by Liz Carlyle
The answer was no. Yet matters simply could not go on as they were. Indeed, she could not go on as she was. She really was beginning to lose control. It grieved her to admit it. Today she had all but brandished a weapon in James’s face. The near tragedy in Hyde Park had shaken her far more than any of the previous accidents had. And accident was really not the proper word, was it?
Jonet was increasingly convinced that nothing which had occurred, beginning with Henry’s death, had been an accident. Wearily, she sat down at the breakfast table and gazed across its width and through the window. She still did not know if she could risk trusting Cole. Her children’s welfare was at stake. And Cole was James’s nephew. Yet her every instinct pulled her to him, and the restraint which was required to resist that temptation was just another drain on her nearly exhausted mind.
Why had he accepted this position in her home, if he did not intend to do James’s bidding? What other reason could there be for such a man—a soldier—to take up such a post? It had taken several weeks to thoroughly investigate him, but she now knew it was not money which motivated him. And she did not for one minute believe he had done it out of the goodness of his heart. Life had taught her that people were almost never that unselfish.
Yet it troubled her to admit how reassuring his embrace felt. Jonet was a tall woman. Few men towered over her the way Cole Amherst did. His chest was broad and his arms were sure. Jonet had wanted nothing so much as to dive into them and remain, sheltered against the wall of his chest, until the trembling inside her ceased and the madness dissipated. It was a luxury she had never known. One that she could not now afford.
How odd, and yet how natural, his touch seemed. And he had kissed her—an almost brotherly gesture at first. But then, it had felt almost as if he had lingered, as if he had briefly considered skimming his lips down her brow to turn the kiss into something more erotic than comforting. And Jonet had wanted him to do just that. She should have jerked away, mindful of his place in her household. But in truth, she no longer knew what his place in her household was. Effortlessly, and without any degree of arrogance, Cole Amherst took command of people and situations as if it were his duty. And thus far, she had been almost relieved to let him do so.
No, Jonet had not jerked from Cole’s embrace. Instead, she had ached to lean into it, weakly convincing herself that it was perfectly natural to take a moment’s comfort from him, because Cole was family—an idea she had found laughable but a few days earlier. The Rowland family had never brought her anything but grief. And yet, for the briefest of moments, Jonet had allowed herself to forget that her children were in danger, and that her worst enemy lay in wait for them just inside her drawing room.
Foolishly, she had savored the heat of Cole Amherst’s sinfully erotic mouth against her skin, desperately wishing that he would slide his lips over hers and take her with a savagery sufficient to blind out all else. He was more than capable. Raw power and repressed sensuality boiled just below his steadfast restraint A man was not gifted with such wicked lips, were he incapable of using them to every advantage.
And the rest of him was equally promising. With a little cry of despair, Jonet pushed away the thought How dangerous! Oh, she had toyed with the thought of seducing him, and would willingly have done so had she thought it would keep her children safe. But whatever Cole Amherst’s ambition, Jonet had come to suspect it would not be thwarted by seduction. That sensuous mouth aside, Cole was too driven, too self-possessed, to yield to feminine manipulation, while fear and fatigue had stripped Jonet of her usual cold, unyielding strength, leaving her susceptible to all sorts of foolish emotion. She had become weak, though she took great pains to hide it Yet her hard veneer was cracking, and Jonet felt it all too keenly.
Sighing into the emptiness of the room, Jonet was further shaken by the realization that for the first time in her life, she almost missed her husband. At times, she had hated Henry, it was true. But the last few years of her marriage had finally brought a sense of peace; a poignant acceptance of the fact that her life was all it would ever be. Her children had been her reason for living, while David had been her comfort.
And Henry had been ... what? At least he had ceased to be her enemy. It was true that the gossip about David had finally enraged him, but Henry would never have carried out his threats. Given time, she could have brought him around. But fate had cheated her of the chance.
Well! There was nothing to be gained by regretting the past. She would bring the boys down as Cole suggested. But she had no intention of leaving them alone.
