Promise of Pleasure (14 page)

“You will not proceed!” Sunderland shouted. “I will not allow it!”

Jordan was about to reply when the parlor door opened, and Mary peeked in.

“What on earth is going on in here?” she asked, frowning. On seeing Jordan, her eyes widened with surprise. “Lord Redvers, are you all right?”

Jordan never fretted over other people’s opinions, but having Mary walk into the middle of the dreadful scene was extremely disconcerting. He was ashamed to have her view the true picture of his life.

He flushed with chagrin.

“I’m fine, Miss Barnes. I appreciate your checking.”

“Who the hell is she?” Sunderland snapped.

“May I present Miss Mary Barnes,” Jordan said, “the late Mr. Barnes’s oldest daughter.”

Sunderland was too furious to mind his manners. “Haven’t you the good sense to stay out? We’re having an important discussion. Be gone, you little tart.”

At the insult, Jordan advanced on Sunderland, for the first time ever ready to knock him to the ground. He reached back to throw a punch, when Mary softly begged, “Jordan! Don’t do it.”

He hesitated, then dropped his hand. Despite how desperately he wanted to land a blow, he couldn’t continue when Mary had asked him to stop.

Jordan glanced at her, torn by her pleading look, and Sunderland couldn’t help but notice their heightened regard.

“What’s this?” Sunderland snickered. “She calls you
Jordan?
Are you courting one while sniffing after the other? Even
you
couldn’t be that reprehensible.”

“Shut up,” Jordan warned.

Mary was undeterred by the slur against her character, and she marched over until she and Sunderland were toe to toe. She appeared regal and tough, and Sunderland was unnerved by her bravado. Some of his bluster waned.

“I don’t know who you are,” she stated quietly, but imperiously, “and I don’t like you, so I won’t be civil. Lord Redvers is Mrs. Barnes’s special guest. How dare you come into her home and abuse him!”

“I’ll speak to him any way I please,” Sunderland declared.

“No, you won’t. Not here, and not while I’m listening. Get out, or I’ll summon the footmen and have you tossed out on the lawn.”

Sunderland bristled, but didn’t move.

“Go,” Jordan urged. “I’m sick of your tirade.”

“You haven’t heard the last of me,” Sunderland threatened.

“Unfortunately, I’m sure that’s true.”

“I’ll be back with ... with lawyers! I won’t let you get away with this.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Jordan said. “And me. Go away.”

With a growl of frustration, Sunderland stomped out, and Mary went over and closed the parlor door. Silence descended, and Jordan began to shake, overly affected by the encounter.

“Who was that?” Mary asked.

“My father.”

“You poor man. Why is he so angry?”

“He’s always in a snit about something.”

“But what brought him here today?”

“He doesn’t want me to marry Felicity. He thinks it’s a mistake.”

Mary chuckled. “He’s correct. It is a mistake.”

Jordan snorted and walked to the window, watching as Sunderland’s driver readied the coach, as the outriders prepared to depart. With great fanfare, the vehicle rattled away, the bells on the horses’ manes jingling as they trotted off.

Mary came up and laid her hand on the small of his back, touching him tentatively, uncertain as to how they should act outside the confines of her bedchamber. Then, as quickly as the fleeting caress was started, she ended it and stepped away.

“Has he always been so horrid to you?” she inquired.

“Yes, always.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m used to it.”

He was mortified that Mary had observed their argument, that she’d felt compelled to take his side. No one had ever stood up for him before, and he was deeply moved by her remarks on his behalf.

His little champion was a dynamo, and he was fighting the strongest impulse to pull her into a tight hug, to tell her what his childhood had been like. He yearned to relate every terrible, unfair thing that had ever transpired, and he was afraid to speak for fear of the painful stories that would tumble out.

Behind them, the door opened again, and Victoria entered.

“Is your father gone?” She pretended to be unapprised of his whereabouts, when there couldn’t have been a person in the manor who wasn’t aware of his exit.

“Yes, he had an appointment in London. He had to get home.”

“Did you have a chance to ask him about the ceremony? Will he attend?”

“You oughtn’t to plan on it.”

He could feel Mary’s intent, unwavering gaze.

At Victoria’s mentioning the wedding in front of her, he was flustered, and he hated to be so conflicted.

Victoria noticed Mary standing with him, and she demanded, “Mary, why are you in here?”

“I ... I ... happened along as Lord Sunderland was saying good-bye. Lord Redvers introduced me.”

“You pestered the earl?” Victoria seethed. “How could you? Where are your manners?”

“No, I—”

“Leave her be, Victoria,” Jordan scolded. “Just leave her be.”

He stormed out, the stares of both women cutting into his back.

“THE dress looks blue,” Felicity gushed, “but it’s actually more of a silver color. There are rows and rows of lace, and the prettiest bows along the hem and it ...”

Her voice trailed off as she and Jordan turned the corner in the garden and vanished from sight.

They were ambling arm in arm, in another of Victoria’s attempts for them to get acquainted. At listening to Felicity prattle on, Jordan appeared so pained that he might have been sitting in the barber’s chair and about to have a tooth pulled.

Mary lurked on the terrace, and she knew she should go inside, but she couldn’t tear herself away. If she’d believed in Mr. DuBois’s concoctions, she’d have demanded one to make her blind so she couldn’t see what Jordan was doing.

He’d traveled to the estate for the express purpose of proposing to Felicity, and he’d never given any indication that he planned to do anything else, yet she was bonding with him in dangerous and risky ways.

How could he seduce Mary at night then flirt with Felicity the next morning? How could he flit from one sister to the other with nary a ripple in his conscience?

