by Connie Mason
“As a matter of fact there is,” Moira said, settling her face into a pained expression. “I have a terrible headache. Ask Matilda to fix me a headache powder, then see that no one disturbs me the rest of the day. I’ll probably sleep all day. Use the time to do whatever you please; I’ll have no need of you for several hours.”
“Oh, Miss Moira, thank you,” Jilly gushed. “Colin said he’d take me to see my family the first chance I got. Ma is doing poorly.”
“Then by all means go,” Moira urged. “Tell Pettibone I’ve given you leave to visit your family and that Colin is to take you in the carriage.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring your headache remedy right away. And thank you again. I’ve been ever so worried about Ma.” She turned to leave, then paused. “I don’t think any less of you for…I don’t care what anyone says, you’re a good woman.” Having said her piece, she fled out the door.
Moira’s expression turned solemn as she watched Jilly scoot from the chamber. The maid’s words served to confirm her belief that she and Jack were the talk of London. The scandal surrounding them wasn’t likely to disappear until something more noteworthy appeared to take its place. Her decision to leave Jack hadn’t been lightly made, and she knew it was a good one. Last night Jack had made her feel like a whore, and she didn’t like the feeling. His temper had been awesome and his words contemptible. How dare he think he could set her up as his mistress against her will!
The house was quiet. Jilly had left with Colin, and just minutes ago she heard Pettibone and Matilda leave the house to do the marketing. With Pettibone gone, the maids were probably taking their ease in the kitchen, drinking tea and gossiping. The hall clock had just struck nine o’clock, and Moira had three hours to reach London Pool to board the packet, Emerald Queen. The hall was empty when Moira opened the door and peered out. Retrieving her bag from beneath the bed, she quietly left her chamber and negotiated the front stairs without mishap. She had one anxious moment, when the front door gave a squeak of protest as she slipped outside.
Damp mist sent icy fingers along her spine, but she was grateful for the way it shrouded her tiny figure in concealing gray fog. Within seconds, she was no longer visible from the house. Due to the fog, it took Moira over thirty minutes to find a hackney, but she still arrived well before the ship unfurled its sails and inched down the Thames. Moira watched from the deck as dense fog swallowed the ship and obliterated the shore. When she glanced landward, she saw nothing but indistinct shapes looming through a soupy gray mist.
Force of habit made Moira reach up to grasp her locket, which always comforted her in trying times. A cry of dismay left her lips when she realized it was missing. The loss struck her forcefully. The locket had been more than a keepsake; it was a link with her past. Now she had nothing.
Jack returned home shortly before the dinner hour. When he inquired about Moira, he was told she was suffering from a headache and had been in her room all day. Immediately Jack felt a twinge of guilt. He shouldn’t have been so hard on Moira last night, but he’d been so damn angry that he’d reverted back to his old self, a man he didn’t like anymore. She had wounded his pride and hurt him deeply when she refused to marry him. He’d offered her his heart, his home, all his wealth, and she had turned her nose up at his offer.
Moira foolishly thought he’d sit back and let her leave him, but she hadn’t counted on his possessiveness where she was concerned. She was his; no one else could have her. If she’d rather be his mistress, then so be it. Since last night, his temper had cooled somewhat, but he was still determined to install her in the house he had leased and see how she enjoyed being his mistress. Perhaps then she’d know what she had given up by spurning his legitimate proposal.
He’d never before told another woman he loved her—and he was unlikely to do so again, given the answer he’d received from Moira. Perhaps it wasn’t love he felt for Moira; maybe it was lust. He couldn’t keep his bloody hands off her. Damn Moira for being so damn stubborn and damn Lady Amelia for bringing them together.
Dinner was a dismal affair. Jack waited for Moira to join him, and when she didn’t, he asked Matilda to hold dinner. He sat in silence, brooding over Moira’s absence and his unquenchable need for the little vixen. Finally his temper snapped. He called Jilly from the kitchen.
“Jilly, please inform Miss Moira that I require her presence at the table.”
Jilly bobbed a curtsey and hurried from the dining chamber. After a long interval, the maid returned. Her face was flushed, her expression pained. When she reached Jack’s side, she threw her apron over her head and wailed.
