by Allison Lane
But that wasn’t much of an improvement. Her manners remained deplorable. She monopolized the conversation, talking over Miss Hofstone and ignoring his attempts to change the subject. Jack tried several times to break away, for her incessant giggling grated on his ears, but both girls clung to his arms. No matter how hard he tried, he could not order them to perdition or shove them aside. Honor demanded proper manners. He might have disgraced himself at Waterloo, but he could not abandon the standards he’d revered all his life.
Relief finally arrived in the form of his host.
“Stop monopolizing the colonel.” Squire Jenkins glared at each girl in turn. “You are embarrassing me.”
Surprisingly, both girls meekly released him and left.
“Forgive them,” said Jenkins. “And me. I should have expected something like this. They are incorrigible – distant connections of my wife whom I usually avoid.” He shook his head. “Congratulations on your recovery,” he added.
“Thank you. And for the invitation. I appreciate the opportunity to meet my neighbors.”
“Do you plan to stay here, then?” Jenkins asked bluntly.
“When I can. My plans remain unsettled.”
The squire nodded, then asked about Waterloo. Jack ducked the question by claiming he had seen little of the battle, then switched to his own concerns.
“Miss Paine mentioned that Turlock is in the card room, but I don’t know who owns Halworth – I think it is Halworth. The estate west of mine.”
“You’ll not meet Miss Barnett here or anywhere else,” Squire Jenkins frowned.
“The owner is a lady?” He let his voice show surprise – an expected reaction, for few women owned land.
“Yes. Sad story, that. Whole family died, leaving only her. She hasn’t spoken to a soul since, more’s the pity.”
“Surely she has servants.”
“Of course. But they won’t discuss her – or Lord Barnett, if it comes to that. He’s her uncle and guardian, though he’s not been in these parts for years – probably avoiding the cuts. Folks hereabouts despise him. Richard Barnett was a real gentleman, beloved by everyone, so it didn’t sit well when Lord Barnett petitioned the Chancery Court to overturn Richard’s will. He failed, of course – it was right and tight – but the memory lingers.”
“Who oversees the fields if Miss Barnett sees no one?”
“She has a good steward, though most wish he was more forthcoming with information. Whatever her eccentricities, she commands enormous loyalty from her staff. Not one of the them will discuss her, so it’s no surprise that rumor runs rampant.”
That was all Jack learned from the squire, but others added tidbits. He didn’t even have to ask. The merest mention of Halworth prompted effusive soliloquies on the elusive Miss Barnett, or mad Miss Barnett. She was the area mystery.
Several men commented on the guards, whose arrogance annoyed all and sundry. It was the consensus that they overstepped their positions often, but without seeing Marianne, no one could complain.
The matrons were miffed that Miss Barnett snubbed local society, for they had loved her mother and would have taken her to heart had she given them a chance.
Gathering information was complicated by his determination to avoid Miss Paine. Now that the squire was again occupied, she was stalking him, joining any group that included him. He couldn’t help but compare her to Marianne, who wouldn’t dream of ignoring proper behavior, though her solitude gave her considerable leeway.
He finally ducked into the card room, allowing himself one vicious glare before shutting the door in her face.
A chat with Turlock produced nothing – he was indeed a prosy old bore whose interests did not include his neighbors. But he was so avid to exploit a new audience that Jack needed a full hour to escape. And he only managed it then by draining a wine bottle and volunteering to find another.
He emerged into a cauldron of rumors. Miffed by his lack of interest, Miss Paine had childishly retaliated by swearing that he had tried to seduce her. Her family knew her too well to listen, but the neighbors were another matter. All knew tales of Deerchester, Wilcox, and other Caldwells. Now they rehashed the old scandals, looking askance at Jack all the while.
Jenkins was appalled. “Absolute lies, and so I’ve told everyone,” he declared, shaking his head. “Priscilla needs a good walloping. My wife was a Paine, so I can’t avoid her – especially at a family christening. But I would never have allowed her into the room had I known what she’d do.”
