by Peggy Waide
Jocelyn shivered when a light breeze cooled her body. While leaning against the back of the boat, Reyn nestled her against his chest and draped a blanket across them. His hand drifted outside the boat, drawing lazy circles in the water.
"Do you believe in fate?" she asked.
"Such as puppets on a string with preordained lives?"
She thought he sounded as if the concept were contagious, like the pox. "Not puppets and not preordained. But suppose people are brought into our lives to teach us lessons and present us with choices. We select the different paths and depending on what we choose and how we act, our life unfolds before our eyes. More like divine serendipity. A little guidance, a little luck." She turned to see his reaction. "What do you think?"
"I think I shall make love to you again."
She batted him on the shoulder.
"I concede. I'll play your little game. If, in fact, there is this great scheme to life-"
"Divine serendipity."
"Whatever. What is your role in my life?"
"Perhaps I was sent to help you find joy in your life."
He tried to look offended. "Are you telling me that I have a less than congenial manner? That my moods are not as jubilant as they should be? Do you not see before you a changed man?"
Although his voice was laced with amusement, she pretended to consider the question seriously. "I will concede a small improvement."
With his gaze wandering over her body, he lifted his hand from the water and sent tiny drops of water cascading down her breasts. When he smiled at her, she felt like a piece of succulent fruit.
"And is this grand plan beneficial to both parties?" he asked.
"Of course."
Like a harem sultan, noble and arrogant, he locked his arms behind his head. "Then I have completed my instruction. For surely it was my duty to turn you into a slave to my lovemaking."
She giggled like a five-year-old. "I don't think so." Sobering, she added without thinking, "Perhaps you have been chosen to teach me to trust men again." That certainly caught his attention, for he snapped his response.
"Personally, I don't give a tinker's toy if you ever trust any man except me." He pulled the blanket back to her chin, all amorous ideas temporarily displaced. Hesitantly, he asked, "Are there any men you trust, Jocelyn?"
Instinctively, she knew he wasn't setting a trap. She wondered what she should tell him. What she could tell him. Considering her options, she decided to share some of her pain and ease some of his worry.
'Two years ago, I would have said yes. Today, I'm not sure." One look at his dark expression, and she knew her glib answer only aggravated him. In resignation, she lifted her shoulders, then exhaled a cleansing breath. Settling herself against the back of the boat as Reyn did, she locked the blanket to her chest with her elbows. "When I was very young, I loved my parents a great deal. There was laughter and the joy of feeling cherished. As I grew older, I realized most of the warmth came from my mother. She worked very hard to provide a happy, loving home. One night I found her crying. I was so confused and terribly worried that I demanded she tell me who hurt her. She never did. After my continual prodding and prying, she did explain the ways of men and women and marriage, her most fervent plea that I never marry for any reason other than love. After that, she still cried from time to time, but always behind a locked door. I came to realize that she never really loved my father, but she was always a perfect wife, hostess, mother. I began to blame him for her unhappiness.
"Then one day, my father told me he and mother were going away. I begged to go with them. I thought Mother needed me. Nothing I said could change his mind, so they left, promising to return in three days. They never did. The adult in me knows it wasn't their choice, but the child still feels betrayed. All I knew was they died, and things changed."
"Such as?"
"Life as I knew it ceased to exist. I was eleven."
Perplexed, he said, "Was there no one to care for you?"
She realized she had scrunched the blanket into knots and tried to relax. "A male relative saw to my needs. Men always seemed to be in charge, and they quite changed my attitude toward that half of the species."
He quirked his brow at the odd statement.
"Past experience taught me to have little use for men, and virtually no trust of their actions." Considering that she lay, naked, next to a man, she realized her life had indeed changed. She had taken a step in trusting someone the night she allowed Reyn to make love to her. It was a beginning.
Placing his hand in hers, he brought it to his lips. "I would have kept you safe."
A forlorn expression shadowed her features. "Yes, I believe you would have."
"Jocelyn."
She knew the subject he wished to broach and grabbed her chemise buried beneath them. "Please, don't spoil this." His steely glare did not soften her position. "I think we should change the direction of this conversation. It's your turn."
