Trust Me (10 page)

“I am not speaking of
any finer feeling. No, you fancy her darkness. Her plumpness. This is lust.”

In that instant it
was as if he’d been stripped naked, as if all his emotions and drives had been
rendered completely transparent. His jaw tensed. “She is my choice. The reasons
should not matter to anyone else.”

“Do not play the
haughty earl with me. I’ve known you all your life. I know how quickly you grow
bored with your amusements and toys. For all her sloe-eyed, exotic appeal, this
Spanish chit will be no different.” Grandmother’s pale eyes pinned him. Accused
him.

She was correct. No
one else knew him better in all his weaknesses. She shared so many of them,
taking lovers and shedding them as regularly and thoughtlessly as a snake did
its skin. He’d gown up with her example.

Would he grow bored
with Anne? If he did, would he be able to conceal the truth from her? Or would
he hurt her? His chest constricted. “One has to marry eventually.”

“You were set to wed
Lady Maria Waterbury.”

“Nothing had been
announced officially. I met Anne and decided that she suited me better.”

Grandmother’s mouth
dropped open.

“She suits me best.”

Grandmother clamped
her mouth closed and her thin, white brows snapped together. “A nervous
wallflower, barely fledged, would suit you better than a mature lady possessed
of both sophistication and taste?”

A lady who had made
sure to fawn upon Grandmother with sickening saccharine flattery.

“Anne is not ‘barely
fledged’, she’s twenty-three years old and previously widowed.”

“She stood in the
corners in her seasons and spent all her time in the country after her
marriage. She was raised on an Irish horse farm, raised by servants—Irish
servants, for heaven’s sake. She doesn’t understand Society’s rules enough to
stay clear of gossip.”

“She’ll learn.”

“Oh really? Couldn’t
you have simply bedded her until you’d grown bored—or was it that she kept her
legs closed so tight that—”

“Enough.”

Grandmother paled.
She sat back in her seat with her shoulders raised. She blinked several times.
“Charles would never have spoken to me in that tone.”

He stared at her
evenly.

“Charles would have
asked me to help him select a bride. He would never have foisted some foreign
merchant’s granddaughter on this family.”

“Charles is dead and
you must deal with me now.”

“
Deal
with you? What do you mean by that?”

“Anne is my wife and
you must reconcile yourself to that irrevocable fact.”

“I don’t have to like
it.”

“No, you don’t, but
you will never again disrespect my wife the way you did today.”

“I shall do as I
please, my boy. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Tell me, Grandfather
left you a very paltry portion, did he not?”

Two slashes of red
highlighted her cheeks. She pressed her lips until white showed at their
corners.

“Answer me.”

“You know he did. For
what purpose do you bring that up and drag it under my nose? Do you take
pleasure in shaming me?”

“I don’t do it to
shame you.”

“No?”

“No. But you do rely
on my generous allowance.”

Her face went ashen
and her eyes bulged. And suddenly he was transported back to when he’d been a
boy. He could hear her voice, booming with anger, ordering him from the table.
He could remember feeling his heart pounding against his chest wall, remember
the steady rise of stomach-turning anger as he lost control over his emotions.
And her smug, knowing stare as he stalked from the chamber, defeated by her yet
again.

Now, tonight, he sat
calmly, cool headed, watching the truth of the matter dawn on her.

He’d left her alone
all this time, letting her live in this house for he vastly preferred his cosy
townhouse to this chilly mausoleum. He’d given her a generous allowance and
she’d grown complacent.

“No matter your
feelings, you’ll be a friend to Anne. You’ll guide her into her new life, help
her learn the things that her own mother neglected to impart to her.”

“Will. I. Really?”
Grandmother was still white with rage. Her hand trembled on her wine glass.

“If you would please
me, you will.”

“And if I don’t
please you?”

“I think you already
know the answer to that question.”

“You would cut my
funds?”

“Without hesitation.”

Bright colour flared
to life on her high cheekbones and she compressed her lips. White showed about
the corners.

“So you’ll behave
now?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed.
“You’d dictate to me just as the old earl would, eh?”

“You brought this on
yourself.”

“Actually, I think
the time has come for me to go visiting.”

“That too is a
solution.”

