A Woman Scorned

by Liz Carlyle

  He downed a third of the glass, then, despite his clouded eyes, leveled a steady gaze in Cole’s direction. “Now, in all seriousness, Cole,” he said coolly, “I hope you are not fool enough to fall victim to the lady’s charms? I daresay James initially sent you there to snoop about a bit, eh? Just do it, and get out, man.”

  “He suggested something of that sort,” Cole reluctantly agreed.

  Lauderwood nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he thinks Lady Mercer rid herself of her husband in order to wed Delacourt. And he means to find out how, does he not?”

  “Well, actually, no,” Cole admitted. “Much to my own surprise, James seems to hold out no hope of bringing his brother’s kilter to justice. It seems his pride is wounded, and he is more intent on controlling the children. Indeed, he wishes to take them under his wing and raise them as he sees fit But Lady Mercer will have none of it. She hates and distrusts him.”

  “Perhaps James does not wish to think too much about his brother’s murder,” mused Lauderwood. “Mayhap he fears the suspicion might fall too near home.”

  “I’ve considered it,” admitted Cole.

  The colonel drained his glass and pushed it toward Cole. “Well, never stand too close to a cockfight, Cole. Tis family business—and not your side of the family, no matter how much James whines.” His eyes narrowed. “And another word of warning —watch your step! Any man with a set of ballocks between his legs is going to be smitten by Jonet Rowland if he isn’t damned careful.”

  Cole tried to shrug indifferently, and at once, the colonel jerked forward in his seat, the buttons of his ivory waistcoat straining. “Understand me, Cole,” he said urgently. “I neither know nor care what the lady is guilty of. If she’d bludgeoned Mercer with a coal shovel, I wouldn’t give a damn. Never liked him. He was indiscreet. Can’t forgive a man that, myself.” The old man sniffed disdainfully. “But the fact remains that Lady Mercer is a femme fatale of the first water. I have no wish to see you hurt while trying to protect her. She is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

  Cole felt a flash of anger. Why must everyone assume that because a woman was strong, she needed no one? What if Jonet was not capable of taking care of herself this time? Perhaps this time, something more than a few loyal servants and a faithless lover would be required. The circumstances into which Jonet had been thrust were treacherous enough to try the most hardened of soldiers. Indeed, he was beginning to think that neither Lauderwood nor society knew the woman who stood so proud and so alone behind what he was beginning to believe was nothing more than a beautiful, brittle facade.

  They had not seen her clasp her children to her bosom, fighting for them as the most ruthless tigress might guard her cubs. They had not seen her in her apron, with her hair askew, looking as untidy—and yet as serene—as the most cheerful of scullery maids. And they certainly had not seen her pulling off her nightrail, her cloud of dark hair settling all about her shoulders, her breasts heavy, her nipples taut with...

  “Cole—? Are you listening to me, boy?”

  A little brusquely, Cole dragged off his glasses and tossed them onto the pile of newspapers. “Sir, I really do not think we need to discuss —”

  “Now, mind me, Cole!” interjected Lauderwood, his face full of reproach. “Forget James’s dirty work. What you want is a wife. Give up the army—it’s gone to hell any way—and go back home to Elmwood. Speak to the bishop. Tell him that you are ready to do what you have spent a lifetime preparing for, Cole. Get that black-haired siren out of your blood before she dashes your heart on the rocks.”

  Cole gripped the arms of his chair, thrust himself out of it, and strode to the window. He could feel the heat of irrational anger and suppressed lust coursing through him again. With one hand set at his hip, the other dragging his hair back from his brow, he stared blindly through the glass and into the modest garden beyond. “Jack,” he finally said, speaking over his shoulder, “you need not worry that I will involve myself in an illicit affair. Certainly not with a woman above my station. And most assuredly not with one who already bestows her favors on another. I should hope you know me better than that.”

  Lauderwood said nothing. Cole turned away from the window to face the sofa. His strident words seemed to hang suspended in the parlor for a moment, floating unanswered, along with the dust motes, in a low shaft of sunlight until Cole began to wonder just who he was trying to convince.

  “Oh yes, Cole, I know you.” Lauderwood’s gentle tone broke the silence. “And I know that underneath all that military brass and moral resolve, you have a heart too soft for your own good.”

