When Marrying a Scoundrel (16 page)

Perhaps the saddest and most humiliating thing was that she could like him if he let her—if she let herself. Hell, she could probably love him again. Not just because he was still her Jack in so many ways, but because whenever he was near she felt whole again. And that was something she would admit to no one but herself.

It was somewhere in the vicinity of ten o’clock in the morning when she arrived at Helen’s plain but cozy townhome—early for a woman who still lived around “town” hours and scheduled her life around her wealthy lover, with whom she’d shared the last fifteen years, content to be the one he came to when society and his wife didn’t take precedence.

“As the years go on we spend more and more of our time together,” Helen informed her with a bemused smile as they shared a leisurely breakfast in front of the bow window overlooking her sun-dappled garden. She wore a dark blue morning gown that displayed her hourglass figure to advantage and made her blond hair seem all the
more golden. “Publicly and privately. Old age thumbs its nose at propriety.”

Good for old age. Sadie took a bite of a warm scone slathered with butter, delighting as the flavor embraced her tongue. As she chewed she wondered how her life might have been different if Jack had done what his grandfather wanted and had taken her as his mistress rather than his wife. Would they still be together? Or would he have abandoned her for a proper wife years ago? He wouldn’t have felt the need to run off and prove himself if he hadn’t been disowned. But perhaps he would have grown bored of her charms and moved on to someone else.

Perhaps her life wouldn’t be much different than it was now, except that now she had her pride. She didn’t judge any woman for making the necessary concessions to survive; there were worse fates than being a kept woman. She knew fine ladies with less honor and integrity than Helen had in her little finger, less grace than the older woman housed in her left foot.

How stupid she’d been as a girl to want to be part of that world! She’d fancied herself Cinderella and Jack her handsome prince. What would she have become if his grandfather had accepted her rather than revealing his disdain? Would she have become someone like Lady Gosling or the other ladies who seemed to hate everything and everyone around them because life had turned them bitter?

Or maybe she would have turned out like Duchess Ryeton, or her friend Eve Elliott, who was soon to be married. They seemed like decent, kind ladies. Cer
tainly she’d never seen anything in their cups to suspect otherwise—except that Miss Elliot was marrying a man she didn’t love.

“I thought I saw a ghost last night,” Helen commented, interrupting Sadie’s thoughts with the click of her spoon against china as she stirred a lump of sugar into her second cup of tea. “As his lordship and I returned home from our engagement.” Helen never referred to her lover by name, though everyone knew who he was.

“Oh?” Sadie picked up a piece of crisp bacon and took a bite—heaven! She was thankful to her friend for interrupting her foolish thinking. “Who was that?”

“I could have sworn I saw Jack Farrington on Russell Street.”

Sadie froze. Helen waited, watching her with curious and patient brown eyes. Helen was like Job in her patience. She’d sit there and wait for Sadie to respond until the sun set and never once press her.

“Jack Farrington?” she echoed. “Russell Street?” Since Jack’s reappearance in her life, it seemed as though her cognitive abilities had plummeted to rival the lowliest simpleton’s.

“Indeed,” Helen replied meaningfully. “Of course, I might have been mistaken.”

Sadie’s head jerked up. She looked her friend directly in the eye. “I’m sure you must have been.” The lie was bitter on her tongue, ruining the delicious taste of the bacon. She wanted to confide all in Helen, wanted her wise friend’s counsel, but this wasn’t Sadie’s truth to tell. And if she was honest, it was different than
confiding in Vienne and Indara, who didn’t know him. They couldn’t point out all the places where Sadie had been at fault. They wouldn’t tell her things she didn’t want to hear.

And so her old friend merely inclined her head, putting an end to the conversation. Like the skilled actress she was, she moved on to another topic as though nothing had happened. Sadie didn’t make the transition quite so seamlessly, though she gave it her best. A cloud of awkwardness hung over the rest of her visit. It was still there a half hour later when she finally took her leave.