"My turn?"
"I just bared part of my soul, now you must bare yours."
With his lips curled in a lecherous grin, he threw the blanket to die side. "Can't I bare something less painful, like my-"
She threw his trousers at his naked torso. "No. Tell me about your parents."
He froze before he began jerking on his breeches, his movements a mirror to his emotions. "My father was a fool."
Stunned by the animosity in his voice, she stopped dressing.
"Don't misunderstand me. I loved him and he loved me as well. As the story goes, he loved a young girl deeply. The betrothal contracts completed, he sailed off for a quick business trip to Paris, bad luck prevailing, for he met Margaret Ridgeley, my mother. After a wellplanned seduction on her part, my father, the bastion of honor, married her and sentenced himself to a life in purgatory. Contrary to your family, my lady mother, bless her cold-blooded heart, didn't relish motherhood or marriage. Once she produced an heir, fulfilling her responsibility to the dukedom, I rarely saw her. When she did grace us with her visits, she occupied herself with myriad activities, most of which excluded her husband and son. The duchess spent most of her time flat on her back in some other man's bed, or she adorned the salons of the good people of London. She was a beautiful, cunning bitch."
His speech, rapid and terse, continued as he pulled and tugged his clothes into place. "My poor, misguided father confined himself to Wilcott Keep, suffering a broken heart. His fiancee, the girl he'd abandoned, his true love, eventually married, but died prematurely. The duke, however misguided, blamed himself for his lack of honor, her death, his pitiful life. I believe he mourned his loss of love until he killed himself with alcohol. The day he died, we fought. A young man's battered hopes and his lack of control are a lethal combination. I said horrible things to him. Things I will never have the chance to apologize for. He died on my fourteenth birthday. Even then he carried a locket bearing the face of the woman he loved."
Jocelyn shuddered as the harsh cadence in his voice washed over her, the bitterness so strong, it seemed a tangible thing.
Jumping from the boat, grasping her arms, he lifted her to the spongy soil. She placed his hands to her heart, tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm sorry. You deserved better."
All expression ran from his face. "Perhaps." Distancing himself, he withdrew his hands and placed them at his sides. She felt that cold wall resurrect itself, stone by stone, and regretted her choice of topics. "We are a sorry pair. You obviously have no reason to believe in love or marriage. I have no reason to believe in men yet long for a loving marriage. What are we going to do?"
"About?"
s."
Although the detachment remained, some of the tenderness returned. "What do you want to happen, Jocelyn?"
"I know you want to help me. Part of me believes and even trusts you, otherwise I would never have allowed you into my bed. The part of me born from years of experience fights me at every turn. I will not allow myself to be used or hurt again. Give me a bit more time.
Let us to continue to be friends until I resolve my problems; then we can see where we go from there."
"And how long shall that be?" he demanded.
"I'm not sure." Placing a hand on his arm, she felt his hidden anger. "Reyn, if I could, if I thought it best, I would tell you everything. Trust me to make the right decision."
A winging curlew's lonely cry pierced the stark silence before Reyn answered. "For now, Jocelyn. But I believe there will come a time when half measures will no longer be enough. For either of us."
When the prick of the dressmaker's pin stole her thought, Jocelyn turned from her image in the threepaneled cheval glass to face Agatha, who sat in a beige brocade chair beside the blue curtain of the dressing room. The dowager sipped on a cup of tea and smiled.
"My dear, the gown is absolutely stunning."
"Truly, Agatha, I have no need for another dress."
"Pish-posh. I realize that my grandson has expanded your wardrobe most nobly since your return to London, but he wants something special for the Montgomery ball next month."
"What about the peach velvet?"
"You wore that last Wednesday to the opera." Placing her teacup on the silver tray sitting on the nearby table, Agatha said, "By the way, I applaud you for encouraging my grandson to attend. The transformation in Reyn is remarkable and I have you to thank. He has attended both those interminable balls and dinner parties. Quite amazing. Lord Dalton nearly crooked up his toes when you accepted his invitation last week. But getting back to the dress, the rose silk will do nicely. I think I will discreetly murmur the color of the dress to Reyn. He might find his way to purchase a matching bauble."
