In the Garden of Disgrace (9 page)

Dawn was fast arriving, and Jillian glanced
up at that moment to see the earl staring at her with a quizzical
expression.

“Have you caught anything, my lord?” she
asked loftily. “You’re welcome to share my hat if you like.”

He chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’ll need my
help baiting your hook. I gather all those years I spent becoming
proficient at chivalry are wasted on a self-sufficient female like
you.

Jillian did not bother to answer him. She
stood from her kneeling position and dusted off her skirt then
moved to where the fishing poles lay on the ground. The earl
continued to watch her, she knew, but she pretended to be absorbed
by the process of putting a fat worm on her hook and tossing her
line in the stream. She sat on the grassy slope and prepared to
wait.

Lord Wickham followed her lead. Jillian
observed him surreptitiously from the edge of her eye as he baited
his own hook and, with spare efficiency, flung his line into the
water. The fluid movement reminded her of a night when he had flung
a knife into a man’s chest.

He sat next to her—too close, she
thought—and stretched his lean frame out on the embankment. He came
up on his elbow while holding his pole loosely in both hands.
Neither spoke, thus the only sound disturbing the silence was the
soft gurgle of the stream as it flowed languidly by them. Shortly
thereafter the rising sun brought the songs of the various forest
birds.

“Tell me,” the earl said at last, although
he continued to watch his line, “why is it so important to you to
ride your horse without a saddle?”

“I think it is the best way to enjoy
riding.”

“You are not bothered by the gossip?”

Jillian glared at him. “Gossip is the lowest
form of human exchange,” she said tightly. “I’ve endured much over
the years. At some point one cease to care.”

“But you seem to court the talk.”

“Are you questioning my motives?”

Lord Wickham shook his head. “No, I don’t
know you well enough. I will say, though, rebellion for rebellion’s
sake is not worthy of the pain you’ve suffered.”

She looked at him again, this time wondering
if perhaps he did understand. Suddenly Jillian wanted to
explain.

“I love to ride, my lord. Sometimes I take
Raven out in the middle of the night and we race for miles, just
the two of us.” Her voice had turned dreamy. “I can forget
everything but the wind in my hair and the earth flowing beneath
Raven’s hooves. Then and only then am I completely happy.”

She glanced at him sheepishly, realizing she
had said more than she had intended. The earl met her gaze, and she
saw the compassion in those clear blue eyes, eyes that radiated
warmth despite their cool appearance. She wanted to respond, but in
truth she didn’t know how.

“Do you think it unwise to ride alone in the
middle of the night?” he asked gently.

She knew he had chosen the words to ease her
embarrassment. The question was a goading one given her obvious
belligerence, so she could bite back at him now if she wanted to
with his tacit permission. However, Jillian decided she liked the
congenial conversation more.

“You tell me something,” she said.

“If I can.”

“Why did you take the hackney I was in that
night? I mean, wouldn’t it have been more expedient to use your own
conveyance?”

“It would seem that way,” he said.

“Then why?”

“It’s as I’ve maintained from the start.
What do you think the chances of the Earl of Wickham’s sporting
vehicle going unnoticed as it barreled toward Dover? In a hack we
were in less danger of attracting attention, perhaps better able to
evade anyone who might be following us. Actually, James was the one
who spotted your hackney. We thought it empty, rented by one of the
spectators. There were plenty of them there that night,” he said in
a dry voice.

“Makes sense,” she said.

“Thank you.” And then, his attitude turning
casual, “Since we’re in the mood to answer questions today, explain
to me how a young girl with the world at her feet would risk
everything she had to attend something as depraved as a duel.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

She paused, and he said, “Go on.”

“My friend Meredith suggested it—Meredith
Tisbury. She had heard Lord Wicked was to participate in another
duel.” She glanced at her companion and saw him wince. “Anyway, she
would not rest until I promised to sneak out with her so we could
witness the encounter. She said we should dress like servants to
hide our identities. She was forever doing things she oughtn’t but
somehow she never got caught. Phillip Angsley, my cousin, came
along when he heard what we were about because he wanted to keep us
from harm. Phillip has always felt bad about how things turned out,
but to his credit he did try to stop us.”

