by Diane Gaston
She glanced over to see Tranville still involved with a gesticulating Ullman.
‘Jack, please forgive me—’
His expression hardened even more and she stepped aside.
Tranville was suddenly making his way towards her. ‘Get me a plate, would you, my dear? Ullman has invited us to his townhouse after the performance for a nice supper, but I am famished now.’
She felt like shouting in frustration. She wanted to talk to Jack, to explain. Tranville prevented it and also contrived to extend the night’s agony even longer. How much more did he intend for them to endure?
On the way to Ullman’s townhouse, Jack glanced out of the window of the carriage, immediately sensing something different in the air, an odd energy in the streets. The hairs rose on the back of his neck and the sounds of Badajoz echoed in his ears.
‘We must be watchful this night,’ Ullman remarked. ‘I heard rumours of gangs angry about the Corn Bill. Tranville assured me it will come to nothing, but I am not so certain.’
Tranville’s carriage had pulled out ahead of them with Ariana inside.
They crossed Princes Street, moving toward Piccadilly. Jack kept a vigil at the window, watching men gathering in groups here and there. He sat up straighter. ‘There’s trouble afoot.’
Ullman’s hands flew to his chest. ‘Good God!’
The carriage continued into Mayfair where throngs of men grew thicker.
Inside Jack’s head the screams and gunfire of Badajoz mixed with the rumblings of these men on the street.
‘Are we safe, Jack?’ Nancy asked nervously.
He turned around to her. ‘I will keep you safe.’
The coachman suddenly stopped the carriage. Jack opened the slot to speak to him. ‘What is it?’
‘They are attacking the carriage up ahead,’ the coachman cried. ‘I dare not go on.’
Jack opened the carriage door and leaned out. Several men swarmed around Tranville’s carriage.
He ripped off his top coat and hat. ‘You take them home now,’ he ordered to Ullman.
Jack jumped down.
‘Jack, come back!’ his mother cried.
Jack called to the coachman, ‘Drive to Adam Street and do not stop for anything.’
‘Yes, sir!’ The coachman signalled the horses to move and turned the carriage on to a side street that would lead them back to Piccadilly, away from the marauders.
Jack ran toward Tranville’s carriage where about a dozen men had encircled it and were rocking it back and forth. The coachman was attempting to fend them off with his whip and keep control of the horses at the same time.
Jack heard shouts of ‘Down with the Corn Bill!’ and ‘We need bread’, but the words suddenly muffled in his ears. As if someone had taken him by the collar and thrust him aside, Jack slammed against a wrought-iron fence in front of a townhouse. He was no longer in Mayfair, but in the fortress town of Badajoz and the men shouting in the street were redcoated soldiers.
‘It is not Badajoz,’ he said aloud, pressing his hands over his ears.
‘Stop!’ he heard Ariana cry. ‘Leave us!’
At the sound of her voice Jack pushed himself away from the fence and advanced on the attackers, shouting a Celtic war cry that had once sent Frenchmen fleeing.
Some of the attackers ran off, but one of them spun around and swung his club at Jack’s head. He ducked and the club struck the carriage with a loud thud. Then he seized the man’s wrist, bending it until the weapon fell to the ground. Another man caught him from behind, restraining him so the first man could pummel him with his fists. Jack twisted, trying to get loose. He knocked the man’s hat off, but could do little but try to block the man’s punches.
‘Jack!’ Ariana appeared at the window.
‘Get back!’ he shouted.
She did not heed him. She leaned out of the window and grabbed the man’s hair. The man tried to wrench away and almost pulled her out of the carriage completely.
Jack shouted again. ‘Tranville! Hold on to her.’ He could just glimpse Tranville trying to beat off the attackers on the other side of the carriage.
Ariana still gripped the man’s hair when Tranville pulled her back inside. The man lost his balance and let go of Jack.
