by Peggy Waide
"Why didn't you say so sooner?" Grabbing the note, Reyn tore the seal. He cursed as he read.
"Bad news?"
"Not really. Damn frustrating, though. The only girl of any nobility turned up missing is a Mary Garnett." Although Reyn couldn't imagine Jocelyn as a Mary, he knew he would mention the name just to watch her reaction. He scratched his chin. "No one seems to know the girl. Presumably, she ran away with her lover and her uncle is searching the Caribbean for her." Staring absently out to the woods, he bluntly asked, "Tell me this, Tam. If Jocelyn is the lady she claims and you believe, then why is there no hint of her disappearance? The rumor mill of London would be twittering with such a tidbit of news."
"She admits her parents are dead. Perhaps the title died with them, and she purposely chose to avoid society. Maybe someone locked her away somewhere even before Bedlam. For your sake, I wish I had the answer."
Reyn cast Tam a sideways glance, but said nothing.
"I do have one last question," asked Tam. "When all is said and done, will you keep her or send her away?"
"I don't believe that's any of your bloody business."
Crossing his arms across his chest, Tam asked, "And if I choose to make it mine?"
Reyn answered with iron ferocity. "Stay out of it. Tam."
Placing a firm hand on Reyn's shoulder, Tam said, "No need to cob on, my friend. I'm on your side, simply viewing it from a different perspective. But know this. That young woman in your arms today is an innocent, of that I'm sure. You, obviously, want her in your bed and she, obviously, isn't repelled by the idea. If you're leaning toward that direction, I encourage you to consider well what you are about. I think she has experienced enough pain. She doesn't deserve to be hurt. I don't wish to mike myself her champion, but she needs someone who cares. I will remain a simple bystander. For now. If you will excuse me, I believe I shall visit with Agatha and leave you to your thoughts."
Thoughts, hah! More like razor-sharp knives whittling away at his good sense. The moment he witnessed the amiable display of affection between Tam and Jocelyn, Reyn had felt these aggravating spurts of jealousy and he didn't like it. Not one little bit. And Tam's continued badgering only opened the door to greater speculation.
From the onset of this marriage, after the initial anger and shock, Reyn's goal had centered on unveiling the truth in order to send Jocelyn on her way and revert to his previous unencumbered existence. That plan now displeased him.
If he met the situation honestly, he would admit that over the weeks they spent together, he had developed a certain susceptibility toward Jocelyn. She was witty, intelligent, strong of heart and spirit, not to mention extremely attractive. The servants adored her, and why not-she was overly generous with her praise and demanded little. Agatha doted on Jocelyn, and even though the words had not been spoken, he knew that his grandmother hoped this marriage would withstand the current strife and flourish.
He once believed he would willingly allow his estates, his titles, his worth, to follow him to the grave. Agatha had always shot him one of her knowing looks and claimed this attitude to be pure and simple denial. His feelings toward marriage and heirs would change when a woman of substance and merit entered his life.
Taking that train of thought a bit further, he reflected on the responsibilities of a wife: She would bear, nurture and raise his children, manage his household in a suitable manner, and play the hostess for the social necessities of a duke. Undying love was not a prerequisite, merely compatibility, and if his body's reaction was any indication, Jocelyn and he would be extremely compatible. Therefore, if Jocelyn fulfilled those expectations, perhaps he should consider keeping her as his wife.
The matter of her lies and "amnesia" remained, but after dissecting the information presented him, one fact screamed truth. Someone had abandoned her to Bedlam. She knew the person responsible. That was whom she feared. She believed the amnesia protected her. The little fool. She didn't yet understand that he would keep her from harm's way. With or without her help.
To the astonishment of his staff, eagerly anticipating tonight's meal, Reyn whistled as he walked to his study, feeling better than he had in weeks.
