Duchess for a Day

by Peggy Waide

  "No. Jocko has disappeared like the sewer rat he is."

  Agatha poured more tea into both their cups. "I believe the next few weeks shall prove quite the challenge."

  Having adopted a position of masked observation, Reyn surveyed the Montgomery ballroom. The small orchestra played a tedious tune as couples danced and conversed. People milled about the alcoves and pillars surrounding the room as he watched his wife, noting every nuance, every movement, every sigh. He knew tonight was the night. But for what? As he sipped from his crystal glass, he considered what Davey, his groom, had uncovered from Agatha's chamber maid. It seemed utter nonsense. Davey had rambled on about a man recently returned to London. Somehow the Montgomery Ball factored into the equation, but Reyn had no idea how or why. And of course, there was Agatha and her obvious involvement. That bit of news came as no surprise. He had always known that his grandmother knew more than she was willing to tell.

  During the past week, he had dropped hints, providing Jocelyn every opportunity to confide in him. She had remained stubbornly silent. The little fool. Some where in her mind, she still believed the misguided notion that her silence protected him. Fine. He was a patient man. When the time was right, when she trusted him, she would come to him. "Damn," he muttered irritably. He wanted this whole business finished. Jocelyn refused to address their future together until she resolved her past.

  His thoughts drifted back to the matter at hand, and he discreetly scanned the lavish surroundings, thinking about this mystery man once again. Was the man expected to attend? Did he know something of his wife's past? Was he a threat to Jocelyn? Reyn simply didn't know, but based on his wife's erratic behavior, the tiny shreds of information he had gathered, and his instincts, he stood alert. He had also solicited Walter and Tam's aid. He frowned, wondering where they were. Walter Hathaway's deep voice drew his attention.

  "I tell you, Tam, I can see by his cheery expression that the evening promises to be a delightful diversion."

  Reyn threw a scowl backward over his shoulder at Walter's facetious remark.

  Tam added his jibe to Walter's. "You look like a ruffled cock-grouse protecting his prized territory."

  Ignoring their taunts, chiding their tardy arrival, Reyn scolded, "So good of you to arrive. Prompt, on time."

  When Tam surveyed the gay surroundings, he said, "I see no signs of disaster. Has something happened?"

  "No," Reyn said with disgust. He tipped his head across the crowded ballroom. "Agatha and Jocelyn have been huddled together like a pair of thugs, both of them behaving under the rose."

  Folding his arms across his white satin waistcoat, Walter asked, "Exactly what are we waiting for?"

  "A man."

  "That explains it," Walter quipped.

  Reyn's mood, already volatile at best, had little use for Hathaway's flippant response. "Blast it, Walter, this is serious."

  Tam braced a hand on Reyn's shoulders. "Relax, man. We will see that no harm comes to Jocelyn."

  Irritably, Reyn clamped down the urge to throttle his friend. He knew frustration threatened his control. The anger was better aimed at the stunning ball of fluff responsible. "It's not only that. I believe this man is the answer to the riddle I currently live with."

  "What do you want us to do?" asked Tam.

  Recognizing their unconditional support, Reyn knew his friends would do whatever he requested. "We wait and watch and pray I sustain my patience not to cross the floor and choke the truth from my dear wife."

  Brandies in hand, the three men began their guarded reconnaissance of the two Blackburn women.

  While concentrating on the ballroom's elegant foyer of gold and white, listening with only half an ear, Jocelyn strained to portray polite interest in the conversation about her. She knew her nerves would be a bundle of frayed ends by now if not for Agatha's presence. Like a beacon in the night, she provided direction and hope.

  Jocelyn glanced across the room, singled out her husband, noted Tam and Walter's arrival and smiled. Without a doubt, the three men together presented a force to be reckoned with. Very different men with a friendship held together by similar values. Briefly, she envied their close relationship. Yes, they would always be able to count on one another. Perhaps, she hoped, his friends would distract her husband tonight. Reyn suspected something; of that she was sure.

  She turned back to the ballroom entrance and froze. Every turbulent emotion possible attacked her senses. Through a crippling fog, she felt herself tugged toward a corner of the room. She heard Agatha's innocuous greetings as they passed various lords and ladies. Agatha's soft words, a thread of comfort, permeated the haze.