Jack accepted the apology, but that didn’t mitigate his pain as old rumors whisked through the ballroom. Every tale reminded him of his breeding. Thirty-two years of honorable behavior couldn’t begin to counter centuries of infamy. And once his own crimes surfaced…
He reached home half an hour later, but the unpleasantness made sleep impossible. Nightmares pounced the moment he closed his eyes. He finally adjourned to the library to think.
Brood was a better description, he admitted two bottles of wine later. Thinking was a productive activity. But Miss Paine had loosed too many demons for him to accomplish anything positive.
Attending the ball had been a serious mistake. He’d learned nothing new about Marianne beyond speculation on the extent of her fortune, and nothing new about Barnett except that bit about the Chancery suit, but that was twelve years old.
He frowned. Barnett’s treatment of Marianne called the man’s honor into question, so it would be a mistake to assume that he had shrugged his shoulders and walked away after losing that suit. He must have believed that Halworth and his brother’s fortune belonged to him. Had he found a way to circumvent the trust?
A sunbeam slipped through a crack in the curtains, setting a troop of rough-shod infantry armed with bayonets rampaging through his head. It was morning, and he’d consumed enough wine to finally sleep.
You can’t. Marianne is expecting you.
“Devil take it!” he swore, wondering how he’d lost track of his wits. He rubbed his eyes to realign his thoughts.
Marianne.
Whatever the truth of Marianne’s incarceration, she possessed a fortune that Barnett had already tried to claim. Why the hell hadn’t he considered that sooner? If Barnett’s purpose was venal, the man would have to act soon. Once Marianne took control of her inheritance, she could take steps to protect herself.
His head throbbed worse than ever, so he yanked the curtains shut and downed a glass of brandy to quiet it. Again his wits scattered.
Danger lurked nearby.
Instinct had saved him so often that he’d learned to pay attention to it. This time it was Marianne who was in danger. He had to save her.
He stifled the voice that asked why he felt so strongly. The law might not give him authority over her, but she’d been his moral responsibility for twelve years. Besides, she had become a friend.
More than a friend.
No. He could not afford an attachment. But he owed her for leaving her with strangers. Never had he considered that she hadn’t known her closest relatives. He knew all of his, though he’d never wanted to meet any of them.
His eyes sagged shut.
Half an hour passed…
Marianne’s golden curls fanned across emerald grass. The sky seeped into her eyes – or maybe it was passion that turned them so blue. She moaned, writhing as his hands opened her gown to caress her perfect breasts, plucking the nipples into hard red berries. He sucked them deep into his mouth as her fingers touched him, teasing, inciting, tugging at his hips, forcing him closer and closer until he buried his shaft—
“No!” Jack leaped to his feet, panting.
Gulping wine did nothing to banish the nightmare – a disturbingly erotic fantasy worse than reliving Waterloo…
“No!” he repeated, pressing against the buttons on his falls so the force of his erection didn’t tear them loose. He called up images of war, of murder, of dishonor. Slowly his shaft softened…
“Friends. Just fri
ends,” he reminded himself as he drained the glass and stumbled to his feet. “Have to protect her. Danger.” A glance at the clock sent him out the door. He was late. He usually reached the cliff by now.
* * * *
“Nice day,” Jack slurred when he caught up with Marianne halfway to the folly. She hadn’t been on the cliff, which was good. His balance was too unsteady to risk standing near the edge.
“You’ve been drinking.” She frowned.
“Christening at Squire Jenkins’s last night. Heir’s heir.” He meant to stop, but his tongue kept wagging. “You should have been there. You’d have been the belle of the ball.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
“Would you go if you had an invitation?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Suddenly furious, he grabbed her shoulders, turning her so she had to look at him. “Why not, Marianne? I don’t care what threats Barnett made. You have to test it sometime. Quit hiding. You’re a grown woman, not a child terrified by thunder. How can you hope to take up the reins of Halworth if you cannot even walk to your own village?”
