Maude said, “Yes, Mathilda believes his lordship even more handsome than the vicar Mortimer, who kissed her in the vestry. Naturally, his lordship is just a mite too young for Mathilda—more’s the pity for him, poor boy.”
“Yes, he is handsome, ma’am,” Sinjun said and blinked. She gave Mathilda a beautiful smile. “Isn’t he amazing? He can yell at me and then kiss me, all without wasting a single breath. My stepson, Philip, remarks upon that. He wants to be just like his father. He practices on his little sister, Dahling. He doesn’t kiss her because he still thinks girls are the very devil, but he does enjoy practicing his father’s yelling skills.”
Sinjun shook out her skirts, straightened the smart little straw bonnet on her head, and said, “Now, Quincy just whispered to me that my husband is currently in the drawing room with Douglas. I don’t know why Douglas didn’t come out when we arrived, but I’m sure to be told shortly. Hopefully I won’t have to be told anything too shortly, though, since I don’t intend to walk into the tiger’s mouth. Jack, will you be all right?”
Jack, flattened by rotten bad luck and illness, said, “I’m fine, Sinjun. Thank you.”
“You’ll tell me everything once Gray has pried everything out of you, all right?”
“We’ll see,” Gray said, eyeing Jack, who looked ready to expire. “Maude, where do you want me to gently unload our valet?”
When Gray went down the wide staircase some ten minutes later, Douglas Sherbrooke, the eldest of the Sherbrooke siblings, stood at the bottom of the stairs in the black-and-white Italianate marble entrance hall, his hands on his hips. He wasn’t smiling. When Douglas Sherbrooke didn’t smile, he looked ferocious indeed, Gray thought, remembering how he’d been fool enough once to go into the ring with Douglas Sherbrooke at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten his jaw broken or his teeth loosened.
“Good day, Douglas. How is your family?”
“Everyone is just fine. Look, Gray, you’re probably wondering why I’m here in your house, standing here in your entrance hall, looking up at you like you’re an unwanted guest.”
“No, not really. I’m so bloody tired I don’t really care who’s here.”
“Where’s Sinjun?”
“I believe she went to one of the bedchambers to, er, repose herself, at least that’s what she told me.”
“Sinjun’s never reposed herself in her life. The girl’s incapable of reposing. You’ll not believe this, Gray, but Colin just told me she’s pregnant. My little sister—pregnant. By God, I can remember holding her right after she was born. I remember her wetting on my brand-new breeches, my shirt, my hands. She also puked on other breeches, other shirts, my same hands. She was beautiful, Gray, and so precious. Damn, but it’s difficult to accept that she’s now going to have a babe. I think of her as so young and naive and innocent. Then she saw Colin and couldn’t wait to learn all sorts of wicked things, which, naturally, he was more than ready to teach her, curse the bounder.
“Now, you know well enough that she gave you that reposing excuse because she knows that I now know and she doesn’t want me telling her she’s an idiot for scurrying off to God-knows-where to rescue you.” He struck the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Reposing herself, hah. Sinjun’s never been a coward, but that’s what she is now. Ah, it curdles the belly. My little sister has become a coward, and it’s all Colin’s fault. Dragging her to Scotland, forcing her to live in a bloody castle, throwing local ghosts in her face—when everyone with even a tiny brain knows there’s no such thing as ghosts.
“Yes, it’s all turned her into a coward. She’s avoiding me. Me. He’s only had her for four years, and she’s become a coward. It revolts my innards.”
“That isn’t true, Douglas,” Colin said, striding out of the drawing room toward them, his voice nearing a roar. “Damn you, your precious little sister controls everything and everyone in a ten-mile radius of Vere Castle. She controls everything and everyone inside the castle as well. She even has that blackguard neighbor of ours, Bobbie MacPherson, cooing over her white hands, although she wanted to kill him not above four years ago. She’d probably take over the running of bloody Edinburgh Castle if she took a notion to. I don’t believe in ghosts any more than you do, Douglas, but she deals quite well with Pearlin’ Jane.
“Don’t you blame me because she’s hiding upstairs in Gray’s house and he didn’t even have the chance to invite us to stay, which he would have done because he likes us. Yes, Sinjun knows I’m so furious with her I’m just likely to take away all her clothes to keep her in bed for the next week.”
