Very Truly Yours

by Julie Beard

  "Isn't it the same thing?" Davis shot back.

  "Not always. You're free from prison. I suggest you go on with your life."

  "How can I when everything I owned is gone?"

  Jack had no answer for this. These matters were never clear-cut. But Jack knew one thing. If he ever stopped trying to use the law to defend the helpless, he would no longer respect himself enough to call himself a solicitor.

  "Very well, Mr. Davis. I will take your case. I cannot guarantee I will succeed in finding the man you want, but I can make sure you don't end up back in prison unnecessarily."

  "Oh, thank'ee, sir." Jacob seized his hand and pumped it joyfully. "Thank'ee."

  "Do not thank me yet," Jack said, patting him on the

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  back and extricating his hand. "Do you have any idea why you received these threatening notes, telling you to leave town?"

  Jacob shook his head. "Nay, sir. I thought the man wanted my property, a nice little piece of land in town, perfect for a shop."

  "But the building was burned and whoever bought the property hasn't done anything with it," Jack surmised.

  "Right, sir."

  "Who bought it?"

  "I don't know, sir. The bailiff sold it off to pay some of my debts, but I don't want to talk to the authorities for fear they'll find some other hidden debt and I'll end up back in prison."

  Jack leaned back and stroked his chin. "It would be my guess that the man who first offered to buy your property did so simply to get you out of town, and once you were gone his goal was accomplished and someone else bought the property instead."

  Liza and Jacob exchanged glances. Jacob looked back at Jack with admiration. "That could be, sir. That could very will be."

  "There must be some other reason he wanted you gone. Have you talked to your wife and daughter about this, Mr. Davis? Do they have any idea why anyone would want you to leave town?"

  Davis shook his head. "Nay, sir. My wife is as befuddled as I am. And my daughter, Annabelle, why, she keeps to herself. Especially after living in London."

  "I'll see what I can do. Go back to your family, Mr. Davis, and ask them once again what preceded these problems—any altercations, any contact with strangers. Let me know what you find out."

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  "Very good, sir. I'll go at once. Thank'ee, Miss Cranshaw."

  Liza showed him to the door and wished him well, following him a few paces out on the stone walkway. She watched him disappear through the orchard branches, then turned back to the cottage entrance, her heart pounding so fast she could scarcely breathe. The time had come. It was unlikely she would ever have this opportunity, this privacy, again. While she had every reason to hope that Jack could save her, there was no guarantee. Jack still did not know the price that Barrington was prepared to make her pay. She would give in to her desires now, because now might be all they would ever have.

  She pushed open the door and found him sitting in a chair, lost in thought, leaning his cheek on one upraised fist, one lean, booted calf swung over the other knee. When his eyes found her, they crinkled warmly.

  She loved that warmth in him, she thought as she closed the door and leaned against it. She loved his ability to see the best and understand the worst in everyone he knew. She could not regard him without melting inside. Presently he regarded her like an artist trying to decide precisely how to frame his subject.

  "What is it, Mr. Fairchild?" she asked, wondering how she would get from here to there without looking like a scheming trollop. How in bloody hell was she going to initiate this?

  'Tell me about Rodge."

  She grinned. "You're a smart one. You have it all figured out, haven't you?"

  "Not quite everything."

  "Rodge is Lord Barrington's man of affairs." Remembering her dream, allowing it to fuel her courage, she did

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  not remain a safe distance away. She went to his side and looked down at him, not hiding the smoky hunger in her eyes. Her hand tingled at her side, aching to caress his handsome cheek. "Roger Cradich comes and goes, but he was clearly in Middledale the night of the fire. I didn't want to say it in front of Mr. Davis."

  He tilted his head back to regard her, then took her hand in his. Fire burned through her fingertips. Did he know what she had in mind? Did he want her? Surely, he did. Lord, she prayed he did.

  "That means Lord Barrington is responsible for the fire," Jack said, still regarding her steadily as he gripped her hand.

