Well, hell.
He came up, balancing himself on one hand, and said, “I want you to forget everything but me inside you. Do you hear me, Jack? Think of me pushing in you, deep. Ah, yes. I love the feel of you, how you squeeze me, how you shift and tighten around me. How do I feel to you?”
“Inside me?” Her voice sounded thin and scratchy. “Hot, Gray, you feel hot and—” She gasped, arching up, pulling him down on top of her and kissed him wildly. He was laughing and moaning when he felt her tense beneath him, felt her legs tremble and lock. Then he threw back his head and cried out to the ceiling beams, knowing that this woman had been fashioned only for him and he’d been as lucky as a man could get that he’d caught her stealing Durban.
“Jack, I’m done in.”
“No wonder,” she managed to whisper as she helped him ease over onto his back again. “That was a very nice experience for me, Gray. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Well, if you’re still interested, give me another five minutes.” In the next moment he was asleep, the laudanum and his utter relaxation drawing him quickly under.
Jack lay beside him on her back, her head pillowed on her arms. Her nightgown was bunched up around her waist, her thighs were sprawled apart, and she too was relaxed, too relaxed even to bring her legs together.
She stared up at the dark ceiling. “Thank you, God,” she whispered. “He is my husband. Thank you.” She began whistling softly into the still room.
“And he loves me,” she said as she turned her head to see the distant stars through the windowpane just beyond Gray’s side of the bed. “I know he does.”
“Yes,” Gray said beside her. “Of course I love you. Do you think me an utter idiot?”
“You’re never an utter idiot, Gray. You truly love me? You swear it?”
“I swear it. How could I not? You come dressed to my house as the valet Mad Jack, you steal my horse, you have the gall to get deathly ill on me, you have the nerve to make me want to protect you. Oh, yes, I love you.”
After that utterly wonderful monologue, Jack had no time to tell him she’d kill for him, she’d do anything he ever wanted her to do. He began snoring, soft fluttering little sniffs that made her smile even as she grasped his hand in hers and fell asleep.
“That’s how I met Ryder,” Gray said the following morning at the breakfast table. He kissed her fingers, then released her hand just a moment to take a bite of his eggs. “He saved children who were abused, as I already told you, and I tried to help women whose husbands abused them.”
Jack heard his calm voice, looked at his beloved face, and thought, That doesn’t surprise me after what you saw your father do to your mother.
“I was twenty years old, wild because there was no reason not to be, and thoughtless, enjoying myself far more than a healthy young man should. One night I had just left two of my friends and wasn’t more than a mile from home. I remember the sky was beautifully clear, with a smattering of bright stars and a half-moon. I felt good. I was whistling, kicking pebbles out of my path lightheartedly, when I heard a woman cry out.
“I saw a woman in a drawing room through partially open draperies. A man was hitting her. I didn’t stop to think, didn’t stop to wonder what was going on, to question, to do anything. No, I ran up to that house and tried to burst through the door. It was locked. I ran to the window of that room where the man was hitting the woman and managed to shove it up high enough to climb inside.
“I remember the look of utter astonishment on the man’s face when he saw me crash into his drawing room. He looked at me, looked at the woman, hit her again, really hard in her ribs, and it was then that I knew he was the sort of man who made hitting women a habit.
“I told you that my father never hit my mother’s face. Neither did this man. Her ribs and her belly were his targets. He was just like my father.
“He shouted at me, demanding to know what I wanted, but I just ran to him, jerked the woman free, and beat him into the floor.
“It was the woman who stopped me. I remember she was pulling at my hands, saying over and over, ‘No, he’s not worth it, please don’t kill him. He’s not worth it.’ And so I stopped hitting him. He was unconscious, not dead. Nor was he going to die, more’s the pity.
“The woman was his wife, and she’d angered him by visiting her sister without getting his permission. It took her a while to trust me, for, after all, I was a young man and she was a married woman of at least thirty. But when she finally told me the entire truth, I realized that it would simply continue if I didn’t intervene. She was in exactly the same situation as my mother had been.