“I dare not leave the estate until the guards are gone. I can’t dismiss them until the trust ends.”
“Poppycock! What can they do? Shoot you? Come home with me. I can drive you to the village or the squire’s house or anywhere else you wish to go. Once you prove that you are recovered – and I would bet my last shilling that you have been well for years – you will be able to handle anything.”
“You cannot be sure. Uncle’s secretary—”
“—means nothing,” he insisted. “If he incites fear, then the fault lies with him.” He suspected that Craven had tried to seduce her. God knew Marianne could trigger lust without even trying, and not everyone was honorable. Marianne would have sensed danger even though she was too innocent to discern Craven’s purpose.
“Don’t push, Colonel Caldwell.” Her eyes flashed, bringing a flush to her face. Her lips parted, hesitating over her next words.
Jack’s heart leaped. Heat joined the wine flowing through his veins. And electricity. Sparks sizzled from her shoulders into his hands. Anger made her more beautiful than ever. Her eyes blazed blue. Much like in his dream. She’d left her cloak at home this warm morning, so her tantalizing breasts pressed hard-tipped against her gown, begging to be touched and tasted. A light tug on the ribbon nestled daringly between them would open the gown and release them.
His loins clenched in frantic need.
He fought his lust, cursing himself for meeting her when he was three sheets to the wind. She was innocent, unaware of how she affected men, ignorant that her clothing invited advances. Only a saint would fail to notice her charms.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he managed, wrenching his thoughts from her body. “But if you wait until you are comfortable with the idea, we will still be arguing about it when you are old and gray. Once you walk into the village with a smile on your face, even Barnett must agree that you are well. Sometimes you have to take a chance.”
“But I can’t. Not yet.” Tears shimmered. “Jack, I— I’d love to take that chance, but not while Barnett’s guards are here to report it. I must remove them first. If Barnett hears of my disobedience, he will lock me away. Only after my birthday can I truly take charge of my life. I haven’t the courage to press sooner. What if I fail your test?”
“You are the most courageous woman I know.” As her first tear spilled, he stroked her back, groping for the control he needed. “Few could have held together long enough to escape France, especially at age twelve. You can do this, too. I know you can.”
“You have more faith than I do,” she said, staring up at him, her eyes fading to gray. “But you don’t understand the consequences. He has long threatened to lock me in an asylum if I don’t render him absolute obedience. With Craven’s testimony, he could do it in a trice, no matter how I manage in the village.” Her hand cupped his cheek.
Blood whooshed through his ears, drowning her voice. Bad blood that for generations had taken what it wanted regardless of convention. Recognizing the danger, he tried to pull back—
She traced his jaw. “It’s only a few more days, Jack. I can dismiss the guards on—”
As her finger touched his mouth, his control snapped. He cursed even as his lips swooped, claiming the kiss he’d wanted since first seeing her on the cliff.
She gasped.
He took advantage of her parted lips to plunder deep, grinding her against an erection that screamed for a release only she could provide.
For one glorious moment she melted, twining her tongue with his, clasping her arms around his back, pressing closer as if she would crawl inside his skin. Her moans were the sweetest music in the universe, raising passion higher than he had ever experienced. His fingers groped for that tempting ribbon—
She suddenly froze.
He jerked back, but it was too late. All color drained from her face as her arms moved to ward off a blow. Her eyes widened in terror, staring beyond him to something only she could see. Shudders chattered her teeth. Breaking into gulping sobs, she fled into the trees.
Jack tried to follow, but tripped, falling facedown in a mound of leaves. The most unearthly wail he’d ever heard battered his throbbing head, drawing the first tears he’d shed in twenty years.
Dear God, what had he done?
