Tempting Torment (The McClellans Series, Book 3) Author's Cut Edition

by Jo Goodman

  Jessa had known a certain amount of notoriety during June and part of July as the stories were spread and elaborated upon. Commenting on them seemed tantamount to admitting there was truth in the tales. Jessa preferred to keep her silence. Then Hilary had gone to nurse her grandfather at his country home in Germantown, and without her presence in the city to provide fodder for the gossips the rumors had quietly died.

  "I hadn't even realized Hilary had returned to the city," she continued when Noah kept scowling. Really, she thought, dismayed by his mood, he could look positively menacing when he scowled like that.

  "She arrived today. Don't you recall? Her grandfather died a week ago."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," she said sincerely. "But this is the first I've heard of it."

  "I told you Quincy Hearn passed on. Mrs. Harper and Sally even attended the services."

  "What all of you neglected to mention, perhaps intentionally, was that Mr. Hearn was Hilary's grandfather. How should I be expected to know that? Their names aren't the same."

  "That's because he was her mother's father."

  "I surmise that now," she snapped, adopting Noah's attitude. She stabbed a potato with her fork. "So. How am I to keep Hilary from learning of my condition? It's certain to be obvious to the meanest intelligence in a few months."

  Listening to Jessa's waspish tone, Noah belatedly realized how surly and short-tempered he must appear to her. She did not suspect that he was more afraid than angry. "God," he drawled feelingly. "I hope we're not here as long as that. I make it to be three or four weeks before the delegation is disbanded—perhaps in middle or late September." He dropped his fork and touched Jessa's wrist lightly as she was cutting her meat with angry, measured motions. "I'm sorry, Jessa. I've been behaving badly."

  Not sparing him a glance, she shook off his touch. "Yes, you have. And for no reason I can comprehend. What can it possibly matter if Hilary knows I'm going to have a child?"

  "It shouldn't matter, but I fear that it will. I can't imagine Hilary accepting the news graciously, can you?"

  "Her gossip need not touch us."

  "It touched us before. I came within a hair's breadth of strangling Sally for repeating Hilary's tales to you. She should have had better sense. I don't doubt that she's told half a dozen friends by now that you're expecting."

  "She's happy for me."

  "I'm sure she is. However, Hilary won't be. And she's certain to find out. This is going to cut her to the quick."

  Jessa picked up her wineglass and drank deeply, troubled by this turn in the conversation. "I didn't think you cared any longer for what Hilary thinks or feels."

  "Don't misunderstand me, Jessa," Noah said quickly. His green-gold eyes searched her face. "I'm only trying to anticipate how Hilary may react to this news. She tried very hard to make people believe that I wanted her as my mistress. She took to following me, running into me when I was out alone or with friends, then making it seem as if I were doing the chasing. She—"

  "You never told me that," she interrupted, her voice faintly accusing.

  "Perhaps I should have. But at the time I didn't want to further complicate our lives. I didn't want to bring Hilary's name and her sharp little viper's tongue into this house. It seemed pointless to trouble you with her actions. Then she left for her grandfather's and there was no reason to speak of her at all."

  "Surely it's better that she know about the baby, Noah. She'll see it's quite hopeless to entertain thoughts that you'll go back to her."

  Noah shook his head. "If only I could believe that. I think it's far more likely that she'll feel the fool. She delicately implied that you and I were not the loving couple we portrayed to others. She purposely allowed people to believe we were not intimate. Since I couldn't very well make love to you in the center of town, Hilary enjoyed her lies without fear of being found out. I don't think she ever considered that you might become pregnant."

  "Because she never did," Jessa said softly.

  "I wasn't going to say that," he said, looking away, "but you're correct."

  Jessa didn't respond immediately. She touched the centerpiece, brushing her knuckles across the petals of a blood red rose. "I can't help but feel sorry for her, Noah," she said finally. "After all that she's been through I can scarcely hold her accountable for the things she says or does. She's been hurt very badly—and not only by you. Perhaps it's not right, but I blame Hilary's father for what she has become. He failed her far more than she imagines you did. As I recall, you expressed much the same sentiment when you returned from her house that night. Yet your feelings seemed to have changed with time. I can only surmise it's because you perceive Hilary has hurt Gideon and me with her lies."

