by Peggy Waide
"The cat."
"Caesar?" Impossible, he thought. Surely, one oversized tomcat was no match for his prize mastiff, Rebel. The longer Reyn stared at Briggs, the more he realized the butler spoke the truth. "Are you telling me that my dog is afraid of that woman's cat?"
"Precisely, sir."
"To rob me of my bachelorhood is one thing. To allow an oversized tomcat to bully my dog-well, blast-bring more coffee."
Reyn turned back to the windows, unsure if he stood vigilant so that he could immediately chastise his illfated bride, or whether he wanted to catch her unawares to judge for himself if her beauty was all that he remembered.
He shook his head in dismay. How could he even consider such a thing? Certainly, this was an unex pected predicament. He had attempted to seduce his own wife-a wife he shouldn't have, hadn't recognized, didn't want and was determined to dislike. Frowning, he amended his thoughts. You liked her well enough last night.
Reyn's conscience immediately offered a sound rationale for the physical attraction. He'd been at sea for weeks. Of course his body reacted to the vision she presented. He simply needed to assuage his lust, a problem easily remedied with a visit to his mistress. Involuntarily, the image of Jocelyn, dressed in that delightful scrap of silk she wore the night before, floated before him. With her hair flowing about her shoulders, he imagined her hips gently swaying as she crossed the floor toward him.
"Heaven help me," he muttered.
Then and there, he made a conscious decision. No matter how alluring, how delectable or how available, he would not bed the woman. This situation teetered on the precipice of insanity at best, and needed no additional complications. Besides, if things went according to his plan, his would-be wife would be away from Blackburn Manor before nightfall.
Voices drifted from the back of the house to the foyer. Thankful for the distraction, Reyn followed the source, pleased when he trapped his prey carrying a tray laden with food. "When did you return to the house?" Dear Lord, he sounded like the village vicar. Jocelyn's cool expression probably mirrored his.
"Good morning to you, too," Jocelyn said.
He locked his arms across his broad chest as if the motion would establish his authority and control his temper. "Did anyone bother to tell you I wanted to talk to you?"
"Only a dozen or so people. You've been busy in my absence this morning. It seems the entire staff is walking on eggshells."
Ignoring her sarcastic retort, he whirled toward his study. "Follow me."
"I beg your pardon, but that is impossible right now. I must see to Agatha."
His jaw dropped like a cannonball. What little civility he possessed vanished like an exploding comet. "As far as I'm concerned, you're lower than those who work in my kitchen. However, at this particular moment, we have business to discuss. Someone else can play the servant."
"That is not the point, your grace." Jocelyn spoke pointedly. "I have breakfasted with your grandmother every morning since her illness. It is expected, as well as a pleasant diversion for both of us, for us to break our fast together."
"Then I will simply accompany you. I have a great deal to lay at her feet." In fact, his mind brimmed with a few choice epithets.
"You will not. Agatha is recuperating nicely, and I forbid you to bully her at this time."
This was an abomination, so unexpected he would have laughed had he not wanted to toss her across his knees and give her a thorough hiding. Unfortunately, the image of her lush derriere draped across his groin brought forth another reaction. Reyn cursed, then silently reminded himself that she belonged at his feet. Groveling. Begging for a by-your-leave. This woman had stolen his bachelorhood, his freedom. She'd ruined his dog. "You forbid me?"
"Yes, I do. Go do what it is dukes do. As soon as I have finished eating, I promise I will provide you with my undivided attention so that you can bellow until the geese come home."
"I do not bellow," he said, even though he knew his thunderous response echoed throughout the house.
"Oh, sweet Mother Mary. Fine. You're as quiet as a mouse trapped in a room full of cats. Now, if you will excuse me, Agatha's cocoa is growing cold." With a swish of peach muslin and streaming ribbons, Jocelyn dismissed him with dignity and grace, climbing the stairs to escape to Agatha's rooms.
