Northrup’s face was a frozen mask, his voice a raw whisper. “Captain Farrell is waiting for you in the salon, my lord.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?” Jason asked good-naturedly. “If your throat’s bothering you, mention it to Lady Victoria. She’s wonderful with things like that.”
Northrup swallowed convulsively and said nothing.
Tossing him a mildly curious look, Jason turned and strode briskly down the hall toward the salon. He threw open the doors, an eager smile on his face. “Hello, Mike, where is my wife?” He glanced around at the cheerful room with the little fire burning in the grate to ward off the chill, expecting her to materialize from a shadowy corner, but all he saw was Victoria’s cloak lying limply across the back of a chair, water dripping from its hem. “Forgive my poor manners, my friend,” he said to Mike Farrell, “but I haven’t seen Victoria in days. Let me go and find her, then we’ll all sit down and have a nice talk. She must be up—”
“Jason,” Mike Farrell said tightly. “There’s been an accident—”
The memory of another night like this one ripped agonizingly across Jason’s brain—a night when he had come home expecting to find his son, and Northrup had acted oddly; a night when Mike Farrell had been waiting for him in this very room. As if to banish the terror and pain already screaming through his body, he shook his head, backing away. “No!” he whispered, and then his voice rose to a tormented shout. “No, damn you! Don’t tell me that—!”
“Jason—”
“Don’t you dare tell me that!” he shouted in agony.
Mike Farrell spoke, but he turned his head away from the unbearable torment on the other man’s ravaged face. “Her horse threw her off the ridge into the river, about four miles from here. O’Malley went in after her, but he couldn’t find her. He—”
“Get out,” Jason whispered.
“I’m sorry, Jason. Sorrier than I can say.”
“Get out!”
When Mike Farrell left, Jason stretched his hand toward Victoria’s cloak, his fingers slowly closing on the wet wool, pulling it toward him. The muscles at the base of his throat worked convulsively as he brought the sodden cloak to his chest, stroking it lovingly with his hand, and then he buried his face in it, rubbing it against his cheek. Waves of agonizing pain exploded through his entire being, and the tears he had thought he was incapable of shedding fell from his eyes. “No,” he sobbed in demented anguish. And then he screamed it.
Chapter Thirty-three
“HERE, NOW, MY DEAR,” THE Duchess of Claremont said, patting her great-granddaughter’s shoulder. “It breaks my heart to see you looking so wretched.”
Victoria bit her lip, staring out of the window at the manicured lawns stretching out before her, and said nothing.
“I can scarcely believe your husband hasn’t come here yet to apologize for the outrageous deceit he and Atherton practiced on you,” the duchess declared irritably. “Perhaps he didn’t arrive home the night before last, after all.” Restlessly, she walked about the room, leaning on her cane, her lively eyes darting toward the windows as if she, too, expected to see Jason Fielding arriving at any moment. “When he does put in an appearance, it will afford me great satisfaction if you force him to get down on his knees!”
A wry, mirthless smile touched Victoria’s soft lips. “Then you are bound to be disappointed, Grandmama, for I can assure you beyond any doubt that Jason will not do that. He’s more likely to walk in here and try to kiss me and, and—”
“—and seduce you into coming home?” the duchess finished bluntly.
“Exactly.”
“And could he accomplish that?” she asked, tipping her white head to the side, her eyes momentarily amused despite her frown.
Victoria sighed and turned around, leaning her head against the windowframe and folding her arms across her midriff. “Probably.”
“Well, he’s certainly taking his time about it. Do you truly believe he knew about Mr. Bainbridge’s letters? I mean, if he did know about them, it was utterly unprincipled of him not to tell you.”
“Jason has no principles,” Victoria said with weary anger. “He doesn’t believe in them.”
The duchess resumed her thoughtful pacing but she stopped short when she came to Wolf, who was lying in front of the fireplace. She shuddered and changed direction. “What sin I’ve committed to deserve having this ferocious beast as a houseguest, I don’t know.”
A sad giggle emitted from Victoria. “Shall I chain him outside?”
“Good God, no! He tore the seat of Michaelson’s breeches when he tried to feed him this morning.”
