by Peggy Waide
At sunset, the Esmeralda sailed up the Thames to the London docks. Reyn, anxious to bear the news of their good fortune, left his ship to find his partners. Two familiar crew members from another of his vessels stood outside the Salty Pelican, a favored tavern on the docks. They played a game of pitch-and-toss between swigs of ale with a motley group of men.
Reyn watched money exchange hands, then said, "Well, Bigby, Cutter. I see you're making the most of your time on shore."
Bigby, the ship's cook, uncurled from his bent position and grinned, revealing the gaps between his front teeth. "Aye, sir. Welcome back."
Cutter, the tall Jamaican, stood beside Bigby. "Captain, it's fine to see ya. I can tell by ya mood ya had a good trip."
"As a matter of fact, the wind blew a good sail and the seas were calm. But it's always pleasant to return home."
While winking at Reyn, Bigby nudged Cutter in the ribs. "More so this time, I'd wager."
Reyn dismissed Bigby's exuberant reaction as his chest swelled with pride over his newest acquisition. The craftsmanship of the Esmeralda, designed to deliver faster and larger shipments, would create a greeneyed frenzy amongst his competitors. "I admit it's exhilarating."
Bigby chortled loudly, blowing air from his ruddy cheeks. "Exhileratin', eh? I imagine it's more than uplifting, too, if you gets my meaning. As I always say, Cutter, the Captain manages to find the choicest of choice, time after time. Ain't that what I always say, Cutter?"
"Aye, Bigby. Send him out in a nasty storm and he'll return dry-arsed every time.
"The envy of every bloke."
"Deserving of a drink or two."
"Smiling this eve to be sure."
Reyn decided the two sailors had obviously been imbibing for a while now. "That's enough, lads. Thank you. I think." He grabbed his leather satchel and headed for a nearby hack. "Well, I'm off to find Hathaway."
"Wait, Captain."
"What is it, Cutter?"
The sailor shifted his weight from foot to foot. "We been waiting a week for you to return. Ain't we, Bigby?"
"Aye, we have. We've news from her ladyship."
That certainly got his attention. Reyn remembered, all too well, Agatha's last act of interference and his parting demands to rectify the situation. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What has Agatha done now?"
"I gots a note somewhere." Bigby dug into his trouser pockets. He looked to Cutter. "You must have it?"
"I don't."
Bigby continued to search his trousers and inside his shirt with no success. "If I ain't got it, I must a given it to you."
"No ya didn't, ya old fool. Ya probably lost it just like you lost that sweet little wench from-"
"I didn't lose no wench. She-"
The men stood face-to-face like two roosters. Reyn stepped between them and said, "For the love of God, simply tell me what I need to know."
"That's simple enough," said Cutter, with a grin that matched his large frame.
Glaring at Cutter, Bigby elbowed his way to the front. "I'll be telling. She said I could tell." He turned back to Reyn. "We was to wait and hand you the message personally."
Like two bloody fools, the two sailors were grinning again, but neither bothered to offer additional information. Reyn cleared his throat, trying to keep his annoyance at bay. "Well? Are you going to tell me or not?"
"Aye, Captain, your grandmother took to Blackburn Manor. A bit under the weather, she is."
"Is she all right, Bigby?"
"Don't know for sure, sir. We didn't read the note."
Reyn's previous plans vanished, overshadowed by his concern. "I'll leave straight away. Find Lord Hathaway. Tell him where I've gone."
"Aye," said Bigby as he twisted his battered felt hat in his hands. "And, Captain, be sure to tell her ladyship that Cutter and Bigby delivered the message to you. Right and proper."
Cutter beamed proudly. "She'll want to know all right."
Reyn nodded. Considering their strange behavior and even stranger request, Reyn walked a few paces, stopped and looked back at the pair. "Lads, I'd leave the ale alone for the next fortnight or you'll be no use to Captain Timms. I believe it's pickling your brains."
