by Peggy Waide
"I was not going to..." Reyn snapped his mouth shut, clasping his hands behind his back as if the action would subdue any further misunderstanding. "Relax, Jocelyn. We have not been in the same room for five minutes, and already we are butting heads like two angry rams. Do you think it possible for us to have one conversation without throwing down the gauntlet?"
Jocelyn settled herself on the ivory satin chair. Her shoulders sagged when she reluctantly acknowledged that, expecting the worst, she'd wrongly interpreted his words. "I apologize for my rudeness."
"Accepted. Shall we begin again? Try for a bit of innocuous conversation? How was your day, what a fine home you have, do you think it will rain, or even how handsome you look."
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, flee or stay. This man was such an enigma. She had truly expected him to attack the minute she entered the drawing room. The fact that he seemed content to discuss the weather did nothing to settle her nervous stomach. For the eightieth time, she reminded herself to relax, then exchanged a strained smile with Reyn. "Do you think it will rain?"
Graciously, he answered. "Positively. But we can hope for a warmer afternoon tomorrow. How is the gamekeeper's wife and babe?"
"Both are doing well. The father is strutting like a proud peacock-so much so, one would think he'd given birth."
As if they shared a secret while standing amongst a room filled with people, he whispered, "That was well done."
Jocelyn suppressed the grin that begged for release as the tension of only moments before began to ease. "Thank you."
"Did you have a good afternoon?" he asked.
The disarming smile changed his features from merely handsome to downright devastating and threw her off balance. His long stride brought him to her side, sherry in hand, where he stopped to watch her expectantly. Her moment of admiration passed when she realized her error in proper deportment. "Yes, I did. And you, sir, how was your day?"
"Wonderful."
The one word, spoken like a soft caress as his eyes lingered on her bare shoulders, seemed to express a multitude of things. Nervously seeking a new topic, she searched the elaborately plastered ceiling, twenty feet high. "Did you-"
"I would like to-" he said simultaneously.
"You go first," said Reyn.
"I was going to say your home is magnificent. You must love it here."
"I do. I designed much of it myself, you know. With a few exceptions, of course."
Her curiosity piqued, she asked, "Such as?"
"Take my grandmother's room. Do you honestly believe I chose a pink and lavender floral brocade with disgustingly happy cherubs for the walls? And all that lace? I believe Agatha intentionally selected the decor to ensure that she would always have a place to stay. Heaven forbid any other quest should have to tolerate such excess of...."
"Of pink?" Jocelyn laughingly said.
"Yes, exactly. At any rate, Agatha offered her opinion, as did my decorator and architect, but I created much of the design myself."
"You must be very proud. It's lovely." She sincerely meant every word of praise. The manor was a creation of wealth without opulence, elegance with artistic taste. A place any woman, such as herself, would be proud to call home. Shocked at the direction of her thoughts, she changed the topic. "Do you spend most of your time here or in London?"
"London satisfies certain needs, but I much prefer my estates. I find the solitude refreshing, the atmosphere less restrictive, and the outdoors invigorating."
"Absolutely." She warmed to the topic. "Being outdoors is somewhat of an obsession for me. I often walk for hours, an arduous task in London. In the country, I spend so much time outside that Agatha worries about sun spots and such. Inappropriate for a lady, she claims. One of those silly restrictions, I might add, that women must contend with. Another reason why I prefer the country. A woman must follow too many ridiculous rules when in London."
Jocelyn blushed at her ramblings, lifting her head to see his eyes, the color of robin's eggs, staring at her intently. "I tend to go on sometimes."
"Quite all right."
"Agatha fears my social skills vanished along with my past, but I admit I find it difficult to maintain the art of restraint and indifference that most women of the ton practice."
"Yes, I can see where too much restraint could be a hardship," he said with an easy smile on his face.
Distractedly gazing into the fire, sipping her sherry, she wondered how long the pleasantries would continue. And it was quite pleasant. Astonishingly so. She imagined a great many women eagerly sought marriage to a man such as Lord Wilcott, especially if one considered his charm and devilishly good looks.