Jocelyn tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips in warning. "Don't you dare. He has spent enough already."
"Nonsense." Agatha waved her hand with the accustomed air of authority. "Reyn can well afford another ruby or two. Besides, it is his duty. Do you not agree, Chloe?"
"Oui" agreed the petite dressmaker. "A woman must possess new gowns so her husband has reason to purchase matching trinkets of gems and gold. To refuse is to insult their manhood. Comprendez-vous, Madame Wilcott?"
Yes, Jocelyn understood exactly. Both women believed such drivel. Knowing there was no reason to argue her point, Jocelyn simply shook her head from side to side and peered, once again, at her reflection. The gown would be spectacular. She smiled, already anticipating her husband's reaction. When he witnessed the daring 3colletage, he would throw a loud, masculine tantrum and order her to change. She would refuse, of course. Then, if she hoped to reach the Montgomery ball in a presentable state, she would make sure Lady Agatha accompanied them in their carriage. As she remembered the passionate lesson Reyn had already taught her while in their carriage on the way to the theater, Jocelyn flushed a shade of pink she thought might match the silk dress.
Chloe winked as she adjusted the final drape of the gown across Jocelyn's shoulders. "Ali, I see you understand the other purpose of a new gown. Your husband shall have a difficult time, oui?"
If possible, Jocelyn knew she flushed an even darker color.
Beaming, Madame Chloe unraveled her from the dress. "I will have the gown ready for a final fitting in three weeks."
Thinking of the precious moments spent above the stairs in their bedchamber-Reyn, the ever-patient teacher, her, the ever-adoring student-Jocelyn grew eager to return home.
She stepped from behind the privacy screen only to encounter Reyn's former mistress. The woman wore a stunning burgundy-and-black gown that displayed her charms quite nicely. With her lips curled, Celeste appeared absolutely thrilled to see Jocelyn. Jocelyn squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, trying to hide the sudden wariness clawing at her stomach.
Celeste strutted forward. "My, my. What do we have here? The new Duchess Wilcott."
The taunt in the woman's voice was evident, but Jocelyn refused to acknowledge who the woman was or what her relationship with Reyn might have been. Jocelyn innocently asked, "Excuse me. Have we met?"
"Not directly. I happen to be a friend of your husband's. Lady Waverly. Celeste Waverly. Perhaps he mentioned me?"
Jocelyn spoke casually as she attempted to pass. "No, I don't believe so."
Obviously determined to make a scene, Celeste blocked the exit. "Are you enjoying married life, Lady Wilcott?"
"Enormously. Good day."
Ignoring the dismissal, Celeste continued. "The benefits must be staggering." The woman eyed Jocelyn's simple blue muslin gown with distaste. "Especially for a country girl like yourself." She flexed her hand to emphasize an exquisite emerald ring that decorated her finger. "Reyn is always so generous with his favors when pleased, if you understand my meaning."
The emotions churning through her body, concealed until now, began to boil inside her like water in a tea kettle. If she remained, Jocelyn would make a scene she would surely regret later. Wanting to jam the glittering bauble down the woman's throat, but choosing to ignore its significance and reveal her true feelings, Jocelyn calmly said, "My husband is always a gentleman."
Celeste chortled with amusement. "Oh, you poor thing, I hope not. By the way, how is Reyn this afternoon? Last night, he seemed a bit under the weather."
Tired of the malicious innuendoes, Jocelyn armed for a direct attack of her own. "Last night, my husband seemed fine. Downright vigorous, if you understand my meaning. In fact, when I left him this very morning," she said, flashing her own, recent acquisition from Reyn, a huge diamond surrounded by sapphires, "he was quite exhausted." She watched Celeste's face turn white, her features pinched with anger.
The dressmaker, silent till now, crossed to Celeste with a vibrant sapphire gown draped across her arm. "Welcome, Madame Waverly. Your gown is ready to try.
"In a moment, Chloe," Celeste snapped. She flicked a piece of lint from her dark broadcloth pelisse, and pressed her assault on Jocelyn. "Reyn always appreciated Chloe's talents. As is his norm, I see he recommended her services. He always enjoyed seeing his women dressed in the very best."
