Historical Romance Boxed Set (82 page)

“Is a visit to my sickbed too much to ask?” he asked with a scowl.

Jeannette didn’t answer. She couldn’t sit primly beside him and pretend she didn’t care about him.

The stubble on his chin gave him a more rugged appearance than usual. He rubbed it with one hand, his face growing thoughtful when she remained silent. “What will you do once you reach London?”

“Apply to my father’s cousin, Lord Darby.”

“And if he won’t help you?”

Treynor had just voiced her secret fear, but Jeannette tried to sound confident when she replied. “He will.”

“Will your parents support you in this?”

“
Oui
.”

“So you will receive an annulment and then what?”

“Remarry, of course. I can hardly support my family by becoming a nun or a governess, although such a life has its appeal.”

Anger darkened Treynor’s face. “And what if your new husband is as old and twisted as the baron? What will you think when a man like that takes you to his bed?”

Of a broad chest covered with golden hair that swirls into a single line as it lowers to his navel and beyond
… Her mouth suddenly dry, Jeannette closed her eyes. “That I did my duty.”

“To your family perhaps.” He studied her carefully. “What if I help you? Set you up in London? Provide for you and your family’s needs? I will probably receive more than two thousand pounds in prize money for this ship. I know it is not a lot to someone who has lived the kind of life you have, but if we are careful it could last for several years.”

Set her up in London? But he had said nothing of marriage. Was he asking her to be his mistress? “In exchange for what?” she asked evenly, almost afraid to hear his answer.

“At this juncture, I don’t know, but …we will see where it leads.”

Her heart constricted with pain. “You know where it will lead. I suppose you expect me to thank you for that kind offer. But I will not disgrace myself or my family by being your whore or anyone else’s. Who knows? Perhaps after the annulment, my parents and I will find a man who can love me. Is that so difficult to believe?”

His nostrils flared as a pained expression crossed his face, an expression that told Jeannette he wasn’t as indifferent as he’d like her to believe. “Not so difficult, no.”

Then why is it too much to ask that you love me?

The lookout gave a shout from high in the rigging. England was upon them.

Jeannette bit her lip to keep from crying and turned away. The battle between her and St. Ives was waiting to be fought. Even if she freed herself from the baron’s grasp, there would be another loveless marriage behind the first. For all her brave words about marrying another, she had little hope of finding happiness with any one of the motley group of nobles who had shown interest in her before.

But Treynor didn’t love her. He desired her, yes, even cared about her. She saw it in his eyes. But he didn’t feel as strongly for her as she did him. If he had asked her, she would have married him without a second thought.

They stood together and watched the green jewel that was England grow larger and larger. Eventually, the
Superbe
entered the mouth of the Thames. Then Treynor spoke.

“I will see you safely to your parents when we disembark.”

“There is no need. I can make my own way.”

“No.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Treynor’s jaw tighten. “You will allow me that much.”

Chapter 21

As soon as they reached solid ground, Treynor took firm hold of Jeannette’s elbow. He did not look back at the
Superbe
—the ship was now one among many in a forest of masts, her sails furled. The wharves near the Tower were a hive of activity. Dockmen and sailors mingled with officials and prostitutes, both looking to do business.

News of the
Superbe
had arrived well before they did and a group had gathered to raise a cheer for her capture. But Treynor barely acknowledged their excitement. He had other things on his mind—like the saucy little lady who stalked down the street at his side.

“We will get you out of those sailor’s clothes and back into a dress first thing,” he said as they dodged this way and that to avoid all the foot traffic and carts.

“But where will we get a dress?” she asked. “To have one made would take days.”

“I know a shop that sells used clothing.” He glanced at her attire as he hoisted the bag with his kit higher on his shoulder.

She wrinkled her nose. “Used clothing?”

“Don’t worry. The proprietor is a good friend. I am sure she has something that once belonged to a lady, kept clean and in good repair. There is a market for such things.”

Jeannette frowned but followed his lead, her boot heels clacking above the various noises floating around them.

“Afterward, we will get a room at an inn so we can bathe and have some supper,” he continued.

“And then?”

“We will get a good night’s sleep.”

Jeannette looked at him for the first time, wariness in her eyes.

“In separate rooms, if you like,” he added.

“And tomorrow?” she pressed.

“Tomorrow I will hire a carriage and take you to your cousin’s house so you can be reunited with your family.”

“Certainly you have better things to do with your time, Lieutenant. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t think you realize how dangerous the city can be.”

“I am not that innocent.”

Treynor didn’t say anything. He couldn’t explain how important it was to him that she be kept safe.

Jeannette glanced around as though she expected the baron, or the baron’s solicitor, to reach out and grab her. Lowering her eyes to the dirty street, she picked up her pace. “What will happen to the
Superbe?
”

“Most likely the government will have her repaired and re-outfitted. Then she will receive a new name and head back out to sea, this time carrying an English crew.”

“Will you be among them?”

They passed Tower Hill and headed toward Aldgate. “I cannot say at this point. If I am lucky, I will be promoted to first lieutenant or possibly post-captain. There is even the remote possibility of a knighthood.” He shrugged. “It has happened to others. In any case, I will receive a significant share of the prize money derived from the
Superbe
.”

“Wonderful. You must be very pleased.”

Treynor ignored the sarcasm in her voice. Why, now that he had achieved all he had hoped for, did he feel emptier than before? He knew his lack of enthusiasm had much to do with the woman walking beside him, but he told himself she deserved more than a bastard.