Jack lunged towards the other man, landing an uppercut to the man’s jaw and sending him into a spin. A third man came at him, and the man Ariana had grabbed reached for his club. Jack seized it first.
‘Get rid of him, boys!’ the man shouted.
The few men left came after Jack.
Jack called to the coachman, ‘Go. Now.’
‘No!’ Ariana cried as the horses began to move.
Jack wielded the club as he’d once used his sword, striking out with such ferocity, his attackers backed away. As soon as they did, he turned and ran for the moving carriage.
‘He’s getting away.’ Jack felt them at his heels, the sounds of their laboured breathing loud in his ears. One man tried to grasp his coat. More hands groped at him, but he jumped towards the open window of the carriage and hung on.
‘Off! Off!’ A new attack. Tranville struck Jack’s arms with his walking stick.
Ariana snatched the stick from Tranville’s hands. ‘It is Jack, you fool!’ She climbed over Tranville and took hold of Jack. ‘Do not let go.’
The carriage rocked and swayed as Jack searched for a foothold. He managed to wedge his toes into the gap between the folded step and the body of the carriage.
The carriage did not slow until they reached the gas-lit street of Pall Mall. ‘Where should I go?’ the coachman asked Jack.
‘Henrietta Street,’ Jack told him. ‘Take Miss Blane home.’
Jack climbed inside the carriage, where Ariana threw her arms around him. ‘I thought they were going to kill you.’
‘I am not so easy to kill,’ he told her.
Jack tripped over Edwin, who was cowering on the carriage floor, protecting his head with his hands.
‘You bloody coward!’ Tranville shouted at his son. He hit Edwin with his stick. ‘You shame me!’
Tranville took no notice of Jack and Ariana. Jack collapsed in the seat facing her. She sat next to Tranville.
‘Sit up, you gutless recreant.’ Tranville pulled Edwin up by the scruff of his neck.
Edwin took the seat next to Jack. ‘Leave me alone,’ he wailed.
Edwin’s father, however, directed a string of invectives at him, until he fully realised Jack’s presence. He straightened his clothes and merely glared at his son.
‘Where are we going?’ Tranville asked.
‘To take Miss Blane home,’ Jack answered.
The carriage clattered more sedately over the cobbles and Jack’s breathing slowed to normal. Ariana fished a lace-edged handkerchief out of her reticule and reached over to dab above his eye. ‘You are bleeding.’
Tranville seized Ariana’s wrist. ‘Where is your bracelet?’
It took her a few seconds to answer him. ‘I do not know.’
‘Those cursed ruffians must have pulled it off you.’ Tranville huffed. He turned back to his son. ‘See? While you were snivelling and weeping like a girl, those ruffians stole the bracelet. Cost a fortune, I’ll have you know.’
Ariana stared at her empty wrist. ‘I hope they put it to good use.’ She relaxed against the cushions, and Jack thought he saw her smile.
The carriage stopped in front of her building and Jack jumped out to fold down the steps. He gave Ariana his hand to help her down.
Tranville yelled at Edwin, ‘Move out of my way. I must see Miss Blane safely inside.’
Jack closed the carriage door. ‘I’ll do it.’ He turned to the coachman. ‘Make haste. I hear more ruffians approach.’
‘No!’ Edwin cried, ‘Let’s get out of here!’
The coachman grinned. ‘Yes, sir!’ He cracked the whip above the horses’ heads and they started off before Tranville could protest.
Ariana did not wait for the carriage to be out
of sight. She threw her arms around Jack. ‘Thank God you are safe.’
He held her tightly against him. ‘I’ve been through worse.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘But you were foolish to put yourself in such peril.’
She gazed up at him. ‘I could not sit by and do nothing.’
He laughed. ‘Apparently Edwin had no such qualms.’
He enfolded her against him.
Shouts and the sound of breaking glass still rang out in the distance.
He released her. ‘You should not remain on the street.’
She grasped his hand. ‘Then you must come inside with me. Don’t walk these dark streets alone tonight.’