“He doesn’t trust men.”
“A wise animal. Ugly though.”
“I think he’s beautiful in a wild, predatory way—” Like Jason, she thought, and hastily cast the debilitating recollection aside.
“Before I sent Dorothy off to France, she had already adopted two cats and a sparrow with a broken wing. I didn’t like them either, but at least they didn’t watch me like this animal does. I tell you, he has every happy expectation of eating me. Even now, he’s wondering how I’ll taste.”
“He’s watching you because he thinks he’s guarding you,” Victoria explained, smiling.
“He thinks he’s guarding his next meal! No, no,” she said, raising her hand when Victoria started toward Wolf, intending to put him outside. “Don’t, I beg you, endanger any more of my servants. Besides,” she relented enough to admit, “I haven’t felt this safe in my house since your great-grandfather was alive.”
“You don’t have to worry about prowlers sneaking in,” Victoria agreed, returning to her vigil at the window.
“Sneaking in? My dear, you couldn’t bribe a prowler to enter this room.”
Victoria remained at the window for another minute, then turned and wandered aimlessly toward a discarded book lying upon a glossy, satinwood table.
“Do sit down, Victoria, and let me pace for a while. There’s no sense in us banging into one another as we traverse the carpet. What could be keeping that handsome devil of yours from our lair?”
“It’s just as well Jason hasn’t come before now,” Victoria said, sinking into a chair and staring at her hands. “It’s taken me this long to calm down.”
The duchess stomped over to the windows and peered out at the drive. “Do you think he loves you?”
“I thought so.”
“Of course he does!” her grace asserted forcefully. “All London is talking about it. The man is besotted with you. Which is undoubtedly why he went along with Atherton’s scheme and kept Andrew’s letter a secret from you. I shall give Atherton the edge of my tongue for that shoddy piece of business. Although,” she added audaciously, still peering out the window, “I probably would have done the same thing in the same circumstances.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Of course I would. Given a choice between letting you marry some colonial I didn’t know and didn’t have any faith in, versus my own wish to see you married to the premier parti in England—a man of wealth, title, and looks—I might well have done as Atherton did.”
Victoria forebore to point out that it was exactly that sort of thinking that had caused her mother and Charles Fielding a great deal of misery.
The duchess stiffened imperceptibly. “You’re quite certain you wish to return to Wakefield?”
“I never meant to leave permanently. I suppose I wanted to punish Jason for the way Andrew was forced to learn I was married—Grandmama, if you had seen the look on Andrew’s face you would understand. We were the greatest of friends from the time we were children; Andrew taught me to swim and shoot and play chess. Besides, I was furious with Jason and Charles for using me like a toy—a pawn—an object without feelings of any importance. You can’t believe how utterly alone and miserable I felt for a long time after I thought Andrew had coldly tossed me aside.”
“Well, my dear,” the duchess said thoughtfully, “you are not goi
ng to be alone much longer. Wakefield has just arrived—no, wait, he’s sent an emissary! Who is this person?”
Victoria flew to the window. “Why, it’s Captain Farrell—Jason’s oldest friend.”
“Hah!” said the duchess gleefully, banging her cane upon the floor. “Hah! He’s sent in a second. I would never have expected that of Wakefield, but so be it!”
She flapped her hand urgently at Victoria. “Run along into the drawing room and do not show your pretty face in here unless I come for you.”
“What? No, Grandmama!” Victoria burst out stubbornly.
“Yes!” the duchess replied. “At once! If Wakefield wishes to treat this as a duel and send in his second to negotiate terms, then so be it! I shall be your second. I shall grant no quarter,” she said with a gleeful wink.
Victoria reluctantly did as she was bidden and went into the drawing room, but under no circumstances was she actually willing to let Captain Farrell leave here without talking to him. If her great-grandmother didn’t summon her within five minutes, Victoria decided, she would return to the salon and speak to Captain Farrell.
Only three minutes had elapsed before the doors to the drawing room were abruptly pulled open and her great-grandmother stood in the doorway, her face an almost comical mixture of shock, amusement, and horror. “My dear,” she announced, “it seems you have unwittingly brought Wakefield to his knees, after all.”
