When Marrying a Scoundrel (24 page)

“Flirt with Sadie again and I’ll break your effing nose.”

And then he toddled off to bed—and for the first night in several, slept like a babe.

The Duchess of Ryeton’s “intimate” dinner for her brother-in-law was no less than thirty people, of which Jack and his grandfather were two. Jack had no idea how his grandfather managed an invitation given that he had no prior acquaintance with the duke or the duchess. He could only surmise that the duchess had invited the old man because he was Jack’s family, and Jack was so close to Trystan. That in itself was slightly embarrassing and made all the more so by the fact that it was obvious his grandfather looked down his nose at the whole proceeding.

Oh, his grandfather gave rank all the courtesy it demanded and was pleasant enough to Ryeton’s face, but Jack saw how he looked at the scarred duke and his pretty bride. He had to know the rumors that their mar
riage had been brought about by the two of them being caught making the beast with two backs. Ryeton had a horrible reputation in his younger days and the scandal clung to him still.

The old man despised scandal, though he’d had no trouble stirring the pot by descending upon London and announcing Jack to be his grandson.

Regardless, the earl sat at the table and made a tolerable attempt at being a gracious guest, though he rarely spoke unless spoken to and only looked pleasant if someone glanced in his direction.

He was only there so he and Jack could be seen together. And to make Jack miserable.

“Too bad the duke’s sister is already married,” the earl remarked later in the drawing room, when the gentlemen joined the ladies. “Despite her unfortunate connections, she’d make an excellent viscountess.”

Jack cringed, though they were far enough away from the others to avoid being overheard. Ryeton’s sister Bronte was indeed lovely. “She’s already a viscountess,” he replied. “She married Lord Kemp last month and will someday be Countess Branton.”

The old man batted at the air as though brushing away a fly. “It was just an observation.”

Speaking of observations, Jack observed that something wasn’t quite right with his grandfather. He’d had good appetite at dinner, but afterward, when the cigars and port came out, he’d gotten a little flushed. And now he was slightly damp around the hairline and seemed to be somewhat breathless.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked.

“Fine,” came the gruff reply. “I just need a little air. It’s deuced hot in here.”

“Step out onto the terrace.” Jack gestured toward the doors. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

It spoke volumes that his grandfather didn’t argue with him. Frowning, Jack stopped a passing footman and asked him to fetch a glass of water. Then he turned his attention to the terrace doors in time to see the old man step outside.

“I know that look,” Trystan remarked as he walked up to him. He had a snifter of brandy in his hand. “What’s going on?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He had apologized for threatening to break his friend’s nose the morning after the altercation. Trystan accepted his apology, ribbed him a few times during the day and that was it. They hadn’t spoken of it again, and Jack was thankful. He spent so much of his time thinking about Sadie that not having to discuss her with Tryst was a welcome respite.

“Do you want me to call for the earl’s carriage?”

Another shake, as he craned his neck for a glimpse outside. “No. I’m sure it’s just a little dyspepsia. He’ll be fine.”

“All right. Listen, about that property on Bond Street, you were correct, the rent is paid in full for this quarter.”

Jack turned away from the window, directing his attention solely on his partner. “Excellent. And you’ll alert the tenant that the rent will be paid for the remainder of the year?”

A knowing smile tilted Tryst’s lips. “Why don’t you tell the lady yourself?”

“Because she won’t accept it from me.”

“She’s going to know you settled the account regardless of who tells her.”

Jack shrugged one shoulder. “It will be better coming from you, trust me.” If he went to Sadie, she’d think he was trying to buy her, especially when he thought of it as more of a peace offering. Regardless of how he felt about fate and tea leaves, it was obvious that she was good at what she did and that people believed in her. Hell, people
swore
by her. Since his arrival in London he’d heard so many people rhapsodize about how many times she’d correctly predicted things that he felt an odd kind of pride. It didn’t matter what he thought, he’d rather see Sadie happy doing something he didn’t understand than see her miserable, unable to realize her dream. So, he’d paid her rent for three quarters of a year’s lease to give her a leg up.