He’d banished the ghosts of Badajoz. ‘I am no longer afraid.’
She pulled at his coat. ‘Come in anyway.’
He followed her inside and up the stairs to her room. Once in her bedchamber she tossed away her shawl and lit some candles from a taper.
She helped him off with his coat. ‘They have torn it.’ She poked her fingers through a seam to show him.
‘It is of no consequence.’ He cared nothing about his coat, not when he was consumed with the desire to hold her in his arms.
She took his hand and led him to the bed. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, she said, ‘Let me see what they have done to you.’
He felt a pang of pain as he shrugged out of his waistcoat.
She lifted his shirt over his head and gasped. ‘Oh, Jack!’
He looked down at his chest and could see multiple marks of angry red. By tomorrow, he knew from experience, they would turn blue and purple. She touched one of them and he winced.
‘They seem a bit tender,’ he said, though in truth they ached like the devil. ‘I do not believe any ribs are broken, however.’
‘What can I do for you?’ Her voice was filled with helpless concern as she touched one mark after the other.
He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. Still holding it, he asked, ‘Do you have brandy?’
She moved away from the bed. ‘An excellent idea.’
It took her less than a minute to retrieve a bottle and two glasses. She climbed on to the bed with them and poured a full glass for him.
The warming liquid felt very welcome, indeed. Jack let his gaze rest on her as they sipped the brandy. When she looked up their gazes caught and held. He drained his glass.
‘Jack, I am so very sorry.’
He blinked in surprise. ‘For what?’
She wiped a hand across her forehead. ‘For all the pain I have caused you and your family. At every turn, I have only made matters worse.’
He put aside his glass and reached for her. She came willingly into his arms. ‘Tranville is to blame. We can even blame him for putting you in danger tonight. He ignored the warnings of unrest.’
She sighed against his chest. ‘I despise him. I shall never marry him, but how I shall prevent him from impoverishing all of you and sending you to the West Indies, I do not know.’
‘Is that what he held over your head?’ His muscles tensed.
She nodded.
Jack had to hold his mother culpable for some of this. He would have dispatched Tranville long before had she not extracted that promise from him.
It was time to break his promise.
He removed the pins from Ariana’s hair and combed it loose with his fingers. She sighed with contentment as he did so.
‘I will discover a way out of this, Jack. I swear I will,’ she murmured. ‘I have been waiting for some opportunity. As with your sister—’ She clamped her mouth shut.
He moved so he could look into her face. ‘What about my sister?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, but her eyes were wide, as if she was forcing herself to keep them steady.
‘Tell me.’ He used a firm voice and a firmer expression.
She leaned against him again. ‘I found a way to help her, if she chooses it, that is.’ She lifted her wrist.
He stared at it. ‘You gave her your bracelet.’
She kept her eyes wide. ‘Tranville said the ruffians snatched it.’
He laughed and hugged her against him once more. She twisted around and straddled him, burying her fingers into his hair and kissing his lips, his neck, his ears.
A moment before he’d been weary and sore, but now there was nothing but the erotic feel of her lips against his skin, her eager body demanding to join with his. He swiftly rid them both of the rest of their clothing and soon they were naked in each other’s arms once more.
Their lovemaking was a wild feast, as if they’d both been without food for days and days and suddenly were given a banquet.
He needed to touch her all over, to taste her, to cherish the feel of her, the scent of her, the sounds she made as their passions heated higher and higher. All the while his mind flashed with images of her. As the seductress Cleopatra in his painting. The innocent but passionate Juliet on stage. The smiling joyful girl who turned a walk to the Royal Academy into a lark. The courageous fighter who had come to his aid tonight. The beautiful, confident, intelligent young woman who stood next to him gazing at a portrait in the Royal Exhibition and dared to speak to him about it.
He wanted to paint all these images of her, and discover more to paint in the future. He wanted some day to paint her holding his child in her arms.