“The only difference was that this woman hated her husband. She wanted to leave him despite the resulting scandal; she didn’t care. But she couldn’t leave because she was afraid of him. He’d told her that he would kill her if she did. There was one little girl, Joan, and a little boy, William.
“I didn’t know what to do, not really, but I just knew that I wouldn’t let this continue. I couldn’t leave her to face the bastard. I tied him up and gagged him and pulled him behind a settee.
“Then I waited while she packed and got her young daughter and son ready to leave. I took them both to my house.
“They remained there for three days. That third day I met Ryder Sherbrooke. He was arguing with an older man in White’s. The old codger was saying that all the irritating trash in the streets should be eliminated once and for all, all of them sent to the Colonies or to Botany Bay. He was referring to children who were forced to beg or steal to keep from starving. Ryder never raised his voice, just said that it was adults who brought these poor children into the world and then abandoned them. What were the children supposed to do? Leave all good people alone, the old codger was saying over and over. I managed to introduce myself to Ryder when he stepped away, leaving the old man muttering into his brandy snifter. Oddly enough, within ten minutes of meeting him, I was telling him of the lady at my house and what had happened.
“Within two days he knew all about my past. It was Ryder who helped me figure out how to protect her—”
“Who was she, Gray?”
“Lady Cecily Granthsom.”
Jack just shook her head.
He said only, “You will doubtless meet her soon, Jack. I believe she and her children are currently in Scotland visiting her husband’s family. She will be charmed with you.”
“What did you do with the husband?”
“Ryder and I went to see him. He was enraged that his wife had escaped with her lover, so he screamed at us. He would kill the bitch, he yelled, and that damned lover of hers. He didn’t recognize me as the young man who’d beaten him into the floor.
“That was when Ryder and I explained the situation to him.” Gray smiled, seeing the past, Jack realized, seeing a triumph that had remained with him.
“Lord Granthsom was beyond fury when I told him that I’d been the one to hit him, that I was hiding his wife and children, until I had some believable assurance that he would never strike her again, or the children. He kept screaming that it was none of my affair, that she was a slut and an adulteress and she deserved whatever he did to her.
“That was when he attacked me.” Gray rubbed his hands together. “I thrashed him again. I remember the butler came to the door, saw what I was doing, just nodded, and left. Everyone always knows when there is violence in a household. There is no hiding it. No keeping it secret. After he was bleeding and on the floor, I asked him what he thought I should do with him.
“Granthsom wasn’t stupid. He claimed he wouldn’t hurt his wife again. I didn’t believe him. He signed a paper swearing he’d never touch her again, or her children. He swore he wouldn’t retaliate in any way. Ryder and I left. Two days later, Cecily returned to her home. I accompanied her. Lord Granthsom seemed calm, accepting. Cecily seemed convinced. I left.
“Three days later the man I’d hired to keep watch over them came to my house to tell me that he was
beating her, and it was bad. I took my gun and went there. The servants were all white as death, listening to her screams, yet unwilling to do anything. What could they do? They were nothing compared to him.
“I shot him in the leg. He kept hitting her. I shot him in the other leg.”
“What happened?” Jack looked at the piece of toast she’d been holding an inch from her mouth for the entire time Gray had been speaking. She dropped it onto her plate and leaned forward. “What, Gray? What happened?”
“Lord Granthsom is in a wheelchair. It’s been nearly six years now. He is dependent upon the servants and his wife for his very existence. One of the bullets caused enough damage so that he’ll never walk again.”
“My God, what an exquisite punishment,” she said, jumping to her feet and throwing herself into his arms. He moaned from the wound in his shoulder, then clasped her close, bringing her onto his lap. “Yes, it worked out well. Cecily is her own woman now, in complete control of all his estates because she controls him. He is not a happy man and that pleases me inordinately and Cecily as well. You will meet her daughter, Joan, and her son, William, when they return from Scotland in the middle of the summer. Cecily is beloved by his family for her kindness, her selflessness, her caring for the fallen earl. They believe that he fell from a horse. Because of his pride, he hasn’t ever contradicted her.”