Rationally, she knew James could not snatch them from her very drawing room, but it was the irrational that so often drove Jonet nowadays. It would be easy enough to go around through the book-room and stand by the double doors that connected to the drawing room. Perhaps she might even learn why Cole had come to Mercer House. And like so many other sins these days, eavesdropping was no longer beneath Jonet.
Chapter 6
Lord Delacourt Issues A Challenge
The coffee had barely cooled when it became painfully obvious to Cole that James’s interest in Robert and Stuart was superficial at best. Throughout the visit, which lasted all of fifteen minutes, it became clear that James was more interested in needling Jonet than in caring for her children. Eventually, he drew out his watch and peered at it with barely suppressed impatience. “Well!” he said, coming forward in his chair to heartily slap his thighs. “You two seem to be flourishing under your cousin’s tutelage. It was a wise decision on my part, I can see that.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Stuart flatly. Robert said nothing, but fidgeted in his chair.
James gave his broad, disingenuous smile. “Right then! Well, off with you now. I must speak privately with your cousin for a few moments.” Sonorously, he cleared his throat. “It was very good to have seen you at last” A hint of sarcasm laced his tone, but if the boys noticed it, they gave no indication.
“Good day, sir,” said Stuart, sliding to his feet. “It was good of you to come, I am sure.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Robert dully, following his brother’s actions. “Good day, sir.”
Together, they all but flew across the room and escaped into the corridor. As soon as the door thumped shut, James leaned forward. “Well, Cole?” he said abruptly.
“What have you learned?”
With calculated deliberation, Cole elevated his brows and studied his uncle carefully. “I have learned, sir, that Robert has charm, but his arithmetic skills are very poor. And Stuart has quite a flair for languages, but he is too quiet. But both are bright, and potentially —”
“No, no, no!” James interrupted, shaking his beefy jowls. “About her. What about her? Has she done or said anything that would give me cause to take charge of the boys? What sort of mischief is she about? Good God, Cole! Have you uncovered nothing in the month since I sent you here?”
Cole willed himself to be calm, but inwardly, he was far angrier on Jonet’s behalf than he should have been. His feelings for her were sharp, almost painful, and he did not understand them. With one hand, Cole pulled off his spectacles, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. James always made his head ache. “Sir,” he said bluntly, “I shan’t act as your spy. I believe we have already discussed that.”
James puffed out his cheeks impatiently and drew his breath to argue, but Cole cut firmly across him. “Indeed, Uncle, I have something of an argument with you. I discovered too late that you foiled to fully explain my circumstances to Lady Mercer. I daresay I ought to have left as quickly as I came when I learned that you had failed to secure her agreement.”
“Agreement!” spouted James indignantly. “Agreement, do you say? One cannot reason with a madwoman, Cole. A horsewhip! The woman threatened me with a bloody horsewhip, for pity’s sake!”
Cole suppressed a hiss of impatience. “Good heavens, James! That was no horsewhip. Just a riding crop. Mine, to be precise.” Casually, he leaned forward to refill his coffe
e, steeling himself to tell a blatant lie. “No doubt Lady Mercer was merely tidying up. I am sure she meant you no harm.”
“Balderdash, Cole, and you know it!” James looked truly angry now.
“Do I?” he asked coolly, lifting his cup and staring over the rim with a hint of a challenge.
But James was having none of it. “You bloody well do! She would have striped the hide from my face had you not dragged her away from me! And I daresay the Marchioness of Mercer has little need to go about ‘tidying up’ after her fine Scottish servants.”
“Pray come to the point, Uncle,” said Cole a little grimly. “As it happens, the boys are awaiting my return to the schoolroom, and it is plain to me that you have not come to see them.”
James’s face flooded with red. “By gad, you’re an unnatural nephew, Cole. Just think how it would look if I waited upon you without first asking for the children!” he blustered. “Lady Mercer would think I have given up! That I do not mean to assert my rights!”
