by Laura Parker
“I commend your chivalrous attempt to shift blame, my lord,” McDonnell answered shortly, “but there are witnesses to her crime. A man is dead and she is accused of his murder.”
Jack’s gaze turned flat, dangerously absent of light as he retrained it upon the guardian. “You will look the fool trying to convince a court that this mere slip of girl had the courage to fire a pistol point-blank at a Scotsman half again her size.”
McDonnell’s lids flickered. “What say you?”
His expression was one of hard contemptuous amusement as Jack held out the snuff to the Calvinist. “That I did it.”
McDonnell’s hand paused short of dipping into the fragrant tobacco. Suspicion made his face stiffen. “I must warn you, my lord, that the authorities take this matter very seriously. I cannot imagine any reason why you should wish to confess to murder.”
“That is easily reversed.” Jack snapped the lid of his snuffbox closed, all but clipping McDonnell’s fingers. “The handbills flying about since my return to London advertise a reward for the fellow suspected of kidnapping Miss Lyndsey.” Cool, calculated boredom informed his voice. “I am that man. I am ‘Blackjack’ Law.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lady Charlotte Lovelace arrived back in London just three days after the arrest of the disreputable highwayman, Black Jack Law. The city was beset with talk and chatter of the man who had vexed and harried the countryside for miles around. Acts of piracy and robbery, as well as various abductions and rapes, were being laid at the feet of the rapscallion whom the wildest rumor claimed was none other than the new viscount Darlington, late of the West Indies.
Lotte could not believe her ears, could not in fact do more than laugh in the startled and affronted faces of the first five people who broke the news to her. Blackjack, her Blackjack, one and the same as Jack Law the highwayman? Absurd! Outrageous! And too juicy an on dit to forebear repetition. Just wait until she told Randolph of the wild rumor.
It was not until she was given to understand that Jack Laughton was indeed ensconced in Newgate that her absolute confidence in the fraudulence of the tales began to wane. A mistake had been made, a great horrid mistake which Ran would quickly clear up.
Dear, dear Ran! How she longed to be held in his strong arms again. How she longed to impart to him her news, but not until he had taken her to bed and shown her with the greatest of care how much he had missed her and she had reciprocated with all the loving enthusiasm of which she was capable.
In this frame of mind, she directed her private coach to her door without so much as a note to precede it. After all, things were worked out quite reasonably in her mind. Ran’s fit of temper would long since have passed and she suspected he might even have missed her. How silly she had been. On the journey homeward she had had time to reflect and revise her view on many things. She could and did now forgive him his weaknesses. After all, he was only a man. As if a mistress could truly come between them! She was about to deliver to him the greatest gift a woman could offer her husband: an heir. By her reckoning, she was four months gone. A baby for May Day!
Nor would she again cavil against his musty friends and his dreadfully boring political schemes. She loved to host parties and even if his choice of guests did not inspire her, at least acting as hostess would ensure that he was home more evenings and that no one could detain him for one last drink on the way home. On other nights she would have the baby, who would quite satisfactorily occupy her time. How frivolous and wasteful she had been, gambling her money away for a transient thrill. In the future she would direct her financial expenditures on more permanent reminders of her very fortunate life. The first would be the new nursery.
In this state of blissful anticipation, she alighted from her coach and sailed up the steps of her London townhouse.
“Good morning, Geoffrey!” she declared as she sailed past the startled butler.
“Good day, my lady,” the butler answered a little breathlessly, for he had just in time been warned by an under maid of the arrival of a carriage.
“Where is his lordship on this fine morning?”
“Still in his chambers, my lady. Shall I announce you?”
Lotte started. “Announce me, his wife? What are you thinking, fellow?”
She then smiled so charmingly the old retainer’s heartbeat slowed. Who could resist her ladyship’s smile? It was his most fervent hope that his lordship could not.
The lady did not wait for him to go ahead of her. Instead, she approached and began ascending the stairs, dropping articles of clothing behind her as she did so, a cashmere muffler, a large ermine muff, and finally her fur-lined cape.
As the elderly butler scurried to retrieve them, he wondered which of his noble employers would prevail in the contest of wills and proud hearts that was about to be enacted abovestairs.
Lord Lovelace had been in a mood so dark and foul these last weeks that the household had gone about on tiptoe lest the least thing bring down his wrath. The absence of the countess had been remarked by all. For all her frivolous behavior, she had brought a gentleness and joy, and one might even say a domestic touch, to these former bachelor quarters. Yet she had behaved very badly and his lordship had a prodigious pride.
Geoffrey smiled as the heady scent of her perfume drifted back through the hall. His money was on the countess.
Lotte paused just outside her husband’s door to remove her silk traveling hood and pat a curl in place. She had deliberately left her flame red-hair unpowdered, for her russet curls had once stimulated Ran as much as the sight of her in only a corset and garters. If only she had dared to arrive so dressed today. Regrettably, the weather did not permit such naughty behavior.
She took a deep breath and without knocking thrust open the pair of doors to her husband’s bedchamber.
The suddenly opened doors jarred Ran from his perusal of the criminal charges he had been sent to read. “Damnation Geoffrey! I’ve told you I do not wish to be disturbed!”
