Case looked down at the cup he was holding, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips. When he looked up, his eyes were unguarded. “Because,” he said, “she brings me joy.”
It was a joy his father could not share.
He looked at his son and saw a change in him. “What is it?” he asked. “What else do you have to say to me?”
“You know that I’m working on a special assignment for Special Branch?”
The duke nodded. “This La Roca fellow. You’re to bring him to justice. What of it?”
“It’s only fair to warn you, Father, that I think he is going to make the attempt to blow up Twickenham House.”
The duke stuttered, then roared, “Good God, Caspar! Don’t you know how to break things gently? What if I had a weak heart? That’s two shocks in the space of half an hour. Here, get me another brandy.”
When this was done, the duke said, “Blow up Twickenham House? I’d like to see him try. All right. You have my full attention. Now tell me all about it.”
She was sitting up in bed, propped against the pillows, attempting to read a book, when Case entered her chamber. “Case,” she said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying the night at Twickenham.”
As he approached the bed, he shed his jacket and neckcloth. Lance thumped his tail on the floor, then went back to sleep.
Case plucked the book from her hand and tossed it on a chair. “I can’t stay away. It doesn’t matter who I’m with or what I have to do, all I think about is this.”
His hands were moving gently over her breasts. She pulled back a little. “What about your father? What did he have to say?”
“What?”
“Your father. You were going to tell him about us.”
“Oh, that. It’s just as I told you it would be. He’s not happy about the divorce, but he accepts it. He’ll stand behind us.”
He was peeling out of his clothes as though they were on fire and he couldn’t get out of them quickly enough. She wanted to talk.
“Is that all you’re going to tell me?” she asked faintly.
He chuckled. “What more is there to say? Jane, I didn’t ride all the way from Twickenham in the middle of the night to talk about my father.”
He dispensed with her nightgown and joined her in the bed. “Love me,” he said fiercely. “Just love me.”
His body was heavy and hard on hers. Her arms went around him, her hands kneading his back, trying to gentle the tension she sensed in him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said raggedly. “It’s just that I need you so damn much.”
“Case,” she whispered. “Case.”
Suddenly, she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. She raised her head from the pillow and kissed him long and slowly. The kiss became abandoned, and so did their lovemaking. They moved as one, wildly, gloriously, until they were both spent.
She was still trying to catch her breath when someone knocked at the door.
“Miss Mayberry?” It was Ruggles. “Is everything all right? I thought I heard something.”
She looked at Case in horror. “Does he know you’re here?”
“No. I didn’t think you could go through that again.” He rolled from the bed and began to dress. “Get rid of him. Ask him to bring you a glass of milk.”
“Ruggles,” she crooned, “I can’t sleep. Would you bring me a glass of warm milk?”
There was a silence, then Ruggles said, “I’ll see to it at once, Miss Mayberry.”
They heard his footsteps receding along the corridor.
Case was fully dressed and tying his neckcloth. “Where are you going?” asked Jane.
“Back to Twickenham. My father thinks I’m staying the night. We’re having breakfast together early tomorrow morning. Better get your nightgown on.”
He tossed it to her and she put it on.
He cupped her face and kissed her softly. “The sooner we marry the better,” he said. He found her book and put it in her hand. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll try to be here for dinner.”
He walked to the door, opened it carefully, then slipped away.
It took a few moments for Jane to come to herself. She was sitting up in bed, propped against the pillows, with a book in her hand.
She looked at Lance. “Was Case just here or was it a figment of my imagination?”
It couldn’t be a figment of her imagination because her breasts were still tender and there was the familiar stickiness between her legs. Her smile was radiant. There was something deeply satisfying about having a lover who would ride twenty miles in one night just to be with her.
He couldn’t have been here for more than ten minutes, she thought.
She got out of bed and went to the washstand to wash the stickiness away. When she looked at the cloth she had used, she saw that it was streaked with blood.
Her courses had arrived.
Chapter 18
She made a pact with herself. She wasn’t going to let anyone or anything destroy her peace of mind. She wasn’t asking for the world. All she wanted was the chance to make a life with Case. Everyone deserved a little happiness.
