Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows' Club Book 4)

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Oh, but it’s lovely.” Georgie wandered toward the fire, holding out her hands to the friendly blaze. “A very cozy room despite those heads above us.” She pointed to a bust of Cicero. “Not a place for murderous books at all. I believe you are bluffing.”

  “You think so?” Chuckling, he strolled over to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a black bound book, looking to be of quite some age. “Come look at this.” He carried it to a nearby table and set it down.

  In spite of herself, Georgie eased toward the table as if she truly expected the volume to burst into flame or explode. Once close enough, she read the title and looked at him, frowning. “The Holy Bible?”

  “Yes, but a very special one.” His eyes twinkled. “It belonged to an ancestor from the time of King Henry VIII. This particular Kerr was a cleric at Henry’s court who had displeased the monarch and was awaiting execution in prison. Knowing King Henry’s whims and his own precarious situation, he’d taken precautions just in case he should be imprisoned. He requested that his wife bring him his personal copy of the Holy Bible, this very one here, to be a comfort to him in his last hours. The request was granted, and the wife delivered the book to him. Later that night, the ancestor began praying, weeping and wailing, calling out to his jailors that he was being possessed by a demon.”

  “You are making this up, Rob.” Georgie didn’t know whether to laugh or be frightened.

  “I assure you, I am not.” The sincerity in his face convinced her, almost. “So the jailors ran into the jail cell, and by that time my ancestor was writhing on the floor. The two guards turned him over, and he rose up and stabbed them in the heart with this.” Rob flipped the Bible open to reveal a narrow compartment carved out of the pages in which lay a long, narrow dagger.

  “Dear Lord.” Georgie gasped and stumbled back.

  “The ancestor then replaced the knife in the Bible, closed the cell, pulled his hood up over his head, and walked out carrying the book. No one stopped him as they assumed he was a priest there to give last rites to the condemned man.” The pride in his ancestor’s clever plan resonated in Rob’s voice. “He went home, gathered his wife, and they struck out for the most distant place they could find, which turned out to be Cornwall.”

  “It seems the entire family tree is fraught with actors of one kind or another.” Narrowing her eyes at him, Georgie shook her head. “I am not quite sure this tale isn’t a bag of moonshine.” She ran a finger along the mass of cut pages and shuddered. “However, the book is, I grant you, a deadly tome.”

  A look of triumph flashed across his face as he gathered up the Bible and returned it to its place on the shelf. “And thereby I win my forfeit?” The dark look of desire was back in his eyes.

  “Yes, you do, my lord.” Tingling all over, Georgie raised her chin, and closed her eyes, anticipation of his warm mouth on hers filling her with an exquisite tension.

  “Excellent.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.

  Her eyes popped open. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere more private.” He turned down a corridor that led to a steep flight of steps.

  “More private than a library?”

  “Trust me.” Squeezing her hand, he started up the dark stone staircase.

  “Where are you taking me?” Panting to keep up with Rob’s breakneck pace, Georgie pulled on his hand. “Slow down or you will kill me yet.”

  “You are made of sterner stuff than that, Georgie.”

  “You . . . can say that.... You’re not even . . . breathing hard.” How could he run up this steep staircase and not be winded at all? She’d danced entire evenings and never been this out of breath.

  After what seemed an eternity, Rob flung open a door, and they stepped out into dull sunshine and a crisp, hard breeze. All about her was light and wide-open space as far as she could see. Her head spun. “Where are we?”

  “The parapet.”

  At the top of the castle. Goodness. Georgie breathed heavily, but was still dazzled by the incredible view. To the back of the castle lay the boxwood maze and beyond that a forest, mostly black spires at this time of year. To her right was the crushed shell driveway that led toward the tiny parish of St. Just. And if she swung around the other way, she looked down on the top of the crags, the blue ocean just beyond, stretching onward seemingly forever. Breathtaking, even if she had no breath left to give.