  “Please, sir, I beg you! Flatter me no further!” Cole tried to smile, failing miserably. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’d best take myself off. I am wanted elsewhere.”

  “Ah, yes! That’s it. Pry out all my information, and refuse my good advice.” Lauderwood grumbled a bit beneath his breath, then looked up at Cole, his thick white brows drawn together. “Well! Am I to see you at dinner soon?”

  Bending low, Cole took Lauderwood by his gnarled hand and clasped it hard between his own, his irritation all but forgotten. “It would be my great pleasure, sir. Shall we say one day next week?” The old man nodded, and Cole headed for the door. Suddenly, another question occurred to him, and he turned about abruptly.

  “One more thing, sir. What news, if any, of my Cousin Edmund’s predicament?”

  Lauderwood chuckled. “Bad, and getting worse, as I understand it. Shall I make inquiries?”

  Cole shook his head. “No, but Edmund surprised me with a visit this afternoon. And I must tell you, Jack, he did not look well. Moreover, I cannot think why he called upon me. We barely speak.”

  The old man smiled grimly. “Oh, the worthless bastard wanted something, Cole. Depend upon it. Perhaps to borrow money? Or perhaps he is merely a vulture, preening over his uncle’s carcass, and hoping that eventually there will be something for him to pick from the bones.”

  ———

  Cole returned to Jonet’s house, carefully considering all that he had learned from Jack Lauderwood. Despite the colonel’s probing suggestions, Cole had found it a relief to talk to him. But Lauderwood’s rather poor opinion of Jonet reminded Cole of one very important thing. He could not leave the situation with Charles Donaldson unresolved. Indeed, as a gentleman, he should have sought a private moment with the butler first thing this morning. Last night, the butler had seen him in what had looked like a very compromising position with his mistress. Indeed, she was Cole’s mistress, too, and he ought to take pains to recall it. He was by no means her social equal, as his afternoon with Lauderwood had so painfully reminded him.

  Nonetheless, Cole would take every possible step to safeguard her reputation. The fact that Jonet’s reputation was not particularly pristine was hardly an issue. Cole would not have it worsened by his own conduct. Moreover, he had a deep-seated curiosity about the former soldier who now served Jonet so steadfastly. Cole entered the long formal dining room just as Donaldson pushed through the swinging door from the china closet to set down a pair of exquisite Georgian candlesticks. The butler placed them carefully atop a mahogany sideboard, then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork.

  “Afternoon, Donaldson.” Cole leaned one shoulder casually against the doorframe.

  The butler spun quickly about. “And a gude afternoon tae you, Captain,” he said solemnly, his dark brows going up in mild surprise.

  “A little spit and polish, I see.”

  “Aye, sir. We’ve set the lasses tae work on the silver. A loovely pair, is it not?”

  “Indeed,” Cole agreed absently, stirring himself from the door. “Listen, Donaldson —you’ll recall that I promised you a pint awhile back. Come with me down to the Drum and Feather and let me square it What do you say?”

  “Now?” Donaldson looked concerned. “Thank you, sir, but I oughtn’t—”

  Cole cut off his objections. “The house is full of former soldiers,” he gently re
minded him. “I daresay it will be all right for us to step out if we don’t go far, and I rather need to have a word with you in private.”

  Donaldson bowed his head. “Aye, then. Til be but a moment to fetch my hat, sir, and tae have a word wif the lads.”

  ———

  It was almost dinnertime when Ellen returned from Cavendish Square. Jonet was in the hall, carefully rearranging an assortment of lilies in the vase she had chosen to replace the one she’d hurled at James’s head. She was taken a little aback when her cousin came swishing blithely through the front door, a strange young lady at her elbow. The visitor was tall and willowy, with a riot of red-gold hair that was cut and curled in a most becoming arrangement. Cox reached out to take Ellen’s hat as Ellen, oblivious to Jonet’s presence, continued amiably chattering to her guest. “Yes, it is a lovely day indeed,” Ellen said, surrendering her burdens to Cox. “Now if you will be so good, miss, as to let me rid myself of this basket. There! Now, it is a pleasure to meet you I am sure! You must be a very dear friend of Captain Amherst’s, to have gone so far out of your way. But—oh, look! Here is my cousin, Lady Mercer!”