“Where is Captain Farrell?” Victoria said urgently. “He hasn’t left, has he?”
“No, no, he’s here, I assure you. The abject fellow is reposing upon my sofa at this very moment, awaiting the refreshments that I so generously offered to him. I suspect he thinks me the most heartless creature on earth, for when he told me his news, I was so distracted that I offered him refreshment instead of commiseration.”
“Grandmama! You aren’t making sense. Did Jason send Captain Farrell to ask me to come back? Is that why he’s here?”
“Most assuredly it is not,” her grace averred with raised brows. “Charles Fielding sent him here to bring me the grievous tidings of your untimely demise.”
“My what?"
“You drowned,” the duchess said succinctly. “In the river. Or at least, your white cloak appears to have done so.” She glanced at Wolf. “This mangy beast is presumed to have run off into the woods whence he came before you befriended him. The servants at Wakefield are in mourning, Charles has taken to his bed—deservedly—and your husband has locked himself into his study and will not let anyone near him.”
Shock and horror nearly knocked Victoria to her knees; then she whirled around.
“Victoria!” the dowager called, hurrying as fast as she could in her great-granddaughter’s wake as Victoria raced across the hall and burst into the salon with Wolf at her heels.
“Captain Farrell!”
His head jerked up and he stared at her as if seeing a ghost, then his gaze shot to the other “apparition” that skidded to a four-legged stop and began snarling at him.
“Captain Farrell, I didn’t drown,” Victoria said, taken aback by the man’s wide-eyed stare. “Wolf, stop!”
Captain Farrell came to his feet as disbelief slowly gave way to joy and then to fury. “Is this your idea of a joke!” he bit out. “Jason is insane with grief—”
“Captain Farrell!” the duchess said in ringing tones of authority, drawing herself up to her full diminutive height. “I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when addressing my great-granddaughter. She did not know until this moment that Wakefield believed her to be anywhere but here, where she specifically said she would be.”
“But the cloak—”
“I was being chased by someone—I think one of the bandits you mentioned—and I tossed the cloak over my horse’s saddle and sent him off down the path along the river, thinking that would divert the bandit off my trail.”
The anger drained from the captain’s face and he shook his head. “The ‘someone’ chasing you was O’Malley, who nearly drowned trying to find and rescue you from the river where he spotted your cloak.”
Victoria’s head fell back and she closed her eyes in remorse; then her long lashes flew open and she became a sudden flurry of motion. She hugged her great-grandmother, her words tumbling out in her haste. “Grandmama, thank you for everything. I must leave. I’m going home—”
“Not without me, you’re not!” the duchess replied with a gruff smile. “In the first place, I wouldn’t miss this homecoming for the world. I haven’t had this much excitement since—well, never mind.”
“You can follow me in the carriage,” Victoria specified, “but I’ll ride—a horse will be faster.”
“You will come in the carriage with me,” her grace replied imperiously. “It has not yet occurred to you, I gather, that after your husband recovers from his joy, he is likely to react exactly as his shockingly ill-mannered emissary has just done.” She cast a quelling eye upon poor Captain Farrell before continuing. “Only with considerably more violence. In short, my dear child, after he kisses you, which I have every faith he will do, he is likely to want to murder you for what he will surely perceive as being a monstrous trick on your part. Therefore, I shall be at hand to rush to your aid and support your explanation. And that,” she said, banging her cane on the floor in an imperious summons to her butler, “is that. Norton,” she called. “Have my horses put to at once!”
She turned to Captain Farrell and, in an apparent reversal of her earlier condemnation, regally proclaimed, “You may ride in the carriage with us—” Then she promptly ruined the illusion of having graciously forgiven his earlier rudeness by adding, “—so that I may keep my eye on you. I won’t risk having Wakefield forewarned of our arrival and awaiting us on his doorstep with murder in his eye.”