“Who’s Pearlin’ Jane?” Gray asked.
“My family ghost,” Colin said, clearly distracted. “But she doesn’t really exist. Hellfire, Douglas, Sinjun’s pregnant, damn her beautiful eyes, and Jesus, I can’t stand this. I just can’t.”
It was as if the dam had burst. Colin’s voice became deep and harsh. He yelled to the chandelier overhead, “Dammit, I don’t want her to die. I couldn’t bear it if she died.”
Gray said quietly, quite aware that every servant in his house was positioned just so to hear every word each of them said, “I think we should go to my study. Quincy, bring us some food.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Gray shut the study door, turned, and said, “Now, what’s all this about Sinjun dying?”
“Nothing.” Colin ran his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. “Nothing. I just lost control of my mouth. I’ve got it back now. I’ve just been so bloody worried. All right, I’ve been scared to my feet.” He smashed his fist against the leather arm of a wing chair.
“Sinjun won’t die,” Douglas said, and Gray saw that he was perfectly white. “She won’t. I won’t allow that. For God’s sake, my mother didn’t die and she birthed four children. Look at me, I’m not a lisping little fellow, and she came through it all just fine. Your first wife didn’t die birthing Philip or Dahling. What the hell is wrong with you? Oh, God, is Sinjun ill?”
“No,” Colin said, his voice that of a desperate man.
“Then why do you think Sinjun’s life is in any danger?” Gray asked, an eyebrow raised. “Has a doctor told you that she’s in danger?”
Colin, who had been standing in the middle of the study, his head lowered, said, “Neither of you understands. Don’t you see? It’s been nearly four years and she’s never gotten pregnant before. I’d just about come to believe that we were simply not supposed to have children, but because I’m a randy bastard, I’ve forced her time and time again to take my seed, and she does enjoy it so, indeed, she’s always leaping on me in our bedchamber or jerking me behind the stairs or bringing me down on the tower steps to my special room, and just look what happened.”
“Oh, God,” Douglas said. “You sodding randy bastard. I might have known. I did know, the minute I laid eyes on you kissing Sinjun in the entrance hall of my very own house four years ago—and you barely even knew her name—yet you had your damned hands on her bottom and you had your tongue halfway down her throat. By God, you miserable Scot sod, you’ve forced her?”
Douglas leaped a good six feet to land on Colin, his big hands going around Colin’s neck. Soon the two men were rolling on the floor, tangling in the beautiful Aubusson carpet, threatening to overturn one of Gray’s prized Chinese vases that had just arrived from Macao six months before.
The door burst open. Sinjun came running into the study, yelling, “Stop it, both of you. Stop it, now, do you hear me?”
All she got for her effort was grunts and a few ripe curses.
Sinjun grabbed Gray’s Chinese vase and brought it down on both Douglas’s back and her husband’s arm.
Gray’s Chinese vase from Macao was shattered. He stared at the shards that were scattered over half the study floor. He watched Douglas and Colin roll away from each other and slowly rise, panting like men who had run all the way from Bath to London.
“Damn you both,” Sinjun yelled at them. “Listen to
me. I’m not going to die. Can your small brains understand that? I have no intention of dying. Listen to me, Colin: I will not die.”
Gray called out to Quincy, who was plastered against the wall beside the door, “Quincy, bring more brandy. I see I’ve only got half a bottle here.” He turned back to Sinjun. “Now, while Quincy drags himself slowly out of hearing distance, tell me, Sinjun, where are Philip and Dahling?”
“They’re at Douglas’s town house. Oh, I see.” Sinjun waited until Quincy had closed the door after himself. Quick as a snake, she turned on her brother and her husband, who were looking at each other with a combination of embarrassment and wariness. She said over her shoulder, “Gray, don’t listen to this since it isn’t your problem. That’s right. Drink your brandy—you need it, particularly with the gentlemen here enacting such a fine melodrama for you. Now, Douglas, Colin, I have no plans to die birthing our son or daughter. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
Colin opened his mouth, but Sinjun just raised her hand. “No, no more out of you. Very well, I’ll tell you the truth. I haven’t gotten pregnant simply because I wasn’t ready to, Colin. But three months ago I decided that both Philip and Dahling needed a little brother or sister. They both came to me and requested that I consider it. I did. Thus, when I was ready, I became pregnant. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“A woman doesn’t determine when she does or when she doesn’t get pregnant,” Douglas shouted at her. “Are you an idiot?”
