met on the road before, thought she was simply going to bite him, but when her tongue touched his, shy and unsure, every doubt flew out of his mind.

  There was a tentative quality to the way she kissed him, as if she were not quite sure what to do, but he might have guessed that Jo Sallings would be a quick learner. In a moment, he was drowning in her, holding her so close he could feel her entire body pressed against his, feel the quick catch of her breath as she looked up at him. This close, he could see her eyes were dark with the passion and heat that had sprung up between them.

  “Never, ever scare me like that again.”

  “It's not like I make a habit of—”

  There was a soft knock at the door, and then Mrs. MacDougal, the housekeeper entered, followed by a pair of young girls carrying a basin and a few other things.

  “Lady Waters has sent along some clothes she thought might suit, and she has ordered a bath for you as well, Mrs. Finely.”

  Jo jumped a little at hearing the name, but she nodded.

  “Very well. Please tell her thank you for me.”

  For a moment, James was tempted to see how far his luck would hold. Nothing in the world sounded as good just then as staying to help Jo in the bath, but he could tell from Mrs. MacDougal's sharp gaze that she would have no funny business on her watch.

  “I'll just be taking myself off then, shall I? Please look after my wife, Mrs. MacDougal.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  He left the room reluctantly, but even as he walked away down the hall, he could only think of Jo's soft flesh bathed in warm soapy water, how she would look in the tub, and then how she might look if he lifted her out of it, all sleek and shining.

  * * *

  James was reading a magazine in the drawing room just a few hours later when there was a soft cough at the doorway. He looked up, and then he froze.

  In boys’ clothes, her hair wrapped in a tight plait and pinned up, Jo had a rough kind of prettiness. He had guessed she had a lush figure u
nderneath the layers of fabric and homespun, but he’d had no idea that a simple bath and some decent clothes could work such a change.

  Jo was dressed in a pale green gown of fine light wool, trimmed at the high throat and the wrists with velvet ribbon. Against the green, her skin was revealed to be fair as milk, and he was startled to see a splatter of faint golden freckles across her nose. Instead of being pulled back in a tight plait, her hair had been washed until it gleamed, and now it was pulled back into soft natural ringlets,

  “James?”

  “I'm sorry. You startled me, that's all.”

  He rose from where he was sitting and crossed the room to her. She looked almost nervous when he came close, but he stopped a foot away from her.

  “I hope you know how very stunning you are.”

  To James’ shock, she laughed at that, a full laugh that took her from a classic beauty to something far more lovely and vital.

  “My lord, stunning is a term one uses for horses and gowns. It can hardly be applied to something like me.”

  “And that's where you're wrong. You are quite lovely, and I don't know why I never really saw it before.”

  “Possibly your brain has been addled with worry. I wouldn't even look like this if Lady Waters hadn't insisted. She's putting together some provisions for us. She would send us 'home' in her coach if I hadn't dissuaded her. As it is, I am getting some new clothes, though God knows what she's come up with for me for riding. I swear to you, I have no interest in riding sidesaddle.”

  As it turned out, Clarine offered Jo a split skirt, the newest innovation from Spain. James watched with amusement as Jo swished around in the skirts with delight. They were as voluminous as a proper skirt should be, but they were really an extremely full set of trousers. She could mount as easily as she could in her boys' clothing, but now she looked every inch the fine lady.

  “But you must allow us to pay you back in some way,” Jo protested. “Surely, this is too much.”

  “Absolutely not. You rescued my mother's mare, and as far as I am concerned, this is nowhere near enough. Only write when you return home, and perhaps we can correspond properly. I am very pleased to have met you both.”

  “She seems kind,” James said as they rode toward the main road again.

  Jo glanced behind once before the small manor house at the edge of the village was out of sight, and her gaze was troubled. “She was, but did she seem sad to you as well?”

  James shrugged. “Perhaps, but her mother had died recently. I would think that was natural.”

  “Well, I hope that was all it was. She is too kind to be sad for very long.”

  As they rode away from the small town, keeping a brisk pace and letting the miles drop behind them, James could only reflect in surprise at how much had happened after only knowing Jo for a few days. God alone knew what the next few days would bring.

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  8

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

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  Jo had expected to be less comfortable riding around in ladies’ clothing. She had ridden side-saddle before, her legs locked around the twin pommels of the saddle while a truly regrettable volume of black linen skirt was tucked around her hips. The split skirt provided an admirable solution, however, preserving her modesty as well as giving her a full range of motion.

  As they rode through the brisk spring air, Jo could feel her spirits lifting a little. When she had been planning this trek in the frantic nights before she finally fled, she had thought it would be a terrible ordeal, running from pillar to post as she made her way to London as quickly as possible. At first, she supposed that it had been like that, but then she ran into James.

