Once an Innocent (26 page)

Suddenly, her arms were around his neck. She shook in his arms, trembling with something that was half laughter, half tears. “I will,” she said against his throat. “Yes, Jordan, I will.”

Relief swamped him. He took her face and kissed her soundly. The beatific smile she graced him with provoked one of his own. “You look mightily pleased for a woman who didn’t want to marry.”

She giggled as she collected her bonnet and pelisse, preparing to head back outside.

He followed her out and took her wet things to carry for her. His other hand took hers. Their fingers twined together easily. A natural fit.

Naomi leaned her head against his arm as they strolled back through the forest. Jordan kissed the damp crown of her head. Now that everything was settled, he felt enormously pleased. Maybe even happy. He found himself thinking forward to a life with Naomi. She would make Lintern Abbey a home he’d happily return to after his Foreign Office assignments.

“Jordan?” she ventured.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know why you thought I didn’t want to marry. The truth is, I want a home and family of my own more than anything.”

The confession startled him. Had he been so very wrong? “But that night in the library. Wayland Hayward. You seemed angry with me for disrupting. When I thought about it later, I realized it must have been an assignation. That you wanted him for a lover.” The thought of that fool having Naomi in the way Jordan just had made him ill. Now that he’d claimed her for his own, he most assuredly could not send her on her way to a life of discreet affairs with other men.

She lifted her head and met his gaze with a horrified expression. “You believed that of me? That I could share myself with someone in that way without the surety of marriage?”

Jordan pulled her to a stop. “Did you want to marry Mr. Hayward? You said to me that you wished I hadn’t interrupted.” God, they’d been talking at cross purposes for weeks. Had he botched things up worse than he already knew he had?

Vivid red spots bloomed on her cheeks and her hands wrung together at her waist. “I didn’t particularly want to marry him, no. But I knew he felt favorably inclined, and I thought he might be the only option remaining.”

Now he was getting angry. For two years, he’d heard all the moaning and groaning from men whose hopes she’d dashed. And he’d silently toasted her every time, admiring her for leading them all a merry chase. “How could you think such a thing? Don’t you know you could have had anyone you wanted — anyone at all?”

Her pretty eyes welled.
“Snow Angel,”
she said miserably. “They all think me cold and arrogant. No one wants me. Not even my family!”

Jordan wiped her tears with a thumb. “That moniker is the result of bruised egos, pet. Believe me, if you’d picked any one of those dolts, he would have crowed his good fortune to his dying day. And you are your family’s very treasure. Your brothers, Lady Janine, your sister-in-law … They all adore you. Your mother, too, I’m sure, in her own, twisted way.”

The mention of the officious Caro Lockwood brought a wry twist to Naomi’s lips. Then she sighed and resumed their walk. She made a sorry figure, with her head drooped and her heavy skirts trailing over muddy terrain. “Whatever my family felt before is a thing of the past. Marshall and Isabelle don’t want me in their home any longer, now they’re starting a family. They said so when they sent me away.”

“Sent you a — Oh, blast.” He hadn’t thought.
Why
hadn’t he thought? He hadn’t thought beyond securing Naomi and Lady Janine’s presence for his faux house party. Not once had he wondered what Marshall had to do to convince Naomi to leave her family. Just as he’d made Kate feel unwelcome in his bid to keep her safe, Marshall must have done the same to drive Naomi from the nest. Jordan cursed himself for a heartless cad and vowed to make it up to her.

A distant rumble reminded Jordan of the touchy weather. He put a hand on the small of his fiancée’s back to nudge her into a quicker pace.

The rumbling sound did not let up. It grew louder until a horse burst over the rise from the direction of the stables. Two more followed close behind.

He recognized Ditman on the lead horse. The trio pulled to a stop. Fitzhugh Ditman’s eyes darted between Jordan and Naomi. “You’re needed at once, Freese. Urgently.”

The hairs on the back of Jordan’s neck stood on end. What had happened? “Of course. But first, I must escort Lady Naomi to the house.”

Ditman snorted in obvious annoyance and slid from the saddle. “I’ll go,” he rasped. “Take my mount.”

Naomi’s eyes widened in alarm. She shook her head. “Jordan, please don’t.”