“The husband is an earl? A peer of the realm? An earl was beating his wife?”
“Yes. There are no class boundaries, Jack. It’s true that poverty tends to drain the spirit, and thus many men lose all hope and take their hopelessness out on their wives and children. Also, some men are simply animals, no rhyme or reason for it.”
“And you save the women?”
“I try. Since Cecily, there have been ten women. It’s Cecily who has helped me over the years assist them in dealing with their various situations. Every one is different. I have spent hours scratching my head, trying to figure out the best way to save a woman. Two women I’ve saved were exactly like my mother. They cursed me for interfering. I’ve simply not involved myself with them after I discovered that.”
“This man who wanted to kill you? Who is he?”
“He is the Honorable Clyde Barrister, a little weasel who would doubtless be in excellent company with your stepfather, Sir Henry.
“I’ve gotten several threatening letters from him. I wrote him after the first letter and told him that if he didn’t swallow his threats and leave me alone, I would beat him and throw him in a ditch. I guess he didn’t believe me because another letter from him arrived at the same time as the urgent request from Lord Burleigh to see me. After seeing Lord Burleigh, you can understand how simple it was for me to forget about it.
“Clyde must have panicked after sending me the letter and decided the only thing to do to save his hide was to hire an assassin to kill me.”
“What will you do?”
Gray gave her a kiss in the tip of her nose, nuzzled her neck, then kissed her mouth. “What I’m going to do is pay the gentleman a long-overdue visit.”
“Do you believe he is beating his wife again?”
“Oh, no. His wife, Margaret, is living with his older brother and his family. He is the head of the family, and incidentally, the very deep well from which our gentleman here draws enough groats to keep himself in luxury. He can do nothing against his brother, thus he would like at least to remove me, the bane of his existence.”
“Let’s get him, Gray. Let’s show him what’s what.”
“Ah, Jack, you do please me so.”
But Jack wouldn’t let him go until she’d looked at his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” she said, as she gently rebandaged the wound. “It looks fine, but I don’t want you to hit him very hard. It could reopen the wound, and Dr. Cranford wouldn’t like that.”
They were donning cloaks when Quincy answered the knock at the front door. It was Ryder Sherbrooke, windblown, tanned, healthy and smiling, his Sherbrooke blue eyes light and full of life. It felt as though he brought the sunlight into the house with him.
“You’ll not believe what I—no, wait, what happened here? What did you do to your shoulder, Gray? Jack, what’s going on? I leave for a very short time, and you get yourself hurt? Damnation, Gray, I must move in with you so that I can keep you whole-hided?”
“No, no, Ryder. Come in for a moment. I’m fine. Quincy, bring us some tea and whatever Mrs. Post has available in the kitchen. Now, Ryder, what’s happened?”
“No, I will not tell you my news until you tell me what’s happened.”
Gray did, quickly and cleanly, leaving out more than Jack would have left out, but she managed to keep herself quiet.
“So, the two of you were going to see our little weasel to speak to him about his lack of manners?”
“Actually,” Gray said, “I haven’t decided just yet what to do with the Honorable Clyde, the mangy little sot.”
Jack said with relish, “I vote we break his neck, but in a very subtle way so that everyone believes it’s an accident.”
Gray laughed and hugged her against his side. “Don’t ever try to hurt me, Ryder, else you’ll have my wife to deal with. Now, tell us your news.”
“Yes,” Jack said. “Have you decided how to re-rotten the borough?”
“No, there wasn’t even time to act. You see, my children took a hand.”
“Your children?” Jack said.
“Yes, all fourteen of them.”
33
“I WENT home to see just how easily I would be able to re-rotten the borough, and if I couldn’t manage to do that, then just what else I could do about that little fop, Horace Redfield. I soon learned that he’d spread his groats and his venom throughout Upper and Lower Slaughter.