Reyn's black lacquered coach raced across the wooden bridge that marked the entrance to Blackburn Manor, his home of three sprawling wings of art, luxury and masculine detail. He tried his best to ignore the doubts that plagued his mind, just as he always tried to ignore the frivolous antics of the young dandies of the ton. Nothing worked. Like a dimwitted child, he found himself in a state of confusion. Again. And he'd just returned from Spain. No small wonder, he thought, considering the circumstances of his departure three months ago and the strange message he had received today.
Reyn dispatched the groom to the stables and nearly tripped over Rebel, his loyal mastiff, who sat on the front steps. Excitedly, Rebel's tail wagged when Reyn bent to scratch his dog behind his ears. "On guard tonight, are we? Or did Briggs kick you out?" Rebel peeked around the open door, whimpered, then settled back on his haunches. No amount of prodding moved the dog inside.
Perplexed, Reyn crossed the threshold. The small brass wall lamps cast dancing silhouettes across the foyer, highlighting the mahogany tripod table and navy blue brocade chair. A soft, burgundy Aubusson rug covered the grey Italian marble floor. He sighed. Although a bit wary as to what he might discover, he felt glad to be home.
As he approached the stairs to the upper chambers, he noticed a shaft of light coming from the study. From the doorway, his eyes settled on a wondrous creature wrapped in silk the color of pomegranates. She sat on the cushioned window seat with her attention focused on the moonlit sky outside the huge bay windows. A book balanced on her lap and a huge black cat lay beside her, his paw draped over her leg. Reyn knew when the woman sensed his presence. She lifted her gaze to stare directly at him with eyes that reminded him of dark Turkish coffee and warm Mediterranean nights. A frown marred her exquisite features.
Reyn continued to watch in silence, a hundred questions on his tongue. The image of her hair, the subtle shades of sunrise, flowing freely through his fingers, her robe clinging sensuously to her curves, and rational thought disappeared. Silently, he cursed. First things first. Best find out who she is.
When she began to stand, Reyn held up his hand. "Excuse me. I did not mean to startle you. Please stay. I apologize for not announcing my presence, but one hates to disrupt such quiet perfection."
The woman folded the book in her lap, her delicate hands tightly griping the leather binding. "Perfection?"
"Most definitely."
"How long have you been watching me?"
"Not long." As if nervous, she clasped her hands together, then released them and finally placed them flat on the top of the book. He must have startled her more than he thought. Crossing to a small round table near the fireplace to pour a glass of sherry, he kept his voice calm and, he hoped, soothing. "May I inquire as to who you are, and what you might be doing in my study at this time of night?"
"I meant no intrusion. No one expected you, your grace."
When she answered only a portion of his question, he pursed his lips together. The woman seemed vaguely familiar. Quickly, he scanned the mental catalogue of women from his past. Unfortunately, no name came to mind. He considered other possibilities and felt a brief moment of panic. He stared closely at her features once again. Impossible. The woman before him now bore no resemblance to the bundle of skin and bones Agatha had brought home three months before. Besides, his orders had been clear. Annul the marriage immediately. He sipped from his glass, then said, "So, you know who I am."
"Of course."
"You seem to have me at a disadvantage."
"That is certainly not my intent," Jocelyn said, suppressing the urge to run from the room while absorbing the fact that the duke, her husband, had returned. Evidently, Bigby and Cutter had found him and delivered the missive as she requested. She nearly laughed out loud when she realized he
didn't have a clue as to her identity. Their last encounter had ended in disaster. She could only wonder about his reaction when he remembered who she was, and discovered he still had a wife.
"Have we met before?" he asked.
"Perhaps."
"Impossible." A subtle smile warmed his eyes. "I could never forget someone such as you. But if we met, and I so rudely forgot, I would be more than happy to see us reacquaint ourselves." He raised his crystal glass to his lips, took a sip and said, "Let me think. I see no betrothal or wedding ring displayed on your hands. Besides, you're far too lovely to be married to any of my acquaintances. I have no female cousins or nieces coming of age, so that narrows the possibilities." He grinned. "I have it. You must be Grandmother's caretaker?"
What a lark and a bit of good luck. His ignorance would postpone any unpleasantness until tomorrow, giving her time to discuss his arrival with Agatha. Carefully choosing her answer, Jocelyn said, "I gladly offer my assistance. Your grandmother is a special woman."