  She nodded, moving forward until his shoulder touched her ribs. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Her breath came shallow again. She wanted his lips. She needed them.

  "And if we can prove it was a case of arson," he continued as if nothing untoward had occurred, "then you can cry off without him suing for breach of promise."

  "That is my dearest hope." Her free hand raised, seemingly of its own accord, and smoothed through his hair. A wave of tenderness and hot desire surged up her arm. Her glove-clad fingers spread over his scalp, tugging through the waves. He pulled on the hand he still held, and she readily sank into his lap, placing an arm around his shoulders. She could feel his breath on her bosom, could feel the heat wafting from his body. She could see the hunger in his dark eyes, could smell his manly scent. His lips were so close. Oh, so close.

  "What are you doing?" he asked pointedly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

  He was going to make her say it, devil take him. She

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  swallowed hard and nuzzled her lips against his temple. His skin was hot silk on her mouth. Desire and fear made her heart thunder in her breast. "I'm trying to seduce you."

  When she pulled away, she felt his breath fan her shoulder, sensed his eyes taking measure of her bosom with the wary distance of a reformed sinner. He wanted her! Oh, thank God. Knowing it would make this so much easier.

  "Liza," he said softly, his intelligent eyes rising to meet hers. "I need for you to tell me why you agreed to marry such a scoundrel."

  She blinked in surprise. "Why?"

  "I have my reasons." He gave her a smoldering smile. "I need to know as much as I can about the woman who is so determined to take my virtue."

  He reached up and curled a strand of hair around her ear. A shiver coursed down her neck. The lightest touch from him had the power to utterly undo her.

  'Tell me, Liza."

  He was trying to seduce her into revealing her secret. She shook her head impatiently. "I cannot tell you that, Mr. Fairchild."

  "Oh, for God's sake, can't we Christian-name each other? Don't we know each other well enough by now?"

  She leaned into his chest, savoring his warmth, and smiled wryly. "Very well. I cannot tell you ... Jack."

  He studied her, perceptively scanning her features, then thoughtfully ran a finger over his upper lip. The motion rustled against the whiskers just edging at the surface of his skin. "He's threatening you, isn't he?"

  She frowned as her heart went from a trot to a full gallop. Lord, how did he know that? And how much more did he know? She had to remain calm. He was guessing,

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  and she mustn't confirm anything he said. She recovered her composure and looked straight ahead, giving nothing away.

  "What is he threatening? Does he have something to hold over you, Liza? Tell me, darling. I need to know."

  She said nothing, merely blinked stoically.

  "What could he possibly hold over you? If I knew I could help you."

  Frustration made his voice scratchy and thin. He cared so much. Knowing that he was more concerned about her situation than about satisfying his own needs enabled her to trust him. Confidence finally settled over her. She turned to him and stroked his face with her hand. It still amazed her that she could know such intimacy with this extraordinary man.

  "You don't need to know anything more about me than you already do, Jack. You simply need to find proof against the viscount." She added in a sensual whisper. "And there is one ot
her thing you positively must do."

  She brushed her lips seductively across one cheek, caressing his mouth, nuzzling and inhaling his breath. It smelled of mint and his own unique, delicious scent.

  "Don't do that, Liza," he said warningly.

  "I must, Jack. For you are being unmercifully hard to seduce. I have no idea what I'm doing, and yet I must forge ahead or face the possibility of never, ever... knowing you. And I simply can't bear that thought."

  She loosened his cravat, caressing his face with her eyes. He tipped his chin up so she could more easily loosen his collar.

  "You know precisely what to do, my dear," he murmured in a strained voice. "Instinct is your teacher."

  "Instinct tells me to kiss you," she murmured. She tilted

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  her head and touched her mouth to his, brushing his lips, looking him in the eye, making love to his mind as she toyed with his self-control. She would be acting like a hopelessly shy virgin if she had not waited so long for this moment. Eight years. All she had to do was reenact her dream.

