Rebel Love (Heart's Temptation Book 2)

by Scarlett Scott

  Lady Stokey tipped her head in Bella’s direction and spoke sotto voce. “I don’t know about you, Lady Bella, but I daresay Lord Fordham ought not to be partaking of any more spirits.”

  Bella nearly laughed aloud at the woman’s daring, but the dowager was pinning her to the settee with a formidable, slit-eyed glare. She dared not. “I beg your pardon, my lady?” she asked, hoping to deflect Lady Stokey’s attention in another direction. While she remained appreciative that the older woman had been true to her word and kept Bella’s tryst with Jesse a secret, she still didn’t wish to earn her mother’s fury.

  “You may beg my pardon all you like,” she whispered, patting her elaborate blonde coiffure. “I know you aren’t as angelic as you pretend, my dear. Your cousin was drunk as a sailor on leave. I confess I was quite terrified he’d slop béchamel all over my silk.”

  Bella couldn’t help but giggle before stifling it with a hand pressed to her mouth. The woman had temerity. “I understand he favors whiskey,” she murmured back, shrugging.

  “Ah yes,” Lady Stokey responded. “Lord Fordham and a host of other men, of course. They all seem to favor whiskey, don’t they? Good Lord, my own husband was inordinately appreciative. Of whiskey, that is. And large quantities of food.” She sighed, appearing lost in her thoughts for a moment. “I do suppose it’s what ultimately did him in, the old reprobate.”

  Bella was taken aback by such open discussion of one’s husband, particularly a husband who was now deceased. “I shouldn’t think to question your husband’s spare activities, my lady,” she offered, feeling awkward indeed. “Although I daresay no end of men have been possessed of similar sentiments.”

  “Think nothing of it, my dear,” offered her ladyship with a careless wave of her dainty hand. “You must understand I’ve been a widow for some years now.”

  Being a widow didn’t seem to upset Lady Stokey in the least. To the contrary, it appeared to be a mantle she wore with great pleasure. Bella had never met his lordship, but she was privy to a host of gossip concerning him. It was said that Lady Stokey had married the old baron after having her heart broken by the Earl of Denbigh, who had broken their betrothal to wed another woman. Lord Stokey had been as wealthy as he was given to excess, and it was rumored he’d sired a dozen bastards by various opera singers over the years. Lady Stokey had not provided issue, but that didn’t seem to displease her either. She was known for lavish parties and keeping company with great artists and writers of the day.

  Bella actually found her terribly fascinating. She tossed a glance her mother’s way to find the dowager happily ensconced in conversation with Miss Cuthbert and her chaperones once again. How delightful it was to have plentiful distraction. Ordinarily, she couldn’t escape her mother’s censorious gaze unless she feigned sleep.

  “Tia,” Lady Helen inserted herself into the conversation, “do stop boring Lady Bella with tiresome talk of men and their moral failings. I daresay it’s a subject which could go on all evening.”

  “And well into the morning,” added Lady Scarbrough, speaking at last.

  She was an inherently lovely woman, small yet beautiful enough to draw attention wherever she went. It was little wonder Thornton was so drawn to her. There was also the matter of their history, of course. Bella knew her brother had been madly in love with Lady Scarbrough before she’d married the earl. What had happened between them to cause such a rift remained unknown to her. She supposed the dowager knew but withheld the knowledge.

  Bella wanted to dislike Lady Scarbrough, truly she did. But she and her sisters made for a charming trio. She’d never had a sister, and she envied them their obviously close relationship.

  “I admire your dress, Lady Scarbrough,” she ventured, tentatively seeking to forge a truce. If her brother had brought the woman here to Marleigh Manor, he was serious about her indeed. She hadn’t the slightest inkling as to what he planned to do with his fiancée, poor Miss Cuthbert.

  Lady Scarbrough sent her a cautious but warm smile. “Thank you, Lady Bella. You’re most kind.”