“Fair enough,” Trystan allowed, raising his drink. “I have to go talk to some people I haven’t seen in twenty years. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Nine o’clock,” Jack replied. “I’ll let you sleep in, you lazy arse.”

The two of them shared a grin and Trystan left to join a small group conversing nearby. Jack tried once again to catch a glimpse of his grandfather.

“Your water, my lord.” Somehow the footman had appeared without him noticing.

Jack took the heavy crystal glass from the tray. “Thank you.”

He made his way across the room and slipped out onto the terrace. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the diminished light, but torches flickered along the balustrade and he was soon able to locate his grandfather standing just off to his right, near the stone railing.

“Drink this,” he instructed when he reached the other man.

His grandfather glanced up as though surprised to see him. He had been rubbing his left arm, but ceased to take the glass and raised it to his lips. Jack thought the water sloshed a bit.

“That Olivia Clark, the Earl of Angelwood’s granddaughter, she’d make you a fine wife. Good teeth.”

“She’s too young, and I already have a wife.” Why did he bother? It would make things so much easier if he just agreed with the old man. It didn’t mean he had to actually marry the chit.

“A proper wife. One who knows our world and can give you sons.”

“My current wife is familiar with ‘our world’ and she can give me sons.”

His grandfather choked on a mouthful of water. Jack noticed that he wiped his mouth with the hand holding the glass, as though his left one didn’t work. “Miss O’Rourke’s a lovely girl, boy, but she’ll never give you a son.”

“How do you know that? The sex of a child isn’t determined by the social standing of its mother.”

“I know because I was there when the doctor told her she’d likely never carry a child to term.”

Everything stopped. In that one split second it felt as
if the entire world had been sucked into a vacuum, held there and then spat back out again. His chest seized and he gasped for breath. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The old man shook his head. “Not my place to tell.”

“You started it,” Jack rasped. “Explain. Now.”

A pained sigh drifted off into the night before his grandfather took another sip of water. In the torchlight it seemed his face was even more damp than before, but Jack didn’t care if the old man sweated a bit.

“Shortly after you left for America, I received a letter from Sadie”—Jack didn’t miss the use of his wife’s Christian name—“saying that she was pregnant and afraid that something was wrong. I didn’t doubt the child was yours, and so I immediately left for London. By the time I found her she had already miscarried. Poor thing. It had happened on the rug. She was scrubbing at the stain, crying that it wouldn’t come out. I bundled her up, had a doctor look at her, and as soon as she was fit for travel I took her back to Ireland to recover. A girl needs to be near her family in such cases. I did what I could for her, given that the child would have been my blood.”

Jack stared at him. It was as though he was listening to the old man speak down a long tunnel. “Miscarried?” Was all he could manage to say. The rug. He’d seen that rug and never once imagined what had caused that mark on it.
Oh
,
Christ
.

“A girl,” his grandfather replied. “That’s what she said. Not an heir, but still, I felt the loss.”

“
You
felt the loss?” Jack snarled. Were the man not over seventy he would have smashed his fist into his stupid face right then and there. “What about Sadie? What about me?”

“Sadie was fine. I bought her the best care in the world, and I took care of her. I did your job because you were too busy thumbing your nose at me. You can’t blame this on me, boy-o.”

He was right, but that didn’t make Jack any less angry, or the pain any less raw. If he’d only been there.

Sadie had been pregnant when he left. Had she known then that she carried his child and let him go regardless? Why hadn’t she demanded that he stay? He would have stayed. Dear God, he would have stayed.

“Why didn’t you try to find me?” he demanded. “I sent letters home detailing where I was. You had the resources, you could have found me!”

The old man’s gaze pinned him to the spot, remorseless in the torchlight. “It was better this way.” He’d always thought himself absolutely right in everything, excusing his coldness with claims that it was for the best.

Rage and anguish tore at Jack’s heart. He choked on the lump in his throat. “Better for whom?”

“For you.” There was no shame in those eyes so like his own. It wasn’t cruelty that drove the old man, it was unswerving conviction of how things should be. The man fancied himself God. “I hoped you would go on and make a new life for yourself. And when Sadie asked me for my help, I offered it so she could do the same.”