Indeed, it was a
damned fine one. It would be better for Anne to become accustomed to Mayfair
and her new home without the old dragon breathing fire down her neck.

“Oh, that pleases
you, does it?” she snapped.

“It pleases me, yes.
In fact, I shall provide you with a nice purse to take along.”

“Ah, you do have much
money now, don’t you? But I do hope you were careful with the marriage
contract. Cranfield did not find himself so lucky. Her jointure—”

“Her jointure is the
same now as before. I do not need her money.” Pride demanded that he deny any
need for Anne’s wealth.

“And what about the
money she inherited two years ago.”

He frowned. “What
money is that?”

“Her mother’s father
died three years ago and left her a fortune three times that which Saxby left
her. Cranfield never knew. She hid that from her lawful husband.”

He caught himself
gaping at her. Immediately, he hardened his expression. “How would you uncover
something like that?”

“I didn’t. It was
Lady Waterbury.”

“Maria told you all
of this?”

“Aye, my lord earl.
When Lady Scott told her about your reckless behaviour with this widow and Lady
Waterbury heard how young this Lady Cranfield was, well, she was most
concerned. Especially when the lady disappeared at the same time you did. Lady
Waterbury went to make inquiries of certain bankers.”

A smile twisted Jon’s
mouth, briefly. He could just imagine Maria, in her elegant frock, kneeling
beneath some bony-elbowed banker’s desk. What a tale the old woman was
spinning. “Oh come now. This is farce, Grandmother.”

“Is it really? Ask
your bride.”

Surely Anne would
have mentioned something like this, if only to make sure her rights were
protected in the marriage contract. And he felt stupid

standing here, having Grandmother
of all people be the one to inform him.

Malicious humour lit
the old woman’s pale eyes. “You didn’t know, did you?”

He returned her gaze
steadily. “What makes you think I don’t know?”

“Oh, save your
disavowals for others. I know you. I could always tell when you were lying—or
more often, being evasive. You could fool even my husband, and that was some
feat. But you could never, ever hope to fool me.”

He shook his head. “
I cannot credit that Maria would sink to such drastic actions.”

“Oh yes, it’s all
true. And when Maria learned just how wealthy Lady Cranfield was, she took to
her bed, white as sheet with a sick headache that lasted days. At least, that
is what her maid told mine.”

His thoughts spun
with all that she had just revealed. Was it true? Why would Anne not tell him
the full extent of her wealth?

A curious sensation
developed in the middle of his chest. A sort of crushing and sinking type of
sensation.

Anne didn’t trust him
at all.

Chapter Six

He was aware of Grandmother
watching him very closely, and he gave her a slight, careless wave with one
hand. “So Anne is quite wealthy.” God, what an understatement. If what
Grandmother said was true, Anne was extravagantly wealthy. He forced his manner
to remain blank. “I’d think you would be pleased.”

“Pah! We’ll never see
any of that money.”

“Our children—
your
grandchildren will certainly
benefit from her wealth. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

She studied him for a
moment. “One thing is appallingly clear to me, my lord earl.”

“Yes?”

“You do not have
control over your own house. You married in the grips of some mindless
infatuation, just like your pitiful, pathetic father.”

“That’s not the way
of things at all.”

“And she’s just as
flighty and feckless as your mother.”

“Anne is nothing like
my mother.”

“Listen to yourself,
denying reality. What facts do we know? She drinks to excess. She has a
weakness for military officers—”

“It has been years
since I wore the uniform of an officer.”

“Ah, but you appear
to be a solider, don’t you? You act like one. Your every movement betrays your
military training. You have that look a man has when he has been hardened by
battle.” She cocked her head to the side, taking on a speculative expression.
“I wonder if you will be man enough for her? Or if her gaze will stray some
day, just as your mother’s did. As age takes a toll on a man, there’s always
someone younger, braver, stronger. And the new Lady Ruel is several years
younger than yourself, is that not so?”

“She’s not my
mother.”

“She hid that
inheritance from you, didn’t she?”

His heart began to
beat faster and an uneasy tightness settled into his stomach. He laughed softly
to hide his growing disquiet. “You’re painting a fanciful picture, but you’re
wrong about Anne. Utterly wrong.”