  The dowager’s head snapped up then, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Apparently, she’d discovered Bella was consorting with the enemy. And it was plain from the pinched expression she wore that she did not approve.

  “My dear daughter,” she said with a signature harrumph. “I was just having the most delightful discussion with Miss Cuthbert about embroidery.”

  Bella stifled a groan. She detested needlework of all sorts. But perhaps not as much as she detested being the object of her mother’s ire. She pinned a falsely bright smile to her lips. “Indeed? I do so love embroidery.”

  Best, she reasoned, to stay on the dowager’s good side. After all, she’d soon be making her mother angry enough when she made it known that she wished to marry Jesse. No doubt the dowager would not react to the news with aplomb. Truly, she dreaded it, but it was a necessity. Nothing would stop her from becoming Mrs. Jesse Whitney, she vowed.

  Nothing.

  ver a month had passed since Jesse had met Bella in the garden, and they still weren’t any closer to being betrothed. He and Bella had both decided to wait a fortnight, given that Thornton had been under a great deal of stress from all directions. After confiding in Jesse that he was in love with the married Lady Scarbrough, Thornton had sent Miss Cuthbert and her companions on their merry way. Thornton was living openly with Lady Scarbrough as his mistress, and while the storms of gossip had yet to completely weather his reputation, it was all just beginning. To Jesse, the securing of his future with Bella was far too precious to embark upon with haste, and while he wanted nothing more than to call her his—selfish though it was of him—he also wanted to win his friend over as best he could. He owed that much at least to Bella, to make the process as easy for her as possible.

  But now the moment had at long last come to plead his case. He was enjoying a glass of fine whiskey with Thornton in his study, biding his time, when the butler interrupted their solidarity with a discreet knock. They’d been in the midst of having a laugh over some of their old antics. Jesse had just determined he would petition his friend for Bella’s hand that evening, but he still hadn’t a clue as to how he’d manage such a feat without earning himself a broken nose in the process. The disturbance was almost a welcome one. But not quite.

  Levingood entered at Thornton’s bidding, a small packet in his hands. He bowed, ever formal, and Jesse was shocked to find himself the object of the butler’s speech. “Mr. Whitney, some correspondence came up for you from London.”

  Thornton quirked a brow. “At this time of the evening?”

  The usually imperturbable butler appeared sheepish. “Patterson was to have delivered it, but regretfully it escaped his notice. Pray accept my apologies, Mr. Whitney.”

  “No matter, Levingood,” Jesse dismissed easily, accepting the surprisingly thick packet.

  He turned it over in his hands, noting it appeared to have already been opened and then resealed. Puzzling, that. Ordinarily, he would have waited to read the message until in the quiet of his chamber, but he rarely received correspondence unless it was absolutely imperative he be reached. He’d begun selling most of his remaining business ventures in preparation for living in England.

  “Thank you, Levingood. That will be all,” Thornton dismissed, taking another draught of his spirits. The door clicked quietly closed. “What the devil is it, Jesse?”

  He opened the packet to find another envelope, along with an accompanying note from his man of business in New York. He quickly scanned the contents of the first letter. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered aloud, completely shocked.

  It couldn’t be. Could it? Of all the ghosts in his past to resurrect themselves, he’d least expected this one. Fifteen years had passed and yet the mere thought of her still had the power to shake him. He recognized the pinched scrawl on the second missive. It belonged to her.

  Lavinia.

  Her name alone took him back to war, to the screams of the wo
unded, thunder of cannon, the horrific stench of battle, of death. Hands shaking, he unfolded the paper only to run headlong into a vast chasm of bewilderment. One word stood out in stark relief amongst all others. Daughter. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if a Union soldier appeared before him, bayonet fixed on his heart, ready to take him to hell.

  “Good God, man, you look as if you’re about to expire. What is it?”

  He looked up to find his friend watching him with a curious expression. What could he say? Dear God, if what Lavinia had written him was true, it changed everything. Of course, the possibility she was lying existed. But why now, fifteen years later? She’d said she was dying, that their daughter was to be without a guardian. Was it possible he’d had a child all these years without ever even being aware of her existence?

