The Suspect's Daughter (26 page)

Still on foot, he passed the Fairley house on his way home. Against his will, he stopped across the street. Yellow lamplight shone out of the windows, casting light onto the darkened street. Jocelyn probably enjoyed a nice after-dinner chat with her father right now, or perhaps read aloud to him or played a game, all the while bestowing those easy smiles on him. Even Jackson was in closer proximity to Jocelyn than Grant. He envied the Runner.

Grant cursed. Fool! No female was worth mooning over. Not even her. Besides, she deserved a conventional man with a whole heart who wanted a warm hearth, a quiet home, a nursery full of children, and maybe a dog for good measure—not a dark, hard-hearted scoundrel who lived in the shadows, befriended women of ill-repute, and chased down thieves.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and strode home, firmly removing from his mind a genuine lady with soft eyes and softer lips and fiery kisses. Long ago he’d vowed never to make the colossal mistake of falling in love again. He’d given his heart freely and foolishly once; fate had stabbed him through the heart.

Every time Jocelyn went out or glanced outside a window, she half expected to find Grant. It was an unreasonable expectation, of course, since the only time he’d followed her was when he viewed her father as a suspect. Still, she expected to see him in the shadows. Or at her door with news that he’d discovered the conspirators. Or even with a request for help in his investigation. And in her wildest daydreams, he’d present himself to her in her parlor with a bouquet of flowers and an invitation to go with him somewhere so he could kiss her witless again.

Clearly, she was still witless.

An unbending man like Grant Amesbury pliable enough to declare himself? Not likely. Of course, she never expected him to kiss so passionately, either. Maybe he’d claim her and demand, just as forcefully, that she marry him.

His defensive words after their kiss returned to her…
nothing between us…
j
ust two lonely people sharing a kiss.

Nonsense. No other kiss she’d experienced came close to the intimate heat she’d shared with Grant. He cared for her. Desired her. But he denied it. He either didn’t trust her with his heart, no thanks to the horrible woman who betrayed him during the war, or he thought she existed too far out of his world to share it with him. Well, she would gladly go into the darkness to find him and bring him into the light. Or at least, twilight. Moonlight. Firelight.

Her lips tingled and desire curled inside her.

Good heavens, she was acting like a tart. First, she had to find a way to reach Grant and show him that they belonged together. Then she could explore these very adult longings he awoke in her.

“It’s your turn, princess.” Her father’s voice interrupted her musings.

Jocelyn blinked and refocused on the chess board in front of her. “Sorry,” she murmured. She searched the board for a possible move that wouldn’t leave one of her pieces vulnerable.

“Woolgathering?”

“I suppose.”

He leaned back and waited for her to move.

She captured one of his pawns with hers. When he made no move, she glanced up at him.

He studied her with fondness shining in his eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

She shrugged. “Oh, nothing much.”

He smiled gently. “Out with it. Is it perhaps that young man who rescued you from the fall?”

She focused her gaze on the chessboard as heat spread over her face and neck. “How did you know?”

“You looked pretty cozy each time I saw you with him—especially when he turned pages for you at the pianoforte.”

She pretended to study the chessboard without really seeing it. “Yes, I’m sure we did.”

She took one of his pawns with her knight, and he took her knight with his bishop. She winced; she should have anticipated that better.

As she contemplated her next move, he broke into her thoughts again. “Pray, what, exactly, do you feel for him? Do you see him as some kind of brave rescuer now?” He leaned back in his chair.

“It’s more than that. We’ve had some very telling conversations. He’s a good man. Did you know he fought in the war?”

“Yes, I know. I called in a few favors and made some inquiries about him when he first showed up here.”

“Oh.” Of course her father would be cautious with gentlemen who came into contact with her. When her first suitor turned out to be a fortune hunter, Papa had grown more cautious with other suitors.

“As to his service record,” Papa said, “he served heroically—earning several medals. He was a member of a special force, was captured, tortured, rescued...”

“Tortured?” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Apparently he bears scars on more than his face. The war ended before he had recovered enough to return to the field.”

She nodded to show she was listening, her interest in the game waning.

“No one knows much about him except that he keeps to himself and is rumored to aid Bow Street with specific cases from time to time.”

She nodded again. “Yes, I was aware of that as well.”

“And now he suddenly takes an interest in our family.”

She said nothing. He waited. What could she tell him that would still keep Grant’s confidence?

“I believed I have formed an attachment for him,” she admitted softly, unable to confess that she loved him, not when they hadn’t properly courted. “He’s…different. He has great depth.”

He rested his elbows on the chair arms and clasped his hands together. “My child, I would be the last man to deny any measure of happiness to a returning war hero. But you must know, some men return home so broken that they cannot give or receive love.”

“I do not doubt that he has suffered much, and that he is careful with his heart. But I have seen great kindness in him—the way he helped me when I was so distraught about the Johnson baby, for one. Did you know his valet used to be a street urchin who tried to pick Grant’s pocket? Instead of turning him over to the authorities, Grant gave him a job. He’s unconventional, but goes around doing much good.”

His eyes glittered in the lamplight. “So now he’s Grant, is he?”

She smiled guiltily. “He hasn’t given me leave to call him by his Christian name.” But he was Grant in her thoughts.

“And you view him as sort of dark knight?”

She smiled that her father had chosen the same title she had. “In a way.”

Her father rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Dark knights are rogues, following their own code and not always trustworthy.”

“I trust him. I’ve seen into his heart and I know he is a man of honor.”

“Does he return your esteem?”