“Leave her alone, Douglas. She’s my wife. I’ll deal with her. What the hell was that fine bit of nonsense? You decided?”
Sinjun walked to her husband, laid her palm lightly against his cheek, and smiled up at him. “I’m going to give you a beautiful son or daughter. I fully intend to be the mother. And then I’ll become a grandmother. You and I will become eccentric old curmudgeons together. We will lose our teeth together. We’ll help each other totter up the stairs every night. Nothing will happen to either of us, Colin. All right?”
He couldn’t answer. He just stared down at her.
“I’m not lying, Colin. I’m not.”
Colin just nodded, then very slowly, very carefully, drew her against him. He buried his face in her hair.
Douglas looked on, then said to no one in particular, “I can’t imagine any sister of mine not having her teeth.”
“You know,” Gray said now, “I have an excellent physician friend who lives just two hours from London, near Bury St. Edmunds. His name is Paul Branyon and he recently married the late earl of Strafford’s widow, Lady Ann. He’s an excellent man and an excellent doctor. I will write him and he and Ann will come to London. He’ll examine Sinjun. He’ll tell both of you the truth. Sinjun is very likely going to be just fine. Paul will reassure all of you and then you, Douglas, and you, Colin, won’t have to try to break each other’s heads anymore in my study, and your wife won’t have to break any more of my belongings to split you two apart.”
Sinjun twisted about in her husband’s arms. “Oh, Gray, the vase? I’m so sorry—I didn’t think.”
“If you will let Paul Branyon examine you, then I will forgive you for breaking the vase.”
“Oh, all right,” Sinjun said.
“Good,” Douglas said. “I’ll feel better once I’ve got some of your excellent brandy down my gullet.”
Calm restored, brandy served, Sinjun patted and forced to sit down on Gray’s big comfortable wing chair, Colin standing over her to press her back down if she chanced to move, Douglas said, “Now, why don’t you tell us, Gray, why this girl named Jack stole one of your horses and was riding toward Bath when you caught her? And stayed with her for four days? Alone?”
“Actually, the great-aunts call her Mad Jack, a small jest, I suppose, amongst the three of them. Well, what she did—stealing Durban, riding not south like she intended but rather due west, then getting ill—well, it is rather mad, so I suppose she deserves the nickname. Now, the answers to many of the other questions still elude me, Douglas.”
“Not for long they can’t,” Douglas said, grim around the mouth. “Jesus, Gray, you’ve done it this time. There’s no hope for you now.”
“I know,” Gray said, and sighed as he poured more of his fine smuggled French brandy into the men’s glasses. He raised an eyebrow toward Sinjun, who shook her head. He gave them a grin and hoisted his glass, saying, “Douglas, you made it sound like a fatal illness. Very well. To my demise. Douglas is right,” he continued to Colin and Sinjun. “I’m not long for my shackleless life. Yes, it’s all over and I don’t even know who the chit is. She does, however, have excellent taste in horseflesh. She went right to Durban, who’s got the best blood of all of my horses.”
“I didn’t know Sinjun, either,” Colin said. “Douglas certainly didn’t know Alexandra. But that’s not the point. There’s no reason for you to throw yourself into the well. No one else knows about her except us. We won’t tell anybody.”
“Not a single soul,” Sinjun said.
Gray sighed. “Thank you. But all my friends know that I was missing. For at least four days.”
Douglas said, “But they don’t know why. None of them knows a thing about Jack. Jack could simply disappear. There’s no problem.” But he was frowning, obviously arguing with himself.
“She did tell me her name is Winifrede,” Gray said. “That curls the toes, doesn’t it?”
Douglas said, “Possibly, but that’s not to the point. All women’s names are the same in the dark.”