  "Steady, my dear. We are almost there."

  It seemed as though her entire body was frozen, pregnant with panic. Her feet shuffled awkwardly while her pulse raced and her breathing turned ragged. She felt the perspiration slick on her palms.

  "Jocelyn, by great-grandfather's bones, pull yourself together or I shall retrieve Reyn this very moment."

  The sharp command captured her full attention. Jocelyn willed her composure to return.

  "That's it, child. You are perfectly safe here. No one will hurt you. Seek out your anger, not your fear."

  By now, they had crossed to an isolated, empty alcove. Agatha guided Jocelyn to sit, all the while making it seem that Jocelyn provided support to the older woman.

  Flipping the gilded fan into action, Agatha spoke with obvious interest. "I take it the man dressed in the scarlet waistcoat is your long-lost relative?"

  Jocelyn nodded as she kept her eyes focused on the patterned floor of grey-and-white marble. One last cleansing breath, she thought. Then she could look up and face the enemy. She closed her eyes, exhaled, and lifted her head majestically, a smile of pride and courage plastered on her face.

  The dowager squeezed her hand. "Well done, my girl."

  "When I first saw him, I thought I might faint. I am fine now." Jocelyn gazed around the room. "Where is he?"

  "To the left of the entrance, beside the large potted palm. He is talking to a man who dares to wear trousers a ghastly shade of puce."

  Only Agatha could examine a man's wardrobe moments before impending disaster. The dowager's spirit fortified the courage Jocelyn needed to seek out her adversary. She grinned.

  There he stood, elegantly poised amongst a group of men. She recognized the broad shoulders squared in confidence, the amiable demeanor, the false sincerity. Horace presented himself as every bit the gentleman. She knew the true nature of the man and would see to it that all of London saw what she did. Soon.

  "The time has come, Agatha, to garner the man's attention. I believe I shall invite my husband to dance."

  With that, she floated across the crowded room, intentionally placing herself in close proximity to her step-uncle. Each step took her closer to Reyn. She marveled at the strength, the power, the ferocity of the emotions she felt for him. Dressed all in black, save the small, starched cravat of white, Reyn was the most handsome man there. He was also the most formidable. And she loved him. Dear God, she prayed, let all go well. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.

  Reaching her husband's side, she executed a gracious curtsy, then addressed her husband's companions. "Would it be possible for a wife to claim one dance with her husband?"

  Playfully, Walter looked aghast. "What? And interrupt our critical discussion on the influence of our horses' dietary needs on their ability to win unconditionally at every post?"

  Tam clasped her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "Perhaps you should dance with someone known for his ability to keep his feet on the floor and off his partner's toes?"

  Oh, how she would miss these new friends.

  She took Reyn's hand in hers. "I think my husband's arms will provide everything I need."

  They waltzed into the crowd, her body pressed more closely to his than was proper. Reyn's eyes took on the color of grey-blue thunderclouds and his brows lifted. He grinned seductively. "I thought I
saw to your needs earlier this evening. Did I leave you too soon?"

  Remembering her wild abandon in the bath prior to dressing for the ball, how quickly her body had responded to his expert caresses and kisses, she blushed. "I will not answer. If I do, conceit will rule you."

  A mischievous glint to his eye, he teased the outer rim of her ear as he whispered, "I thought you well loved when you screamed my name for all of London to hear."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, you know all you need do is touch me and I am reduced to mush with no control over my actions."

  Nestling close to Reyn's body, feeling the reassuring beat of his heart, she danced with her head held high, dismissing her step-uncle's presence. She needed this secure space of time before she continued her plans for the evening. Save for a speculative glance at her every now and then, Reyn remained silent, his suspicions, if any, concealed. He, too, seemed content to savor the moment.

  When the dance ended, he guided her to Agatha's side, positioning himself as if he meant to stay. The dowager quickly intervened. "Reyn, be a dear and fetch me a glass of punch."

  He pursed his lips as if he meant to say something, then changed his mind.

  Jocelyn watched his retreating back and fought the urge to flee, the urge to turn and accuse her tormentor, the urge to call Reyn back. She faced Agatha instead. "Did Horace notice?"

  "Your step-uncle looked rather apoplectic," Agatha crooned. "You would have appreciated his reaction."