“Precisely my point, sir.” Cole pushed away the coffee he had just poured. “Now what do you want?”
“Nothing,” said James coldly, jerking his ponderous weight out of the chair. “Nothing which you will tell me, that is plain enough.”
Smoothly, Cole rose to his feet. “The boys do go on perfectly well, sir. And Lady Mercer, despite her rash temper, seems a loving mother.” Cole softened his tone a bit “Should I see anything to the contrary, surely you must know that you can trust me not to remain silent?”
“I am not entirely certain, Cole,” grumbled his uncle, a little mollified as they made their way toward the door. “I bloody well hope you have not fallen under that woman’s spell.” Abruptly, James halted and eyed his nephew up and down suspiciously.
Cole felt his face go tight with the indignity of it The truth hit a little close to home. “I should hope, sir, that you know me somewhat better than that,” he retorted coldly.
“Oh, I suppose so,” muttered James gruffly. “She is hardly the type of woman you would consort with, is she? You are far too morally discerning, I daresay, to fall in with the likes of her.”
“Let us just say that the lady is not at all to my taste, sir,” replied Cole as he laid his hand upon the door handle. “Nor can I imagine that I am hers.”
———
Jonet did not hear his last eight words. She spun quickly away from the doors and strode across the room to stand before the fireplace, her head bowed, her chest choked with an emotion she did not understand. A crushing sense of despair hit her, and she sank into the broad armchair by the hearth. Down the hall, the drawing room door clicked smoothly open, and heavy footsteps sounded toward the front entry. In the corridor, James’s pretentious voice echoed as he called for his coachman and footman to be sent up from the kitchens.
Thank God he was leaving.
Wearily, Jonet toed off her slippers, curled up in the chair, and let the waves of regret and relief roll over her. There was little doubt now about what James wanted Cole to do—but apparently, Cole was not amenable to his uncle’s scheme. That was something, was it not? And yet, her sense of disappointment deepened, far outweighing the relief. There were other feelings, too.
Deep, perplexing emotions which Jonet did not want to consider, much less feel. It was as though a dozen different currents tugged at her, any one of which could drag her beneath the churning surface. She was strong, yes. But good God, was she strong enough? Well, she had to be, did she not? She had no choice, and never had. Life had taught Jonet that she was a survivor, that she was hard. But Cole Amherst was harder. She knew it instinctively. And deep inside, Jonet also knew that she should be grateful that it was not he whom she was pitted against. Oh, yes. Better an unseen enemy than an invincible one.
It was dear that Cole was as in command with his uncle as he was with everyone else. And now, had there been any doubt, Cole had made it equally clear that he held her in no great esteem. Indeed! The proud Captain Amherst was apparently “too discerning” in his tastes to “consort with the likes of her,” or so James had said. What lowering words those were, no matter whose mouth they came from.
At times, Cole could be exceedingly kind, it was true. But his air of moral superiority was real. She had not simply imagined it. She would never be the sort of woman Cole Amherst would ... would befriend. Even the obtuse James knew Cole better than to think otherwise. And Jonet, who had always been a clever, confident woman, knew it, too. Why, then, did Cole’s words cut her so deeply?
He was nothing to her. Brutally, Jonet shoved herself upright in the chair and jerked her spine perfectly straight Amherst’s opinion mattered no more than anyone else’s— which meant it mattered not one whit! Jonet was not blind. On those rare occasions when she ventured beyond her front door, Jonet could hardly misconstrue the whispers, the stares, and—other than David—the almost total lack of callers. She, who had long been the toast of London—a woman who had had her choice of escorts every day of the season, and who had been invited to bed by half the House of Lords—was now a pariah to the ton.
Strangely enough, the loss of society’s esteem had not surprised her. What had surprised her had been how little she had cared. Cole meant no more to her than they did. Absently, Jonet pressed the heel of her hand against her brow and rubbed. Another headache. She was dimly aware of the clock striking the hour as someone pushed open the drawing room door. Startled, Jonet snapped her gaze upward.