Sinjun nearly went en pointe once she’d leapt out of the chair. “Douglas! Alex would make you sleep in the stable if she heard such twaddle from you. I should probably do something to punish you, but for the moment I just can’t think what.”
Douglas gave his sister a harassed look. “It was a mild attempt at humor, Sinjun. Sit down before Colin flings you down.”
Sinjun sat.
Douglas said, “Now, I’m sorry, Gray. I have to take it all back. I was wrong. I know London. I know how the gossip mills grind. They’ll have you debauching young virgin damsels from here to Bath within twenty-four hours. They’ll demand that you produce the most debauched of the young damsels and make a big show of marrying her. Then you’ll be forgiven and readmitted to the fold.”
Sinjun said, “I don’t know London at all, but I know human nature. Douglas is right. Gray is compromised to his boots. For example, it’s impossible to guarantee even the silence of all the servants here, and that’s only the beginning of the possibilities.”
“My lord,” Quincy said from the doorway. “I have waited until all the more unrestrained displays of emotion were more contained than not. The fellow who tried to run me down and was foiled by Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke is here again, asking to see you specifically, my lord. I don’t believe he wants to get attacked again.”
“This man,” Gray said, “is the key to Jack the valet. Show him in, Quincy.”
10
GRAY RUBBED his hands together. “Sir Henry Wallace-Stanford isn’t her father, I got that much out of her. Nonetheless, she’s scared spitless of him. He holds power over her and her little sister, Georgie. That’s all I know.”
“This should be interesting,” Colin said and tossed down the rest of his brandy. He took his wife’s white hand in his and kissed her fingers.
Sir Henry wasn’t happy to see a roomful of people. He’d hoped to find Baron Cliffe, that cocky young bastard who’d lied to him through his teeth, alone. But there was a young lady present, along with the three men. He looked closely, but none of the men was the wretch who had bashed him to the ground. That one he would kill. All he needed was the man’s name.
“Lord Cliffe,” Sir Henry said, not moving a foot from the doorway into the room.
“Sir Henry. My butler informs me that you wish to see me.”
“I would prefer to see Maude and Mathilda. Or, if you would fetch Jack the valet down here, I would very much like to speak to him.”
“Jack the valet? How very odd that sounds,” said Gray. He gently set his brandy snifter on the edge of his desk, straightened a couple of papers, and said, “Who are you, Sir Henry?”
“I am Sir Henry Wallace-Stanford of Carlisle Manor, near Folkstone, and I want my property back, my lord.”
At midnight, Gray was seated beside Jack’s bed in a comfortable high-backed chair blessed with thick cushions for both the back and the behind. He’d lit a single candle against the gloom. He’d been watching her for the past half hour.
Upon their return this afternoon, Mrs. Piller had had him tenderly carry Jack to the Ellen Chamber, and he had watched while she was tucked into the raised, canopied bed dating back to the third Baron Cliffe. Ellen St. Cyre, that baron’s only daughter, had been struck with a strange paralysis very young in life and had spent all her twenty-three years within these four walls. It was a lovely room, and any memories scored into the walls or the furniture were pleasant and warm. He sat back in his chair, his chin propped up on his tented fingertips. He breathed out long and slow. The candlelight flickered a bit.
Jack was riding bareback, pressed against the mare’s neck. If she didn’t escape, she knew he’d catch her and he’d hurt her this time, hurt her until she screamed. He wouldn’t care if he marked her, not now. She yelled when she was jerked off the mare’s back and thrown through the air to land on her side at the edge of a cliff. She rolled over, trying desperately to grab at a lone bush to stop herself, but it broke off in her hand and she heard him laughing, and then she was falling, falling, screaming—
“Wake up, Jack! Come on, wake up!”
He was shaking her, but she was still falling. She didn’t want him to save her, she didn’t want to owe him anything. She didn’t hear him laughing anymore.
“Jack, dammit, open your eyes! Here I’m going to have to marry you and I don’t even remember what color your eyes are. This is ridiculous. I’ve seen your breasts and your belly and your buttocks, yes, all of that, and I remember them quite well, and they are very nice memories. I know I saw your eyes any number of times, but I don’t remember the color. Does that make me a lecher? Probably. Wake up!”