She’d wanted to leave as soon as Helen mentioned Jack. As soon as she stepped outside and into the waiting carriage, she instructed her driver to take her the short distance to Russell Street. She sat perched on the edge of the seat, staring out the window, her gaze sweeping the street for any sign of her husband.

Former
husband.

The carriage came to a stop outside a red brick building as familiar as her own face. It was in much better repair now than it had been ten years ago when she and Jack had lived in the upstairs flat, still it had been nicer than she was used to. Jack had used the money he stole from his grandfather to secure it, and he’d sent money home when he was gone so that she could keep it.

Of course, she hadn’t kept it. She’d made arrangements for the rent to be paid out of the money Jack sent—money she’d deposited into an account and never touched once she’d decided to leave. She’d needed more than his money then and he hadn’t been there to provide
it. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to stay there after what happened.

As though drawn by an invisible tether, she climbed out of the carriage and stepped onto the walk. The driver asked if she wanted him to stand there and wait, and she told him yes, even though common sense told her to get back into the coach and drive away.

Her bootheels clicked lightly on the stone walkway, echoing the pounding of her heart as she approached the three-story building. What was she doing? There was nothing left here for her. Why, the door would be locked…

It wasn’t. The knob moved easily under her fingers—fingers she hadn’t even realized she’d wrapped around the cool brass. The door swung open, revealing the abandoned interior that smelled of old sunshine and dust.

She stepped inside. “Hello?”

No answer.

She should turn and go. Instead, she stepped inside. It looked different. It used to be that the door opened into a shared foyer with another entrance for the downstairs space and a staircase that led up to their flat. The staircase was still there, but the back wall of the foyer had been knocked out, removing the separation between the spaces.

Her feet moved of their own volition, even though her mind realized the folly of trespassing. Still, the door had been open.

What if someone was in there? It wasn’t smart of her to venture into this place alone. There could be any kind
of danger waiting, and yet she couldn’t make herself turn around. She couldn’t make her heart see this place as anything remotely dangerous, regardless of all the other emotions it evoked.

Up the stairs she climbed, gripping the dusty banister with her left hand, skirts with her right. There were scuff marks on the dark red runner. It muffled her footsteps as she climbed to the first floor, where she found the door to her old home standing slightly ajar. Someone else had been here recently. Coincidence? She didn’t think so.

Fingers trembling, knees quivering, she pushed it open and hesitantly crossed the threshold. “Hello?”

Sadie paused just inside, her heart seized by a terrible revelation.

The place looked just the same as it had when she left. Of course there were dust clothes in place, but one had slipped off the old arm chair near the hearth. The rich green brocade was covered in a grayish film where the linen had slipped, but she recognized it immediately. She had upholstered the chair herself, with a great deal of bother and eventual pride.

She pulled at a sheet over another piece of furniture—the scarred tea table they’d found in a market one morning. Jack had carried it back to the flat on his shoulder and suffered for it later. That night they’d reclined in the bath together and she massaged his shoulder, chiding him for having to be “such a man.”

Horrified, her gaze dropped to the floor. It was bare. The breath caught in her throat slowly slipped out. The rug was gone.

“Sadie?”

She whirled at the sound of his voice, head spinning dizzily as past and present seemed to collide. She had to tip her head up to see past the broad brim of her peacock-trimmed hat.

“Jack,” she rasped.

He was still wearing his evening clothes, which were rumpled beyond decency. His hair was mussed, standing up in spikes of brown and gold. His jaw was covered with a day’s growth of beard, and his eyes were heavy with sleep and hangover.

He looked good enough to eat.

He ran a hand over his eyes as though he couldn’t believe them. “What are you doing here?”

“I was visiting Helen. She said she thought she saw Jack Farrington on the street last night.”

“Shite.” He winced and pressed two fingers to his forehead. “What did you tell her?”

“That she was mistaken, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He smiled grimly. “Thank you.”

Straightening her shoulders, Sadie braved taking a step toward him. The memory of what they’d done the night before was still terribly fresh in her mind and on her skin. Every inch of her that had ever missed him begged to be touched by him again—not just for sex, but for comfort as well.