Just so he could keep them apart. He’d denied Jack
the right to grieve for his child just so he could keep him from Sadie. He wondered if that’s what had happened to the letters neither he nor Sadie ever received. “You soulless bastard,” he ground out. “I may have to be your heir, but we’re finished. As of tonight I want nothing more to do with you.”

“Jack, don’t do this.” His grandfather reached for him, but Jack backed away, shaking his head in an effort to keep his hatred and sorrow at bay.

“I’ve wasted enough of my life trying to prove myself to you,” Jack informed him, his voice tight with so many emotions. “If I have to spend the rest of it making it up to Sadie, then I will. If she won’t be my countess then I won’t have any. Hang your precious bloodline.”

The old man grimaced and then the glass fell from his hand and smashed on the stone floor. His hand came up and clutched at his left arm again, then at his chest. This time when he reached for his grandson, Jack caught him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jack demanded. Faced with such obvious suffering, thoughts of himself and any wrongdoing fled.

“Jack…” his grandfather gasped, and collapsed.

Bearing the old man’s full weight, Jack slowly lowered him to the stone floor. “Help!” He shouted toward the terrace door. “Please help!”

Aged but strong fingers grasped at his lapel, pulling him down so he had no choice but to meet his grandfather’s cloudy gaze. “Boy…”

Then the old man fell silent and his eyes seemed
to change. The terrace doors opened and a man and young woman walked out. It was Olivia Clark, the young woman his grandfather thought would make an excellent viscountess. Jack might have appreciated the irony were he not so scared.

“Get a doctor,” he cried. The young woman gasped, pressing fair hands against her bosom. The gentleman did his best to shield her from the sight as he assured Jack he would get help, and then he quickly drew the girl back inside.

Within seconds the doors opened again and Ryeton was there, on his knees beside him; Trystan and Archer as well. Ryeton barked orders and Archer vaulted down the stone steps, running to the stables to get a horse so he could fetch a doctor. All the while, Jack knelt on the stone, his grandfather cradled in his arms, clutching at his chest. He would have stopped Archer, had he been able to think clearly. He knew a doctor would be of no use.

He knew the exact moment the old man died, felt it in his gut. He reached up and closed his grandfather’s eyes, but he didn’t let him go, not just yet. He stayed where he was, with Ryeton and Tryst beside him, holding in his arms the man he’d spent so much of his life being angry at. Ryeton and Tryst spoke to him, and he replied, but he had no idea what he said. When the doctor finally arrived, Archer hot on his heels, he made Jack lower the body to the stone so he could examine it. Jack stood up and watched dumbly as the doctor poked and prodded at his grandfather before finally declaring him dead.

“My condolences, Lord Garret,” the doctor said with
a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “His heart couldn’t take the strain.”

Jack nodded, unable to say anything.

Ryeton arranged for the body to be taken back to Berkeley Square, and Archer volunteered to accompany Jack back to his grandfather’s…No, it was his house now. Archer accompanied him home, where he poured them both a stiff drink, and sat in silence with Jack in the library until Jack was ready to talk.

And Jack did talk. Later he wouldn’t remember half of it, but he talked a lot. Archer just sat there and listened, and when a solitary tear rolled down Jack’s cheek, Archer pretended not to see it.

Sometime late into the wee hours of the morning, Jack woke. Reason and feeling began to return, lifting his mind from the heavy fog that had descended upon it. Archer was asleep on the library sofa and he was in one of the wing-backed chairs, a knit blanket over him. Archer must have covered him up when he passed out. He sat for a moment, the details of the night before crawling through his memory like visages from a bad dream. And when reality finally descended upon him, it left him cold and shaken.

His grandfather was dead. It was his heart, and he’d died in Jack’s arms.

Just as Sadie had predicted.

S
adie heard the news immediately upon waking. Indara, knowing their history, came at once to inform her that his lordship’s grandfather had died on the Duke of Ryeton’s terrace the night before.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, nightgown twisted around her knees, Sadie’s heart hurt for Jack. Despite the animosity between him and his grandfather, he must be mourning right now—mourning all those things that might and should have been.