  She took off her gloves and then kissed him again. His mouth parted with only the slightest urging from her. It was a slow, wet, and lingering kiss. Her tongue tingled as it danced with his. She made love to him, loved him, with nothing but this kiss. But then he ended it by drawing back. He frowned, and her heart tumbled with disappointment. Hadn't she pleased him?

  "What is wrong?"

  "We can't do this," he said hoarsely.

  "Why not?" She could feel his desire pressing like a rod against her hip. He wanted her. She was sure of it.

  He gripped both her upper arms firmly and put space between them. "You don't understand. Soon I won't be able to stop myself. Liza, there will be no going back."

  She lifted a brow. "No, you're the one who doesn't understand. I don't want you to stop."

  He went still and nodded, realizing her intent. "You know the risks."

  "I know them all. I'm not that naive. Damn the consequences to hell, I say. Jack, one night of pleasure. Don't I deserve that much at least?"

  Sadness flitted over his face, but it was quickly replaced by a look of sexual hunger. He stretched his hand wide like a musician carefully preparing to stroke the keys of a pianoforte, raised his palm and settled it just so on her breasts. Liquid heat spread over her bosom. She shut her eyes as his fingers rubbed her skin and molded around

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  the swell and cleavage nestled against her low-cut gown. Ah, yes, this was what she'd been waiting for. God, could one touch do so much? She arched her back to press her bosom more fully into his hand.

  "You are so lovely," he whispered, tilting his head the other way to look closely at her profile. Her breasts rose and fell faster as her breath quickened. He moved his hand under the swell, sliding into her gown, and squeezed one rounded mound, finding the nipple that had hardened beneath the fabric. He pinched it softly, and she hissed in a breath. She tightened her grip around his shoulder.

  "I want to make love to you, Liza." He kissed her cheek, and she leaned into him, her lips parting with a groan. He nuzzled her ear, whispering, "I want you. I want every part of you, and not just for one night."

  Joy buoyed her up out of her sea of hunger, and she smiled, then gasped in shock a moment later when he kissed her ear, his tongue delving inside the tiny hole. She frowned at the shocking sensuality, then shivered with pleasure and shook violently. He pulled back and bit the lace edge of her collar, pulling it down with his teeth until her shoulder was exposed, all creamy smooth and white. He kissed her there, too, then looked up with a frown.

  "Are you sure you want this, Liza?"

  She stiffened her spine and looked down at him as if he were mad and bound for Bedlam. "Lord, yes!"

  "I won't do this unless you want me very, very much."

  "Yes, Jack. I want you very, very much."

  He'd unleashed something wild in her, and she wanted to make sure it didn't end here. She kissed him, letting her tongue dart into his mouth. Something between them snapped, the taut cord upon which they'd been walking such a fine line. They fell into an abyss of intimate knowl-

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  edge, and control crumbled like brittle shackles. She was all heat and abandonment, kissing him with a passion she didn't know she possessed.

  He gripped her hips and leaned her over, supporting her with an arm as he consumed her. Then he stopped abruptly, catching himself, and his head dropped as he sighed with frustration.

  "God, Liza, I've never wanted anyone this much before. But I can't do it yet. Not until I tell you something you need to know."

  She sat up, amazed at his herculean self-control and sobered by his deep frown. "What is it, Jack?"

  He wrapped his arms around her as if he were going to tell her a bedtime story. "Once upon a time, mere was a man named Lord Robert Barrington. He was a viscount who lived a squalid, unprincipled life and in the process spawned a couple of by-blows. They live like urchins in the streets of London with their mothers, half crazed for want of food and a name to call their own."

  Their eyes met, only inches apart. "How do you know this?" she whispered.

  "I've spent a great deal of time helping clients in prison. One hears these things in cold, dark cells and filthy alleys."

  "I thought all noblemen spawned side-slips."

  "Often that is the case. With Barrington, however, it wasn't a matter of an indiscretion or two with an ambitious servant. He frequented doxies. And there is some question whether he ever paid for services rendered or whether he took his pleasure against their will."