  Yes, he had to admit, it was. He hadn’t seen Lavinia since the war, hadn’t been to Virginia in as many years. Like so many aspects of his time as a soldier, he’d chosen to tuck her existence away in his mind. It had been either that or go mad. But she’d somehow found him again, and the pain was as real and vivid now as it had been then. Damn her. He’d come such a long way toward healing, only to fall back into the abyss.

  “Well? Is it your family?” Thornton persisted, concern coloring his voice.

  He had no family. At least, he hadn’t until this moment. But he couldn’t tell Thornton about his daughter—if she indeed was his—for it could very well jeopardize his relationship with Bella. Already, he had to convince his friend that despite the age difference between he and Bella, and despite his lack of blue blood, he would make a good husband for her.

  “Yes,” he managed at last past the guilt threatening to clog his throat. “It’s a family matter.”

  “Then you must go home,” Thornton said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “I’ll have the carriage readied to take you straightaway to London. The trains won’t be going at this time of night.”

  He supposed he should go. The letter was dated two months prior. Lavinia could well already be dead, his daughter left entirely alone in the world. But how could he leave Bella now, of all times? And yet, how could he knowingly abandon his daughter? The decision was gut-wrenching, but he was left with little choice. Bella was safe here and would await his return. However, his daughter could be in danger.

  Regardless, he knew he had to tell Thornton the truth before he left. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to remain silent. The guilt had been eating away at him ever since Lady Cosgrove’s country house party.

  He stood, mentally preparing himself for what he would say. “Thornton, I’ve got to tell you something before I go.”

  His friend stood as well. “How grave is the matter?”

  “Very grave,” he said, thinking of how he had taken Bella’s innocence.

  “Good Christ, if someone is dying, you can’t tarry here a moment longer,” Thornton responded, clearly mistaking him. “Whatever it is you’ve got to tell me can wait.”

  Jesse reached for his glass of whiskey and tossed the remainder back in one burning gulp. It stung like hell, but he needed the fortification. Maybe Thornton was right in this instance. Maybe revealing the depth of his depravity could wait. Feeling like the worst sort of coward, he followed his friend from the study in silence.

  God in heaven, what was he going to do with a daughter he’d never met?

  With the help of Patterson, the man who’d been assigned to him at Marleigh Manor, Jesse’s entire life since he’d been in England was packed in just under an hour. He’d never entirely grown accustomed to the English aristocracy’s penchant for valets, but for the first time he didn’t mind the assistance. He stared at the trunks neatly stacked and awaiting their trip to the carriage Thornton had sent around for him. It was damned difficult to believe his worldly possessions fit so neatly into a handful of valises. Yet tidy as it all looked, he couldn’t escape the crushing anguish within his chest. There was one part of him that he would be forced to leave behind.

  Bella.

  While he wanted nothing more than to carry her away with him, he could never treat her with such callous disregard for her reputation. How the hell was he going to explain this to her? Would she even want him if he’d fathered a bastard child by another woman? Christ, he couldn’t ask her to take on his sins. He raked a hand through his hair and paced the chamber, a tumult of emotions roiling through him.

  He had to try to see her, tell her why he needed to leave, let her know he’d return for her. He couldn’t bear to lose her now. His mind settled, he stalked from his chamber, hell-bent on finding her chamber in the labyrinth of Marleigh Manor’s halls. It didn’t take long for him to realize seeking her out wasn’t exactly wise. The conveniently labeled chambers of Wilton House weren’t in existence here. He hadn’t a clue where to find her.

  To make matters worse, he nearly crashed into the dowager as he rounded a corner.

  Her hand fluttered to her heart, her expression one of weary dismay. She wore a fluttering cap and her customary, severe gray gown. “Good heavens, Mr. Whittlesby.” Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Whatever can you be doing skulking about in the halls at this time of the evening?”