"Enough of this," Jocelyn muttered. The woman was purposely trying to start an argument. She wouldn't oblige, but neither would she remain here and act like a timid little lapdog. Somehow she needed to disarm the annoying female. "I see you use the word `women.' I am not ignorant of my husband's activities, but luckily I count you among the numbers in his past. If you recall, I am now his wife, and we love one another quite dearly."
"Are you really that naive?" Celeste sneered. "Wife equates to brood mare, but means little else when it comes to a man's needs." Tossing her head back, flaunting her lush figure, she added, "And a man like Reyn needs a great deal. Furthermore, if you believe he loves you, you are more foolish than I thought. Reyn is incapable of love. I always understood that."
No longer content to remain stoically quiet, Agatha grabbed Jocelyn's cloak. "Celeste, trap your tongue behind your teeth. I see you once again elect to display your lack of tact and manners. For reasons that escape me, you once occupied my grandson's bed. You were not the first, but you will be the last. He is happily married. Remember, you prowl the halls of the finer families in London out of the good grace of these so-called brood mares with whom I regularly communicate. I suggest you take your mewling elsewhere." She turned to Jocelyn. "Come, my dear. Reyn is waiting."
For a moment, Celeste stood dumbstruck, her mouth gaping wide, her hands fisted at her sides. She laughed a harsh, condescending sound as Agatha took Jocelyn's arm and ushered her to the door. "Are you so sure he is at home, Lady Wilcott? By all means, hurry home to your faithful husband."
Desperately wanting to hurl the glass lamp at the noxious she-cat, Jocelyn launched a parting insult instead. 'Tis a blessed thing, Agatha, the numerous congratulations and warm wishes Reyn and I have received." She glared directly at Celeste. "Especially from the older, more seasoned women of the ton."
Her departure was majestic, her mood volatile. By the time they reached Black House, Jocelyn had convinced herself that Reyn had r
enewed his relationship with his mistress. Agatha sputtered and placated, before she eagerly departed to her own residence.
Jocelyn vaulted from the carriage, charged the house in search of her libertine husband and invaded his study like Napoleon advancing on Russia, Reyn reclined against his desk, dressed in black leather breeches with a flowing white shirt open halfway down his chest. A foil lay on the floor next to a discarded face mask, and his body glistened with sweat from a recent bout of fencing. At the moment, he studied a set of papers. Caesar, the traitor, lounged beside Reyn.
Slamming the door with enough ferocity to shift the pictures on the wall, Jocelyn grabbed and hurled a three-armed candelabra toward Reyn's head. Caesar leaped out of harm's way to the nearby chair. "Sorry, Caesar," she muttered, then faced Reyn again. "You ruddy bowdykite."
Other than casting a downward glance at the nowtwisted piece of silver resting at his feet, he displayed no outward reaction. "I take it your fitting did not go well?" He turned toward the windows overlooking the street. "What do you think, Tam?"
In a crazed flash, her dress flaring, Jocelyn whirled around and gasped. Intent on fury, she had missed the lazy stance of Tameron Innes, who leaned beside the window. "Oh, blast." She turned her rage back to her husband. "You wretched thimble-rigger. You have the audacity to humiliate me? Mock me? Use me? You are lower than a piece of moss-covered rock."
Watching her speculatively through narrowed eyelids, he said to Tam, "Her insults need a bit of improvement, don't you think?"
Reyn's clenching teeth and flashing eyes should have stifled Jocelyn's bravado, but the detached dismissal as he addressed his friend incensed her to launch a wellaimed porcelain dish. It bounced off his chest.
Finally he snarled, "Jocelyn."
Tam edged toward the door, tamping down a grin. "In hopes of escaping unscathed, I think Caesar and I shall leave the two of you to settle this matter. Alone."
"No need to fear, Tam," she said as sweetly as honeyed bread. "Caesar knows I won't hurt him, and I have no argument with you other than your misplaced loyalty. I am sure you already know of my husband's peccadilloes. Why not stay and hear his gallant attempt at lies and deceit? You may learn something, or at the very least have yourself a fine chuckle over my naivete."