“I must go.” He returned her wet articles. “Go take a warm bath. I’ll see you soon.”

She shied away from Ditman’s offered hand. “Please,” she whispered in a panicked whisper, “not him.”

Jordan didn’t have time for feminine hysterics. “You’re made of sterner stuff, my dear.” A brush of his lips at her temple was all the comfort he could offer just now. He swung up onto the horse. “Take care of the ladies, Naomi. I’m relying on you.”

A true clap of thunder seemed to startle her out of her horror. She nodded stiffly as he wheeled his mount and ordered his men to a gallop.

An insistent tug on her elbow drew Naomi’s anguished gaze away from the swiftly retreating forms of Jordan and the other men.

“Come along, Lady Naomi,” said the harsh voice. “There’s no time for dallying.”

She removed her arm from Mr. Ditman’s hand.

His ruined face held no warmth. Every harsh line suggested potential cruelty. His eyes gleamed meanly like two little coals smoldering in deep sockets. Mud spatters on his boots and great coat bore witness to the wild ride that had brought him here.

There was something dark and barely contained about this man. Naomi could not like him, not after he’d tried to press his escort on Kate. What reason a grown man might have for attempting to get a young girl alone, Naomi didn’t care to dwell upon.

Without a word, she started to the house. They weren’t far now, maybe a quarter of a mile. She wouldn’t have to suffer the loathsome man’s presence for long.

Before she’d taken five steps, his hands were yet again upon her person. “This way,” he said, veering her to the northeast, away from the house, toward the ha-ha separating the park from a grazing pasture.

“Let me be,” she protested when she saw he meant to force her into the ravine.

A snarl erupted from his twisted lips. “I got no time for brainless chits. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as I say.” He snatched her bonnet and pelisse from her hands and threw them into the ditch. “Down. Now.”

She clambered down the steep side, struggling to find purchase on the slick grass. The tiny dot pattern of her dress was quite obliterated by green-and-brown stains. She spared a rueful thought for Brenna, who would despair of ever getting the frock clean.

Mr. Ditman offered her no assistance. His eyes roved their surroundings until she’d made it to the bottom. Then he leaned forward and stepped onto the slope, easily sliding down upright, with one hand trailing behind for balance. In a few seconds, he was once again towing her behind him.

Cold rainwater had collected in the bottom of the ha-ha. In short order, Naomi’s shoes and stockings were saturated, to say nothing of the water weight dragging down her skirts and petticoat. Getting caught in the rain with Jordan had left her soggy. This was an entirely different, unpleasant experience.

Her toe caught, sending her reeling. She only just retained her footing. “Please slow down,” she gasped.

Astonishingly, the forbidding man paused to allow her to catch her breath.

Naomi’s lungs heaved air in and out. She turned her face up to the sky, eyes closed, welcoming the cold drizzle on her flushed skin.

“Have you seen a French lad about the place?” Mr. Ditman asked.

For the space of two beats, Naomi’s heart stopped. What did he want with Enrique? If Jordan hadn’t seen fit to reveal the boy’s presence to Mr. Ditman, she certainly wasn’t about to — especially after the way he’d frightened Kate.

Struggling to maintain a calm visage, she met his impassive gaze with one of her own. “No, Mr. Ditman, I have not.” She arched a brow. “Do we expect such an addition to our party?”

A muscle just beneath his right eye twitched, making the top end of his scar jump. He turned in a swirl of wet, black wool, flinging even more droplets onto Naomi. As he slogged through the muck, his voice rolled back to her like rough stone tumbling downhill. “You stick your nose where it don’t belong, and it’s likely to get bit off. Freese isn’t the only one watching you, and you ain’t the only one poking about.”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, miserable conditions shook down her spine. Apprehension for Enrique’s safety prompted her to push herself faster.

The next few minutes passed with no words between them. Naomi kept a wary eye on the taut line of her escort’s shoulders. He stopped and raised a hand to halt her. Ditman’s head tilted. Naomi held her breath, wondering what he was listening for.

She supposed he must have been satisfied, for he grunted and climbed the ravine. At the top, he poked his head up to make a visual inspection, then motioned for Naomi to follow. As before, he left her to her own devices.

“I’ll scramble right up,” she muttered as she fought against her clothes and nature to reach the crest. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” She saw they stood about fifty yards from the corner of the house.