Jack rose abruptly from his chair and threw down his napkin. “For God’s sake, Jilly, what is it now? Is something wrong with Moira?”
“I can’t find her, milord. I’ve looked everywhere.”
Alarm bells went off in Jack’s head. “What do you mean, you can’t find her?”
“I fear she’s gone, milord. Some of her clothing is missing.”
“Get Pettibone.” When Jilly failed to move fast enough, he shouted, “Now!” Hearing the ruckus, Matilda wandered in from the kitchen.
Pettibone came bustling into the dining room, Jilly hard on his heels. “Jilly told me, milord. I can’t imagine where Miss Moira has gone.”
“When did you see her last?”
“Yesterday, milord. Jilly brought her a headache powder early this morning, and Moira gave her leave to visit her ill mother. Then Matilda and I did the marketing. I thought Miss Moira was still in her room, but she could have left while we were all out.”
“Do any of you have any idea where she might have gone?” His temper was near to exploding, but he kept it carefully under control. How could she do this to him?
“Not a clue. Except,” Pettibone added with a pained look, “I found money missing from your strongbox today when I took some coins for the marketing. Do you think Moira could have stolen the money?” He sent Jack a searching glance. “Perhaps she had good reason.”
Jack gave him a quelling look. “Are you in cahoots with Lady Amelia?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.” Jack turned to Matilda. “Well, did Moira mention anything to you about leaving?”
Matilda wrung her hands, plainly upset. “At one time, milord. After we left Sir Dashwood’s estate, she said she was going to her brother’s home near Kilkenny, in Ireland. She promised to take me with her.”
Pettibone looked troubled. “That was before Lord Jack engaged me as his housekeeper,” Matilda was quick to add when she saw the devastated look on Pettibone’s face. “Perhaps she’s gone to Ireland.”
“Shall I book passage on the next packet to Ireland, milord?” Pettibone asked.
“No!” His outburst startled Pettibone. “Tomorrow, I’ll inquire if anyone fitting Moira’s description booked passage to Ireland on a ship sailing today.”
“Will you follow, milord?” Pettibone wanted to know.
“I have no hold on Moira; she can do as she pleases. You may serve dinner now, Matilda.”
Though his voice was cold and impassive, he felt as if he had just taken a blow to his gut. He couldn’t believe Moira would go so far as to steal money from him in order to pay for passage to Ireland. Did she hate him so much? Had he gone too far by demanding that she become his mistress? If she hadn’t refused his proposal, he would never have considered such an arrangement. Damn it, what did she want from him? When she refused his love, he’d withdrawn it in anger and offered something less respectable, wanting to hurt her as she’d hurt him. All he’d succeeded in doing was losing her. It would be a cold day in hell before he’d chase after her. His begging days were over.
“Milord.” Suddenly Jack became aware that Matilda still stood quietly at his side.
“Is there something you wish to say, Matilda?”
“Aye, milord, just this.” She dug in the pocket of her apron and produced a shiny gold object.
Jack held out his hand, and M
atilda placed Moira’s locket in his palm. He clasped it tightly, imagining it still held the warmth of Moira’s flesh. “Where did you get this?” He could see at a glance that the fragile chain had broken.
Matilda looked him straight in the eye and said, “In your bed, milord. ’Tis Miss Moira’s. She never took it off.” Her voice held a wealth of censure.
Jack had the grace to flush. “I’m aware of that. Thank you. I’ll take care of it. About dinner, Matilda—I find I’m no longer hungry. I’m going to my room. Pettibone can bring me a tray later.”
“As you wish, milord.”
Sitting in a wing chair before the hearth, Jack turned the locket over and over in his hands, recalling the countless times in the past months he’d seen Moira hanging on to the locket in stressful moments. It seemed to have an almost calming effect on her. Other than the fact that it had once belonged to her mother and grandmother, he knew little about the delicate piece of jewelry. Though not an expensive or valuable piece, it seemed to hold sentimental value for Moira.