  "And now?"

  Discreetly peeking over her fan, Agatha answered, "As we speak, your relative circles the room like a reptilian predator. I never expected him to be such a handsome man."

  "Do not let his looks deceive you. His heart is black and made of stone." Hate edged her every word.

  "Prepare yourself. He ventures this way." Agatha fussed with the lace on her sleeves, portraying the typical matron with no more on her mind than her appearance. No one would ever suspect she was about to face a man capable of the lowest treachery. She issued her final instructions. "Remember, you must reveal nothing in your face. Restrain all recognition and emotion until he departs. I will lay the trap. Simply follow my lead."

  Jocelyn nodded that she understood as she mentally prepared herself for the confrontation. Tapping her pink satin-covered toes helped, since the action provided an outlet for her anxiety. She fought to keep her hands still at her sides.

  I am perfectly safe. No harm will come to me tonight. She repeated the litany in her mind over and over again. After all, Reyn was here as well as Tam and Walter. Hundreds of people also stood about. No matter how powerful her prayer, the moment she felt his presence, past terrors and anger wrestled for release. She froze.

  "Good evening, Mary," he said boldly to her back.

  He will do nothing. He will not harm me. Slowly turning toward Horace, she lifted her brow in puzzlement. "I beg your pardon?"

  For a moment, staring intently, he said nothing. His lips formed a smile that looked more like a sneer. "I did not expect to see you here."

  With what she hoped was a blank expression on her face, she answered, "Have we met? I apologize. My husband always teases me about my inability to remember names."

  His cold eyes narrowed sharply, making him look very much like the weasel he was. He glanced at Agatha, who smiled serenely, then back to Jocelyn. "Your husband? What game is this?"

  "Excuse me. I'm not sure what you ask me."

  "Surely you jest. I have no need to meet this husband of yours."

  Glancing over her step-uncle's shoulder, she watched Reyn fast approaching, a tight-lipped expression on his face. She smiled sweetly at Horace seconds before Reyn thrust the glass of punch into Agatha's hand.

  Reyn spoke, his words crisp with arrogance. "Have you need of something?"

  Horace bowed politely before answering. "Mr. Horace Mardell, at your service. I have just returned to London and felt compelled to make this lovely lady's acquaintance."

  How genteel. How smooth. What a fool Horace was. For a brief moment, with an even darker scowl, Reyn's entire body tensed. Jocelyn thought he might challenge Horace to a duel then and there. Agatha held back, evidently content to watch the show.

  Reyn displayed an uncommon proprietorship by pulling Jocelyn close to his side. "This lady happens to be my wife, Lady Blackburn, Duchess of Wilcott."

  Horace's steel-grey eyes registered shock, then abruptly cleared to reveal nothing. Her step-uncle easily recovered from his temporary befuddlement. "I meant no insult. I thought I might know her." He paused to look directly at Jocelyn. "She resembles someone I once knew. I must be wrong."

  His answer came as no surprise to Jocelyn. She wanted to shout, Liar. Murderer. Thief.

  "How extraordinary," bubbled Agatha. "I find it extremely fascinating how people often look alike. You must tell all. By the way, I am Lady Blackburn, dowager Duchess of Wilcott. Reyn, darling, introduce yourself."

  "Reynolds Blackburn, Duke of Wilcott." He purposely kept his voice devoid of warmth, hoping the man would grasp the situation and leave.

  "Reyn, the dear man is obviously a stranger. We must make him feel welcome."

  Welcome? Hell, he'd seen the way Mardell had touched Jocelyn's shoulder. Reyn wanted to throttle the man, and if he couldn't have that luxury, then he certainly didn't want to talk to him.

  "May I say, your grace, that luck blessed you with a lovely prize."

  With her fan waving in the air, Agatha interrupted. "It was fate or such that brought them together, not luck. Isn't that so, Reyn?"

  "More or less." Reyn noted the peculiar expression smeared on Jocelyn's face when she tittered like a featherbrained debutante over Agatha's silly comment. Something was wrong.

  "Have you been married long?" asked Horace.

  Jocelyn enlightened Horace. "Five months. We met in northern England, fell madly in love and married immediately." Horace kept his face glued on Jocelyn's, watching closely. She leaned closer to Reyn.