Jocelyn restlessly shifted against the vase-shaped slat in the high-backed chair. In spite of Tameron's lighthearted spirit and Agatha's commanding presence, she thought dinner had begun with an oppressive atmosphere that resembled a mournful obligation for the dead. Even the crystal chandelier couldn't lighten her somber mood. Agatha sat to one side, appreciating the mirthful antics of Tam, while Reyn sat distantly at the opposite end of the dining table.
His eyes, highlighted by his cerulean-blue waistcoat, continued to find hers frequently, seemingly penetrating her deepest secrets. In fact, since the inception of dinner, thus far through five courses, he had been courteous, attentive, and well-mannered, the epitome of gentlemanly behavior. There had been no sudden topic changes, no direct questions about her past. However, her defenses had armed the moment he entered the dining room, greeted her warmly and addressed her as wife. His behavior bordered on suspicious, but two could play the game. He would reveal his hidden motive soon enough. He always did.
"And your thoughts, Jocelyn?"
Shaken from her reverie by Agatha's question, she caught a glimpse of the lazy grin on Reyn's face. He looked like a sly fox who had just eaten, one by one, the farmer's chickens. Jocelyn felt as though she were meant to be the next meal. She purposely let the sentence hang so someone could provide her with the current topic. "My thoughts on-"
Tam restated the question. "Wilcott Keep. What did you think of that particular holding?"
"I must admit the Keep is my favorite. The forest and rivers are wild and beautiful. The castle itself is so majestic, it makes one wonder the glorious history those enormous rock walls could tell."
"Oh, dear, think of the possibilities," Agatha said. "Deyla's story alone would galvanize those stoic women in London."
"Deyla?" Jocelyn asked.
"Ali, yes," answered Reyn. "My great-great-greatgrandmother. The witch."
"Surely you jest."
"Actually no, Jocelyn," Agatha said. "Deyla married dear Harthorn Blackburn, then barely escaped the witch's pyre. People considered her a bit odd. They claim she hid in the woods near Wilcott Keep, living with a wolf, until she saved Harthorn's life using her knowledge of plants and herbs. Nevertheless, Harthorn's son, Drake, would probably rise from the dead to stop any potential scandal about his parents or the family. He maintained that no public disdain would ever cross our coat of arms. Bit of a brute, he was."
Reyn asked Jocelyn, "Do you suppose he required the services of a taster?"
Placing her fork on the table, Jocelyn tilted her chin ever so slightly. "Never having met the man, it is diffi cult for me to say. Knowing his offspring, one can only speculate."
"Good heavens," Agatha exclaimed, "why would he need someone to taste his food for him?"
Tam swallowed his laughter with his glass of wine.
Reyn lifted his glass to his lips as if he saluted his wife's wit. "One never knows, Grandmother. Perhaps it was a necessity, being such a remote, savage estate."
"What?" Tam questioned, his curiosity piqued.
"I believe my wife once likened the inhabitants of the Keep to savages."
"No," Jocelyn politely said with her teeth gritted together. "I said it seemed somewhat savage. There is a difference, albeit a minor one."
Reyn burst into laughter, but thankfully, he chose not to debate semantics any further and allowed the current topic to drop.
Nearing the end of the sumptuous meal, munching on candied fruits and blackberry tarts, Agatha directed the conversation to London and the remaining half of the season. "I understand the philharmonic society is presenting several new pieces at Vauxhall Gardens, and a delightful farce is playing at the Theatre Royal."
Tam warmed to the topic. "Agatha, don't forget there are also those delightful actresses performing in the farce."
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"Tameron Innes, you devil. I would prefer that you consider the balls you are missing and the company of those lovely, refined young ladies."
Chortling, he said, "You forget, madam, I am the one man, should I enter the room, who can cause the mama hens to near faint and scamper to secure their young chicks behind closed doors."
"Pish-posh. I taught you better than that. Besides, I know for a fact there are several matrons who would willingly, even eagerly, welcome your suit toward their daughters. Take Lady Wellham, Lady Alverlay, Lady Billingsly. There is also the Duchess Milston." Then she whispered as if sharing a scintillating tidbit, "Although I sometimes believe she would actually prefer to keep you for herself."