Belatedly, Reyn realized that he'd just behaved like a nutter in the foyer of his own home. Him! A man accustomed to calm and reason since the age of fourteen. Like any educated man, he enjoyed a lively debate, but to visibly lose one's temper, relinquish control of one's actions, was simply unacceptable.
Most people seemed to avoid direct confrontation with him anyway. On occasion someone might question his decision, but one frigid glare usually re-established his authority. Should he increase the volume of his voice, people found a quick and deliberate exit. Rarely did anyone disobey a direct order.
Reluctantly, he admitted that those few people with the temerity to stand against him held his greatest respect.
"Hell." His day was not going as planned.
Gazing heavenward, her nerves stretched to their limit, Jocelyn prayed for patience. All through the night, she had expected the duke, full of recriminations and demands, to barge into her room. Every little noise, every creak in the house, kept her awake. Finally, at dawn, she gave up all attempts to sleep and escaped to the woods. She should have known he'd be waiting this morning. Inhaling a deep breath, she grabbed the handle to Agatha's bedroom door.
The moment the door opened, the questions popped from the dowager's mouth like fleas from a wet dog. "Is it true? Has Reyn returned?"
"You know he has," said Jocelyn, teasing the woman she had come to know and love. She carried the tray to the table beside the window, the lavender brocade drapes drawn to admit golden rays of sunshine through the sheer white netting. "You probably heard every word he bellowed as well as I did. Since, according to you, your grandson hates to lose his temper, I believe there is an impostor downstairs."
"Splendid," Agatha squealed, clapping her hands together in delight as she climbed from the pink floral satin covers. "This is better than I had hoped."
"I'm not sure I agree with you."
"For years, Reyn has prided himself on his ability to maintain his composure, regardless of the circumstances. I myself test his patience. Constantly. I have seen him deal with irritating dandies, and watched him calmly and effectively reduce grown men to whimpering pups with a simple look. The fact that he lost a shred of control, if only for a moment, means we have thrown him off balance. It forces him to feel some emotion. Anger is a fine beginning."
After Agatha sat, Jocelyn placed a lace napkin in the dowager's lap and joined her at the table. "Easy enough for you to say, hidden behind closed doors, snuggled beneath your covers. Nevertheless, I did as you instructed. I behaved like a bossy, overbearing autocrat."
The older woman patted Jocelyn's hand. "He hates to lose his temper. But I promise, no matter how angry he becomes, he will not hurt you or abuse you. All will be well. Wait and see. You did superbly."
"I kept hoping to sneak by him and reach your room before I faced his inquisition. I'm amazed your grandson couldn't hear my knees knock beneath my skirts."
"Very good. You cannot allow him to see your fear." Agatha lavished her biscuits with gooseberry jam. "Reyn has no tolerance for weaklings."
Jocelyn poured cocoa into both the women's lavender demi-cups. "You sound as if being afraid were a disease like leprosy or the plague."
"It's not that, child. It's simply understanding the difference between prudent fear and self-destructive fear. Let me explain. Prudence is having the good sense to back away when being attacked by a rabid dog or a knife-wielding thief. Forfeiting one's belief due to fear of your opponent or the challenge that lies ahead is selfdestructive fear. Men seem especially preoccupied with the latter. I imagine it has something to do with the male code, honor and such. Most important, I am proud of you. Reyn is not an easy man to match wills with."
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When Jocelyn remembered her explosive outbursts in the foyer, she exhaled deeply. "I admit it wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Both my stubborn streak and my temper are known to be formidable. Friends from school repeatedly told me I would never attract a husband with my unladylike manner, and if Sister Kathleen saw me, she'd fall in a fit of apoplexy, knowing the number of hours I spent in penance on the floor of the chapel were all for nothing."
With regal authority in her voice, Agatha warned Jocelyn, "No one will ever punish you again for your delightful, impetuous behavior. That is all behind you."
"For now, at least."
"Forever, Jocelyn!"
The commanding nod of Agatha's head signaled the end of that topic. As Agatha ravished the food on her plate, Jocelyn didn't contradict the dowager, but drank her cocoa instead. She knew Agatha anticipated a lifetime companion of sorts, her wishes made quite clear on numerous occasions. She even dropped not-so-subtle hints about the possibility of Jocelyn and Reyn making the marriage permanent.