  As they rode, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He had struck her as a fop when they first met, a man who could barely tell the difference between wither and croup. There were no men like him in Yorkshire, she had thought that first day, but now she realized there were few men like him in all the world, who would help her deliver a mare of a skewed foal in a field and then come up with a story to keep her uncle's men off them.

  As they rode today, however, there was something oddly dark and serious about the way he carried himself. When she could stand his silence no more around noon, Jo called for a stop close to a ruined abbey a short distance off the road. Clarine had seen to it that they left with some food in their bags, but even the sight of bread and cheese didn't seem to cheer James.

  “Are you eventually going to tell me what's on your mind, or do you simply plan to stare at your food as if it has mortally offended you?”

  James smiled a little at her remark, but to her surprise, he laid his food aside for the moment and turned to face her.

  “Why do you think your uncle put up a picture of you as a boy rather than a girl? The men who were looking for you all knew that you were really a woman. Why wouldn't the wanted poster mention that?”

  Jo blinked at James. “Why, because he doesn't want the family name dragged through the mud. I know they do things different in London, James, but in Yorkshire, it isn't quite the thing for the niece of the current marquess to run off with the finest horse in the stable and then make her way to London in the company of a man of varied reputation.”

  Something about what she said made a dark look cross James face before it was gone, and he was looking at her seriously.

  “Do you really think that's all it is, Jo?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I agree that your uncle probably does not want to risk your reputation but think of what you are doing. If he doesn't get you back and soon, your reputation and by extension his, will be in shreds. And you may not like the idea of it very much, but he is most likely frantic to get Tempest back as well. Even if he has no interest in horseflesh, he cannot have missed the fact that you stole the finest horse from his stable.”

  Jo reared back in offended anger. “Why do you keep saying that I stole Tempest? She is mine by right!”

  James set a calming hand on her arm. If he had been nearly anyone else, it would have simply enraged her, but James’ touch was calming instead. She glared at him, but she didn't shout or storm off, both things she would have been inclined to do before she set off on this mad trip.

  “I know she is yours. Anyone with good sense could see it in the way she responds to you and in the way you care for her. But... Jo, have you thought that your uncle might not be playing by the rules?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have a few guesses and most of them are likely wrong, but there is something wrong with the fact that he did not put an accurate picture of you on that wanted poster.”

  Jo looked at James uncertainly. “What are you getting at? I don't understand.”

  “It is in his best interest to find you as soon as he can, however he can. That makes sense. His reputation is on the line, as is yours. So perhaps he could present you as a maid who had run away, or something else. No need to reveal your true name and rank, after all. So why doesn't he?”

  “I think you are giving my uncle too much credit.” Jo tried to smile, but it was hard. “I don't think it's something that we need to worry about, after all, not right now.”

  Instead of dropping it as she had hoped he would, James gave her an irritated look. “I'm saying that your uncle might have some sinister motives in mind.”

  Jo laughed. “You're only saying that because you have never met Uncle Francis. The man certainly has many stubborn bones and many bones that pay more attention to his ledgers than to his heart or mind, but he hasn't got a sinister bone in his body.”

  I'm not sure he's smart enough to have one, she thought privately to herself, but James didn't necessarily need to know it.

  “People get strange when inheritances are in the mix. I'm wondering if your uncle wants you found quickly for some darker reason.”

  “
Do you really think that my uncle would... what? Have me murdered? That's like something out of a Gothic.”

  “And your optimism might get you killed if you are not careful. I know it seems that things never happen up here in Yorkshire—”

  “That's not how I feel about Yorkshire at all, for the record.”

  “The truth is that people do not really change, and what happens in London can happen in the smallest town in England, if only on a smaller scale.”

  “Spit it out, James, what are you thinking?”

  He looked as if he were pausing to gather himself, and then he let out a deep breath. After he had done that twice, he looked at her again. It struck her all over again how very clear and lovely his gray eyes were. It made her breath catch for just a moment, but then he started to speak.

  “I'm saying that your uncle might be being less honest with you than he should be. Do you know where the best place in the world to buy a horse is?”

  “Tattersall's in London.”

  “So why isn't your uncle selling your father's horses there? Why isn't he selling matched teams and making enough money to do as he likes? Even if your father's horses were not as fine as Tempest, they would still fetch a pretty penny.”

  Something about his words made a rill of cold run down Jo's spine. It was as if he had taken those strange and faint ghosts that troubled her when she slept and breathed something on them that made her able to see them properly.

  The picture he painted was a dark one, so dark that Jo shook her head to clear it out.

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "Am I? You're the one who is running away from home because your uncle is selling your father's legacy out from underneath you."