Reyn, insinuating his mock outrage said, "Enough, Agatha. I do believe Tam is blushing, and if he isn't, I am. Besides, all of us are aware of the adventures to be had in London."
"That being the case, why are we not there? I am fully recuperated and I hate the idea of missing one bit of the fun, not to mention that you and Jocelyn should not be hidden away in the country. People will gossip."
"They already are," Tam eagerly added.
"Shush, you rascal. You are supposed to aid my cause."
Reyn grinned at Agatha's obvious act of manipulation, lifted his glass to his lips and allowed his eyes to wander over Jocelyn's shoulders. "Your point being, Agatha?"
"We should return to London. All of us."
Reclining soberly in his chair, fingers lightly stroking his chin, Reyn seemingly absorbed the suggestion as his eyes glanced downward. Agatha, content to wait for his decision, picked through the sweetened fruits, settling on a candied apricot, while Tam practically mirrored Reyn's position.
Jocelyn stared in disbelief, stunned that he would actually consider the notion. She knew, in order to initiate her plans, they would return to London at some point. She assumed they'd wait until she received news of her step-uncle's return. Why on earth would Reyn wish to travel to London? With her? As his wife? They'd be invited to any number of soirees, expected to appear as husband and wife, expected to be in love. Surely, he knew their presence together would only complicate matters. The longer the silence, the greater her distress.
Finally, Reyn looked up to smile at everyone. "I agree."
"You do?" asked Agatha, thoroughly pleased, but evidently surprised at the easy victory.
"What?" Jocelyn cried.
Directing his next comment to Jocelyn, Reyn said, "Such astonishment. I am always a reasonable man, especially if you consider that rusticating in the country has hardly provided the opportunity to stimulate your memory. So why not?"
Grinning from ear to ear, Tam simply asked, "When do we leave?"
"I daresay two days should give us enough time to prepare. Do you agree, Jocelyn?"
"Yes, but-"
"Splendid." Rising from the table, his hands behind his back, Reyn said, "Excuse us, Tam, Agatha. I wish to have a word with Jocelyn."
Jocelyn watched Reyn strut toward her as though he'd just won a high-stakes contest, his expression masking any hint to what he planned. She grasped his extended arm. "May I ask where we're going?"
"The salon. Fond memories of that room warm me to my toes. Perhaps you will play the piano for me."
"And perhaps you will explain this new ploy of yours."
"Ploy? I simply desire a few moments alone with my wife."
"It seems my status took an upward swing for no apparent reason. Would you care to explain?"
"You are my wife."
"In name only."
His lips teased the tender flesh on the inside of her wrist. "A minor problem easily remedied."
Ignoring the warm sensation settling in her stomach, she tugged her hand from his. "I think not."
He shrugged his shoulders, tucked her arm back in his and proceeded down the hallway into the salon. "A pity. I will content myself with conversation."
The air smelled sweet from the yellow roses recently placed on the tables, and tiny candles flickered along the left wall, casting shadows across the marble floor. The familiar piano sat in the corner, reminding Jocelyn of her first midnight encounter with Reyn. Withdrawing a safe distance from him, she crossed her arms under her breasts and forced the tender memory to the back of her mind. "All right. What trickery is this?"
His face lit with an amused grin. He moved toward the wall and began to extinguish the candles one by one. The moonlight through the windows became the only light. When he finished, he turned to Jocelyn, his hand extended. "Dance with me."
A multitude of reasons for his behavior crossed her mind, but she never expected this. His mood confused and worried her. "Dance? There's no music."
"I shall endeavor to hum a tune." She stood rooted to the floor. "Don't tell me you're afraid."
Against her better judgment, she went to him, sliding into his embrace. For several minutes, they glided across the marble floor, the scuffle of their feet and the soft notes Reyn hummed the only sounds. As never before, Jocelyn was aware of Reyn's powerful frame beneath the satin of his jacket. With every step they took, their bodies pressed closer together. She warned herself to be careful. When the suspense became too great, she asked, "I believe you said you have something to say."