Startled from her mental wandering, she realized that Reyn was speaking. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said that my ancestral home in the north is my favorite estate, although the distance is rather inconvenient."
"Yes. With the Pennines to the west and the wild moors to the east, there is something remote and savage about the place." She added distractedly, "Wilcott Keep suits you."
His brows arched together, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. "I meant no insult," she said quickly. "I meant savage in a primitive way, like barbarian... no, ferocious, maybe... untamed..." Reyn scowled furiously. "A good savage..." Her voice drifted into nothingness. There was no way to explain unless she revealed her most private thoughts, which was impossible.
Reyn chuckled with genuine humor as her frown intensified. "What has you so perplexed?"
"Nothing," she answered sharply. At least nothing I can tell you, she thought. She could never reveal her bold vision of the duke in tight-fitted breeches, the wind softly caressing his hair and molding his shirt to his muscled torso, his arms of banded iron wrapped about a fair maiden. The fact that the female closely resembled her shocked her the most. His curiosity be hanged. He would receive no explanations.
The awkward silence passed. They waited for dinner, their time spent in easy conversation until Jocelyn's fear of the pending interrogation intensified. She could no longer delay the inevitable.
"My lord, we have discussed the weather, your home, Caesar, London, horses, even roly-poly pudding. I believe we have covered a great many subjects except the one foremost on your mind. Me."
"Amazing. We managed to remain in the same room for at least an hour without ripping each other apart." He ventured on. "Dare we risk losing the moment, or shall we wait until after dinner?"
"I would rather have the business over with. I'm not sure whether my stomach can wait and endure a sixcourse meal."
"As you wish." He lazily stood against the mantel and observed the young woman sitting across the room. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap-a habit, he concluded, since she did it frequently. She was right. They had danced all around the moon in order to delay this discussion.
"Let me recap the situation as I understand it. Attacked on your way to London, someone betrayed you, then left you to perish at Bedlam, where my grand mother found you raped. You convinced her you were ill-accused, so Agatha rescued you by exercising my power of attorney and marrying us to one another. Am I correct so far?"
"Not raped, almost raped," she said when he stood like an impenetrable stone wall and assumed the role of accuser. "I believe the distinction is rather significant."
Grudgingly, he noted the correction. "Due to your amnesia, you do not know who betrayed you, who your attackers were or their motive although you assume, on no apparent evidence, that the desire for your inheritance bears that responsibility. You do not even know who you are, for that matter. You believe your parents are dead and the name Jocelyn seems vaguely familiar."
Jocelyn offered no comments during his brief pause.
"The story to be told is that we met while I conducted business in the north. We fell madly in love. Your past continues to elude you, so I am expected to portray the loving husband until your memory returns, at which time justice can be served. Or until some scoundrel presents himself at m
y doorstep claiming previous rights."
The longer the litany against her, the greater his agitation. He began to pace the length of the room.
"After all is said and done, I find myself married, a state I swore never to endure, to a woman with no past. A woman with every legal right to all that my titles allow as long as I permit the charade to continue." After circling once, he suddenly stopped in front of her to ask in a curt, biting tone, "Does that sum up the situation correctly?"
"It is only temporary," Jocelyn said in her own defense. An undignified grunt signified his response. No matter how angry he became, she would hold her ground. "I had no desire for marriage either. Your grandmother made the suggestion. Did she explain it was the only way they would release me from Bedlam?"
"Agatha offered a paltry explanation, preying upon my honor as a gentleman to uphold the marriage. I'll tell you now, Jocelyn, I'm not always the gentleman Agatha believes me to be."
To soothe his frustration and restore her calm, she added, "I have no designs on your fortune, your title or you. I have given the circumstances a great deal of thought, and I think with a few rules we can manage to exist together until I untangle this mess. As for your money, I have kept a ledger of everything that has been spent. I intend to repay every shilling."
"If there is an inheritance."
"There is."
"Is that fact or conjecture? You have no memory, as I recall."
"You do not believe me?" Her nostrils flared as her temper began to ignite.