Jack felt like an interloper as he carefully pried open the locket with his thumbnail. He had no idea what he’d find, but it certainly wasn’t a faded miniature of a man in uniform. The image was so old that it had cracked in several places, but enough of it remained to reveal a pleasant-looking young man still in the bloom of youth. Taking a closer look, Jack was puzzled at the familiarity of the man in the picture. It was all very strange. Pettibone arrived a short time later with a tray of food, which Jack pushed aside with a curious lack of appetite.
“I’m going out, Pettibone,” Jack informed his startled servant. “Get out my evening clothes and tell Colin to bring the Ailesbury coach around. I think I’ll visit a rout tonight and make the usual rounds.”
“You’re going out, milord?”
Jack’s dark brows shot upward. “Do you have a problem with that, Pettibone?”
“No, milord. It’s just that you haven’t indulged in…er…excesses lately, and I thought…”
“Then I’ve been remiss, haven’t I?”
Once Pettibone left, Jack aimed his boldly challenging gaze into the dark corners of the room. “If you can hear me, Lady Amelia, don’t bother lecturing me. I’ve had enough of your interference. Your meddling has brought me nothing but heartache. I’ve gone soft-headed and look what it got me. Exactly nothing. I’ve inherited a dukedom I never wanted and lost a woman because of it.”
If Lady Amelia heard, she chose neither to respond nor materialize. But Jack wasn’t about to end his tirade. “I’ve decided to reacquaint myself with the Devil. Perdition has never looked more attractive than it does now.” He strode purposefully to his liquor chest and poured a generous helping of whiskey into a glass. He lifted it in salute to the absent ghost and downed it in one gulp. His laughter reverberated in the room long after he left. He neither saw nor heard Lady Amelia, who hovered near the ceiling, gazing down upon him in pity.
Foolish man. ’Tis too late. You cannot return to your old ways.
A hush came over the crowd as Jack strolled into the game room. It was his first foray into public since his prank was unmasked and he’d inherited the dukedom. He had no idea how his peers would accept him, and he cared even less. He felt more like Black Jack right now than he did Lord Jack, and Black Jack didn’t give a fig what the macaroni dandies prancing around in high heels and satin breeches thought about him.
Jack tried to hide his surprise when Lord and Lady Crenshaw, respected leaders of London society, greeted him cordially. “Ailesbury, good to see you out and about again. Dreadful about your cousin, most dreadful indeed,” Lord Crenshaw said.
“Yes, indeed,” Lady Crenshaw echoed. “We’re having a rout in honor of our daughter’s eighteenth birthday next week. I’ll send an invitation around. There aren’t too many eligible bachelors of your standing left, and I’m sure you’ll find many invitations coming your way.”
The Crenshaws made way for the Gormans, and after that it was like a tidal wave of people coming forward to greet him. Most were the cream of society and had daughters of marriageable age. A few weeks ago, these same people saw fit to shield their innocent daughters from Black Jack Graystoke. It was amazing what a title could do for one.
“Jack, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. I’ve missed you, milord.”
Jack smiled at Victoria. He no longer needed to marry money, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dally with her. “You’re looking fetching tonight, milady. I’d forgotten how beautiful you were.”
Victoria preened for his benefit and said archly, “They’re playing the waltz, milord. Will you dance with me?”
Jack took her hand and led her into the next room, where dancers crowded the floor. “I thought you were angry with me, Victoria,” Jack said as he whirled her around in a graceful circle.
“I was, but you’re too intriguing a man to remain angry with for long. You were naughty to play a trick like that on me. I trust you sent your little whore packing.”
Jack smiled through eyes as cold as ice. “Moira is no longer with me.”
“I’m willing to take up where we left off with no hard feelings,” Victoria cooed coyly.
“I’m no longer in the market for a wife,” Jack drawled. “However, I’m open to other…suggestions.”
Victoria gasped angrily, then quickly quelled her temper. She felt strongly that once she had Black Jack in her bed again, he’d change his mind. It had been far too long since she’d sampled his extraordinary brand of loving. She wished now she hadn’t agreed to an assignation with Lord Renfrew later tonight. She could always beg off, but Renfrew wasn’t a man to cross. “I’m not free tonight. Call on me tomorrow.”