“My Sophie was fit to shoot his ears off. Ah, she’s so very lovely when her eyes are sizzling with rage. I nearly forgot my own ire when I remarked upon her eyes and her lovely heaving chest. So then I—no, never mind that.
“Where was I? Oh, yes, it turns out that Oliver and Jeremy were home from Eton—” He looked over at Jack, adding, “Jeremy is Sophie’s younger brother, and Oliver is all of sixteen now, and a glorious young man. Douglas is very fond of Oliver as well and plans to train him to be the future steward of Northcliffe, but that’s neither here nor there.
“In any case, the boys soon discovered what was going on. They got all the children together and told them that they were going to ‘squish the bad man.”’ Ryder rubbed his hands together and grinned into the distance. “Ah, my sweet boys.”
“What happened?” Jack asked.
‘Jeremy and Oliver rightly decided that Mr. Redfield was doubtless a scoundrel and they took turns following him. They quickly discovered that he was seeing a woman in a small cottage just east of Upper Slaughter in the village of Primpton. Then they sent the children, in pairs, to see this woman. Her name is Fanny James, a former actress who was down on her luck, and because, she told Jeremy and Oliver, she couldn’t sew or cook, and scrubbing things would ruin her beautiful hands, and she didn’t want to starve, she became Redfield’s mistress. They told her that since she knew all about treading the boards, they wanted her to teach them how to act and perform a play.
“Fanny James was charmed, needless to say, particularly after all fourteen children trooped to her cottage door, sat at her feet, and listened reverently to every word that slid off her tongue.
“She visited Jane at Brandon House, met all the other staff, and Sophie as well.”
Ryder stopped, stared down at his boots, then threw back his head, and howled with laughter.
Gray waited until Ryder had quieted a bit, then said, “This Fanny James didn’t know what Redfield had done to blacken your good name, did she?”
“No,” Ryder finally said, shaking his head. “No, she didn’t know anything. In short, she fell in love with the children, with Jane and all the other women at Brandon House, and naturally with my Sophie. Ah, yes, and I don
’t want to forget Sally, a jewel, Gray, who has the children eating out of her hand. She’s one of the cooks,” Ryder added to Jack. At her still obvious confusion, he said, “Gray saved her from a brute of a drunken husband and brought her to me. She’s very happy, Gray.
“Now, all the children decided that what Brandon House needed was a resident theater artistic director to live at Brandon House to instruct the children in the art of play-giving, which is, actually, a splendid idea. It will keep the little heathens occupied and entertained, particularly during the long winter months.”
“Was there a play, Ryder?” Jack asked. At his impudent grin, she smiled herself, unable not to because that Sherbrooke grin of his was so warm and so filled with laughter. “Come, tell us, what did you do? What happened to Horace Redfield?”
“Oliver and Jeremy told Fanny what Redfield was doing. She turned as red as the sunset before a storm, Jeremy said, she was so infuriated. So she wrote a short play about this absurd fat little man who could only get elected mayor of the town if he blackened the name of his opponent, who was an honest man. He did this by claiming every child in the town was a bastard and he himself was in search of the father to bring him to justice. It was staged in the middle of the afternoon on the green in Lower Slaughter. Thank God the afternoon was warm and sunny.
“There was no warning about what was in the play, just that ‘Ryder Sherbrooke’s bastards were going to perform for the townspeople.’ Horace Redfield came, all resplendent in a yellow waistcoat, happy as a clam, ready to hammer in the final nails to my coffin by pointing his pudgy finger at all the children and wagging that finger, and remarking that they all resembled me and no one would feel sorry for them and thus vote for me no matter how many free plays they performed.
“All the nails hammered were on Horace Redfield’s coffin. Ah, the children were magnificent. Fanny was superb. One of the children’s teachers, Mr. Forbes, played Mr. Redfield. He was splendidly oily. He’d tied a fat pillow around his waist and wore a bright green waistcoat. Every time he saw a child, any child, even those in the audience, he yelled ‘Bastard!’