Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  "Yes, I do."

  "If you don't mind my asking, why have you waited until now to go after her?"

  Jack let out a breath through puffed cheeks and leaned his head against the back of the chair. "Because I'm an idiot. Because I was hurting. Because it took me this long to realize how much I want her."

  "I hope you find her, then," Olivia said, her eyes softening, "for she deserves to be loved."

  "Then help me decipher this mess. When did you last see her?"

  "Let me think." Olivia's brow furrowed in thought. "It was late afternoon. She was heading down the corridor to her room and was very agitated. I asked if she was ill, and she said she was. I tried to help her, but she very curtly asked to be left alone and sent me away." She took a ragged breath. "I have not seen her since."

  "Do you know where she had been when you saw her?" Jack asked.

  "No," Olivia said, "but I suspect she had been outdoors for she was still wearing her bonnet. Although, because of her fair skin she usually carried a ... Wait a moment. She must have been walking near the gardens along the east wing, for I found her parasol there the next day. She must have dropped it."

  "Her parasol?"

  "Yes," Olivia said, frowning in recollection. "I thought it odd at the time, but then ... well, my thoughts were fairly well occupied with other things that afternoon. Anyway, I found her parasol in the bushes just outside the library doors."

  "The library?" Suddenly, an image flashed through Jack's mind of the face of Max, the spaniel, in the lavender bushes. The dog, seldom one to prowl the estate alone, had looked lost and forlorn. There was something significant about all this, but it eluded him just now.

  Think, Jack.

  Mary must have been outside the library. He had been speaking with Sedgewick. They were interrupted. By the dog? No, by a noise. Jack had heard a noise, and it had alarmed him. But why? What had he and Sedgewick been saying?

  A bit skittish, ain't you, Jack?

  Oh, my God. It suddenly all came back to him. They had been speaking of his original mercenary purpose for offering for Mary, and he was worried for anyone to learn of his financial problems. He had been afraid someone would overhear them.

  Apparently someone had.

  Oh, Mary. My poor Mary.

  Jack jumped to his feet. "I must find her."

  "Have you thought of something? Did you remember—"

  "I know now why she left," Jack said. "And now I must find her." He opened the morning room door and shouted for the housekeeper.

  "Yes, my lord?" she asked breathlessly when she appeared at the door.

  "I wish to speak to all the servants," Jack told her. "All of them, at least, who were here when Lady Mary returned."

  With some reluctance the housekeeper did as he asked. Because Lady Mary had not been in residence since early spring, there had been only three staff on hand when she arrived so unexpectedly: the housekeeper, the butler, and a footman. The footman could tell Jack nothing except that he had posted the letters to London for her. The housekeeper knew little else, save that she had been given the packet for Olivia.

  "Did she leave the house at all?" Jack asked.

  "Aye," the housekeeper replied, "she did leave for a short time, but I can't say as I know where she went."

  The footman also knew nothing of where she had gone. The butler might know something, but he had taken the afternoon off.

  "When is he expected to return?" Jack asked with no little impatience.

  "Oh, any time now," the housekeeper said. "We keep somewhat irregular hours when her ladyship is not in town."

  "Hmph. I shall await his return, then," Jack said. "Send him to me at once."

  And so Jack paced the morning room for the next two hours while he waited to speak with the butler. Olivia served him tea and told him of her wedding and the wedding trip to Datching, doing her best to keep him distracted. Jack wandered aimlessly about the room—so obviously Mary's room—picking up objects at random and putting them down again. He only half heard what Olivia said, immersed in his own thoughts. Thoughts of Mary and how she must have felt when she overheard that blasted conversation in the library. If only she had stayed long enough to hear him confess his love for her to Sedgewick.

  He wondered if he would ever be allowed the opportunity to confess his love to her directly.

  When the butler calmly entered the morning room at last, Jack practically pounced upon him. Yes, he remembered Lady Mary leaving the house for a short time. He had called a chair for her, for she was only going a short distance.

  "Where did she go?" Jack asked.

  "She asked to be carried to Laura Place, my lord."

  "Do you know whom she was visiting at Laura Place?"

  "I cannot say for sure, my lord," the butler replied, "but she often used to visit the dowager countess Bradleigh, who lives there."

  Robert's grandmother?

  Muttering words of farewell to Olivia, Jack dashed out the front door and headed for Laura Place.

  Chapter 23

  Mary trod carefully up the stone steps of the sole remaining tower of a castle ruin near Glennoch. One of many ruins in the area, its standing tower still had an intact and reasonably safe-looking stairway, and Mary had been unable to resist the climb. The small fortress had been built on the very edge of a rocky cliff that dropped off dramatically to a small cove below, and so when she reached the top and stood leaning out between the crumbled merlons, she felt as though she hovered above the sea like a gull.

  She circled the tower, admiring the view from all sides: the sea ahead and the relatively high wooded hills behind. She saw the figure of a man walking on the path from Glennoch. She seldom saw any of the local people on her explorations of the area, so she wondered briefly at finding someone on that lonely path. She turned from him, though, more interested in the view of the cliffs and the sea. She no longer feared meeting other people and would gladly chat with him if he came near the castle.