A myriad of moments they’d shared flickered through her mind, his small touches, and his instinctive rescue of her, his tenderness when she’d been distraught over the stillborn baby, his quiet understanding when they’d spoken at the pianoforte. His indescribable kiss.

“Yes, I believe he does.”

“Am I to expect a visit from him soon, then?”

She let out a sigh. “No, I think you are right that he finds it hard to give or receive love. But I hope, perhaps, I may one day earn his trust.”

He said nothing more and they returned to their game. A few moves later, he called out, “Check.”

Jocelyn rallied but she’d lost too many pieces and had nothing well placed. Three moves later, he placed her in checkmate.

She smiled ruefully. “Well played.”

As they set up the pieces for a future game, her father said, “Do you recall that your aunt’s dinner party is Friday?”

“Yes, I look forward to it.” She lined her pawns up in a neat row.

“Ruby asked me if I wish to invite Lady Everett as well, but that would give her an uneven number. Shall I encourage her to invite Grant Amesbury?”

She paused. “I don’t think he’s very comfortable in social settings.”

He continued setting up his pieces. “That matches with what I heard about him. But he seemed to do well at our house party.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. He’d been investigating then. Would he accept an ordinary social setting? “She can certainly invite him, but I cannot promise he will accept.”

“Nor should you answer for him.”

She smiled and kissed her father good night.

He said, “Jocelyn, most men are reluctant to let go of their independence and marry. I remember being intimidated by that prospect, but also at the daunting idea that my actions would result in the happiness or misery of the lady I was growing to love. If your Mr. Amesbury is truly the one for you, it will take some patience and persistence on your part.”

“I know.” She leaned on the doorframe. “I’m just not sure how to go about it without appearing overly forward. Or desperate.”

“I have complete faith in you.”

She went back and hugged him. “I love you, Papa.”

“And I love you. Always.” He held her close, the safety of his arms and the scent of his jacket transporting her back to childhood, if only for a moment.

Haunted by dreams of trying to find something elusive and always out of reach, Jocelyn woke cold and tired, despite the glorious sunny day, and with a burning need to talk to Aunt Ruby. She hurried through her morning routine and arrived on her aunt’s doorstep earlier than strictly proper for a social call. She found her aunt poring over papers on her desk, her faithful dog, Max, lying at her feet.

The collie mix raised his head at Jocelyn’s entrance and barked a quiet greeting.

Aunt Ruby beamed. “Good morning, sweeting.”

“I hope you don’t mind my coming so early.”

“You know I don’t.”

Jocelyn leaned down and scratched Max behind the ears. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Time had turned his muzzle white, but he looked at her with bright eyes and thumped his tail.

“What brings you here so early?” Aunt Ruby set down her pen and capped her inkwell.

Suddenly unsure of what to say, Jocelyn hesitated. She pretended to make a study of the sitting room and admiring the flowers in the vase.

Her aunt peered into her face. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“And your father?”

“Oh, yes.”

Ruby nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Chocolate is just the thing, I think—with sugar and cream?”

Jocelyn smiled. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Her aunt called for a tray and they found a spot on a gold and cream striped settee near a window where they might enjoy the beautiful spring morning in the diminutive Town garden. Max moved to lie at Aunt Ruby’s feet once again.

“Now then, sweeting, tell me what is on your mind. Or shall I guess: Grant Amesbury?”

Jocelyn’s words came out in a rush. “I’m in love with him.”

Aunt Ruby nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

“I’m certain he returns my regard, but he is very cautious, and even denies there is anything between us.”

Jocelyn told her everything except events related to the murder plot. Aunt Ruby nodded, listening without speaking. A maid entered with a tray laden with chocolate, sugar, cream, scones, and fruit.

In between sips of chocolate, Jocelyn related Grant’s reaction to sounds resembling gunfire and what he told her about himself, and how the deaths of the men he’d killed haunted him. She described her kiss. Then his.

She clasped her hands in front of her. “It was the single most glorious experience of my life. Everything we shared led up that perfect moment. He was so passionate. And the heat in his eyes afterward…I cannot begin to describe it. Then it all went wrong. I might have imagined it, but for an instant, he looked almost afraid. And then it was as if he put on a mask. He backed away and he tried to tell me it was meaningless. But I don’t believe him. He’s just not ready to accept what is between us yet.”

“Perhaps he needs time.”

“And it gets worse. One of his friends told me that Grant was in love during the war but that the woman betrayed him to the French.”

Aunt Ruby let out a gasp. “Oh, that poor man. So that’s what it is about him. He probably views women as deceitful.” She set down her cup and saucer and wrapped her arm around Jocelyn’s shoulders.

Jocelyn whispered, “Papa said that after he was captured, they tortured him.”

A sob broke free as Jocelyn ached for all he’d suffered. A renewed resentment arose within her for Napoleon—the greedy devil who dared call himself emperor, who’d waged war for so many years, causing such loss and pain to so many. Captivity was too good for such a monster.

Aunt Ruby sat silently, simply holding her for several long moments. Finally she spoke gently, “Oh, sweeting, you have chosen a very hard man to love. He has many wounds that have not healed. And if he’s bitter, they may not ever heal.”

“I love him, all his strengths and all his hurts. I have so much love that I want to give him, if he’ll only let me.”

“I know. And I can’t blame you. That vulnerability inside, combined with such a tough exterior, is very appealing, isn’t it? And it doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome.” A sad playfulness touched her tone.

Jocelyn let out a half-sob, half-laugh as she pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and dried her tears.

Ruby held her tighter. “We must make him see that he needs you and loves you.”