That was his last coherent thought before sensation overtook him and they devoured the last ounce of pleasure together. Moving in unison, their passion built until it exploded inside them, a sparkling dessert of joyous intensity that suspended itself in time.
He knew they would experience such loving again and again. He’d vanquish their enemies, embrace family and friends, and live a happy life.
With Ariana.
He kissed her, his seal of resolve, although he spoke none of it aloud to her. Only four words did he speak as the candles burned to nubs.
‘I love you, Ariana.’
Her eyes filled with tears and she clung to him. ‘I love you, too, Jack,’ she cried, her voice cracking. ‘I will love you for ever.’
He squeezed her tightly against him.
Her breathing slowed to the even cadence of sleep, but for Jack a flood of pain remained, the physical pain left from multiple strikes of clubs and fists.
Jack lay awake, aching all over, making use of his sleepless time by considering how to bring their troubles to an end. All plans he conceived led down the same final path.
He must deal with Tranville, once and for all.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning Jack struggled to get into his waistcoat, trying not to make sounds that would show Ariana every move was an agony. He was not successful.
She hurried over. ‘You are still in pain. Let me help you.’ She guided his arms through the armholes and slid the waistcoat on to his shoulders. He started to button it, but she stopped him. ‘I will do that.’
‘I am not so debilitated I cannot button my waistcoat,’ he protested, but he liked having her close and fussing over him.
‘I do not mind helping you.’ She reached for his neckcloth.
He remained still while she wrapped it around his neck and tied it with a neat Mathematical that almost disguised its having been worn in a fist fight the night before.
She patted his chest when done. ‘There. Now give me a moment and I will finish mending your coat.’
He carefully lowered himself into a chair near hers and enjoyed the domestic image of her pushing the needle and thread through the ripped seam of his coat.
Another Ariana he wished to paint, he thought.
When she finished she helped him on with his coat. ‘I do wish you would allow me to come with you.’
He put his arms around her and leaned his forehead against hers. ‘It is best I see Tranville alone.’
He must fight it out with him.
She frowned. ‘I know I have made things worse. It is no wonder you do not wish me there.’
He lifted her chin and
looked into her eyes. ‘If no one is with me, he will not have to fear losing face. It will be just him and me.’
She sighed. ‘Very well.’
‘I will come to you afterwards, I promise.’ He touched his lips to hers.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, a kiss that almost made him forget his errand with Tranville and the soreness of his muscles.
When the kiss ended she continued, ‘I could at least come to the studio with you and help you change your clothes.’
He shook his head. ‘I need to stop by my mother’s and assure her I am in one piece. I’ll manage.’
He knew she would not wish to inflict her presence on his mother.
Jack supposed any happiness came at some cost. In order to make things right for Ariana, for himself, for Nancy and his mother, he needed to break his promise and have it out with Tranville, once and for all. He must also inform his mother that he was in love with Ariana.
She put her arms around him and held him.
‘Time for me to leave,’ he murmured.
The descent down the stairs brought new aches, which Jack attempted to ignore. Ariana walked him to the door and gave him a final kiss.
As he opened the door and was about to walk outside, she pulled him back. ‘Jack, I have a bad feeling about this.’
He kissed her again and held her close for a moment. ‘Say somehow things will work out well.’
She smiled, recognising her words to him. ‘Somehow things will work out well.’
He left her, glancing back once to see her watching him from the doorway. He waved and hurried on his way, the exertion of the brisk walk actually easing his stiffness and making the aches more bearable.
Wilson let him in his mother’s door. ‘Master Jack, you are unhurt.’
Jack smiled at Wilson’s reversion to the name he’d called him in childhood. ‘You heard of my adventure, I see. I came to reassure Mother, as well. Is she up?’
‘In the dining room,’ the manservant replied, lines of worry returning to his face.
Jack hurried into the dining room.
At the table with his mother sat Tranville.
Jack was stunned. ‘What the devil—?’