  He knew where her thoughts were headed. She didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t to be blamed. But little did she know the damage had already been done. He wondered if the curmudgeon would ever deign to refer to him by his true surname. “Forgive me, madam. I fear I’ve lost my way in the corridors of your lovely home.”

  If possible, her expression grew even more dubious. “Indeed, I confess I find it altogether baffling that a grown man might lose himself in a simple hallway.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s true,” he lied. He’d never imagined he would resort to deceiving a young lady’s mother so he could slip into her chamber unnoticed. Hell, he was a man grown and yet he was playing the part of a stripling.

  The dowager made a dismissive gesture, obviously not believing a word of it. “Haven’t you any houses in America, Whittlesby?”

  He nearly laughed aloud at her daring. “None of such great majesty as Marleigh Manor,” he said, opting for gallantry.

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Her face relaxed ever so slightly. “May I be of service to you, sir? What was it you were doing wandering about in my home?”

  Christ, he had to leave. He didn’t have time to argue with an old harridan. “I’m preparing for departure,” he answered in half-truth. “While I thank you for your inordinate hospitality, I must return to my homeland.”

  Her silver eyebrows shot upward. “Indeed? You’re leaving, are you?”

  He didn’t miss the note of glee in her voice. “I regret that there’s a matter of some importance that has arisen.”

  A daughter. He still could scarcely believe it even though the notion had already had some time to acquaint itself with his rattled mind. In fact, given that it was Lavinia who’d written, he wasn’t entirely certain he ought to believe it. But he did, for he didn’t think that even she could be that demented and cruel. He had been young, stupid and eager for love once. She’d cured him of that disease well. Still, he couldn’t even comprehend that all these years he’d walked about the earth without ever knowing he had a flesh-and-blood child.

  “A matter of importance?” the dowager repeated, her tone turning smug. “I’m sure it must be something immensely imperative, else you wouldn’t be taking your leave in the midst of the night.”

  She was prying, but he wasn’t about to give her what she wanted. He nodded. “Indeed it is, my lady.”

  “Well then,” she announced with a sniff, looking at him as if he were a street beggar, “I daresay you ought not to be tarrying by getting lost in halls. Your chamber, sir, is to be found in the direction from whence you’ve come.”

  Damn. She’d painted him into a corner quite neatly, the shrewd dragon. He bowed. “I’m much indebted to you.”

  “I most certainly hope you are not, Mr. Whittlesby.” With that pronouncement
, she harrumphed once more.

  He gave her another abbreviated bow and took his leave of her, aware of her sharp eyes on his back with each step he took. There would be no finding Bella after all. Not only would it be virtually impossible to find her chamber on his own, but now her mother was acting the sentinel. As much as he longed to see her and hold her again and to explain the entire sordid affair to her in person, he was left without a choice. He didn’t dare linger another night. His daughter could be alone in the world, helpless and terrified, perhaps even on the streets of Richmond. He had no idea what financial straits Lavinia had been left in following the war, and he had never been one to rely upon Fortune’s fickle wheel. He had to somehow set matters to right, if there even was a way to do so.

  Bella would understand his need to see his daughter safe. He would return for Bella as soon as he possibly could. Their wedding could wait. It would have to, because short of dragging her across the Atlantic without benefit of marriage, he had no other option. Mind firmly made, he stalked back to his chamber, sat at his desk, and penned the most difficult letter he’d ever written in his life. He hoped like hell she’d still love him after she read it.

  Bella paused at the threshold to the breakfast room. Jesse, a perpetually early riser, was missing. It seemed odd indeed that he wouldn’t be breaking his fast with them as he had done each day since his arrival. She wanted to ask the reason for his absence, but the dowager would likely find suspicion in it. Instead, she greeted everyone as if nothing was amiss and sat at her mother’s elbow.

  The dowager sniffed. “Really, Arabella, you have been such a sluggard these last few days. You must try to rise earlier. I do so despise tardiness at the breakfast table. It simply should not be done.”