Jocelyn disliked misleading her only ally, but had no choice. Two many complications prevented her from ever becoming the true wife of Reynolds Blackburn.
First, she would never marry without love. Based on everything she had heard about the duke, he planned never to marry at all, so the chance of him succumbing to such a frivolous emotion seemed highly unlikely.
And if that weren't enough, she knew the duke, as well as Agatha, would never honor a marriage to an accused murderess.
Jocelyn loosened her grip on the handle of the delicate china cup, looked up and found Agatha's penetrating gaze focused on her. Belatedly, she realized her dreary thoughts must have seized her full attention.
Agatha said, "You are wearing a frown much like the one Briggs wears when Lady Hilldale slurps her tea. Where were you wandering?"
"No place important."
"Hmmm. In that case, let us move forward. Anything new from that Bow Street runner on the activities of that vile relative of yours?"
Jocelyn cleared her mind to rally to the subject. "The runner has someone working in Horace's London house. Evidently, Horace is still in the Caribbean, supposedly looking for me. He is probably spending more of my fortune. He might even purchase a plantation. I swear he intends to be well provided for, in case I return from the dead."
Agatha sipped her cocoa. "That means we must proceed as if your marriage to Reyn is legally binding. Are you still determined to follow this course?"
The bitter memories surfaced. Jocelyn couldn't keep the brittle harshness from her voice. "I will see Horace sweat in hell, as I did, before I turn him over to the authorities."
"We could tell Reyn the truth," Agatha gently suggested. "My grandson is many things, Jocelyn, but he is a fair and honorable man. He might be a better ally than an adversary."
"No," Jocelyn replied.
"Perhaps, after you know my grandson better?"
"Agatha, we must follow our original plan. Horace is a dangerous man. He will do anything to control my inheritance. Even kill. Everyone must believe my memory lost, and Reyn and I truly married. The fewer people who know the truth, the easier it will be to convince my step-uncle. When Horace returns, I will be waiting, still without a past, ready to lead him to his own demise."
"So be it. I will grant you this as long as I deem the plan to be feasible and safe for everyone, yourself included. How is my grandson's mood?"
"When I left him, he looked angry enough to split fence rails with his teeth."
"Reyn is accustomed to having his way. I shall explain everything to him as we discussed."
"Not being able to tell Reyn must be difficult for you. You've been my angel of mercy. I can never thank you enough. I hope someday you will tell me why you chose to help me in the first place."
"All in good time. As for my grandson, let me worry about him. If I thought for one moment that our endeavor would harm him in any way, we would not be sitting here. Besides, you never know what the final outcome may be. Shall we review our story once more?"
Morning waned as the two women rehearsed. A hammering knock halted their conversation, and without additional warning, Reyn burst through the door. The scowl on his face indicated his annoyance.
Agatha held out her hands in greeting. "Reyn, my dear, welcome home. Do come in and join us."
His hostility toward Jocelyn and the bizarre arrangement remained. His worry about Agatha's health had diminished his annoyance, and he felt genuinely pleased to see her up and about. He placed a tender kiss on her cheek. "Agatha, I leave you for less than three months and you make yourself ill. Did you miss me so?"
"You conceited rascal, I always miss you. However, my illness had little to do with you. It was more a case of too many parties and late nights traipsing about the city. That foul yellow fog caused by those coal stoves and such has been causing pain in the lungs and uneasy trembling in the head for many people. Something should really be done about that. Perhaps I could-"
"Hold, Grandmother, you are barely well enough to take on yet another cause. Heaven knows what you would bring home if you decided to rescue the entire city of London." He uttered his last comment with a glance toward Jocelyn.
"There was no need to charge up here and instantly ignite trouble," Jocelyn said defensively, stacking her hands on her hips. "I told you I would be down shortly."
His body mirrored hers. "Shortly? Meaning two hours ago?"
