Duchess for a Day

by Peggy Waide

  Collapsed within her husband's arms, each clop of the horses' hooves leaving the Montgomery ball and her step-uncle far behind, she felt herself calm, thinking clearly once again. She knew she wouldn't feel completely safe until she locked herself behind her bedroom door. One furtive look at Reyn's stony expression and she wondered whether she would need protection from him as well.

  Nudged by her dreams, Jocelyn stirred to find herself undressed, tucked beneath the cozy covers of her bed. When she realized she must have fallen asleep in the carriage, she anxiously searched the dark chamber to find Reyn. He stood beside the large bay window, at one with the night. Dark, desolate, menacing.

  She knew half-measures would no longer be acceptable. Shifting upright on the pillows, she offered her confession to her husband's back. "My name is Mary Jocelyn Garnett. Horace Mardell is my step-uncle, the man responsible for the deaths of my parents, guilty of stealing my inheritance and consigning me to Bedlam."

  Slowly, Reyn's body, choked with tension, turned toward her. His face remained in the shadows. If she could see him, she knew his eyes would be devoid of warmth, his lips thinned to a tight line of resolution.

  "Reyn..." Her words faltered.

  Like a hard frost on the frozen moor, his voice rang cold and brittle. "I am waiting."

  "Before I continue, I must ask you something." Reyn lifted his head. One look at his face, the twitching of the tiny crescent scar, the total withdrawal in his eyes, the rigid set to his jaw, and she almost crawled back beneath the covers. Only her determination and convictions steeled her to move forward. "I intend to finish what I started tonight. Do you promise not to interfere unless I ask?" That certainly garnered his attention, for he flew from the dark like a menacing specter.

  "How dare you!" he accused her with raw fury. "The only thing I promise is not to beat you black and blue regardless of my inclination to do so."

  "I understand you are irritated, but-"

  "Irritated!" He savagely spit his words. "You little fool."

  "I know exactly what I am doing."

  "Is that supposed to reassure me? Your step-uncle, by your own admission, is a self-confessed murderer. He abandoned you in hell's own den and has done God knows what else. Tonight you acted as though the man were less bothersome than a beetle. What the devil were you thinking?"

  She wanted his agreement, needed it. Desperate to explain, she tried to placate his temper. "If you would kindly sit down, I will start from the beginning."

  He stomped to the nearby Pembroke table, gathered a shot of whiskey and dropped into the high-backed chair at the foot of the bed. Waves of contained anger emanated from his muscled form.

  As he continued to stare in glacial silence, she assumed he meant for her to begin. "When I was twelve, my parents took a short holiday. I remained home."

  "I remember."

  "When their bodies were discovered, everyone believed them to be the victims of a robbery. Unbeknownst to me, the family estates and fortune were left as my inheritance through a special dispensation from the king. I could not gain control until I married or turned nineteen. My parents had seen to the financial details, but neglected to see to me. Horace Mardell arrived at Bellford Hall, a letter from my father in hand, naming him as my legal guardian. Suddenly, I found myself under his guardianship. I didn't know it at the time, but Horace had been disowned by the family and chose to use this opportunity as his means to regain his wealth. The letter was forged. To shorten an otherwise long and dreary story, he sent me to the most remote place he could find, a Catholic nunnery, and basically forgot I existed until I turned eighteen. He brought me home where he was living quite comfortably. Horace seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Having no other living relative, wanting someone to care about me, I naively believed everything he said, including his desire to see me properly introduced to London society, his goal to find me a proper husband."

  She paused for a moment. Did she dare tell Reyn about Phillip? One look at his incensed expression and she wished she could ignore this part of her past. But that was impossible. If Reyn was going to despise her, it was better to find out now. Even though it would be her word against her step-uncle's, the truth would come out, and in the eyes of the law, murder was murder.

  "Don't stop now, my dear. I'm savoring every word."

  "Must you make this more difficult than it already is?"

  "Excuse me for not serving tea and scones, but I find I am not in an accommodating mood right now."