Victoria’s heart was pounding like a maddened thing by the time the carriage drew up before Wakefield, shortly after dusk. No footmen appeared from the house to let down the steps of the carriage and help the new arrivals alight, and only a few lights were burning in the myriad windows that looked out upon the park. The whole place seemed eerily deserted, Victoria thought—and then, to her horror, she saw that the lower windows were hung with black and a black wreath was upon the door. “Jason hates anything to do with mourning—” she burst out, frantically shoving on the carriage door, trying to open it. “Tell Northrup to get those things off the windows!”
Breaking his resentful silence for the first time, Captain Farrell laid a restraining hand on her arm and said gently, “Jason ordered it done, Victoria. He’s half-insane with grief. Your great-grandmother is partially right—I have no idea how he’ll react when he first sees you.”
Victoria didn’t care what Jason did, so long as he knew she was alive. She jumped down from the carriage, leaving Captain Farrell to look after her great-grandmother, and raced to the front door. Finding it locked, she lifted the knocker and used it with a vengeance. It seemed to take forever before the door slowly opened.
“Northrup!” Victoria burst out. “Where is Jason?”
The butler blinked at her in the dim light, then blinked again.
“Please don’t stare at me as if I’m a ghost. This has all been a misunderstanding! Northrup,” she said desperately, laying her warm hand upon his cold cheek. “I am not dead!”
“He’s—he’s—” A broad grin suddenly burst across Northrup’s taut features. “He’s in his study, my lady, and may I say how very happy I—”
Too frantic to listen, Victoria ran down the hall toward Jason’s study, combing her fingers through her hair on the way.
“Victoria?” Charles burst out from the balcony above. “Victoria!”
“Grandmama will explain everything, Uncle Charles,” Victoria called, and kept running.
At Jason’s study, she put her shaking hand on the door handle, momentarily paralyzed by the enormity of the disaster she had caused; then she drew a shivering breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
<
br /> Jason was sitting in a chair near the window, his elbows upon his parted knees, his head in his hands. On the table beside him were two empty bottles of whiskey and the onyx panther she had given him.
Victoria swallowed past the lump of remorse in her throat and started forward. “Jason—” she said softly.
His head lifted slowly and he gazed at her, his face a ravaged mask, his haunted eyes looking right through her as if she were an apparition. “Tory,” he groaned in anguish.
Victoria stopped short, watching in horror as he leaned his head against the back of his chair and squeezed his eyes closed.
“Jason,” she burst out frantically. “Look at me.”
“I see you, darling,” he whispered without opening his eyes. His hand went to the panther on the table beside him, lovingly stroking its back. “Talk to me,” he pleaded in an agonized voice. “Don’t ever stop talking to me, Tory. I don’t mind being insane, as long as I can hear your voice—”
“Jason!” Victoria screamed, racing forward and frantically clutching his broad shoulders. “Open your eyes. I am not dead. I did not drown! Do you hear me, I didn’t!”
His glazed eyes opened, but he continued speaking to her as if she were a beloved apparition to whom he needed desperately to explain something. “I didn’t know about your Andrew’s letter,” he whispered brokenly. “You know that now, don’t you, darling? You do know it—” Suddenly he raised his tormented gaze to the ceiling and began to pray, his body arching as if he was in pain. “Oh, please!” he groaned horribly, “please tell her I didn’t know about the letter. Damn you!” he raged at God, “tell her I didn’t know!”
Victoria reared back in panic. “Jason,” she cried feverishly. “Think! I can swim like a fish, remember? My cloak was a trick. I knew someone was chasing me, but I didn’t know it was O’Malley. I thought it was a bandit, so I took off my cloak and threw it over my horse, then I walked to my grandmother’s and—oh, God!” Raking her hands through her hair, she looked around the dimly lit room, trying to think how to reach him, then ran to his desk. She lit the lamp on it, then hurried to the fireplace and lit the first of the pair of lamps on the mantel. She was reaching for the second when hands like steel manacles locked onto her shoulders and brought her spinning around and crashing against his chest. She saw the return of sanity in Jason’s eyes a split second before his mouth captured hers with hungry violence, his hands rushing over her back and hips, pulling her to him as if he were trying to absorb her body into his. A shudder ran through his tall frame as she arched into him, wrapping her arms tightly about his neck.