"My grandmother will attest to the fact that I am a world-class cynic." He left no room for comment. "Shall I be blunt?"
Her gaze focused on the far wall. "By all means."
"My grandmother has always fallen prey to the needy, animals and humans alike. Her estates are in such chaos, what with all the strays and odd staff members she has, that she escapes to my home. I normally overlook her little foibles and interference, but this time I greatly resent the fact that she rescued you and married us. Now I find myself feeling responsible for you. I will tell you this-I find the sensation as annoying as hell. Is Jocelyn your real name? Do I parade you about London like a lovesick puppy? Do I have the benefits of a husband?"
Working himself into a fine lather, he continued. "I find it remarkable that you remember what presents a sad case of betrayal to protect your future, yet you forget details that would provide a place to begin a search for your past."
"I see." She dared not say anything more or lose every ounce of her restraint.
"Why has there been no report of a missing person such as you?"
"I don't know."
"Is there no one who misses you, claiming injury or harm?"
"I can't remember."
He snorted at her response. "I believe we once had a similar conversation. Bloody convenient, is it not?"
Jocelyn burned him with a scathing look, but kept silent. Surely, she would have permanent bite marks on the inside of her mouth from holding her tongue.
The duke combed his fingers through his hair in frustration. "In total honesty, you could be a welltrained actress, a conniving little fortune hunter, a practiced thief or an unfortunate young lady who was compromised and hence disowned by her family. But if you think I believe this prattle my grandmother concocted, the answer is no."
She fumed. A fortune hunter? A thief? "Perhaps I am also proficient in the art of poisons," she muttered.
Reyn gaped at the dark eyes flashing at him. "I beg your pardon? Did you just threaten to poison me?"
"Never mind, my lord. You are quite safe." She stood to speak, forcing her voice to sound light and lyrical, as if she were talking about a walk in the park. "And of course you're right. I simply checked into Bedlam for a leisurely holiday in hopes that your grandmother would waltz through the door and offer your hand in marriage. The torture, starvation and madness added to the novelty of my stay. How about a frigid bath, or a bit of solitary confinement, even a little bloodletting?" In a heartbeat, she allowed her temper to show. "Is that what you truly believe?"
"Don't turn this around. I want the truth so we can end these ridiculous machinations of yours and Agatha's."
"Suppose we were hiding something. What would you do with the truth?" His answer came too slowly. "Sir, I have nothing more to say."
Briggs halted in the doorway. "Dinner is served."
Her composure gone, afraid of what she might reveal and eager to flee, Jocelyn turned to the butler. "Briggs, please have cook send my meal to my room. His lordship will be dining alone."
With a precarious grip on her temper, she faced the man she had thought charming only moments ago.
"Your grace, without a doubt I'm at your mercy, a state as intolerable for me as marriage is for you. However infuriating, I find it necessary. Nonetheless, I will not subject myself to an interrogation equal to one a petty thief would suffer. Consider the information you've been given and inform me of your decision, but do not expect me to beg or lick your boot heels. That simpering behavior gained me nothing in the past." She pivoted on her heels toward the door, muttering about men, stupidity and pigs flying.
His butler aimed a look of disapproval at him, providing an outlet for his fury. "Briggs, you can wipe that look right off your face. I'm no longer a wet-eared youth to bend to your scowls. Tell cook I will eat in my study." As Briggs exited, mumbling about insolence and bad manners, Reyn called a halt. "Briggs, answer me this. This is my home, my life. I'm suddenly trapped in a marriage I didn't want, nor even knew about. Why in heaven's name am I the villain here?"
The butler, having no answer for his employer, left to deliver the various messages.
Reyn drifted awake, disturbed by a soulful melody. He sat erect in bed, all senses alert. Irritated over the fact that he had been awakened after the seemingly endless hours it took for him to reach a state of slumber, he climbed from his bed. Prepared to investigate, he wrapped himself in a black satin robe. Again he heard the sounds. Unbelievable. Some bloody fool played the pianoforte, and midnight had come and gone long since. Given his current mood, he would willingly throttle someone for such behavior.