Chapter Six
Marianne reached the edge of the forest before she realized that no one was chasing her. Leaning against a tree, she let the tears fall.
What had she done?
The terror had burst out of nowhere, overwhelming and unexpected – this sort hadn’t happened in years. Jack was so familiar that she had dropped her guard. So when memories suddenly engulfed her, she’d reacted without thought. But Jack would not know that.
He must be disgusted beyond all measure, furious to have wasted his time on her. Never again would he look at her in friendship, for this proved beyond doubt that she was mad. It might not be an everyday sort of madness, but it prevented her from living a normal life. Why else would she flee in terror from a simple kiss?
Her knees gave out. Sliding to the ground, she let her tears fall faster – not gusty sobs this time, but silent, hopeless sorrow.
Jack had gotten his test. She’d failed it. There was no point in going back to apologize. He would be gone by now, never to return.
Pain increased her tears.
It would have been better if she had never seen him again. Before his arrival, she had convinced herself that she was merely cursed with a callous guardian. Now she had to accept that she was flawed. She would never be normal again. Yet memories of this month would make settling for her usual activities difficult.
If only she could forget walking with Jack, laughing, arguing, and especially touching. She’d been content with a life of study and gardening. But now that Jack had shown her companionship, that life seemed barren. Halworth would never be the same. It was no longer a refuge, but a prison.
He had done more than ignite a longing for people. A forgotten part of her heart had blossomed under his attentions, baring needs she had never acknowledged. Having come to rely on his company, the future promised nothing but loneliness.
Weary, she mopped the last tears from her face, then leaned her head against the tree.
If she’d had more experience with people, she could have handled the past month better – or if she’d been sensible enough to avoid the pitfalls of fantasy.
Jacques had been her hero long before they had met on the cliff. Invoking his memory had helped her overcome terror that first year. He was calm, competent, able to face any danger with equanimity. She’d tried to copy that. But it had worked so well that she had exaggerated him, building him into a god, using the fantasy as a model whenever Craven incited a new fit. Jacques controlled his terror and saw his duty through to the end. She must do the same.
The fantasy had affected other aspects of her life, too. Hutch had ur
ged her to organize her father’s papers and educate herself, but it had been Jacques who had prodded her to begin. He had been her mentor and protector since France.
Dangerous, she admitted wearily. Talking to Hutch was one thing. In their seven years together, Hutch had lectured on every subject imaginable, making it easy to know what she would say. But Marianne had known Jacques for less than a week under trying circumstances in which she had been too grief-stricken to talk at all. The only time he’d paid her much heed was the night he’d held her, sheltering her from a hailstorm. So using him as a mentor was dangerous.
It was her fantasies, not their brief acquaintance in France, that explained her instant rapport – bad enough if he hadn’t been as honorable as she’d pretended. But confusing dreams and reality had pushed her beyond friendship. Jack incited excitement, warmth, and an effervescence she couldn’t name. He was the only person in twelve years that she could touch without fear, and the only one who could touch her, so she had used him unmercifully as she explored sensations beyond her usual reach.
Dangerous, for he was a real man, not a figment of her imagination. And his insistence that she was normal had reinforced her fondest dream.
I warned you to be careful, said Hutch.
“So you did, but I was blind.”
Her dreams had been a trap, for in the end, she was not normal. As long as they had stuck to her requested conversations, everything had been fine. But she had pushed for more, forgetting that this was Colonel Jack Caldwell, the melancholy warrior, not Jacques, her dream companion.
Her curiosity about the odd sensations he raised must have sent him the wrong signal. And opening her heart and mind as she tried to help him had breached her defenses, allowing the madness to surface.
It was the only explanation for her sudden panic. All he’d done was kiss her – an act she had wondered about for days and must have invited. She’d felt many strange yearnings lately, and her nightmares had given way to odd dreams about Jack. She had wondered how it would feel to kiss him – had lain in bed thinking about it, touching her lips to test their response.