  She stood facing the sea, her hair blowing loose in the strong breeze. Her eyes closed as she listened to the crash of waves against the rocks below. The sea was fierce and rough today, and the force of it smashing against the cliffside was strong enough so that, even this high above, the dissipated mist of each wave dusted her cheeks with moisture.

  She felt each wave as if she were the cliff itself, strong and unimpeachable, able to withstand the mightiest assault, still standing tall and proud, changing ever so slowly and inexorably with time.

  She had healed and was better for it and stronger than ever. She might never be able to stand literally tall, but she felt tall and strong and ready to face the world again.

  Mary felt good enough that she had finally written a few letters to friends, informing them of her whereabouts, and the fact that she would probably not return to Bath until the spring. She had grown attached to this savage land and wanted to remain through the winter. By that time, when she finally returned home, she would have left all her problems behind her and would be pleased to join Society once again. People had always been kind to her. She had no doubt she would be made to feel comfortable once again among her friends, despite all that had happened.

  Until this time she had corresponded only with the dowager countess in Bath, letting her know of her safe arrival and assuring her of the comfortable state of Glennoch. She had now written again to Olivia—in care of her own house in Bath, hoping someone in her household would know her friend's situation—apologizing for her abrupt and unexplained departure. She explained now, as best she could in a letter.

  With more difficulty she had written to the marchioness. Jack's mother, thanking her for the kindness and hospitality she had shown Mary while at Pemworth. The subject of her departure had not been easy to explain, so she had simply stated that she had suffered from last-minute doubts and had decided she and Jack would not suit. She apologized for the trouble she no doubt had caused, but hoped that they would one day meet again as friends.

&n
bsp; Once she had determined, finally, to give up her self-indulgent melodramatic despair, Mary had quickly come to grips with her own pain and humiliation. After all, she had spent most of her life learning to live with her shortcomings and failures, so often pointed out by her father. This latest incident had been simply another bump in the road, and though she had been thrown from the carriage this time, she had now picked herself up and was ready to move on once again.

  But she had not escaped totally unscathed. Mary knew that she would never be quite the same. Jack had changed everything.

  However false his displays of affection had been, for a brief time he had made her feel so special, so precious. It was a feeling she would keep close to her heart forever. For that, she could forgive him anything, although, in fact, he did not require forgiveness for he had never made false promises to her. More important, she had forgiven herself, for the time she had spent with Jack had been too special to disregard. He had taught her how to love. However painful the aftermath, she could not regret it. At least now—finally, after twenty-nine years—she could at last say she knew how it felt to love.

  Opening her eyes, Mary watched the waves crash against the rocks below and was struck once again by the notion of her own resilience. Like the ancient rocks, she was a survivor. A bit worn, but a survivor nevertheless. Thanking the powers of the universe for bringing her back to that realization, she spread her arms wide and laughed for pure joy, glorying in the wind and the sea and the sun.

  Suddenly, she heard an indistinct shout from below. Looking down, she saw a man standing at the cliffs edge, motioning toward her. It must be the same man she had seen on the Glennoch path. Although the tower was not terribly tall, she could not see the man clearly as he stood in the shadow of the tower. Perhaps he was concerned for her safety. Perhaps this old ruin was less sturdy than she had hoped, and he meant to warn her of the danger. She waved down to him and turned to begin the descent.

  She slowly made her way down, a hand anchored on each wall of the narrow tower as she stepped carefully down the spiraled steps. She marveled that large, heavily armored men could ever have maneuvered such a descent. Keeping her eyes on her feet as she gingerly moved from each narrow, triangular step to the next, she did not see the man standing in the arched entrance to the tower until she had bumped against his broad chest. Startled, she stepped back into the darkness of the tower.

  "Hello, Mary."

  The achingly familiar voice caused her breath to catch.

  Jack.

  He stood in the archway, a dark silhouette against the bright sunlight beyond. But there was no mistaking him.

  Jack. He is here. He is really here. Jack had come all the way to Scotland. Oh, my God. All that renewed strength and confidence she had been basking in only moments before now suddenly puddled at her feet.

  When he shifted slightly so that he was partially bathed in the sunlight, Mary saw his face clearly for the first time and stifled a gasp at the sight of him. He looked awful. Always handsome, in a harsh, angular, swarthy sort of way, his face was now drawn and haggard, looking as though he hadn't slept for days. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and the lines between his nose and mouth and around his eyes seemed deeper and more pronounced. What on earth had happened to him?

  They studied one another in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

  "Why did you leave me like that, Mary, and break my heart in two?"

  * * *

  When he had first seen her standing on the tower, his heart had lurched in his chest at the mere sight of her. He had smiled as he watched her, standing with her arms outstretched, looking for all the world like a tiny eaglet ready to test her wings. When he heard her distinctive laugh float through the air, he almost wept with joy.