  Ellen turned toward Jonet, leaving the young lady, who looked exceedingly bewildered, simply standing in the middle of the hall. “Jonet!” Ellen began brightly.

  “This young lady and her father, Colonel Lauderwood, are friends of Captain Amherst’s. I’ve just this moment discovered Louisa here, standing on your front step with her hand on the knocker.” Ellen opened her glove. “Look! Is she not kind? Louisa has come all this way to return Captain Amherst’s spectacles. He spent this afternoon reading to her father.”

  Jonet paced down the hall toward them, feeling a little weak-kneed without really understanding why. “Why— how exceedingly kind, to be sure,” she managed to say.

  “Your ladyship.” The young lady curtsied awkwardly, looking even further confused. “The spectacles were of no consequence, I do assure you. As I said, it was on my way.” She turned as if to go.

  “Will you not await Colonel Amherst’s return?” asked Jonet politely, ignoring a vicious prick of jealousy. It seemed the mystery of Cole’s afternoon visit had just been solved. A dear friend, indeed! The lady really was quite appealing, with a vivid, yet innocent, sort of beauty. “I think we may expect him back shortly. No doubt he would wish to thank you personally.”

  “No, I thank you, my lady,” replied the visitor, lowering her lashes respectfully. “Just give him the spectacles, if you please, and thank him for his kindness to Papa. Now if you will excuse me, I believe another spate of rain is imminent A pleasure, I am sure, Miss Cameron.”

  And with that, she was gone. “Well,” said Jonet, forcing a bright smile. She was not about to discuss her crushing sense of despair with Ellen. “How did you find your aunt’s gardens? Were they as dreadful as you feared?”

  “Oh, worse!” declared Ellen at once. “And I am parched from the heat, too! May we go into the parlor and have a cup of tea?”

  ———

  By six o’clock, the low drone of conversation inside the Drum and Feather had swelled to a roar, interspersed with harsh, sporadic laughter and the occasional whoosh of a deck being vigorously shuffled and dealt onto the worn oak tables. The afternoon heat had given way to another drenching, and through the open windows, the rattle of passing traffic could be heard swishing through the puddles. Beyond, in Carnaby Market, a few pedestrians were beginning to stir, laughing and moving from one public house to the next.

  Cole turned his gaze from the window and leaned back against a wooden settle, trying to focus on the tall, rangy fellow who sat across from him. Eyes lowered, Donaldson was methodically sucking the foam off the top of his tankard, giving every impression of savoring each drop. Cole had savored a few himself —perhaps a few more than he ought, but the Scot was matching him two to one. Cole began to wonder where the man was putting it. Once, from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Donaldson tip his mug toward the open window. No. Surely not?

  Like most soldiers, Donaldson had turned out to be an amiable drinking companion. He and Jonet’s butler had spent the better part of the last hour reminiscing about their army days. Thus far, they had carefully avoided any discussion of the happenings inside Mercer House. Now, in the midst of a desultory game of cards, Cole carefully laid down a trump and drew yet another trick across the scarred wood of the table.

  “My game, Mr. Donaldson,” he said, trying not to slur his words. He was a little discomfited by the amount of effort the task required.

  The Scotsman fanned his remaining cards faceup across the table with a grunt of displeasure. “By God, Cap’n, you’ve the devil’s own luck, that ye ‘ave,” he replied, his brogue thickening.

  Cole tried without much success to lift his eyebrows elegantly. “Since the winner pays the shot, Donaldson, I cannot think you’ve suffered overmuch,” he said dryly;

  “In fact, why do I begin to suspect you might be giving away the game?”

  “Aye, Cap’n!” Donaldson smacked the table with the flat of his hand, grinning broadly. It looked perilously close to a drunken leer. “Niver trust a Scotsman with yer purse! But I’ll say one thing—not much gets by you, Amherst, I do’na think.”

  “Nor by you, I daresay,” returned Cole. For a long moment, he stared across the table at his companion, then he drew a deep breath. “For example, Donaldson... about that situation you observed in the schoolroom last night I would not wish to besmirch Lady Mercer’s reputation in any way, and so I felt I ought—”

  “I know when tae keep my clap shut, sir!” interjected the butler a little querulously. Donaldson shoved away his empty tankard with a disdainful gesture, looking more like an inebriated infantryman than a stately Mayfair butler.