Grandmother wrinkled
her forehead in an expression of intense sympathy—obviously false—and she shook
her head slowly. “I just hope she stays with you long enough to give you an
heir. Otherwise, things could become very difficult. Divorce is not easy to gain.”

“Divorce?” he
repeated, incredulously.

“Yes, it may very
well come to that.”

“It won’t.”

“She could leave
you.”

“She wouldn’t.”

Grandmother lowered
her eyes and smiled a strangely girlish little smile. “All right, if you’re so
sure she won’t, consider this: she may well be insane, just as everyone is
saying. She cannot be the mother of your heirs if that is the case.”

“Anne is
not
insane.”

“You don’t know
that.”

“I will never seek a
divorce.”

“Never is a long
time, my lord earl.” She sighed and then let her shoulders sag. “I have become
quite fatigued.”

“Yes, I think you are
most definitely fatigued. It has disordered your thoughts.”

She laughed softly.
“Perhaps it has. Only time will tell, eh?”

“You are wrong.”

She gave a small yawn.
“Oh my, I think I shall seek my bed now.”

He watched her exit
the dining hall without truly seeing her. His mind had spun away to years and
years ago.

“Mama, Mama!”

The words tore
from his throat with raw pain. He’d been calling at the top of his voice all
the way down the staircase and the vestibule and the front steps of Blackmore
Castle.

This time she
stopped and turned. Honey-brown hair and delicate features. Soft pale-green
eyes. He felt as though he must commit her image to memory. As though he’d
never see her again.

The thought
frightened him.

She smiled then
knelt down so that she was eye-level with him. “You must be good and obey your
Grandmother.”

“She’s making you
leave.”

“She will
be the one who takes care of
you now. The one you must respect.”

“I hate her!”

“You must never
say that, Jonny. We must respect our elders.”

How could she
appear so calm? So resigned?

“You must promise
me that you will study hard and that you will obey your grandfather and accept
his choice of a career for you. It will be important for you to make your own
place in the world. You will need his good will and that of your cousin
Charles.”

“I want to go with
you!”

She shook her head
slowly, that terrible, placid, resigned expression in her eyes. “You know as
well I that your grandfather has said you must stay here. You belong to this
estate, your duty lies here.” She leant forwards and kissed his forehead. Her
lips were soft but cold. “Make me proud.”

She stood and
sedately walked to the carriage. The servants helped her inside. No one else
from the family came to wish her well, leaving only Jon to watch as the
carriage departed.

It had been almost
twenty-one years before Jon had set eyes on his mother again, when he had
travelled with his regiment to Jamaica, on their way to fight the Americans in
New Orleans.

She had been married
many years to her lover, a former Dragoon colonel with whom she had three sons
and four daughters and many grandchildren.

All that made Jon
rather redundant, except for the fact that he was now a powerful earl and an
asset to her. His mother had been politely civil and he had reciprocated. All
stiff smiles and trite conversation.

When his regiment
boarded a vessel for New Orleans, it had been a relief to leave her.

Now in their private
sitting chamber and quite a bit foxed, Jon stared down at Anne’s sleeping form.
She didn’t trust him at all.

Not one bit.

But no, wait, was it
even true? Was there any truth to the tale Grandmother had told him? Did Anne
have a secret fortune that she’d inherited from her mother’s father? If so, why
wouldn’t she have told him?

Frustration burned
through him.

By God, he would
shake her awake and demand the truth.

His hand shot out,
reaching for her shoulder.

She moaned softly in her
sleep. Her dark brows drew together and a slight line appeared between them.

Did her dreams
trouble her that much?

He froze with his
hand a mere inch from her flesh.

His fragile, lost
girl…

No, it wouldn’t do to
be harsh with her. He took a deep breath, trying to collect his spinning
thoughts.

He would wake her,
gently, and in calm tones, ask her if there were any validity to Grandmother’s
story.

Softly, he touched
her shoulder. “Anne.”

Her frown deepened
and she murmured something. Then she turned to her side and drew her body into
a curled position. A single black ringlet lay across her cheek.

A pang of tenderness
smote him. Made him pause and study her.

Her position appeared
self-protective.