Reyn slowed their movements until they swayed in one place, still in each other's arms. His face looked pensive. "I've been thinking that perhaps you and I should give consideration to making ours a real marriage."
Pulling back to further study his face, she said, "Do try to be serious."
"As frightening as it all seems, I am. I never thought to marry, but today, while talking with Tam, I decided I might have been too hasty."
She needed to distance herself from him in order to think clearly. Releasing her hands from his shoulders, she backed away behind the piano. "You ask such a thing, not knowing who I am, or why I'm here?"
"You yourself constantly remind me you mean no harm."
Unprepared to open her heart to this man, she stared.
"Is that true?" he asked.
"Yes, but-"
"Hear me out. I don't know why you continue this charade, but sooner or later, you'll tell me or I'll discover your purpose myself. I need an heir, and certainly you realize I find you attractive. You already run my household as though you were my wife. Why not continue? We can end this business of yours and maintain a normal life together."
His proposal was well thought out, efficient and without emotion. He wanted a housekeeper and a brood mare. Even if she considered the idea, which she couldn't, she wanted something altogether different. Something she didn't believe he was capable of giving. "Do you love me?"
It was his turn to back away as if burned. "I beg your pardon?"
Jocelyn almost felt sorry for him, so pained was the expression on his face. "I asked if you love me."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Oh, Reyn, how sad. You can't even say the word, can you? I think love is a large part of marriage. I won't settle for anything less."
"I'm offering you stability and a place in society. You will want for nothing."
"How inviting. No, thank you."
"No?"
"No. I think it best if we continue as we are. When I resolve my problem, you may resume your bachelorhood. If at that time you wish to arrange a typical mar riage complete with mistresses, separate bedrooms and stilted conversations, you shall be free to do so."
"And if I want you?"
"You want me in your bed. I won't become your wife simply to assuage your lust, then be discarded like last week's London Times."
Slowly, precisely, he advanced until he trapped her between the piano and the window. "I can make you change your mind."
Maintaining her position, she lifted her chin to his challenge. "This isn't a game."
"Jocelyn, our relationship became a game the minute you stood in my kitchen and fabricated your circumstance to my face. I realize your fear overrides your good sense. I accept all t
hat. Still, I am willing to offer you more."
Evidently, he meant everything he said. The possible implications were too staggering. "I need to think."
"By all means. Take your time."
She tried to ignore the soft caress as his fingers traced a path down her cheek and across her lips. Certainly one kiss wouldn't hurt. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about this new wrinkle in her plans. Sighing, she lifted her chin higher.
Rather than his usual passionate assault, Reyn seduced her with gentle flicks of his tongue. When she opened her mouth, he held back. Tentatively, she touched her tongue to his lips and allowed herself to slide her tongue into his mouth. Then and only then did he pull her tightly to him. His hands cupped her buttocks, pressing his arousal into her body. She sighed. Heavens, how she had come to enjoy these good-night kisses.
"Remember, Jocelyn, there could be many benefits to a true marriage between us."
Unable to utter a sensible response, Jocelyn merely nodded as she left the salon.
Reyn admitted the truth. Agatha was a brilliant tactician. She had badgered, cajoled and persuaded until, finally, he relented. Now he gazed at his wife from the opposite end of an elegantly appointed table that ran the length of the enormous dining room. He hated dinner parties, considering them just short of torture. They were unending affairs where bored hostesses, hoping for a scintillating evening, often sat mistresses with wives, husbands with lovers, enemies with enemies, each match testing the bounds of social civility.
His grandmother, after reviewing numerous invitations, purposely chose this particular soiree for their first public outing in London. The Earl of Damford and his wife, though a bit staid in their behavior, were good friends to Agatha. The night promised to be as pleasant as he could expect. There would be no surprises. Reyn caught a whisper of Jocelyn's laughter and frowned when he realized it would be difficult to talk to her, not to mention hours before they would be alone.