Ellen came into the book-room, carrying a swath of black silk draped over her arm. She pursed her lips into a vexed smile. “Oh, there you are, Jonet! Will you please have a look at this gown?” Her cousin crossed the room, her arm outstretched. “I have stitched these jet beads across the bodice, just as you like it. Now, have I enough, do you think?” With a sigh, Ellen dropped the gown into Jonet’s lap.
Jonet looked down at the dress, lightly fingering the fine fabric. The work was exquisite. “Oh, Ellen!” Admiration battled with exasperation. “You need not be forever doing things for me. I can very well stitch my own beading.”
Ellen looked aggrieved. “Is the work not to your liking?”
“Oh, Ellen! Do sit down.” Jonet motioned to a chair opposite. “You are like a sister to me. It troubles me to see you behave as if you are anything less.”
It was an old argument, and one that Jonet and Ellen had had many times before. Since marrying Henry, Jonet had tried to continue treating her cousin as a member of the family. But Ellen had resisted. And despite Ellen’s arguments, her remaining alone at Kildermore had been quite out of the question, given her age and unmarried status. There had been a time when she’d assumed Ellen would want a home of her own, and so Jonet had dragged Ellen to balls and routs, introducing her to suitable men. But her cousin would have none of it. Ellen’s wishes remained a mystery to Jonet.
Jonet drew a deep breath. “You are angry with me again, are you not? I daresay I have done something to deserve it, Ellen, but I know not what.”
“I am not angry, Jonet!” answered her cousin. “It is you, I believe, who is distressed. Has Captain Amherst done something to upset you?”
“No, nothing,” lied Jonet softly.
“Now, now my dear!” Ellen’s face tightened, but her tone softened. “Indeed, Jonet, I fancy that you are just a little too intrigued by him. You cannot lie to me, you know.”
Jonet gave Ellen a dry smile. “No, I cannot, can I? But I do not think that—”
Her words were forestalled by Charles Donaldson’s entrance. Across the room, his eyes caught and held Jonet’s for a long moment as a look of understanding passed between them.
“A caller, my lady,” he finally announced, flicking a look toward Ellen. “It is Pearson from Bow Street. He has brought his final report on Captain Amherst.”
———
“Well!” announced Ellen a quarter hour later as Donaldson escorted the Bow Street runner from the book-room. “I must say, Jonet, you never cease to surprise me.”
<
br /> “In what way, my dear?” Jonet turned her pensive stare from the cold hearth to study her cousin’s face.
Ellen shot her a wry look. “Uncle always bragged that you were hard as flint. I might have known you would not be so foolish as to trust Captain Amherst altogether.”
Jonet jerked from her chair and crossed to the window, bracing her hands on either side of the embrasure. Blindly, she stared down into the side street as her groom brought Pearson’s horse around. “I trust no one,” she finally responded, her voice low.
Ellen seemed not to have heard her. “I wonder what Lord James will do next.”
Turning her face from the window, Jonet stared over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Ellen let her eyes drift over Jonet. “Oh, James is up to something, and no mistake.”
Jonet snorted in a most unladylike fashion and pushed herself away from the window. “James has been ‘up to something’ from the moment I wed Henry, Ellen. To what specific iniquity do you refer?”
Ellen lifted her shoulders and looked up, her eyes wide. “I daresay he means to discredit your morals by setting up Captain Amherst as a credible witness. Perhaps he thinks to catch you out in some terrible indiscretion?”
“What are you saying, Ellen?”
“Why, my dear, I hardly think I know.” Again, she shrugged equivocally. “Perhaps James is disturbed by your relationship with Lord Delacourt. Indeed, he may have chosen to believe —unfairly, of course—what is said of you two.”
Carefully, Ellen folded her hands into her lap, hesitated but a moment, then spoke again, more gently. “In truth, my dear, mightn’t it be best not to see Delacourt for a time? Just a few months,” she swiftly added. “Your mourning will be over, and then you may—”