She was on a fool’s errand, with only heartbreak and misery coming down the road. Yet she wouldn’t change her path for all the gold in the world.

With great effort, she forced herself away and started toward the door, when she saw that Mrs. Bainbridge had been watching her watch Jordan. She was blocking Mary’s retreat into the house and smiling as if Mary were a humorous object.

Since the day they’d met, Mary had made it a point to stay away from her, and in light of Mary’s budding romance with Jordan, she was more determined than ever to avoid Mrs. Bainbridge.

Bainbridge was another piece of the puzzle Mary didn’t understand. Jordan fraternized with Mary
and
Bainbridge, but how could he? And when he’d proved himself to be such a libertine, why had Mary formed a connection with him?

Had she no pride? No sense?

“Well, well,” Bainbridge began as Mary approached, “if it isn’t the
other
Barnes sister.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

“You like hiding in the shadows, don’t you?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’re always around when you shouldn’t be. Why are you spying on Lord Redvers and Felicity? You were positively enthralled.”

“They’re a very handsome couple,” Mary said evenly.

“Yes, they are. It must be difficult for you to tarry in the background and silently observe as he woos Felicity.”

“Why would it be difficult?”

“Don’t you wish his roving eye would fall on you instead? Don’t you wish
you
could be the chosen sister for once?”

“Hardly,” Mary insisted. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a man like Lord Redvers.”

“I bet you could figure it out quickly enough. Most women do. He’s quite the rake.”

“Really? I’m rather sheltered here in the country. I wouldn’t have heard any gossip.”

Mary wasn’t sure what their conversation was actually about. Bainbridge seemed to be probing for information, or perhaps warning Mary away from Jordan—but why would she?

Mary and Jordan had been extremely discreet, and Mary spent so little time around the family that no one could have any suspicions of an affair. Then again, maybe it was Bainbridge’s habit to threaten any prospective rivals. With Jordan’s philandering so blatant, it had to be frustrating being his mistress.

If Mary hadn’t been so jealous, herself, she’d have felt sorry for Bainbridge.

“How about you, Mrs. Bainbridge?” Mary asked, eager to shift the scrutiny away from herself.

“What about me?”

“You like to brag about your special friendship with Lord Redvers. When he marries Felicity, won’t it be difficult for
you?”

“Felicity will never have any effect on my relationship with him.”

“You don’t mind if they wed?”

“Why would I? I encouraged the match.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

Mary’s thoughts raced as she struggled to find an explanation for the woman’s easy acceptance of the situation. Bainbridge and Redvers were wicked in a way that was beyond Mary’s comprehension, yet Mary wasn’t convinced that Jordan was truly the scoundrel he appeared on the surface.

She’d seen him during the quarrel with his father, had noted how distressed he was after Lord Sunderland stormed out. He’d been wounded by his father’s disdain.

Brutal forces had shaped him into the mocking, infuriating man he’d become. After such an upbringing and such a father, who wouldn’t be bitter? Who wouldn’t be cynical?

“I don’t understand you,” Mary murmured.

“What’s to understand?”

“I assumed that you and Lord Redvers were ... involved.”

“We are,” she answered without hesitation. “We have a business arrangement that works perfectly. I’m indispensable to his happiness, and we both know it. Why would his marriage to Felicity have a bearing on anything?”

“But he’ll be
married
to her.”

Bainbridge chuckled. “You’re so provincial, Miss Barnes.”

“I’m surprised you noticed,” Mary sarcastically replied.

“Despite what you suppose here in the country, matrimony has nothing to do with love or any of that folderol. This union is about money and naught else.”

“She’s a vicious, cruel girl,” Mary said very quietly, treading on dangerous ground. “If Lord Redvers is your friend, as you claim, why would you urge him to take such an awful step?”

“We are after her dowry, Miss Barnes. We don’t care about her.”

Bainbridge sauntered off, smirking, having emphasized the word
we
in both sentences, and Mary was more confused than ever about Jordan. Bainbridge made it sound as if she was more than a mistress—as if she was his wife, in fact.

Could it be?

Mary was crushed all over again, hurt by the notion that she was so unimportant to him. She’d never previously participated in an amour, so she hadn’t realized the swings of despair and joy that such an endeavor could produce.

She yearned to escape to her room, to be alone with her anguished ruminations, but Jordan and Felicity were headed toward the house, and Mary stood, watching their advance.

Felicity was so pretty, so fashionably turned out, her gloved hand clutching Jordan’s arm in a proprietary manner, and Mary’s old feelings of injustice rose to the fore.

She was so envious that she was ill with it, and she wanted to break something, to cry out in fury and pound her fists on the wall. Instead, she dawdled, visually daring Jordan to walk past without some type of acknowledgment.

“Hello, Miss Barnes,” he deigned to comment. “How are you this fine evening?”

“Lord Redvers.” Mary nodded but refused to curtsy.

“Why are you loitering out here?” Felicity snapped. “I’m about to dress for supper. I need my clothes laid out.”

Jordan glared at Felicity and asked, “Isn’t Miss Barnes your sister?”

“Only my half sister.”

“Then why should she prepare your clothes for you? Surely you have a maid who can see to the task?”

“Mary always does it. Mother assigned her the chore ages ago.”

“Well, she’s not helping you tonight,” he asserted, “and not again while I’m visiting.”

“Honestly, Lord Redvers”—Felicity stuck her pert nose up in the air—“I know you’re a guest, but I don’t believe that gives you license to countermand Mother’s orders.”

Mary had never been more embarrassed. It was bad enough to have him witness how she was treated, but it was worse to have his pity. He didn’t realize how Felicity would retaliate, how Mary would suffer long after he’d departed.