No, she thought with a kind of determined defiance, nothing was going to destroy her peace of mind. Besides, she would be betraying everything she’d worked for at the Ladies’ Library if she turned craven now. This was the reason the library had come into existence, to give women the same rights as men. Since that hadn’t yet happened, she’d allowed herself to become the guilty party.
A month ago, she wouldn’t have believed that she could be like this, think like this. But a month ago, she hadn’t known that she loved Case and he loved her. It was as though her world had tilted on its axis. Everything looked different. Everything felt different. She had never known such joy.
She looked at the clock. It was almost time for dinner. She’d hoped that Case would be here by now. She was already changed. She was wearing a longsleeved blue kerseymere gown that hadn’t a frill or bow on it. Now, as she studied herself in the cheval mirror, she thought it made her look like a governess. She was very pale, but she always was when her courses were upon her. She pinched her cheeks. That was better, but there was still something lacking. On that thought, she fetched her mother’s pearls and fastened them around her throat. At last she was satisfied.
When they sat down to dinner, her ladyship thought Jane looked very elegant, but as she was the first to admit, she was partial to simplicity. There were only the two of them for dinner, and as the meal progressed, her ladyship took note of other things: Jane’s skin seemed more luminous, somehow, as did her dark eyes; a smile flickered at the corner of her lips; and her thoughts were miles away.
Lady Sophy prattled on, mentioning various acquaintances and, when her companion offered only perfunctory replies, her ladyship’s eyes began to twinkle. She had a fair idea of what occupied Jane’s thoughts. Finally, she could contain herself no longer.
“Jane,” she said, “put me out of my misery. Am I to wish you happy or not?”
Hectic color flooded Jane’s cheeks and her eyes flared. “I beg your pardon?”
“You and Caspar? I know he went out to Twickenham. Since it’s obvious to me that he loves you and you love him, it doesn’t take much imagination to infer that you are the reason for the visit.”
Jane shook her head. “Oh, no, ma’am. I mean, this conversation is premature.”
“Nonsense!” declared her ladyship. “You don’t suppose Caspar is going to
ask
for His Grace’s permission to marry you? Oh, no. That’s not Caspar’s way. He’ll
tell
his father, not ask him. And do you know, Jane, His Grace will be only too happy to give his blessing. If you’d only known some of the dashers who have chased after my nephew, you’d know why. I think His Grace had just about given up hope that Caspar would fall in love with a nice, decent girl like you. Wait and see. Everything will fall out just as you hoped it would.”
In spite of the tide of guilt that rose in her, Jane managed to speak in a reasonably calm tone. “It’s not as simple as that. When Case and I have something to tell you, we’ll tell you together.”
Lady Sophy laughed. “Have it your own way, my dear. I’ll say only this, that I couldn’t be more delighted with my nephew’s choice. Now, shall we have our tea in the sunroom?”
Lord Reeve was highly gratified when he received a note from James Campbell inviting him to dine at Cook’s Hotel in Dover Street. He was well aware that it wasn’t his scintillating personality that had drawn Campbell to him, but his knowledge of Lord Castleton and his habits. All the same, to be sought after was a pleasant change, and there were other advantages. Since making Campbell’s acquaintance, he’d been treated to a case of brandy, some slap-up dinners, and a night of gaming and carousing that hadn’t cost him a penny.
He knew it wouldn’t last. As soon as Campbell had what he wanted—the return of his rebellious wife who was in sore need of a thrashing—he would be leaving for Scotland. In the meantime, he, Reeve, was enjoying every minute of this newfound friendship. Campbell treated him with deference, he was open-handed, and he’d hinted that any small service on Reeve’s part would be handsomely rewarded.
There was more than this, however, to Reeve’s good humor. He couldn’t suppress his glee. He was remembering Castleton’s face when Campbell told him that Jane Mayberry was, in fact, a married woman, his wife, to be precise. That insufferable air of arrogance had deserted the earl. His face was so set, it was like a death mask.
Jane Mayberry.
Reeve shook his head. It was beyond his comprehension. He could not fathom what the earl saw in her. There was no doubt in his mind that the earl hadn’t the least notion the girl was married until Campbell told him. He hoped Jane Mayberry was as enamored of the earl as he was of her. Then they’d both be miserable for a very long time.