If she went back to her family, her life would follow the course it was meant to follow.

Their time together was nearly over.

* * *

St. Ives heard the knocker clang against the brass plate on the front door from his study, where he was going over the household accounts. It was too late for visitors. But when the sound came again, louder and more insistent, he removed his spectacles and waited, wondering how long Harripen would take to rouse himself and answer the door.

Too long, he decided when the knocker sounded again. Getting up, he hobbled to the gold-tasseled bellpull on the wall by his desk and gave it a yank, hoping to wake him. The butler slept in a room at the back of the house so he could guard the plate and silver—theft of such items was far more common in the city—but Harripen was older than St. Ives, and the baron feared the man was losing his hearing.

Outside, whoever waited gave up on the knocker and began to bang on the door itself.

“Lord St. Ives! Lord St. Ives! I bear a message for Lord St. Ives!”

“Damn Harripen.” Percy winced at the pain his gout caused him as he grabbed his cane, took the candle that burned on his desk, and made his way down the stairs. It was possible that the messenger had brought word of his missing bride.

Percy cracked open the door, then felt a moment’s trepidation at his own impulsiveness. It was late, and he carried no weapon. He could be opening his home to a band of thieves or murderers. But the deed was done. The wind whooshed into the house, tearing the door out of his grasp. It slammed against the interior wall, startling both him and the young man waiting on the other side.

Bundled up in a thick coat and long scarf, with a hat pulled low over his brow, a lad of about sixteen blinked at him in surprise. “I bear a message for the baron,” he announced before Percy could gather his wits enough to speak.

“From whom?”

“I must deliver it to Lord St. Ives himself.”

“I
am
Lord St. Ives, you little fool,” Percy snapped, irritated that Harripen had left him to do the job of a common servant. What good was a butler if he had to answer his own door during the most dangerous hours of the night?

Obviously doubtful, the messenger paused as though measuring the richness of St. Ives’s robe against the small, balding man inside it. “My apologies, milord,” he said at last.

Without his wig, St. Ives felt as old and shriveled as he knew he must look, which only made him angrier. “Well? Out with it!”

“Your solicitor bid me tell you to come to the King’s Arms in Aldgate—immediately. And bring some men with you. He has found your wife.”

Percy’s irritation evaporated. “Indeed! Then tell Mr. Moore I am coming.”

The boy hesitated, waiting for a stipend.

“I am in my damned robe. I haven’t got a half-penny,” he snapped and slammed the door.

“Milord? What is the matter?” The crash of the door had roused Harripen. The butler shuffled forward, holding a candelabra with one shaking hand while squinting against its light.

If his night visitor had been bent on murder or mayhem, the venerable butler was hardly able to defend him. Harripen carried a pistol, but he seemed more intent on shielding the flame of his candle with it than in protecting anyone.

“Nothing now,” he replied. “But you can rouse Price and tell him to bring the carriage round. I am going to Aldgate.”

“At this hour, sir?”

“Indeed. My lady will not escape me again.”

“Lady St. Ives has been found, milord?”

“She has.” Feeling more energetic than he had in years, he made his way up the stairs to dress.

“I do hope she is unhurt, milord,” Harripen called after him.

St. Ives paused. “Yes, so do I.”

The butler shuffled back toward the kitchen as, satisfied at last, St. Ives hurried up to his room. He would have his head footman hire some muscle off the docks, which was what he guessed Moore meant by men.

His lovely young wife would be home by morning.

* * *

Jeannette paced before the fire in her room at the King’s Arms, unable to sleep. Finally full and clean and wearing some decent clothes, she told herself she should be in high spirits. But dinner had been miserable. The atmosphere between her and Treynor had been tense, and when it had come time to retire, he had brushed a quick kiss across her brow and left as though relieved to be away.

With a sigh, she made another pass. She wanted nothing more than to see her family again. And yet …she dreaded the moment she would have to part ways with Treynor and face St. Ives.

Perhaps in her absence the baron had decided he didn’t want a wife who would fly from his home….

It was tempting to hope, but Jeannette suspected St. Ives would not let her out of the marriage so easily. A man who would resort to such extreme measures to acquire an heir wouldn’t give up simply because he met with resistance.

Jeannette heard Treynor’s movements in the room next door and realized he wasn’t sleeping either. She longed to go to him, to seek the comfort and reassurance she lacked.

Perhaps she had been foolish to deny them the pleasure of being in each other’s arms.

Ignoring her better judgment, she padded out into the hall and knocked softly at his door.

“Treynor?” she murmured through the panel. “Are you asleep?”

“Hardly.” The door opened immediately. He wore breeches but nothing else. “Is something wrong?”

Jeannette was almost too afraid to go through with the plan taking shape in the back of her mind. She simply stared into his face, her heart thudding until he pulled her inside, shut the door, and gathered her in his arms.

“Are you frightened, dearest?” he breathed into her hair.

She hated to admit that fear had driven her to his door. She wasn’t sure, exactly, what she felt. “I just want to talk,” she lied.

“I think you mean to drive me mad.”

Jeannette pulled away and moved to gaze out at the moonlit snow, which had nearly melted away. The rain had come and gone all evening, creating a muddy mess.

“What is it, Jeannette?” Treynor came to stand behind her as if ready, should she give him any kind of sign, to take her back into his arms.

She glanced at the bed, then closed her eyes. “All right.”

He turned her to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“Tomorrow I must return to my parents, but tonight is ours.”