  “You can stand here and look straight down the cliff.” Rob had ventured dangerously close to the very edge of the parapet, a short, raised ledge all that stood between him and a drop to his death.

  “No, thank you.” She licked her lips and swallowed hard. Heights always made her queasy. “Why don’t you come back over here.”

  “But don’t you want to see—”

  “No.” The man would try the patience of a saint. “Rob, please.”

  “I am perfectly fine, Georgie.” He turned his back to the ocean, mere inches from the edge and that terrifying drop. If he stepped back, hit the back of his legs against the rim . . .

  Hand over her mouth, she turned away, horrified at the thought of what would happen if he stepped back, even one step.

  “Georgie.” His voice sounded close to her ear, and she almost slumped with relief. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she flung herself into his arms.

  “Oh, Rob. Please don’t ever do that again.” Clinging to him, head buried in his chest, she tried to control her sobs.

  “Sweetheart, I am sorry. I had no idea heights affected you so.” Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her tight against him. “They have never bothered me at all, so I don’t really think about it. I’ve been running around up here since I was about six years old. I used to love to hang my head over the side and gaze down on everyone.” He chuckled, and it rumbled in her ear. “I thought I was the king of the castle up here.”

  “You can just as well be king on the first floor,” Georgie muttered into his jacket.

  “Yes, my lady.” Hugging her closer, he brushed his lips on the top of her head. “It will be as you command.”

  Relief flowing through her like a river, she sighed and rubbed her cheek on his comfortable chest. “Rob, would you tell me something?”

  “Anything, my dear.”

  She raised her head to peer at him. “Was that story you told me at Charlotte’s party, about you and the smugglers, true, or were you simply trying to impress me?”

  Laughing and shaking his head, he stepped back to look in her face. “My dear, I will never know what to expect from you. What made you think of that?”

  “The view out to sea. I remembered you talked about stealing into and out of the cove at night, whenever there was a smuggling run. I should think that would be very tricky in the dark.”

  “Believe me, it is. And yes, during the war years, when I was much younger and wilder, I went out a time or two with the local smuggling ring.” He gazed into the distance, a fond smile on his lips.

  “Wilder?” Lord have mercy. How much wilder could the man have been and lived to tell the tale?

  “Much. I wanted all the adventure I could find, and, this close to Land’s End, smuggling was about all I could do to slake that thirst.” Pointing out toward the cove, he continued eagerly. “We would sail out about an hour or so due south of here, meet up with a ship from France, load a part of their goods—usually brandy, but one time it was a lot of French silk—then sail it all back into the cove. I don’t know how it traveled out of St. Just. I was never privy to how it was moved, but it kept many a family’s larder well stocked and their homes in good repair.”

  “Do they go out still, your smugglers?” None of this surprised Georgie. Still, she did hope he was no longer a party to this criminal activity.

  “No. The whole operation dried up after the war ended. No need for it when there was free trade once again between the two countries. Pity.” His mouth drooped. “When we go down I’ll show you the smugglers’ tunnel tha
t goes out from the castle to the harbor. My ancestors dabbled in the trade a bit more than I did.”

  “I told Jemmy I thought you wanted to become a pirate.” Oh, yes, she’d known it all along. “I see I was right after all.”

  “A pirate?” Rob’s laughter boomed out over the parapet, causing several seagulls perching on the stone wall to squawk and take flight. “I don’t think I ever fancied myself that, although I can see a connection with the smuggling. They are both rather adventurous occupations.” He grasped her hands and pulled her into his arms again. “But I am done with those sorts of adventures.”

  “Have you, truly?” Being in his arms made her hope with all her heart that was so.

  “I have. The only adventure I crave now is you, Georgina.” He kissed her brow, her ear, her cheek.

  Fire licked through her veins, melting her insides just from that fleeting touch.

  Cupping her head, he brought her mouth close. “And now I will claim my forfeit.”

  “Why did you bring me all the way up here to claim it?” Staring into pools of darkest gray, she thrilled to the very closeness of his body.