  Ignoring the caustic tone in his voice, she continued. "While at Bellford Hall, a gentleman visited my step-uncle. We became good friends. Within a few weeks, he asked for my hand in marriage. Horace gladly consented."

  "A fiance. How nice. This tale grows more interesting by the moment." His eyes narrowed to a steely glint. "Does this fellow have a name?"

  "Phillip Bains."

  "Ali. The mysterious Phillip. And where is your dear franc3 now?"

  The words remained lodged in her throat, her lips and tongue unable to form a sound with her mouth as dry as a three-month-old biscuit from the cargo hold of a sea vessel.

  "Jocelyn?" he prompted.

  Unable to bear his expression, his contempt, she addressed her fingertips. "He's dead." Don't wait, she thought. Tell it all. Quickly. "I killed him."

  He must have flown across the floor, for now he towered above her, threatening and intimidating.

  "What did you say?"

  Something wild burst deep inside. "I killed him. With my own two hands. I'm a murderess. Does that make you happy? Are you glad to finally know the truth about your wife? Will you start to sleep with a pistol by your bed? Watch your back? Have me arrested? Return me to Bedlam?"

  His strong hands gripped her shoulders to shake her. "Stop it.,,

  "Why? Is the truth so difficult to hear?"

  "Your so-called truth is utter nonsense," he said sarcastically. "You could no more kill anyone than Agatha could keep her nose from other people's business."

  "I'd reserve that judgment until you've heard the entire story." As the angry fog began to clear, she pulled herself from his grasp. Her expression hardened to match his. "I'm fine. Really. Let me finish." The black look on his face revealed his skepticism. With reluctance, he retreated to the shadows of the room.

  She began once again, her voice edged with self-recrimination. "Late one night, when the staff was abed and Horace was out, Phillip and I were alone in the 1i brary. He wanted to elope. I wanted to wait. He persisted and prodded until his advances became belligerent, almost desperate. The longer I refused, the more irate he became. My own temper took hold. I told him I would never marry him if I was witnessing the true man. He lunged for me. I panicked and struck him with a brass candlestick. Poor Phillip crumpled to the floor like a lead ball. He lay motionless with blood oozing from his forehead, and I stood there doing nothing, watching the life drain from his body. When my stepuncle found me, I was hovering over Phillip, blood smeared on my hands and clothes. Horace informed me that Phillip was dead. In order to protect me from scandal or possible retribution, he sent me to my room, told me to burn my garments, and that he would handle everything. By the time my good sense returned, Horace had left with Phillip's body."

  "Jocelyn, you are no murderess."

  "How can you say that after-"

  He held up his hands to freeze the words in her mouth. "If my guess is correct, you are guilty of ignorance, self-preservation, and blind faith. Not murder."

  If only his assurances were true. "But..."

  "You said Phillip seemed desperate. Why?"

  What did Phillip's mood matter? She was the one who killed him. "How should I know?"

  "Think, Jocelyn. Use the brain I know you have. What did Phillip say?"

  Her mind traveled back to the night months ago when her life began to spin out of control. "Phillip said he had to marry me. Immediately. Before my step-uncle returned."

  "Keep going. Try to remember every detail."


  Phillip's image flashed before her: the wild look in his eyes, his rapid breathing and erratic movements, the ferocity of his grip. "I already told you. He wanted to elope that night. I refused. He practically begged, claiming it was a matter of life or death. Still I refused. Still he pressed his suit. I threatened to tell my stepuncle and"-she paused-"Phillip laughed."

  "Keep going and concentrate. Exactly what did he say about your step-uncle?"

  "He said Horace wouldn't come to my rescue in the manner I expected, but I would have a husband one way or another. Phillip felt he was the preferred choice." As the idea gained clarity in her mind, she sought Reyn in the shadows. "You think Horace was forcing Phillip to marry me."

  "The thought occurred to me. I've also considered that your step-uncle might have finished off poor Phillip himself."