  "Hasn't she?"

  "Gideon's not a whit troubled," she answered, smiling faintly. "None of this has touched him. As for myself, the hurt is only a small one. I care more that your reputation has been sullied than anything else." Her shoulders straightened a little and she went on tartly, "I find it incredible that anyone, knowing your intelligence and your cleverness, could possibly credit Hilary's story that I tricked you into marrying me."

  Noah's brows rose slightly and his lips twitched with amusement. "Did you hear what you just said? If Hilary only knew how close she came to the truth!" Trust Jessa to make him want to laugh. God, how he loved her!

  "Yes, well, we know what the truth is, but that anyone else should believe such rubbish is beyond my comprehension. I wouldn't care that people think I'm a schemer if it did not reflect so poorly on you."

  Noah shook his head, trying to clear it. Jessa's logic had a way of fogging his brain. "So you're saying that Hilary has only hurt you through me."

  "Yes."

  "And she has hurt me by saying things against you."

  Jessa nodded. "They're only words, Noah. We can decide how much we'll let them bother us. If I didn't pity Hilary I'd have scratched her eyes out long ago. Sometimes I think that in her place I wouldn't behave half so well."

  "You think I'm making too much of her return, don't you?"

  "Hmm-mm. She's been out of the city for weeks and it's quite likely that she's had time to reflect. Why should she want to stir trouble again? If you like I'll ask Sally not to speak to anyone about the baby. She won't say anything."

  "If she hasn't already."

  "In that event we can be prepared for Hilary to hear of it, though what she can possibly do or say to hurt us is beyond me. The people who matter most to you don't attend to idle gossip."

  Noah wished he were as confident and unconcerned as Jessa. He was less afraid of anything Hilary might say and more of something she might do. His sympathy for Hilary was increasingly overshadowed by examples of her vindictiveness. He could not find it within him any longer to make the same allowances for her spiteful behavior that Jessa did.

  "You could be right," he said. "Nevertheless, I'll be happy to return to Virginia."

  Jessa's eyes brightened. "I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers and practically leaping out of her chair. She hurried from the dining room and returned moments later waving a letter in front of her. "This came this morning from the landing." She gave it to Noah and took her seat again. "I didn't want to open it since it was addressed specifically to you. That's not your father's handwriting, is it?"

  Noah wiped his knife with a napkin then used it to break the seal on the packet. "No, it's Jericho's writing. Oh, there's more than one letter here. This is for you. From Mother." Noah handed it to her. "Here's something from Courtney as well. Ah, I see why Jericho put it all together. Apart from his note, there's a letter from Drew Goodfellow."

  "Drew? How nice." Jessa leaned closer to Noah as he opened the missive. "What does he have to say?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased, holding the letter away from her. He scanned the first few paragraphs quickly. "All I can say, Jessa McClellan, is that it's a very good thing you told me the truth months ago, because you've been found out."

&nb
sp; "What!"

  "Calm yourself, darling. It's not what you think. Drew's not told anyone. I wrote to Drew while we were still aboard the Clarion and asked him to discover what he could about you. Don't fly into the boughs. I had my reasons. If you recall, you were less than honest with me then. Actually, I had forgotten about the letter by the time we reached the landing but Cam, being the helpful sort that he is, sent it out. It appears Drew had little difficulty in establishing your identity. Will Shaw has a loose tongue when he's deep in his cups."

  "Will! How could he!" She threw up her hands in disgust. "What a brainless chatterbox he is. I should have strangled him after he shot you."

  "That would have done the trick," Noah said dryly. He continued to read. "Drew says that the Penberthys had offered a reward for information concerning your whereabouts. It didn't mean anything to him then. It wasn't until he received my letter and talked to Mary and Davey Shaw, and eventually Will, that he assembled the pieces properly." Noah paused, checking the date on the letter. "He wrote this shortly after he heard from me, some six weeks ago. There's no indication that the Penberthys had any success with their reward."