  “Because here I am king of the castle, and I would make you my queen.” He lowered his lips to hers, the sweet taste of him flooding her senses.

  Overcome with the need to claim him, she grasped his head and pressed her lips against his, licking the seam with a soft dart of her tongue. Seeking to invade him.

  A small sound of surprise, then his mouth opened wide, allowing her entry to plunder. Oh yes, she would be the pirate here, taking him prisoner. She swept in, exploring him inch by inch, until he captured her tongue, making her squeal as her body went up in flames.

  She no longer had any doubt. This was the man she had been waiting for, the one she burned for with an intensity like none other. The man she wanted to share her life with for all the rest of time. The one she could trust with her life and with the lives of those she loved.

  If only she could have him.

  Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of Rob’s arms and caught his startled look.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His puzzled frown cut her heart to its core.

  “I can’t . . . We can’t . . . I am still legally betrothed to Lord Travers, Rob.” Curse her father for ever persuading her to throw her life away like that. “I am bound by the contracts to marry him.”

  “Such things can be got around, my love.” He came toward her, but she backed away.

  “I don’t think so. It’s a binding contract that only my father can break.” She ducked her head. “Which I am absolutely certain he will not do.”

  “There are other possibilities, Georgie.” Rob inched toward her. “Perhaps I could persuade Lord Travers to rescind his offer.”

  “Huh. As soon persuade the moon down from the sky.” She pulled the collar of her pelisse higher. “The wind is getting brisk. We should go back inside.”

  “We can last another moment.” He had succeeded in getting close enough to her to catch hold of her arm. “I wish to have this settled, my dear.” With a piercing gaze he stared into her eyes, compelling her to listen. “I declare to you, Georgina Kirkpatrick, I will not let you marry that cur. If it comes to it, I will challenge him to a duel and put a bullet in his black heart before I let that happen.”

  “You cannot do that, Rob.” Panic rose in her, like a bird flushed out of a field.

  “If I have to make a choice between allowing him to marry you or calling him out, I will meet him without hesitation.” Grasping her shoulders, Rob kissed her again, an all-consuming possession of her mouth that left her knees weak. “You are mine, and by God, no one will take you from me.”

  Bewildered by that declaration, Georgie stared at him, unsure if she’d truly heard him aright.

  “Georgie!”

  The faint call brought her out of her reverie, and she shook her head. “Did you hear someone call my name?”

  “Georgina!”

  “Who in God’s name is that?” Rob peered over the edge and swore.

  “What is it?” Georgie inched over to the side of the parapet that looked out on the driveway to the front steps and gasped. “Oh, no.”

  Down on the graveled driveway, looking up at her with varying degrees of consternation, shock, or dismay, were Jemmy, Elizabeth, and Lord Travers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stunned to see her brother and Elizabeth so soon, and completely dumbfounded by Lord Travers’s presence, Georgie could only stand for some moments, peering over the parapet and gripping Rob’s arm. The dizzying sense of falling that usually overcame her when she looked down from any height had come upon her with a vengeance. Clutching Rob as though he were her only anchor, which at the moment he absolutely was, she straightened, trying her best to control the dread rising in her. “I didn’t expect Jemmy to arrive so soon.”

  “When I wrote to him at Hunter’s Cross, I suggested he sail from Portsmouth.” Frowning, Rob led her from the edge of the parapet to the staircase door. “My only thought then was that it would be quicker for him to come and take you off my hands. I had no idea he would be here this quickly.” Rob took Georgie’s arm and turned her to face him. “I would never have done so had I any inkling—”

  “I know you wouldn’t have. At that moment I was simply a bit of trouble and bother you would have preferred not to have to deal with.” Putting on what she hoped was a brave face, Georgie smiled. “In your place I might have done the exact same thing, hoping to get rid of me as soon as could be.”

  “Nothing could be farther from the truth now.” That truth shone in his furrowed brow. “I had no idea Brack would bring Travers with him. According to the letter he sent me last month, he quite opposed the match.”