  His words, meant to comfort, give absolution of some sort, were still difficult to accept. "Out of anger and fear, I struck him. Then I stood there, doing nothing. I let my step-uncle protect me."

  "Permit yourself to be human. You were frightened and in all likelihood in shock. Does Agatha know about this?"

  "No. I've told no one."

  "Good. I will begin a discreet investigation tomorrow." When she started to object, he raised his hand to silence her. "Did you love him?"

  Why had he asked her that? How could she answer? Phillip offered friendship. Like an abandoned puppy, she had relished every smile, wink, secret joke and compliment thrown her way. He made her laugh, and up until that last night had shown her only kindness. "What does it matter?"

  "Just answer the bloody question."

  "I'm not sure!"

  He practically snarled. "Go on. I would like to hear the rest of this confession."

  She wanted to run, to scream, to have Reyn take her into his arms and offer comfort, but his voice had be come cool and distant once again. Pulling the covers to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her knees forming a tight cocoon, as if the position would restrain her frayed emotions.

  "We set off for London the next day. Prior to our departure, my step-uncle did propose marriage himself. After my emphatic refusal, he seemed content to take me to the city, but not as I anticipated. We reached the outskirts of London, where we encountered a band of ruffians. He bragged about the attack, his own grand scheme, then raged about the inheritance, claiming it should have been his. I still didn't even know I had an inheritance. That was when he confessed to my parents' deaths. By killing them, he thought the title, the estates, the monies, would fall to him. As far as I know, everything was left to me. Except the title, of course. That died with my father. He told me I should have married Phillip when I'd had the chance."

  "Why?"

  Shrugging her shoulders, she answered. "I don't know."

  "What happened next?"

  "I thought he would kill me on the spot, but he said he wanted me mollified, broken, biddable. That's when he delivered me to Bedlam. I think he planned to come back and claim me for his wife."

  Reyn rubbed his palm across the stubble on his jaw. "I assume he wanted absolute control over your money and the estates. Perhaps he feared questions would be asked."

  "He also said he wanted me in his bed." Hearing his obscene commentary, she realized she should have kept that fact to herself. She muttered, "I believe you know the rest."

  "Hardly." He began pacing the room in a rapid, erratic pattern. "Why didn't you contact the authorities?"

  "I had no proof. You think they would have believed an escapee from Bedlam? I also feared the mishap with Phillip. I had no idea how my step-uncle would use that information."

  "Why didn't you contact your father's solicitor? Surely, he would have helped you."

  "For half my adult life, I lived with nuns and other young girls in similar situations to mine. I spent little time in the company of men. I believed my father had abandoned me. I trusted Phillip. He deceived me. You know what my step-uncle did. I met the family solicitor only once. I didn't know whom to trust any longer. As far as I knew, he was helping Horace. Agatha came along, promised what seemed to be the moon, and I believed her."

  Clearly dissatisfied, he resumed his interrogation. "Why the memory loss?"

  "Horace swore he would kill anyone who stood in his way. I hoped to protect those who helped me."

  "Good God, you insult me. We have been around this bend before. I am capable of protecting myself."

  She defended her decision. "I couldn't take the risk. I know this man. If he thinks I have lost my mental faculties, he will believe he is safe. For the moment. I will have the time to implement my revenge, gain a confession or some evidence to punish the man. Agatha and I have everything planned."

  "Ali yes, your plan. I became suspicious the moment Agatha began to spout nonsense about investments and such. That was all a little game you and Agatha played tonight, wasn't it?" He advanced on the bed from across the room to hover menacingly above her, a feral gleam to his eyes. "Tell me about this plan, Jocelyn."

  "Promise you won't interfere?" When she watched his clouded expression darken, she realized the chance of gaining any promise from him was unlikely. She resigned herself. "Agatha will introduce Horace to Lord Halden, intimating that she heard about some specula tive investments. She believes that Lord Halden will eagerly embrace her interest. Hopefully, Horace will follow suit. Of course, after Horace has entangled himself, Agatha will withdraw at the last minute. Then we wait for the projects to fall apart as they often do. We also hope that Horace involves himself in the less respectable investments of Lord Halden, which we will willingly expose."