  "What if Will speaks to them?"

  "I don't think that's likely. Drew gained Will's confidence because they share a bit of smuggling in their past. According to Drew, when Davey found out he threatened to cut out Will's tongue with a dull knife if he ever spoke of those things again."

  Jessa grimaced at the grisly image. "How did Davey know Will talked?"

  Noah folded the letter and slipped it in his deep jacket pocket. "Drew told him. Drew wanted to be certain Will was not so easily taken in again. It would seem that Drew's become your champion, Jessa. He sends his best regards and begs that I find it in my heart to forgive you for—how did he put it?—oh, yes, the falsehoods occasioned by your complete devotion to the child. Very prettily said, don't you think?"

  Jessa didn't care about that. "Have you, Noah?" she asked anxiously. "Have you forgiven me?"

  Noah removed the letters from Jessa's hands. They were crumpled and limp from the tight hold she had had on them. His fingers encircled her wrists and he drew Jessa out of her chair and onto his lap. "There was never anything to forgive," he said.

  Some minutes later Mrs. Harper peeked in the dining room to see if Jessa and Noah were ready for dessert. They definitely were not. She shut the door hastily and fanned her heated face. Certain appetites, she thought primly, should be confined to the bedroom.

  Chapter 15

  September, 1787

  It was not a coincidence that they met. Their intentions were similar, their goals shared. They were motivated by a singular purpose. That their paths eventually crossed was more inevitable than surprising. Still, at the first meeting, Hilary was naturally wary.

  "I beg your pardon," she said coolly, tightening her grip on the parcels she held. "Did you speak to me?" The man tipping his hat to her was handsome in a bearish sort of way. His features had been molded with a rough regard for the details that made a man attractive to women. Short strands of hair that were neither brown nor blond, but some mixture of the two, fluttered across his broad forehead before he lowered his hat again. His eyes were deep set and so dark they appeared to be black. In spite of the smile that lifted the corners of his wide mouth, his eyes remained strangely flat and somehow cold. His jaw was square cut, his nose and the planes of his cheeks blunt. He had powerful shoulders and large hands. As Hilary's eyes glanced over him, taking his measure, he shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his navy blue jacket.

  "Ye know I did," he said bluntly, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. "Ain't likely I was talkin' to meself. I'm not daft."

  Hilary turned to go. It was merely unfortunate the man was rough spoken. That he was also English was beyond bearing. His accent grated harshly on her ears.

  Ross Booker fell in step beside her. "Yer not interested in what I 'ave to say?" he asked. She was a cool one, he'd give her that. Lovely to look at, too. She thought he was beneath her, of course, not worthy of her attention, but Ross had seen the fleeting interest in her eyes. He'd wager all the blunt Lady Barbara had given him on that.

  "Hardly." She stopped. "Will you kindly leave me be. I have no qualms about calling a constable." She waited, tapping her foot impatiently. Her figure was reflected in the bakery shop window where Molly Wren was placing a tray of fresh three-penny loaves. Hilary returned Mrs. Wren's wave. "Well?"

  "You can call the constable or that woman in the shop if you've a mind to," Ross said. "But I'll be tellin' anyone you call that Mr. McClellan is a mite tired of you doggin' 'is footsteps and I'm 'ired to see that it stops."

  Hilary's head jerked up in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

  Though she strove to keep her voice calm the effort was insufficient. Ross saw that she was visibly shaken by his declaration. It was an encouraging sign. "Perhaps we could speak somewhere more private," he suggested.

  "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "Me carriage is over there," he said, pointing across the street and down one block. He felt a surge of pride every time he looked at his fancy rig and matched set of cinnamon mares. Lady Barbara had been generous with her coin, and Ross believed he was putting it to good use. His clothes, his carriage, and his mounts made a pleasing first impression. He was no longer one of the rabble. "It's in yer best interests t'accept me invitation."