  “As he did just a week ago in Buckinghamshire.” Shaking her head, Georgie patted his arm. “I believe there is something else afoot here, although I am quite at a loss to say what. Let us go down and beard them in their den. Or your den, rather. This is your property, after all.”

  Rob dropped a kiss on her brow, making her whole being warm despite the circumstances and the chilly late afternoon wind. “Once more unto the breach.”

  They descended the staircase at a much slower pace than they had ascended, for which Georgie was terribly grateful. She did not wish to take a tumble down the stone steps. Neither did she wish to greet her brother so quickly, and she was positively loathe to meet with Lord Travers. The only person awaiting her below who she was truly glad to see was Elizabeth. Her friend had always been so supportive of her; it would be good to have an ally at such a trying time.

  The staircase opened onto the corridor near the library, and it took them some minutes to reach the foyer where a stern-faced Jemmy waited, slapping his gloves into his palm and drawing them through his fingers. A sign he was not pleased with her at all. Lord Travers stood a little to the side, his face dark and brooding, quite ominous, although of course he couldn’t be happy to discover his betrothed cavorting on a parapet with another man.

  Her gaze was drawn, thankfully, to Elizabeth, her friend’s sweet face wearing a puckered frown. “Georgina. Oh, thank heavens.”

  Then Georgie was in her arms, a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying lifted from her by the woman’s firm embrace.

  “Georgie, we’ve been ever so worried. Are you well?” Elizabeth peered into her face, and Georgie nodded.

  “I am, wonderfully well.” She glanced first at her brother, still glowering, and then at Travers, who looked as though he’d bitten into an unripe persimmon. “Let us retire so I can tell you what happened.”

  Without another look at any of the men, she grasped Elizabeth’s hand and led her down the corridor and into a small receiving room and shut the door.

  “Oh, Georgie.” Elizabeth hugged her again. “Tell me what happened. Lord St. Just’s letter said you were kidnapped.”

  “That is true, my dear.” She led her friend to a comfortable chaise where they sat, and Georgie
took Elizabeth’s hands. “The first kidnapping. But that is just the beginning of the tale.”

  * * *

  The moment Georgie and Lady Brack left the room, Travers strode up to Rob, snarling, “You are a dead man, you cur.” He drew his arm back, ready to draw Rob’s cork, when Brack pushed Travers aside.

  “You didn’t need to stop him, Brack. I’d have—”

  Brack’s fist connected with Rob’s jaw, snapping his head back as pain exploded along the left side of his face. He staggered back a step, as much out of surprise as pain. “What the devil are you playing about?” Moving his jaw, gingerly to be sure, but it would move, Rob kept a wary eye on both Travers and the man he’d called friend until about a minute ago.

  “You’d best be glad I don’t thrash you to a pulp or call you out, St. Just. Don’t you realize you’ve probably ruined Georgie’s reputation?” Brack shook his hand, wincing. His familiar face had transformed into a gargoyle’s with enormous protruding eyes and snarling mouth. “Are you prepared to marry her?”

  “What?”

  “No!” Travers leaped forward, an ugly snarl on his lips. “She’s my betrothed. No one’s marrying her but me, understood?”

  “You want to have a go, too?” Rob swung around to face the other menace.

  As soon as Rob’s attention was diverted, Brack grabbed him in a body hold. Fortunately, Rob had spent a summer in London being instructed at Jackson’s Saloon. He easily fended the man off, then stripped off his jacket and put up his own bare knuckles. “Which one’s it going to be? I don’t rightly care, myself.” Eyes shifting from one angry face to the other, Rob danced on his feet as he’d been taught. Keep your wits about you. Outthink your opponent, and you’ll win every time. And by God, he’d had enough of this foolishness. “I can best you, Brack, as you so well know. Lord Travers I can likely dispatch in three blows, if I don’t let fly and pull his cork but good on the first try.”