“So it was Miss Tisbury’s idea and you paid
the price. Her part in the escapade was never discovered?”

“No,” she said dully, but quickly added,
“not that I wanted her to be, you understand.”

“Naturally. Why do I get the impression
there is more to the story?”

Jillian considered not telling him but what
did it matter anyway? He would find out the truth, and if she held
back he would think she cared.

“Meredith married Lionel Hemsley.”

Lord Wickham gave her a puzzled look as
though he did not understand, but then his expression changed and
she knew he had made the connection. His gaze filled with pity.

“You’re too good for Edgeworth. It’s just as
well,” he said.

The last thing Jillian wanted was his
sympathy and she began to feel prickly again.

“What would you know about it?” she
asked.

“I was acquainted with Edgeworth. He was not
well liked even among his male contemporaries. When a man is not
respected by other men I guarantee the ladies should take heed. I’m
not surprised he cried off. I always thought him a coward.”

Perversely, Jillian felt the need to defend
her former fiance. “What would you have had him do, my lord? I was
ruined. He would have been pulled into the scandal by association.
He had his future to think of and that of his progeny.”

“Be that as it may I cannot like his
reaction to your predicament.”

“How would you have dealt with the
situation?” She hoped she did not look as vulnerable as she
suddenly felt.

“I’d like to think I would have done the
noble thing, especially if I cared for you and believed you
innocent of all but bad judgment. Talk eventually dies down, but
his response left you stranded with few options. If he had stood by
you much of the gossip would have been diffused.”

Jillian trusted the earl’s sincerity. The
noble thing was to marry her, and he intended to do that very thing
himself whether he liked the idea or not. She remembered the ache
Lionel’s rejection had caused her and how much suffering she could
have avoided had he championed her when it counted most. But it was
dangerous to give Lord Wickham any latitude so, memories aside, she
refused to acknowledge the pleasure his declaration gave her.

“Society makes the rules,” she said. “I
broke one and I paid the price. I do not like people who whine, and
I will not feel sorry for myself.”

“Commendable attitude…and practical.”

They fell quiet after that but the silence
was a companionable one, and Jillian could almost believe she was
enjoying herself. A delicious languor crept over her and, though
continuing to sit upright, she allowed her eyes to drift shut.

“
Whoa!”
the earl shouted.

Jillian’s lids fluttered open and for a
moment she was dazzled by the brightness of the morning sun. She
had been closer to sleep than she thought. She blinked several
times to clear her vision.

“I think I’ve hooked a fish!” he said. “By
the feel it’s a large one.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, instantly feeling the
excitement. “Oh, he’s giving you quite a tussle, isn’t he?”

For several moments the earl struggled with
his catch, and all at once the fish broke the surface of the
water.

“It’s a brown trout, my lord! And you’re
right, it’s a nice-sized one. I usually catch perch and they’re
never that big.” She jumped up from the bank, forgetting her own
pole in her enthusiasm. “Let me help.”

“Be careful,” she heard him say. “I really
think you should let me—”

He did not have time to finish his warning,
for Jillian had moved to the edge of the shore and was trying to
grab hold of his line in effort to help land the struggling trout.
As she leaned forward she stepped into the stream. The leather on
the bottom of her boots slid across the smooth rocks in the
shallows, and she lost her balance, toppling head first into the
water.

Fortunately, the stream was not deep except
in the middle. She came out of the waist-high water, coughing as
she sought her feet. Lord Wickham was gaping at her dumbstruck, his
fish apparently forgotten.

“Don’t lose him, don’t lose him!” Jillian
yelled. “I’m all right.

The earl looked thoroughly nonplused but he
did as she said and hauled his catch onto the bank. The poor fish
lay on the ground, flopping this way and that as it gasped its last
breath. They stared at the trout then at each other, and much to
her chagrin he began to laugh.