  Hilary hesitated. "What did you mean that Mr. McClellan hired you?"

  "I'll tell ye about it while we ride. Ye best come now. Mr. McClellan isn't one to spend long in a tavern. He'll be leavin' soon and nothin' good will come of 'im seein' us together."

  That decided Hilary. She didn't want Noah to see her, not if he was already aware she was following him. "I'll choose the route we take."

  "Fair enough."

  "One more thing."

  "Yes?"

  "I don't know your name."

  "Booker, Miss Bowen. Ross Booker."

  Hilary sat back in the carriage, pleased that it was as comfortable as it was handsome. She did not mind being seen with Mr. Booker, his physical presence was agreeable, his clothes a cut above the common mode, but she despaired that he would speak too loudly and draw attention to his crude command of the language. After a few minutes she realized her fears were unfounded. Mr. Booker was not eager to have his conversation overheard. He explained as soon as the carriage was under way that he was not in Noah McClellan's employ. Somewhat to her own surprise, Hilary did not demand he stop the carriage. Instead she continued to listen to him, fascinated by the story he had to tell and, later, intrigued by the plan he proposed.

  "Why did you stop me today?" she asked when he had finished. "And why share all this information with me? Aren't you afraid I'll go to Noah with it?"

  "One question at a time, Miss Bowen," he said, grinning sideways at her. "I've been takin' yer measure a few weeks now, watchin' you watchin' 'im... sometimes watchin' 'er. That's 'ow I first noticed ye—when ye were watchin' 'is wife. Standin' outside their 'ouse, ye were. And when she came out, carryin' the babe, you moved on, jest like ye'd 'ad other business. I knew better, o'course. I followed ye 'ome... I asked a few questions. I'd 'eard yer name before. Men on the Clarion talked about ye, 'ow Mr. McClellan 'ad been plannin' to marry ye. A man simpler than me could understand why ye were so interested in Mr. McClellan. I know what a woman can do when she's lookin' to get back at a man."

  "And that's what you think? That I'm looking for revenge?"

  "Wouldn't have stopped you otherwise. Didn't plan to do it so soon, but ye were callin' attention to yerself. Maybe ye wanted to, I don't know. But sooner or later ye were bound to call attention to me. That's not what I want. As for goin' to Mr. McClellan and tellin' 'im what ye know... ye could do that. I'm thinkin' that ye won't. I'm offerin' ye a chance to settle with 'im if that truly be yer desire."

  Hilary's eyes remained remote, giving nothing of her thoughts away. Ross Booker's plans were int
riguing, but she wasn't certain she trusted him. "Turn left here," she directed. "And stop the carriage."

  Booker obliged her. "Ye'll think on what I've said?" he asked as Hilary gathered her parcels. He helped her alight.

  "I'll think on it. How will I find you if I decide to help?"

  "I'll find you."

  "Don't come to my home," she warned him.

  "I won't." His obsidian eyes darted over her face and he saw her shiver slightly. He tipped his hat and bid her good day.

  * * *

  Jessa pirouetted in front of the mirror. The hem of her forest-green taffeta gown lifted as she twirled, revealing lace-edged underskirts, dainty damask shoes, and trim ankles. She stopped, looking past her reflection in the mirror to where Noah stood by the bed. He had paused in putting on his blue satin jacket while Jessa danced in front of him. His attention was caught by the trim ankles until Jessa's gown fell in place again. He looked up, holding her gaze in the mirror.

  "Very nice," he said, slipping the rest of the way into his jacket. He straightened his waistcoat and brushed away something caught on the silver embroidered trim. Noah tried to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, but Jessa was blocking his full view. "In fact, you're looking quite lovely." She continued to stand there. "Radiant comes to mind." His head bobbed from side to side as he attempted to see himself. "Exquisite? Beautiful? Adorable?"

  "Are you asking or making a statement?"

  "I'm searching for the word that will give you enough confidence to move from that mirror."