“Lud! If that is not a fine greeting!”
As that throaty contralto voice penetrated his amazed senses, Ran lifted his head slowly from the work spread on his desk. “Lotte,” he said in a dull tone.
“Correct. Lotte. The Countess Lovelace.” She offered him a saucy smile. “Do you know longer stand for ladies, Ran?”
Ran came to his feet but he felt as if the boards had opened beneath him and dropped him two floors. Lord, but she looked wonderful in a green brocaded gown with the new cinched waist. Yet his eager observation did not inform the monotony of his tone. “You might have informed us of your arrival.”
“I might have, had I not wished my arrival to be a surprise.” She came forward in a graceful slide that allowed her full skirts to swing provocatively.
Ran watched the motion and felt an answering sway low down.
When she reached him she placed both hands on his desk and leaned slightly forward so that a blind man would have had to notice the plump breasts straining against the fabric of her bodice. He had no spit to swallow.
“Despite all that has happened, Ran,” she began in a breathy voice of reconciliation, “I could no longer stay away.”
With great effort Ran forced himself to look into her face, which seemed more radiant than he remembered. Her coloring was of those glorious delicate shades that only a master portraitist could capture. She was even more delicious than memory. Then he remembered.
The door swung shut on his emotions once more. “You are back because of Darlington.”
“Why would you think that?” Lotte’s puzzled expression cleared and she smiled and flicked open her fan. “Ah, you mean this ridiculous rumor that he is a highwayman. ’Tis a tale so droll I had hopes of being the first to tell it.”
The shock of her sudden appearance was wearing off. He watched her with a new detachment. “The charges are very grave. Aside from a hundred robberies he is accused of kidnapping your former protegee, M
iss Lyndsey, for the purposes of debauchery and profit. I very much think they intend hang to him.” He watched her closely. “I’ve been asked to stand for the prosecution against him.”
Lotte’s mouth fell open. “Don’t be a fool, Ran. Darlington did not kidnap anyone, least of all Sabrina. The man’s besotted with her. He all but told me so.”
“That must have been very distressing for you.” His hands shook as he mindlessly rearranged his papers on which the charges he had just mentioned were written.
“It was, to begin with,” she allowed in a small voice, then shrugged elaborately. “But then I rallied to the spirit of it.”
Ran found he could no longer look at her. “The spirit of betrayal?”
“Of course not. Of amour. He came to tell me that he was taking her away to become his mistress.” She blushed and fiddled with her fan. “I know you will think me heartless in the matter, but I reasoned it was better for her to lie in the clean, virile embrace of a man like Darlington than to waste her youth in the clutches of a old roue like Merripace.”
Anger formed an icy coating over his heart as Ran lifted his gaze hers. “You have had much experience of virile embraces?”
Lotte smiled at him, blushing. “I most certainly presume so.” He did not answer her suggestive smile. After a moment hers drooped and she sighed against the pain of his hard look. “But I suppose nothing lasts forever.”
“You are accepting this with remarkable aplomb, madam.”
She nodded. “I am, aren’t I? I think I have gained greatly in understanding of the way of the world since I have been away. It was most educational.”
“So what am I to make of this matter of your return?” he asked heavily.
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Why, that I’m home for good, Ran. That I have thought it through and believe that I may owe you something of an apology.”
It was his turn to lift a brow. “Something of an apology?”
She half turned from him, offering him a lovely view of her slim back and graceful neck. “Very well, a complete apology, replete with mea culpas and rending of my garments.” She tossed him a coquettish glance over one shoulder. “Would that please you?”
“Not if it will require that your wardrobe be replaced by an enormous modiste’s bill.”
She chuckled in spite of her annoyance, for he was not responding as she had hoped. “Lud! You are such an antidote to romance.”
“No doubt.”
The clipped reply was not what she had expected. She turned back to stare at him, noticing his tight expression with its thin-lipped grimness. “You know what I mean, Ran. You will forever be counting up the guineas and pence. Life is too short to keep a strict accounting.”
He fiddled with his papers. “You think I should not count everything you have done ill against you?”
The first tendrils of doubt crept into Lotte’s mind. She had thought, regardless of his anger, that he would be thrilled, at least momentarily, to see her. “I should hope you would not. I admit, I have been frivolous. I have been vain and arrogant and, yes, even indiscreet.” She poured her heart into the melting glance meeting his disdainful stare. “It was only done in an attempt to attract your attention.”
He held her gaze this time, feeling the tug of old times and long absence. “You have always had my attention, Lotte.”
“You know that is not what I mean. Your passion.” She closed her fan with a snap of her wrist, impatient with his lack of ardor or even friendliness. “It had been lacking of late.”
His gaze cut away. “I did suppose you had found other diversions.”
“I admit I did try. But cards and gambling and idle gossip are poor substitutes for a man’s arms.”
“What of your friends?” he questioned levelly, waiting for her to come to her point. “Surely one of them offered you succor?”