"She is that. The message I received explained little and I came directly. Is she all right?"
Evidently, he cared a great deal for Agatha. "She has a mild case of pneumonia. The physician says her lungs are clearing nicely. Hopefully, she can leave the confinement of her room by week's end."
"Splendid. And how long will you grace us with your presence?"
"As long as required."
"Loyalty and devotion to my grandmother." Reyn smiled seductively and added, "That will allow us plenty of time to become better acquainted."
Leaning against the mantel of the fireplace, Reyn appeared even more handsome than she remembered. He appeared relaxed, and his face glowed a golden shade. When she found herself wondering if the rest of his body shared the same glorious color, a warm, tingling sensation began to grow in the pit of her stomach, followed by a spurt of irritation. Her husband-of sorts-was attempting to seduce a stranger, who was really his wife. Her feelings seemed extremely confusing, but no less aggravating. With that convoluted thought in mind, she lifted her chin and found herself saying, "Charming words for a married man."
His sensuous expression of moments ago disappeared to be replaced with a sneer of pure contempt. "Married? Do not believe all you hear, my sweet. Obviously, my departure did nothing to squelch that ridiculous rumor. Ask Agatha. She will clarify the matter."
Yes, Jocelyn thought. Agatha could clarify the matter for him. But he would have to wait until morning.
Striding panther-like to the chair directly across from her, the duke's gaze seized hers with blatant possessiveness. The seducer was back, changing colors as quickly as a chameleon. "Besides, if I were married, which I assure you I am not, many marriages allow for, shall we say, special friendships."
"A gentleman would not speak of such things. You are too bold, your grace."
"So I've been told. `Your grace' is far to formal. You may call me Reyn. What is your name?"
Petulantly, she puckered her lips when he ignored her barb and changed topics. "Should I make you guess?"
"A woman who likes games. Most interesting." Tapping his finger across his lower lip as though deep in thought, he kept his eyes on her mouth.
Jocelyn felt her face flush, her body temperature rise. Under his intense scrutiny, she fidgeted with the sleeve of her silk wrapper, trying to think of a way to direct his thoughts elsewhere. As if by silent command, Caesar, her black tomcat, stretched and jumped directly onto Reyn's lap, where he sat with aplomb. "Fickle creature," she said.
Since Reyn believed Agatha had followed his orders and annulled the marriage, she knew it would be best if she chose a topic far from wedlock and seduction. Instead, she said, "Somewhat like men. I daresay, married men."
He raised his brows. "My mysterious beauty has claws. But I wouldn't know, being the bachelor that I am. Now, who is this fine fellow?"
His long, manicured fingers purposely stroked the cat from head to tail, a slow, sensuous caress, all the time his gaze locked with hers. Briefly, to her chagrin, Jocelyn envied the cat. Drat the man, he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Caesar."
"Caesar, hmmm. I hope you fare better than your namesake." He glanced back at Jocelyn.
To her amazement, she simmered over his lack of recognition. Be glad, she thought. "And would you know of your wife's condition?"
Looking from Caesar back to her was his only response.
Whether from curiosity or a foolhardy desire to ig nite a reaction in his controlled armor, Jocelyn needled, "She, too, is quite well-or so I hear."
"Enough about that ridiculous notion." Leaning forward, his gaze on the liquid in the glass he held, Reyn changed the subject yet again. "You said you like this room?"
His masculine scent assaulted her senses. She ignored the irritating sensation, scanned the study, considered his tactics and simply nodded.
"Are you prohibited access during the days so that you must invade it during the middle of the night?"
"Actually, I have been given total freedom to do as I may, but to answer your question, I have difficulty sleeping at night. Reading helps me to relax."
His lips curled into a devilish smile. "Perhaps one night we can discuss alternative solutions to your problem."
What drivel, she thought. Agatha constantly mentioned her grandson's commanding charm. He elected to use it to his advantage when he wanted something. Regardless of her innocence of men, Jocelyn suspected he wanted something tonight: her. Reyn would change his lecherous tune when he discovered her true identity. More likely, he'd want to thrash her. She decided this game of chance needed to end and stood to exit.