Campbell’s determination to recover his errant wife was more understandable. He didn’t love her, but his father was pushing for a reconciliation to ensure their line would continue.
The smile on his face faded the moment he entered Campbell’s chamber. The younger man had obviously been drinking, and his usually pleasant expression was contorted with fury. He was sitting at a table in front of the window reading a letter. His neckcloth was askew and his jacket was thrown on the bed.
“What’s happened?” Reeve asked, alarmed at the change in Campbell.
“Read this!”
Reeve set his hat, gloves, and cane on the bed and took the letter that Campbell offered him. “What is it?” he asked.
“You’ll soon see! It was hand delivered this morning. The solicitor’s clerk even made me sign for it.” Campbell abruptly rose and began to pace.
Reeve moved a candle closer to his chair to get a better light. He could hardly believe what he was reading. The letter was from The Hon. Robert Shay, Barrister, who was acting for the Earl of Castleton. It stated, in unequivocal terms, that Miss Jane Mayberry refused to be reconciled with her husband and would remain under Lord Castleton’s protection for as long as she desired. That was shocking enough, but the next part was staggering. Naturally, Lord Castleton would claim paternity of any issue of the union.
“You see what this means?” Campbell burst out.
“Oh, yes,” said Reeve. “It means that Castleton is out of his mind. His father isn’t going to accept this. He’s the heir, for God’s sake. I wouldn’t be surprised if Romsey disowns him.”
Campbell ground his teeth together. “He’s telling me to divorce my wife! He’s threatening me!”
“Well, at least you’ll get substantial damages. I wouldn’t be surprised if the court awards you more than twenty thousand pounds. You should keep this letter to show your attorney.”
Campbell stared at Reeve as though he were an imbecile. “I could have divorced my wife in Scotland if that’s what I wanted! Do you imagine I’m going to let her get the better of me? Do you imagine that I’m going to allow myself to be publicly humiliated, to be cuckolded by that . . . that snake in the grass?” He was red in the face and flecks of spittle spilled from his mouth. “He as much as told me that it was all settled, that she would leave his protection at once. If she thinks she’d going to get off scot-free, she can think again.”
Reeve was mulling over these words when Campbell pulled up a chair and sat down at the table. “Listen to me, Reeve,” he said. “You’ve told me that my wife is staying with Castleton’s aunt at this house in Bloomsbury.”
“Woodlands,” supplied Reeve, nodding.
“Is Castleton living there, too?”
“Not to my knowledge. He has stayed the occasional night, but he usually goes home to the Albany. If you want grounds for divorce, you’ll have to go to Highgate. As I already told you, that’s where their love nest is. He’s paying to have the place done up.”
“You’re missing my point.”
Reeve frowned. “What’s on your mind?”
“I want to know if he’s at Woodlands right now.”
Reeve thought for a moment. “His curricle,” he said.
“What?”
“His curricle. That’s how the gossip got started. There’s not enough room for it in the coach house, so it’s left in the yard. If he’s there, his curricle will be there as well.”
Campbell stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly slapped the flat of his hand on the table, making Reeve jump. “That’s it then,” said Campbell, laughing. “If the curricle is there, we do nothing. But if the curricle isn’t there, and there’s no chance that Castleton will interfere, then we get my wife.”
This was more than Reeve had bargained for. “You mean—abduct her?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Reeve swallowed. “What about the footmen? There are bound to be footmen about.”
“They won’t interfere when they see that we’re armed. Have you got your pistol?”
“Not with me.”
“I’ll lend you one of mine.”
Reeve’s brain was working feverishly, putting up blocks to a course of action he could see was fraught with danger. “How are you going to get her away? I don’t have a coach and neither do you.”
Campbell was on his feet, putting on his coat, adjusting his neckcloth. There was a madness in his eyes and laughter. “We’ll make up a plausible tale and bribe a hackney driver to act as our accomplice.”
“What about the dog? I hear that she never goes anywhere without it.”
“We’ll kill it.”
Campbell splayed his hands on the table and leaned toward Reeve. “I’ll make it worth your while. Shall we say five hundred pounds?”