"During which I'm sure you thought of all sorts of nasty ways to berate and bully me. Well, let me tell
Agatha tapped her hand on the table to gain their attention. "Enough, children. Jocelyn, if you please, I wish to talk to Reyn."
"Certainly."
Reyn watched Jocelyn kiss Agatha on the cheek, then turn to him, a stoic expression on her face that actually enhanced her classic features.
"Please remember that your grandmother is still recovering. If I hear anything that remotely sounds like bellowing, I will return and personally escort you from this room."
After she left, Reyn said matter-of-factly, "She presumes too much."
"Since I found her, I believe she sees herself as my champion."
"Is she always so dramatic?"
Agatha smiled. "Part of her charm."
Waiting for the easy banter to end so he could approach the issue at hand, Reyn rigidly stood beside the fireplace. Agatha meant more to him than anyone. To upset her gave him no pleasure, but he wanted answers. He would have them by the end of their conversation.
Agatha finished her breakfast, dabbed her mouth lightly with a linen napkin and said, "Please sit down, Reyn. My neck is cramping."
He sat in the chair Jocelyn had recently vacated, placed his chin in his folded hands and rested his elbows on the table. "Grandmother, I don't understand. I thought my instructions perfectly clear upon my departure. This marriage business was to be resolved. Permanently. During my entire trip I tried to find a logical reason for your actions, but I admit, I found none."
"I imagine that Jocelyn spewing all over you did little to soothe your irritation. Considering the circumstances of your departure, and your feelings toward matrimony, it's a small wonder you returned at all."
Rising from his chair to speak, Reyn said nothing when Agatha placed her weathered hand over his.
Agatha continued. "I have loved you since the day you graced this family with your birth. When your parents died, you became my son. In all those years, have I ever done anything to hurt you?"
"No.
"Then let me explain, but I ask you to trust my judgment if there are some things that cannot be totally clarified at this time."
Abruptly, Reyn sat, a stubborn set to his jaw. He sighed, arched a brow and waited.
Jocelyn considered the seventh chime of the tall pendulum hall clock the appointed hour of doom. Slowly, she descended the marble staircase, knowing that, tonight, she must personify the fabrications Agatha had already told. She would remain calm, exercise proper
etiquette and answer all the questions Reyn might have. Until her step-uncle returned to England, she could only tell halftruths and rely on the duke's code of honor not to disavow this marriage.
Jocelyn knew the ice-blue evening dress Agatha had chosen exposed a generous portion of her breasts. As she moved across the floor, the silk caressed her body like the wind on a warm summer night. Agatha had said, "If Reyn's attentions are elsewhere, he might be less vigilant with his questions." Fine, thought Jocelyn. She would do what she must. She certainly didn't care whether he found her attractive.
Upon entering the drawing room, a design of black, gold and mauve elegance, she found Reyn seated com fortably beside the fire. He sat beneath an expertly crafted wall panel of armored knights engaged in battle. She wondered if the painting wasn't somewhat symbolic of the confrontation about to take place in the same room. Her eyes drifted back to Reyn. To say the man was handsome seemed inadequate. He's also the man who holds your future in his hand, she reminded herself. "Good evening, my lord."
"Good evening." Reyn stood, saluted with his crystal glass and quickly downed the contents. The silken creature standing before him presented a vision capable of filling any man's mind with unchivalrous thoughts. God give him strength, but he would maintain his objectivity. After all, she was simply a woman.
As he took one last peek at the porcelain skin above the bodice of her dress, he decided total detachment would be best, keeping his distance emotionally and especially physically. It might be bloody difficult, but he would do it.
"May I fetch you a drink?" he asked.
"A bit of sherry, please." Her stance remained as rigid as her voice.
As he crossed to the walnut cabinet, he sought a suitable topic to begin the evening. An innocuous topic. Something to relieve the tension. "I expected to see you earlier today. It seems you have a convenient habit of disappearing."
"I'm sorry if my absence disappointed you, your grace, but the gamekeeper's wife began birthing. I gave assistance. I'm here now if you wish to provide me with the proper set-down."