Caesar bounded to the floor and wrapped himself about her ankles. Reyn stood as well. "No need to hurry off"
Jocelyn exaggerated an enormous yawn while she crossed the dark oak floor, Reyn and the cat following closely on her heels. "As you can see, I am nearly asleep on my feet."
"The cat goes with you?" he asked.
"Caesar? Of course. He sleeps with me."
"Lucky fellow." Reyn gently grabbed her elbow, forcing her to look directly at him. "Since I am not to be given the same opportunity, at least grant me a boon, something to take to my lonely bed."
Through her nightdress and robe, where his hand held her prisoner, she felt her arm tingle. Glancing down, she realized he had strong hands-lightly tanned with long, slender fingers.
"A kiss perhaps?" he said.
She sent him her most dour look.
"No? Well, at least tell me your name."
Moving to the base of the stairs, she easily recognized his attempt to sound terribly forlorn and fought the mischievous urge swelling inside her. "A name is not always the most important fact to know about someone. It does not tell you whether they are kind or gentle, intelligent or foolish, sincere or mocking. One would still wonder who they really were and what they were about."
"True, but a name to go with the face that will surely monopolize my dreams this evening if not my company, that would be a prize to treasure." The innuendo hung suggestively in the air.
Jocelyn ascended halfway up the marble staircase, turned as if considering her options and looked down at Reyn, who leaned lazily on the oak banister, a triumphant smile on his face. The man was a libertine. He deserved a sleepless night.
"Dreams?" She paused for effect. "Nightmares, perhaps."
His composure slipped a notch. He resembled Vicar Burton on watch for heretics in his parish. Succinctly, she said, "My name is Jocelyn Blackburn, Duchess of Wilcott." She lifted her chin and waltzed up the stairs. Over her shoulders, she added sweetly, "Good night, husband. Pleasant dreams."
His silence indicated he was well and truly dumbfounded. She only wished she possessed the courage to stay and witness his expression. Securely locked behind her bedroom door, she realized she had learned several important facts about the Duke of Wilcott.
He was not the devil incarnate she had thought, but a man capable of charming the crown jewels right
from the neck of the Queen of England. Buried beneath the charm lay a confident man who seemed to base every action, every word, on keen observation and reason. Luckily for her, he had set his mind on seduction tonight rather than puzzles, for surely he would have guessed her identity before she fled to her room. Worst of all, she liked him but was unsure of how to deal with those feelings and her future plans. A chill ran down her spine. The handsome man downstairs was capable of ruining her entire plan.
How dare she. That woman would regret her little tomfoolery of last night. The conniving minx had bested him then, but he'd be damned if it happened again. With those thoughts racing through his mind, Reyn closed the open book of Shelley's sonnets for the eighteenth time, drummed his fingertips against the leather binding, and waited. He'd been waiting since early dawn. Informed by Briggs that Lady Wilcott enjoyed her morning walk, Reyn had no choice but to delay his confrontation with the source of his sleepless night.
He gazed out the large bay window and cursed. Somewhere out there, beyond the manicured lawn, was a wife. His wife. Hell! He wasn't supposed to have a wife.
After her startling declaration in the foyer, he had considered immediate retaliation. Instead, in an attempt to rectify things in his own mind, he elected to drink himself into oblivion. All things combined, Reyn was not inclined to smile that morning, nor was he in a charitable mood. He shouted from the study. "Briggs!"
Perfectly pressed, pleated and starched, fitted with the appropriate somber expression, the butler appeared in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"
"How long does that blasted chit walk?"
"Chit, sir?"
Accustomed to his butler's pompous behavior, and the obvious attempt to bait him, Reyn said, "You know precisely to whom I refer."
"Lady Wilcott will return in time to serve your grandmother breakfast."
"I want that woman in my study the minute she steps inside this house." He emphasized his words by jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
"Yes, sir. I believe you have made that request a dozen or so times."
Reyn scowled. The bland remark, typical of his butler's behavior, added to his frustration. "Someday, Briggs, regardless of your loyalty, your insolence will be your downfall. And what is wrong with Rebel? He won't set one paw inside the house."