“It occurs to me,” he said, “it isn’t
necessary to swim with the fish in order to catch them.”

Jillian clamped her lips together. “I only
wanted to help.”

“Perhaps we should decide on what kind of
help is needed,” he said, chuckling. “Now come on, grab hold.”

He leaned forward over the water much as she
had done and extended his hand to her. Jillian did not know what
devilish impulse possessed her then, but she was tired of the earl
making fun at her expense. She moved forward, the water tugging at
her skirts as she reached for him. He must have realized her intent
at the last moment, for his eyes widened in sudden understanding
when she took his hand. She fell backwards, pulling him into the
stream beside her.

“You wretch!” Lord Wickham spluttered,
rising to his feet. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“I thought we should be on equal footing.
It’s rather difficult to make fun of me when you are also wet.”

“Is that so?” he asked, an ominous light
igniting his gaze.

He grabbed for her. Jillian managed to evade
him but only just, her sodden skirts an impediment to free
movement. She traveled the few feet to the shore, struggling
against the weight of her clothing and the current, laughing
breathlessly.

The earl tackled her as she reached the
embankment. They both hit the ground and rolled together back
toward the water, picking up mud and grass as they went. She lay
there, stunned.

“Jillian, are you all right?”

On her abdomen, she faced away from him. He
took her by the shoulders, forcing her onto her back as he loomed
over her.

“That’s Lady Jillian to you.” She giggled up
at him, an undignified sound but she couldn’t help herself.

“Why you little hellion, I ought to…”

He trailed off as something changed in his
eyes. His gaze deepened, searching her features. Jillian felt her
smile drift away. Her stomach dropped—an odd sensation since she
was prone—for the look on his face had grown dark and hungry. He
took her in his arms.

He meant to kiss her and she meant to fight
him. At least, that’s what she believed. Strange how her good
intentions could be waylaid by a yearning she did not even know she
had. Until that moment she would have sworn her emotions could not
be aroused, that the pain of years gone by had robbed her of her
passion. Perhaps she was right, but then what was the beguiling
warmth that had begun in her belly and was now slipping unchecked
through her limbs?

He lowered his head and his eyelids drooped.
Water droplets glistened on his lashes and as she watched, his lips
parted. The earl’s full mouth wet and hot touched hers, and Jillian
felt her insides contract.

He held still for a moment as though
savoring the feel of her then slid smooth, sensitive skin
tantalizingly back and forth, tasting her, allowing her to taste
him. She felt his tongue trace a line along the bottom of her lower
lip, wringing from her sweet, sweet desire. She reached up and
curled a fist in the satiny dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Lord Wickham drew back, and Jillian was
overcome with disappointment. She did not want him to stop and she
suspected he knew it, for the hint of a gratified smile eased his
mouth as he looked down at her. However, he made no effort to mask
the craving that still gripped him.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered. She
had to force the question over a tongue nearly frozen with
shock.

“Why did I do what? Why did I kiss you or
why did I stop?” he asked, the words thick with passion.

“You know what I mean,” she said, beginning
to struggle from his grasp.

The earl’s grip tightened. “I suspect you
will think me odd but I like a woman with mud on her face. Strange
impulse, I admit, but there it is.”

To prove his point, he raised an index
finger to her cheek and gently removed the mud she had apparently
picked up when she rolled down the embankment.

“You ought to see your own face, my lord,”
she said, trying for but not quite attaining anger.

“I can see my face,” Lord Wickham’s voice
dropped seductively, “reflected in the most beautiful pair of brown
eyes I have ever seen.” He looked as if he might kiss her once
more.

Jillian had had enough. If he began his
assault on her senses again, she felt certain she would melt on the
spot. The last thing she wanted was to give him that
satisfaction.

“Let me up,” she said coldly. “I think we’ve
indulged in enough foolishness for one day.”