His curiosity piqued, his temper in check, he wasn't prepared for the sight he discovered. With a single candle on the piano and soft moonlight drifting through the windows, the salon provided a stirring backdrop, a celestial stage, for the young woman who swayed rhythmically, one with the music. Gossamer shadows floated across Jocelyn's body, captivating him.
Sipping across the polished oak floor to stand directly behind Jocelyn, Reyn fought the powerful inchnation to stroke the riot of yellow curls, so soft and feminine, that fell about her shoulders. Her lace wrapper clung to every curve, and his body reacted boldly even though logic warned him to withdraw. As the physical lure won the mental battle, he drew one finger lightly across the nape of her neck. Immediately, Jocelyn's hands froze above the ivory keys. She twisted toward him.
"Relax, moonshine, I have not come to cross verbal swords with you." He continued to fondle her curls, his voice whisper-soft. "So radiant, like little bits of moonlight." He gestured toward the empty space beside her on the bench. "May I?"
"Did my playing wake you?" she asked as he sat, a nervous edge to her voice.
"Yes. You do realize it's well past midnight?" He noted the shivering reaction to his purred response, a fraction from her ear.
She nodded. "I play at the oddest hours. Agatha and the staff have grown accustomed to my eccentricity."
Such innocence and his body throbbed like an eager young pup's. Him. A man accustomed to winning marathons of endurance, in and out of the bedroom. He knew his better judgment had deserted him the moment he sat down. Hell, he'd lost his good sense long ago so far as she was concerned.
As her soft, delicate fingers rested on the keys, her breathing grew shallow and sporadic. Reyn knew the breathlessness came from fear or uncertainty. When he ran his fingers through her hair, she turned to face him. He smoothly asked, "Do you never sleep?"
Obviously befuddled, gaping at him, she gulped. "The nights are long, the darkness suffocating. I find the light of day more calming."
He dismissed the odd remark. She was staring at his lips and averted her eyes toward his chest. Giving a little squeak, she turned her face back toward the pianoforte.
Reyn decided she was definitely a fledgling at this game of seduction, and innocents such as she, their emotional expectations too high, caused trouble. Understanding the risks involved, he always preferred liaisons with experienced women. Yet tonight, regardless of the unusual relationship, he wanted her as he had never wanted another. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. "Play for me."
Without a word, she withdrew her hand from his. Playing haltingly at first, her fingers soon danced across the keys, the soulful notes filling the salon like the yellow butterflies dancing in the meadow of wildflowers painted on the ceiling. As she played, she seemed to merge with the music, consumed by the passion of the rhythmic notes.
She drifted back to reality, exhaled deeply and pivoted on the bench to face Reyn. The blaring signals for restraint vanished. Slowly, he raised her wrist to his lips and placed a kiss on the tender skin. Lightly stroking her palm with his thumb, he continued to hold her hand. "Thank you. That was magnificent."
"You're welcome," she managed to mumble.
"Where did you learn to play?"
"My mother."
Eyes, dark with fascination and uncertainty, gazed at him. "Is she really dead?"
Jocelyn nodded her head. "Yes."
She sat, frozen in time, large doe-like eyes fastened on his mouth. He knew he was going to kiss her. One simple kiss to satisfy his curiosity. "Close your eyes, moonshine."
He brushed his lips across her quivering mouth, then withdrew to witness her reaction. Pleased with the awestruck look in her eyes, he dipped his head to take her mouth again. More thoroughly. His tongue lightly traced her lips until she parted them to yield access.
Reyn accepted the gift, pulled her body flush with his and unleashed the passion he had harbored since the previous night. Encouraged by Jocelyn's soft mewl of surprise and then pleasure, he plundered her mouth with a deep, sensuous kiss. As his tongue darted in and out, he allowed one hand to drift to her breast. When he felt the tiny bud of her nipple in his hands, he knew he had to stop or break every rule he had ever established. Reluctantly, he removed Jocelyn's hands from his chest and pulled away. When he didn't speak, Jocelyn gave him a look of confusion and shock.