  "Mardell?" Reyn continued to muddle the name over in his mind. He felt Jocelyn tense like a well-armed bow, then tremble. If she pressed any closer, she would become part of his cravat. "I don't recollect the name."

  "I traveled extensively until my stepbrother passed away. Then I spent most of my time in the country." He observed Jocelyn closely. "I spent the last few months searching the Caribbean for a relative of mine. While there, I purchased a cane plantation."

  Agatha clapped her hands in delight as Lady Battingham often did. "Sugarcane, how delightful. Investing in properties is crucial to one's future, don't you think? I myself enjoy dabbling in various this-and-thats. Luckily, I have been very fortunate. Wool, shipping, corn, a bit of the spice trade, but never sugarcane. Perhaps we could trade business insights."

  Growing more annoyed, Reyn cast a startled glance toward his grandmother. What the hell was she babbling about? He handled the family investments. It struck him like a thunderbolt.

  The man had returned.

  Judging from Jocelyn's strained behavior and Agatha's odd remarks, he knew this had to be the person in question. Whatever game his wife and grandmother played, the cards were being dealt as they spoke. Well, he had a little surprise for all those involved.

  "I have recently considered investing in the islands myself," Reyn stated exuberantly. "It might be interesting to hear your opinions on the matter." Both women stood transfixed, their mouths wide open. "Come, ladies, do not look so surprised."

  By now, Tam and Walter had managed to join the circle. Eagerly, Reyn introduced them to his newfound friend. As the conversation continued, Reyn, Tam, Walter and Agatha grew more animated while Jocelyn fell into a stupor. She pleaded exhaustion. Reyn knew he needed to free her of this place, and soon, or the purpose of tonight's charade would be lost.

  "Excuse us, but we must say good night. As you can see, my wife is about to fall asleep on her feet. Shall you join us, Agatha?"

  Calmly fanning herself, the dowager answered, "I believe I shall stay and
acquaint myself further with Mr. Mardell. Besides, Tam or Walter will see me home safely."

  Reyn extended his hand. "I am sure we will meet again, Mr. Mardell. Soon." The hidden challenge, barely noticeable but present nonetheless, hung in the air.

  "Most definitely," said Mardell. "Good night, Lady Wilcott."

  "Good night." Surprisingly, Jocelyn's voice sounded calm while her legs fought to run from the room. She bade good night to Tam and Walter, then allowed Reyn to slowly escort her to their carriage. Once inside, Jocelyn threw herself into Reyn's arms, heedless of the welcome she might receive. What a fool she had been, thinking she could maintain this cool facade. She no longer cared. She wanted, needed, to absorb Reyn's strength into her body and obliterate the last hour from her mind, her step-uncle's face, his laughter.

  Frantically possessing her husband's lips, demanding a response, she could feel the tug-of-war taking place between his body and his mind. Her determination overruled any timidity as her hands traveled downward.

  Jerking away as though scalded, Reyn exploded. "By the saints, Jocelyn. Do you think this will alter the course for this night?"

  "No. Please. Hold me. Make love to me." Her impassioned plea, along with the tiny, nibbling kisses she placed on his chin, neck and shoulders removed all other protests from his mind.

  "This is not finished," he said, nose to nose before his lips joined with hers in a desperate passion.

  Reyn seemed content to languish over her, skillfully removing the dress from her shoulders to sample the delicate peaks of her breasts. Jocelyn burned with need and wanted no gentle coupling. She slid down the length of his body to the buttons of his breeches. Releasing him from confinement, determined to drive him to the same frenzied state, she let her lips descend.

  "Bloody hell, woman," Reyn moaned painfully as his hand burrowed deep into her falling curls.

  Relentless with her mouth and tongue, she worked her magic until Reyn lifted her from the floor of the carriage, tossed up her skirts, tore the sheer linen pantalets and buried himself deep within her warmth.

  Their lovemaking matched the ageless struggle between man and woman-each stroke a thrust toward power, each withdrawal a reminder of their need to be one. No quarter was given, nor was any desired as Reyn pounded into his wife's lush body, her hips wildly greeting his. No gentle courting. No tender caresses. Simply primal needs that demanded satisfaction. Jocelyn screamed her pleasure into the night, Reyn's cries joining hers.