  “I am sure, Donaldson, that you do,” Cole responded gently. “But I felt that perhaps I owed you an explanation. And the fact is, Lady Mercer was very distressed, and I was simply trying to comfort her.” Cole exhaled sharply through his nose. “But I daresay it might have looked like something altogether different.”

  Donaldson looked concerned. “Poor wee thing! Had anither of her spells, did she?”

  Something in the butler’s protective tone set Cole’s hackles up. “Spells?” he archly responded. “The poor wee thing tried to stab me.”

  Donaldson winced knowingly. “Och! ‘Ad ‘er blade, did she?”

  Cole drew himself up a little straighter on the settle. “You were aware she roamed about in the dark of night with a knife clenched in her teeth?” he asked incredulously.

  “Oh, aye,” confessed the butler, his eyes wide and bleary, his head hanging low.

  “Gave it to her myself, I did—but I did’na know she’d took tae carryin’ it between her teeth.”

  “She wasn’t, Donaldson,” Cole said dryly. “I was trying to make a joke.”

  “Oh? Gude, then.” Donaldson wobbled a little on the settle and opened his hands in an expansive gesture. “And ye must pay no mind to her ladyships fits, Cap’n. Known her all my life, I have. She’s a hellcat, tae be sure—but she wouldna harm a livin’ creature. Not without provocation.”

  Cole wanted to argue that snoozing on the schoolroom sofa could hardly be considered provocation, but he wisely held his tongue. Most of that night’s troubles he had brought upon himself, and there was a great deal more he would like to ask Donaldson, who was now well plied with alcohol. Cole picked up both tankards and carried them to the tapster for refilling. He returned just as Donaldson, beating a rapid tattoo on the tabletop with his index fingers, burst into a rousing Scottish folk song.

  Cole set down the heavy pewter with a thud, bringing the song to an abrupt halt. Oblivious to the laughter which rippled through the taproom, the butler peered at the tankard for a long moment, as if struggling to recollect from whence it had come.

  “Haven’t been out in a while, eh, Donaldson?” Cole asked lightly.

  Donaldson pulled a gloomy expression. “Verra li’tle, sir.” The
n he roused again, his head hanging low and loose. “But I do na’ mind, really! Lady Jonet needs me—or she wouldna ha’ brought me down here to this stinkin’ shite hole of a city.”

  “So I may take it that you do not care for town?” asked Cole, flashing him a wry grin.

  “Noo!” The butler’s black brows snapped together. “Nor she nither, come to that.”

  Cole was mildly surprised. “Does she not? I rather thought she preferred it.”

  Donaldson tried to shake his head, but he was now slumped back into the corner of the settle, “No, I do na’ think so.” He looked perplexed for a moment “Left to her own ways, she’d close up the London house, take doon the knocker, and hie back tae Kildermore.”

  Cole was surprised to hear it. “You grew up there, did you not, Donaldson?” He felt the heat flush up his face, but he was in too deep to back out now. “I mean, Nanna said so, and I must confess, I have often wondered what Lady Mercer was like before—before...”

  “Aye, say na’ more.” Donaldson waved a limp hand. “I know what you’re saying, and aye, she’s changed a vast deal. Twas her father’s doing, too. That, and her marriage tae auld Mercer.”

  “Changed? Changed in what way?” Cole needed to know the truth about this woman whom he was very much afraid he had come to love against his will.

  The butler shrugged equivocally, his glassy eyes focusing somewhere in the depths of the darkened room, “There’s a hardness aboot her that wasna there before,” Donaldson mused. “A darkness, a wariness which troobles me, and yet I canna blame her. No, I canna blame her a’tall.” His gaze snapped to meet Cole’s, his eyes looking suddenly sober. “That is all I can tell you,” he said quietly.

  Cole let a moment pass. “But Donaldson, has she always been ... well, so overly emotional?”

  “Wha’ would you be meaning, sir, emotional?” asked the butler in all innocence.

  “Well—prone to stabbing innocent people, for one thing,” returned Cole. “No, no—. Ignore that! I realize she was overset last night. But has she always been so ... so intense?”