With a jolt of insight, Jack realized he felt nothing for Lady Victoria, not even passing interest. He wondered if the man she was sleeping with tonight knew she was already lining up her next lay. The old Black Jack wouldn’t have cared who or how many men Victoria slept with as long as she gave him pleasure when it was his turn, but Lord Jack was somewhat more discerning. After making love to Moira, who had been pure and unsullied before he’d taken her virginity, Victoria held little appeal. Damn, he could wring Lady Amelia’s neck for giving him a conscience.
“I’ll call on you if I’m not busy,” Jack temporized as the dance ended. “If you’ll excuse me, milady, I think I’ll try my hand at cards.”
He made a quick getaway, counting himself lucky that Victoria wasn’t his wife. On his way to the card room, he stopped off for liquid refreshment. With a large whiskey in his hand, he cut his way through the fog of cigar smoke, looking for a table with an empty chair. He spied Spence at one of the gaming tables and headed in that direction.
“Mind if I join you, gentlemen?”
“Jack! I’ll be damned!” Spence crowed, jumping up and pulling out a chair for Jack. “Never expected to see you here. Just like old times, eh? Is that whiskey you’re drinking? ‘Bout time you saw the folly of your ways. I was beginning to think you’d reformed.”
“Never say it,” Jack said, sitting down and nodding to the other players.
Jack lost heavily. His mind wasn’t on cards. His usual sharp card sense was blunted by the numerous whiskeys he was consuming. His mouth tasted like the inside of a trash bin, and a splitting headache began behind his eyes. He was beginning to think he was no longer capable of playing the debauched rake. Throwing in his hand, he rose somewhat unsteadily and announced that he’d had enough for one night.
“I’ll go with you, Jack,” Spence said. He sensed Jack’s preoccupation and wondered what was bothering him. He was playing like a novice and drinking far too much, even for Black Jack.
“No need. I have my coach.”
“ ’Tis early yet. I’ll accompany you home and we can have a good chat. It’s been a while. Moira is well, I trust?”
At the mention of Moira, Jack’s lips thinned into an angry line. “Come along, if you will, but I’m in no mood for foolish questions.”
&nb
sp; Jack lapsed into a brooding silence, which continued until he stepped down from the coach at Graystoke Manor. A grim-faced Pettibone opened the door.
“Brandy, Pettibone, in the study,” Jack barked in passing.
“Milord, I don’t think…”
“You’re not paid to think, Pettibone.”
When Jack entered the study, Spence held back to speak to Pettibone. “What in bloody hell was that all about? What’s gotten into Jack?”
“Miss Moira left. His Grace is taking it badly.”
“Why did she leave? Jack was crazy about her. He’d have given her the world if she’d but ask. He even wanted to marry her.”
“I suspect he proposed but Miss Moira refused.”
“The lady has good sense. It wouldn’t have been proper. The Duke of Ailesbury has a standard to uphold. As much as I like Moira, marrying her would have been a mistake, one Jack would regret one day.”
“Spence, are you coming or do you intend chatting all night with Pettibone?” Jack’s voice held a plethora of impatience. Spence shrugged and followed him into the study. A few minutes later, Pettibone arrived with a full bottle of brandy and two glasses.
“Close the door behind you, Pettibone, and go to bed. I won’t require your services tonight.”
“What’s gotten into you, Jack?” Spence charged. “I’ve never heard you speak so sharply to Pettibone. The man worships you.”
“I don’t deserve his regard,” Jack said plaintively. “I’m a black-hearted bastard; neither title nor wealth will change that. Even Lady Amelia has given up on me.”
“Bloody hell, Jack, you’re talking in riddles. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you what happened. Moira left me. I’m almost certain she took ship for Ireland, but I won’t know for sure until I inquire at the freight office tomorrow. I asked her to marry me, for God’s sake, and she refused.”
“She has more sense than you,” Spence muttered. “Accept the fact that you need to marry someone of your own class. Hell, I like Moira, you know that, but I’m being practical.”