The rug…Thank God it was gone.

“What are
you
doing here, Jack?” Tilting her head again, she regarded him from beneath her hat. She could take it off, but she felt safer with it on. He hated her
hats, and probably wouldn’t try to kiss her while she wore it.

If she took it off and he didn’t try to kiss her, she wouldn’t be able to hide her disappointment.

He shrugged. “I own the place.”

Sadie blinked. “Own it?” Yes, he’d made her a raging simpleton. All she could do was stupidly repeat what others said to her like some sort of parrot in a circus show.

Jack nodded. “I bought it when I came back.” His gaze burned into hers. “It was going to be a present for you. I knew you loved this place.”

She had loved this place. She still did, as awful as some of the memories were. Loved it more now that the damned rug was gone.

Nausea rose up in her gut as she looked around, imagining how he must have felt, returning there to find her gone. Had he wondered what had happened to the rug? Panic followed close on its heels, and she pushed past him into the room that had been their bedroom. She froze in the door.

It was still the same. All the same. And the bed had been slept in—or rather on. Their bed.

“You’ve kept it exactly as it was.” As though she needed to say it.

“Almost,” he replied from behind her. “The rug in the front room had a stain on it. I threw it out.”

Sadie clutched the doorframe, head swimming as a hot sick sensation rushed over her. He didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

And she’d be damned if she’d remember it now with him standing there, blissful in his ignorance. She might have to kill him. Or perhaps fall at his feet bawling. One of the two.

She turned on him, so conflicted and shaken she didn’t know which end was up, didn’t know what she felt. Scarcely knew who she was.

He’d kept their home. Bought their home, for her. And he’d kept it even though she’d left him. Such a grand, romantic gesture and yet it seemed too little too late. Regret, rage, and guilt tore at her heart—at her very sanity. Was he trying to push her to the brink of madness?

He just stood there, behind her—where that damn rug once had been—watching her as though he wanted—
expected
—something from her.

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Only the pain kept her from slipping over that edge. “How dare you do all this. How dare you come back after breaking my heart and have kept this flat.” Her voice shook. “You walk into my life like you have the right. You make love to me…”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“Of course I didn’t!” She glared at him as he glared at her. “I wanted it as much as you did, that doesn’t make it right.”

“It was wrong, then, Sadiemoon?” he asked, his voice as strangely tender as it was rough.

She closed her eyes, dizzy from the wave of emotion that swept over her. “We’ve gone to great lengths to make new lives for ourselves, Jack.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We’re not good together.”

“I disagree.”

Her eyes opened. “Of course you do. You
always
do. Tell me, have I ever been right in your eyes?”

“You’re not talking sense.” The furrow between his brows eased. “This is because I called you a fraud, isn’t it?”

Stupid, infuriating man! How could he know the answer so readily yet not understand why? “Yes, of course it is! You’ve never believed in what I can do. Never! You’ve always treated it like some great swindle.”

“It’s predicting the future through
tea
.” If he rolled those green-gold eyes of his, she’d claw them straight out of his head. “What is it if not a swindle?”

“It’s me.” The flat of her hand struck hard against his chest. “It’s what I’m good at, you great cruel arse! It’s how I supported myself when you were off making your fortune.”

“You didn’t have to support yourself. I sent most of that goddamn fortune home to you!”

She ignored him, because what he had done wasn’t the point. It was what he hadn’t done, what he’d never done and probably never would be able to do. “I’ve made a name for myself and people from all over England come to have me read their leaves. I’m proud of what I can do and you treat it like a…a crime! I was never ashamed of myself for anything until I met you, Jack Farrington.”

He recoiled, chiseled cheeks paling. “That’s not my
fault. My grandfather was an arse, but I never thought you were beneath me. Never.”

Tears clawed at her throat, made her feel like a stupid weakling. “You never believed in me.”

He scowled as he stepped forward, taking her face in his long hands, forcing her to meet his gaze as he bent his neck a bit to stare long and hard into her eyes. “I might not believe in leaves but, Sadie, I’ve always believed in
you
.”