  Liza's head began to pound. "Do you mean ... do you mean he ... he raped them?"

  "There is a suggestion of such a crime. But it's hardly

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  considered a crime when a nobleman is involved with a ladybird. No charges have been brought, but if these weren't cases of rape, one has to wonder why doxies, who know how to avoid increasing, should find themselves in a family way. Naturally, Barrington won't suffer for his probable crimes. No one even cares about them except for the resulting children who will likely end up in prison for stealing food and other necessities of life. And at least one of the ladies in question died in childbirth. Presumably she cared about Lord Barrington's actions."

  Liza wrapped her arms around his and laid her head on his shoulder. He was hot and warm and good. Such a good man who was being so cruel. "No more, please, I beg you."

  Jack stroked her head and held her tight, wanting to make it easy for her. But hearing this was as necessary to her cure as a dose of bitter medicine.

  "You should also know that Barrington has infuriated his father, the marquess, by gambling away his entire allowance and then some. The man you are about to marry is thoroughly addicted to cards and gambles money away as soon as it hits his palm. It's been said that the Marquess of Perringford has entirely cut him off, and that Barrington will never get another farthing from his family. Barrington's title did not come with an estate and so he has no income. Add to that the likely crime of arson, and you begin to get a fair idea of what sort of mate he will be."

  "Why are you telling me this?" she asked in a small voice.

  "Because you need to know what sort of man he is before you plunge headlong into marriage with him. There is no telling what someone who possesses neither money nor character will do."

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  She said nothing, just tried to soothe her soul in the warmth of his embrace.

  "Liza," he said at last, "I'm telling you this because I want you to know you do not need to make love to me now. Wait until you are free. Let me bring him down. I will offer for you. Let us do this right. I want to be honorable, for your sake. That's what you deserved from the start. I don't want to have to beg for your forgiveness again."

  Tears flooded her eyes and she pressed her cheek to his, feeling like she had in her dream, I'm here, Jack. I've been here all along. No, she could not wait. Their plans might fail. She would not risk
losing Jack without completing what they had started eight years before. She would not let this moment of passion, and this rare opportunity to consummate it, pass.

  "Don't say no, Jack, I need you," she whispered. "Please. I long for you so hard it hurts. There is a pain in my chest, and I know it's my heart. Soothe me. Take away this ache inside me."

  His expression went blank, then he rose to the challenge, in every sense. She could feel his hard shaft straining powerfully against her thigh. What a peculiar, almost frightening sensation. What was this strange, unwieldy and hot force that was sweeping them far, far away from reason? A dark fire lit his eyes and he took up where he had left off. He reached up, his fingers brushing her shoulder, and tugged down on her collar even further, until a nipple popped free. He pulled the material out so the entire full, plump breast was bared.

  "So lovely," he said hoarsely. The nipple was erect and he nipped it gently with his teeth, then laved it erotically

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  until it burned sweetly and a shot of desire zapped down to her thighs.

  "Oh, Jack, that is so sweet. Oh, my darling, I did not know a man could be so tender. Please don't stop." Every second was a tantalizing new moment and she feared it would end too soon. She didn't know precisely what she wanted to happen. All she knew was that she hungered for something greater.

  He buried his lips against her neck and nipped passionately while his hand determinedly clawed at the lacy hem of her gown. He flipped the material upward until he found passage, then gripped her calf. An electrical charge ripped through her body, and she stiffened and quivered from head to toe.

  His hand inched up until he found the smooth, cool flesh of her silky thighs. His fingers began to tremble, for he wanted to touch all of her, and he had to go slowly. He had to ease her tight virgin's lair before he could enter.

  He kissed her again. Their lips fused, and he continued onward with his quest. He gently placed his palm around the curve of her hot, moist womanhood. She trembled like a leaf. Her breasts rose and fell in quick spasms. He nudged her thighs apart by spreading his fingers.