  He had begun to despair of ever finding her, but the dowager had been most accommodating. She had protested ignorance at first, but it had been a deliberately poor display, as though she had meant for him to force her capitulation. The old woman was a romantic at heart and had finally admitted that Mary had been away long enough and should be more than ready to be rescued.

  God, but she looked wonderful. Gone were the towering coils of hair she had always worn to increase the illusion of height. Her hair hung loose almost to her waist and was whipped wildly about by the wind like a flag. Her dress and pelisse were molded against her tiny curves as she faced proudly out to the sea. Ah, my Pocket Venus, he thought with a smile. God, how he had missed her.

  He suspected she had not recognized him from atop the tower, and so the shock on her face after crashing into his chest was not totally unexpected. But when he spoke, he saw her stiffen. He watched as her face registered a series of emotions: surprise, confusion, fear, wariness. Somewhere in there he thought he detected delight as well, but if so, it was quickly extinguished. He thought for a moment that she was going to move toward him, and so he reached out for her; but she seemed to catch herself and did not move.

  Pulling her shoulders back and standing as tall as she was able, she spoke at last. "I left because I decided we would not suit," she said as though repeating a memorized litany. Her voice was even huskier and more seductive than he remembered. "Besides, I did not believe you had a heart to break."

  Jack laughed. "Neither did I. In fact, I was convinced it had been shattered to bits fifteen years ago. But I was wrong, Mary. It must have healed while I wasn't watching, for it has surely been broken again."

  The slightest frown flickered across her eyes before her expression settled into one of confusion. "Mary," he said softly, "I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

  Mary's hand flew to her cheek. "Jack."

  He took a step closer. "I know what you heard, Mary." At her incredulous look, he nodded. "Yes, I know that you overheard Sedgewick and me in the library. I cannot tell you how sorry I am you had to hear that. I only wish you had stayed to hear the rest of my little speech."

  "W-what did you say, then?"

  "I told Sedgewick that even though it was true that I had originally wanted to marry you for your fortune, I no longer cared about the money. It was you I wanted, Mary. You. Not your bloody fortune."

  "You lied to me," she said in a trembly voice.

  "I did. And I shall regret it for the rest of my life. I admit that I have been nothing less than a fortune hunter. It is not something I am proud of, but, understand, I was up to my eyeballs in debt. When you agreed to help me find a bride, I could not bring myself to tell you, or anyone, what sort of bride I truly needed."

  A look of profound sadness gathered in her eyes, and he wanted to reach out to her, but knew it would be wrong to touch her just yet. His thoughts befuddled by the force of his feelings for her, by the nearness of her, he nevertheless stumbled ahead in the explanation he owed her.

  "When I discovered," he continued, holding her gaze, "that you had a fortune ... well, it seemed logical to offer for you. I was already quite fond of you. I thought we would rub along together well enough. But the more time I spent with you, the more I came to know how very special you are, and my affection for you grew. Suddenly, one day—shortly after we arrived at Pemworth I think— I realized that I no longer cared about your fortune. I wanted you. I wanted you, Mary, and your fortune be damned."

  "Why have you come, Jack?"

  He took another step toward her. "Because I have discovered that I cannot live without you. Because my life is empty and worthless if you are not a part of it. Because I could not bear the thought of you never knowing that."

  * * *

  Mary stared at him mutely, all the things he said racing through her mind. Was he serious? Or was this just another attempt at seduction? She watched his eyes, which appeared brilliant with contained emotion. Strangely, she saw none of the self-assured charm she had come to expect from Jack. He looked somehow nervous, almost boyishly uncertain.

  Her own eyes must have softened as she regarded him, for he appeared to relax slightly. He took a step closer.

&nb
sp; "And most of all," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "because I am, in fact, hopelessly, desperately in love with you."

  Mary hesitated only for an instant, and then, casting her fate to the winds, headed straight for his open arms. He clasped her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She wound her arms around his waist and buried her head in his neckcloth. Sweet heaven, but he felt good. She had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt to be in his arms. She rejoiced in the feel of him, the shape of him, the smell of him. This was where she wanted to be. And she wanted to believe him. Good Lord, how she wanted to believe him. But it almost did not matter anymore. She did not think she would be able to walk away again.

  He made no move to kiss her, but only held onto her as if he would never let go, crushing her so tightly she could barely breathe.

  "Ah, Mary, Mary," he said at last, his breath tickling the top of her head. "If it wasn't clear to me before, it is certainly clear now. We belong together, Mary. Nothing has ever felt so right. Holding you in my arms again, I feel as if I have come home at last."

  Mary moved her head away from his chest, wanting to see his face. The look in his eyes was her undoing. She knew at once that he spoke the truth. She reached up to touch his cheek and brushed away a tear. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.

  "I love you, Mary. I love you." And suddenly, his lips captured hers in a ravenous kiss. She responded instantly with equal passion, reaching up to pull him down closer, threading her fingers through his soft, black hair. There was nothing else in the world in that moment but the softness of his lips moving hungrily against hers, the slight roughness of his tongue as it explored her mouth and circled her own tongue. She kneaded his back and shoulders with restless desire, wanting to meld with him, to merge completely with him. She was on fire for him.