Self-protective was
the best word to describe her whole approach to life. Yes, she was blossoming,
day-by-day, growing braver. But if he were not careful, if he didn’t rein in
his tendency to charge ahead and make demands, he was to force her right back
into her shell. Right back into keeping company solely with all her dusty books
and dead philosophers.

And God help him then
because if anything took her away from him, it was not likely to be another man
but her own knotty-headed thoughts and self-made maximums on how life should be
lived.

Marriage took so much
power away from a woman. Left her vulnerable to a husband. Anne’s first
marriage certainly proved this fact out. Money equalled power. Perhaps she felt
the need to keep some secrets like this.

Given some time,
surely she would tell him. If the story about the inheritance were even true.

But how long must he
wait to hear the truth from her?

Despite his recent
well-intentions, frustration curled around his guts once more and sent restless
energy into his legs. He strode away and went to his own chambers.

****

Anne opened her eyes.
She stretched her body. Her muscles felt warmed, as limber as a cat’s. She
found her chemise and put it on. The curtains were closed and the chamber was
darkened. Lamplight shone from an open door. Still moving her neck from side to
side, she arose and padded in her stockings over to the light.

With her hand on the
door, she moved it open further. It was a sparsely furnished chamber. All dark
woods and shades of deep green, brown and blue. The scent of Jon’s familiar
cologne hung in the air. He sat in a wingchair, reading a newspaper.

She hesitated for no
particular reason she could identify. She leaned a little harder on the door.
The hinges squeaked softly and she jumped then pulled away.

Jon looked up and
gave her an unblinking stare.

Her heart began to
beat faster and she shifted from foot to foot. Oh, he could always make her
fidget like a foolish chit.

“This is my chamber,
Nan. You may come here only by invitation.” He had that half-teasing, half-serious
note to his voice. It always made her feel uneasy. Off-balance.

She crinkled her
forehead. “By invitation?”

“Yes, when I invite
you here.”

“Oh.” She glanced
back at the sitting chamber. Should she leave or—

He stood and laid the
paper on the chair. He reached his hand out to her. “Come.”

Her breathing
increased and flutters blossomed in her belly. She slowly padded into the
chamber.

He approached her,
his fierce visage unreadable, and he went behind her. The firm click of the
door latch made her mouth go dry.

“When you enter here,
you are to shed your clothing.”

She raised her brows.
She was already in a state of undress. “All my clothes?”

“All of them. You may
remain that way or you may wear these.” He walked to a tall walnut dresser,
opened a drawer and withdrew a black garment. He unfolded it and handed it to
her.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, quite.”

She took the garments
and unfolded them. They were odd looking drawers but for a woman and made of
sheerest silk. They would hide nothing. “What are these?”

“They are women’s
drawers. Such as opera dancers, or naughty little wenches, wear. I think they
shall suit you very well and I should like to see you in them.”

She dropped the item
of clothing back into the drawer, feeling lost. Foolish. “Will I sleep here?”

The fluttery little
spark of hope in her chest was stupid and pathetic. Of course she would have
her own chamber. Persons of their class did not share a bed. Not in rigid,
proper Mayfair.

“When I call you
here, you shall sleep the night in my bed.”

“And other nights?”
she dared to ask.

“You have your own
chamber, Nan. It connects to the other door in the sitting chamber.”

Her heart sank. “So
we shall not normally sleep together?”

“We shall sleep
together, unless one of us is very ill. In your bed or mine.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded
her.

“But if you are here
in my chamber, I am telling you what shall be expected of you.”

At his firm tone, the
warmth curling through her, of which she had been barely aware, flared into
heat that twisted through her loins. How like him that he would turn something
as simple as going to bed into a delicious game. She laughed softly.

He looked down at
her, his gaze mirroring her heat.

“Must I strip off
now?”

“No, come and I shall
show you to your chamber.”

He took her hand.

She took a glance at
his bed, taking in the size of it. She would lay with him there and he
would…dominate her. Her heartbeat quickened and her mouth dried. Then something
caught her attention on his night table.

His leather crop.

She caught her breath
and began to feel a little dizzy. For he had…Oh God, he had used his crop on
her once before. That wicked night at Eastwood Place.

And the experience
had been sublime, it had taken her to a place she hadn’t known she could go.

But it had also stung
like fire.

She laid a hand over
her thundering heart.

Did she really want
to experience something like that again?