  "What if Horace refuses the bait or suspects trickery? What if he kills Halden? What if he kills you?"

  Her tightly leashed control vanished. She yelled her response. "Don't you think I have thought of that?"

  Reyn slammed a fist into the towering rail of the four-poster bed, his voice equally loud and unyielding. "Then for heaven's sake, why don't you simply tell the authorities and have the man arrested?"

  "I can't," she cried irrationally while launching herself from the bed in near hysteria. "I won't. It is still my word against his. Besides, I will have my revenge. Power, status and money are everything to him. I will allow him to think those things are within his grasp, then relish every moment he suffers as his dreams and good name turn to dust before his very eyes. I want him to feel as exploited, as forsaken, as shattered as I did when he, the last person I allowed myself to trust, abandoned me to hell."

  "Enough, Jocelyn."

  "I will do this no matter how angry you are or become."

  Within a heartbeat, Reyn closed the space between them. "Don't you understand I am worried about you?" He savagely wrapped her in a possessive embrace. "Since the beginning, set on this course of yours, you have repeatedly lied. I have lived with that deceit, accepted your private reasons and hoped to earn your trust. I will help you. After tonight, though, no more secrets. Is there anything else I need to know?"

  She could feel his gaze on the top of her head. It was almost as if he cared. Truly cared. Yet, this was not the time to tell him about the baby. That news could wait for a happier moment. "No," she whimpered as tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

  "I hope to God you are telling the truth."

  She thought his whispered words were more for himself than for her.

  Reyn considered everything his wife, now asleep beside him, had revealed. Her confession tonight easily explained her actions, her fears, over the last few months. He would grant her the vengeance, for he understood the need. He felt a need to throttle Mardell himself. Grudgingly, he acknowledged the soundness of her plan, though he'd be damned before she placed herself in jeopardy. The minute her step-uncle suspected larceny or trickery, she could be killed and that was unthinkable. From now on, she would be closely guarded whenever she left the house. If he allowed her to leave at all.

  By the end of the Montgomery ball, Agatha should have introduced Lord Halden to Mardell, a marri
age made in heaven-or more appropriately, hell. The bastards deserved one another, the difference being only that Lord Halden was a leech on society, Mardell a murderer.

  If his own scene went according to plan, Tam and Walter would have befriended Mardell as well. It would be interesting to see what information and insight they gained.

  An image of Jocelyn wrapped in the arms of another man sent Reyn's blood boiling. Jealousy was a new emotion for him. He didn't like it. Phillip Bains had not deserved to die, but Reyn could not quite bring himself to feel any remorse for a man he never knew, especially if it meant Jocelyn now belonged to him. Had she loved her dead fiance? And did it matter? By defending her self, had she killed him? Or had Mardell finished the job? Those were questions Reyn intended to find answers for over the next few days.

  Jocelyn stirred, nestling deeper in his warmth. Along with the overwhelming instinct to protect her came a burst of self-contempt at the sudden realization that he had given this one woman the one thing he swore he never would. After all his vows, his promises, he had fallen in love with her. When he considered the fact that he still harbored a fierce sense of betrayal, he found the revelation very unsettling. And why did he feel that she kept another secret?

  Massaging his pounding temples, he hoped his instincts were wrong.

  While he tore a buttered biscuit in half, a long, slow whistle slid between Tam's teeth as he absorbed the story Reyn relayed. Walter's fingers drummed absently on the arm of the mahogany Queen Anne chair. Reyn understood their need for a moment to absorb the information before he began his own interrogation.

  But he quickly lost his patience. "Now you understand the necessity for urgency. How did it go last night?"

  "Horace Mardell is as crooked as a coiled rope," said Tam. "Not to mention cold, calculating and a cunning card player."