“I have come to believe that you are right about my friends,” she said quickly. “They are as idle as the gossip they exchange. I am determined to find better company or simply better methods by which to entertain myself.” She trailed a finger along the satin finish of his desktop, wishing instead she were stroking his bare chest. “The most extraordinary thing occurred while I was in Bath. I quite believe I have taken the knack of architecture. I should like to try my hand at building something of my own one day. A little cottage in the woods, perhaps. Or an ornamental bridge at our country residence. Why not a folly? Then perhaps something grander, more substantial.”
“What makes you think I’d allow you to spend another penny of my money?”
The flick of anger in his voice drew her first vexed reply. “Oh Ran, do not be tiresome!”
Ran watched her carefully now, trying to determine her purpose. “This is why you’ve come back, to build monuments to your consequence?”
“No, of course not.” Lotte fanned herself briefly, seeking the courage to say the words. She had hoped he would embrace her warmly and allow her to subside in his arms while she broke the news. Yet it was quite evident he had no such swooning reconciliation in mind.
“There is something I must tell you, something which you will find quite surprising.”
“Lotte, I already know.”
“You know?” She made a tentative gesture toward her still-flat stomach. “But how could you know? The weakness did first appear while I was still in London, but I did not fully succumb to it until I was in Bath.”
Ran felt every muscle in his face move stiffly as he spoke. “I find that bit of news of little comfort.”
“Don’t blame yourself. How could you know what had occurred? I myself was startled by the truth. We had quarreled so the night before I left that I was much too miserable to sort out the source of one emotional upheaval from another.” She sighed. “I should have supposed it was only a matter of time before it should occur. It is, after all, the way of the world. You said so yourself.”
“Yes.” He bit out the word. She was speaking of his explanation of his mistress, of course. “Perhaps I was hasty in my supposition.”
“Oh no, you were perfectly right. And I am so happy for the eventuality. You see, we will both now have what we want.”
The ice around his heart cracked under the pressure of rage. “I wonder that you can say that to my face.”
She came round the table toward him, feeling more confident with every moment. “Now Ran, dearest. Who else would I confide in, if not you?”
He stared at her as if he had never seen her before. Indeed the brazen, self-possessed woman standing before him was as different from his former sweet Lotte as any stranger. “I do not want your confidences if they concern that matter!”
Lotte clicked her tongue impatiently. “Do not prove difficult at this juncture, Ran. I know you are angry. You have every right. I did desert you.’’ She offered him another appealing glance. “But I am back. And, to be fair, you were more adamant about how our lives should be lived than I. I was reluctant. I will admit that I never wanted it to happen. I was afraid of the pain and disorder and the messiness of the affair. But now that it a fact, I cannot express my delight!”
Ran’s self-control vanished. He stepped away from her before he did her harm. “I think I have heard enough!”
“But Ran—”
“No, madam.” He turned on her a look of such fury that she backed up a step. “Perhaps I have underestimated you or overestimated myself but I am not so worldly that I care to listen to my wife rise in raptures about the bliss she received in her lover’s arms.”
Lotte gaped. “What lover?”
“Darlington!” he roared.
“Darlington?” Lotte stunned gaze reflected her utter confusion. “Jack?”
“You speak his Christian name with great affection.”
“Well yes, but—”
“Don’t touch me,” he shouted as she reached for his arm, “or I shan’t be responsible for my actions.”
Lotte drew
back her hand, her own temper set to the spark. “You are behaving quite extraordinarily bad.”
Ran took a sobering breath. She was right. He had had weeks to think about this moment. Three short days ago he thought he had made his decision. He was ten miles outside of London before reason asserted itself and he had turned back from his mission to find and bring his wife home. If she wanted to come home, she would have done so, his practical mind told him. She had run away because she did not want to be with him. Bringing her back would not change that. If she did not return of her own accord he would have gained nothing.
Bitter, regretful, but certain that this cold splash of reasoning was more sane than the fevered passion that had set him on the road to Bath, he had returned home, sadder than ever.
Now she stood before him, as luscious as any dream of her that had haunted his nights, and he knew they had never been farther from happiness.
He raked a hand through his clipped hair for he had yet to don his formal wig. “Forgive me. I have no experience in the niceties involved in discussing the merits of my wife’s lovers.”
“Ran, you can’t believe—?”
“Yes, I can. I do.” He looked at her. “I saw you, Lotte. I was there in Bath. With my own eyes I saw!”
“Saw what?” Inexplicable panic rose up in her. “What?”
“You and Darlington in an embrace.”
Lotte gasped, “That is not possible!”
“Don’t lie. Just don’t lie.”
“Why should I lie?” She reached out to him only to have him jerk away from her touch. “Darlington never so much as—oh!”
Her stricken look gored him. “Ah, it comes to you at last.”
Lotte turned pink as a new-budded rose. “Well, he does like to linger over his salutes to my hand.”
“Lotte!” he roared, “Go away before I throttle you!”
“Go away?” She looked vaguely about. “Go where?”
“God knows I do not care. Go back to Bath. Go to the country, but just get out of my sight!”
“Well! Well!” Her bosom was heaving in a way that would have made any actress proud, but it was no artifice for feigned emotion. “That’s a fine way to treat the mother of your first child!” She turned and stalked out.