Ditman crouched, the skirt of his great coat billowed around his bent legs. “Go,” he rasped, waving her forward. “I’ll cover your approach.”

For a second, Naomi was paralyzed. The manicured park was no longer a luxurious expanse of lawn but exposed ground. A prickling between her shoulder blades made her wonder what hidden eyes were watching.

She hauled up her ruined skirts and ran. Her pumping legs burned from trudging and climbing and — God forgive her — from her intimate exercise with Jordan. A sob caught in her throat. Then she was at the door, pounding. “Let me in,” she cried, her voice almost as hoarse as Mr. Ditman’s.

A footman opened the door. His cross expression turned to shock as he took in her bedraggled appearance. “My lady!”

She shoved past the servant and ran to the stairs, determined to check on Enrique. If Ditman was curious about him, then the boy must be in danger. Of this she was certain. Water streamed from her as she climbed. She was creating so much work for the maids, but she couldn’t spare them more than the briefest regret.

Three flights later, Naomi was gasping like a fish on dry land. Her legs trembled, threatening to collapse. She gritted her teeth. The door to Enrique’s apartments was slightly ajar. Her shoulder hit the door, flinging it open. “Enrique!” she called.

Silence answered her.

• • •

The only sound was her own harsh breathing as Naomi turned in a circle. The room looked just as it should, not a stick of furniture out of place. Something felt off, though.

She crossed the room and opened the door to a short corridor lined with several doors. The first door she opened revealed a bedroom fit for a lord. The next door was narrow and locked. Closet, she surmised. Her anxiety mounting with every step she took, Naomi finally reached for the last door. She turned the knob and flung it open.

It was a schoolroom. Enrique and his tutor sat at a table covered with papers, holding a heated conversation in French.

At her entry, their faces turned as one. Enrique sprang to his feet. “My dear Lady Naomi!” he said. He hooked his hair behind an ear and smoothed a hand down his waistcoat. His smile seemed tight, forced.

Behind him, Bertrand, his tutor, hastily swept the papers together in a pile.

After a quick bow, Enrique touched her elbow and gestured with his other hand to the door.
“Quelle suprise!
Come, let us adjourn to the sitting room. Shall I ring for tea?”

Did he not see the puddle collecting at their feet? “No, thank you,” she answered. She resisted his gentle nudge and looked past him to where the tutor was now clearing the papers off the table altogether. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

His laugh was as tight and false as his smile. “But of course! Why should I not be? Although, Bertrand and I were just discussing the finer points of Saint Thomas Aquinas.
Mon dieu
, the man was a bore. Per’aps I was in danger of expiring of tedium.”

“Well, all right, then,” she said dubiously. “By the way, Enrique, have you met Lord Freese’s friend, Mr. Ditman?”

“I have not ’ad the pleasure,” the boy replied.

“If you do encounter him, be careful.”

Enrique nodded once, his cheeks pushed out in a quizzical expression. He escorted Naomi to the door of his apartments and bid her a cheerful
au revoir
.

As she trudged to her own room for a bath and change of clothes, Naomi’s anxiety refused to relent. She had seen Enrique with her own eyes, hale and whole. Why did she still fear for him?

Soaking in the tub a short while later, she wondered if her focus on Enrique’s safety wasn’t just a way of getting her mind off of Jordan. After all, her new fiancé — she still couldn’t believe they were actually engaged! — had ridden off hell-for-leather into what was almost certainly a dangerous situation.

She tried to think about what had happened between them. She had given her virginity to, and accepted a marriage proposal from, a man who thought she was only interested in tawdry liaisons.
Given
might be a bit generous, she allowed. She’d more chucked her virginity at him than anything so refined as
given
.

Their lovemaking had been unlike anything Naomi’s furtive reading had prepared her for. They had been inside a tree, for pity’s sake! And she’d been atop him, riding him like a stallion on the hunt. She hadn’t expected it to feel so earthy. There had been no romance, no gentle words. Only desperate, searing need.

And yet, her heart had been fully invested in the act. The love she’d harbored for Jordan all these years had made it possible. He was the only man who had ever interested her on this primal level. Even though he had some misguided ideas about her morals, Naomi couldn’t regret what had happened or the result.