Reeve’s brain stopped throwing up blocks. “Five hundred pounds,” he said. “That’s very generous.”
“I knew I could convince you,” said Campbell.
As she sipped her tea and made the effort to converse intelligently, Jane’s eyes kept straying to the window. The sunroom was at the front of the house, and she could see lights in the gatehouse and groundsmen with lanterns moving about. She was waiting for Case. When she was with him, everything seemed simple. Without him, her unshakeable resolve began to develop cracks.
She saw groundsmen moving quickly toward the gatehouse. Putting down her cup and saucer, she got up to get a better look. “I think it’s Case,” she said, and was out of the room before Lady Sophy had a chance to respond.
She flew down the front steps, went tearing over the wet grass, then came to an abrupt halt. It wasn’t Case who was surrounded by groundsmen, but her husband. One of the men had twisted Jack’s arms behind his back in an effort to subdue him. There was blood on his mouth; his hat had been knocked off and he was struggling wildly to free himself.
“I have every right to be here,” he shouted.
“Not when you force your way in at the point of a gun,” said one of the porters.
Jack’s eyes lighted on her. “Tell them who I am,” he yelled.
“I’ve never seen this man before in my life.” She felt very brave surrounded by four burly groundsmen, one of whom had Lance on a leash. He’d obviously been walking the dog when Jack burst in.
Jack’s face twisted with fury, then, with a convulsive, desperate heave, he broke free and lunged for her. Lance went wild. It was Ruggles who stepped in front of her and felled Jack with a blow to the stomach. She winced, but she didn’t feel the least bit sorry, not even when Jack began to retch.
Ruggles said, “Shall I fetch a Runner?”
“No,” said Jane. It was occurring to her belatedly that much as she feared and despised this man, it was in her best interests not to provoke him. “Obviously he’s been drinking and has mistaken the house. Show him out.”
Jack was hauled to his feet and dragged toward the gates with a porter on either side of him. But he wasn’t finished yet. His voice was hoarse and he had difficulty getting the words out. “You can tell his lordship from me that he can rot in hell, and you with him. There will be no divorce! Let Castleton beget bastards. Do you hear that, Mrs. Campbell? There will be no divorce!”
There was more, but so muffled that Jane did not hear. She stood there as though turned to stone. When someone draped a shawl over her arms, she turned, expecting to see Lady Sophy, but it was Mrs. Trent who anxiously searched her face, Mrs. Trent, who knew all her secrets and had never once judged her.
“Trentie,” said Jane, her eyes tearing. Her lips barely moved.
Mrs. Trent’s Scottish brogue was soft with emotion. “Come away inside, lass. I’ll make ye a nice cup o’ marmalade tea. And if that scoundrel comes back, our Ben will blow his head off.”
Only then did Jane notice her stableboy standing off to one side, with the blunderbuss in the crook of his arm.
She didn’t want to explain things to the groundsmen, and she couldn’t face Lady Sophy in the state she was in. But she didn’t know where to go, what to do, so she did nothing.
Mrs. Trent put an arm around her shoulders and just like the old days when her mother’s illness had taken its toll on her, she did the thinking for both of them.
“Come away, lass,” she said. “We’ll go in the back way. I won’t leave you, never fear.”
Ruggles and the two groundsmen escorted Campbell to a hackney that was stationed across the street. Reeve opened the door to him and gasped when he saw Campbell’s face. Then he saw Ruggles and scooted to the far side of the banquette.
“I’d advise you,” said Ruggles, “not to show your faces in this part of town again. My master doesn’t approve of gents who threaten ladies. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”
The reference to ladies brought Campbell out of his stupor. “She’s not a lady,” he said savagely. “She’s a whore, that’s what—”
Ruggles’s fist connected with Campbell’s jaw and the Scotsman said no more. When they’d tossed the unconscious man into the coach and shut the door, Ruggles told the hackney driver to get the hell out of there. This he did with alacrity.
Lord Francis Reeve was wishing that he was anywhere but here in Cook’s Hotel, with a man who seemed to be suffering from a case of dementia. He had wracked his brains for some compelling reason he could offer Campbell so that he could make his escape, but he was afraid of adding to the younger man’s fury, so he said nothing.