Neither reason nor common sense played a part in her decision to dress and make her way to Berkeley Square. There, she was greeted by a kindly faced butler with graying hair and sad eyes.

“I’m Sadie Moon,” she told the man, for the first time so terribly aware of all the times Jack had called her that with a loving tone. It was no accident that she’d chosen that for her new name. She’d wanted him to be able to find her should he try. It had hurt so much when he hadn’t. “A friend of his lordship.”

The butler, so overwhelmed by his own grief, didn’t question her relationship or the propriety of allowing her inside. He simply nodded and stepped back from the entry so she might come inside.

“Lord Gerard…pardon me, Lord Garret is in the library.” He gestured through the door on the right.

Sadie honestly felt for the man and she touched his shoulder before leaving him. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.” She meant it. The late Earl of Garret had been a proud, almost tyrannical bastard, but he had been good to her once and she knew that if only she’d had the fortune to be born a lady he would have welcomed her as his granddaughter-in-law.

Her footfalls echoed as she walked across the marble floor. She didn’t look around at her surroundings for fear of lamenting their loss. By rights she was mistress of this house, though it was a duty she would never fulfill. Someday another would guide and govern this grand place, but never her.

Why not?
a voice in her head—her own voice—whispered. The old man was dead. Why couldn’t she say shag it all and take her rightful place at Jack’s side? Was it simply cowardice that kept her impotent?

Shaking her head, she tossed these thoughts aside. None of that mattered right now. All that mattered was Jack.

She found the library easily as the door was open and she could see the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with volume after volume. She knocked once on the heavy wood—she had no idea what sort it was—and stepped
inside. Four pairs of eyes turned at her entrance, but it was the pair that remained fixed on the carpet that concerned her.

She went straight to him, not caring that the Duke and Duchess of Ryeton bore witness, nor the duke’s two brothers. She nodded at them by way of greeting, but did not pause.

Down on her knees she went, as gracefully as her narrow skirts would allow, between Jack’s feet. She grasped both his hands in hers, alarmed by how cold his were. He looked like hell, his gold-green eyes red rimmed. His strong jaw was covered with golden-flecked stubble, and there were grooves around his mouth and eyes that she’d never seen before. He was still wearing evening clothes.

“Mo chroi,”
she whispered—
“My heart.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, she continued whispering to him in Gaelic, telling him that it was going to be all right, that his friends were there for him. That she was there for him.

He didn’t say a word, but she knew he heard her because he squeezed her hands. That was when he finally lifted his gaze to hers. It took all her strength to look into those lost eyes. To be honest, she was surprised the death of his grandfather had hit him this hard.

Then he murmured, “I know about the rug.”

Sadie recoiled. She would have jumped to her feet had he not had such a firm hold on her hands. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his as she realized he wasn’t just mourning his grandfather, he was mourning their child
as well. The old man had told him, no doubt to prove to him that she was unsuitable as a wife. After all, she probably couldn’t bear children.

Bowing her head, she pressed her lips to his knuckles. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and she was. For everything.

She became aware of the other people in the room, and she slowly rose to her feet, tugging her hands free of Jack’s.

“Has he eaten?” she asked Lord Archer, the only person here who was also dressed in evening clothes and looked almost as bad as Jack. None of them seemed the least bit surprised to see her, or shocked at her obvious intimacy with Jack.

He shook his head, a lock of sable hair falling over his forehead. “He says he’s not hungry.”

“Are you hungry, Lord Archer?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “I could eat, yes.”

Sadie went to the bellpull and gave it a hard tug. A few moments later a young maid appeared. The poor thing looked lost and pale. Obviously the whole house felt the same way. It should have been the housekeeper who came to see to them.

“Yes, missus?” the girl inquired.

Her accent was so heavy it practically formed a shamrock in the air. Sadie couldn’t help but warm to the sound of it. The old earl had been something of a snob himself, hiring as many Irish staff as he could. She asked the girl to bring a pot of strong coffee, enough cups for everyone, some bread, butter, and jam—strawberry,
Jack’s favorite. Then in her dusty Gaelic, she asked if the maid understood.

The girl smiled at her, brightening a little, not so afraid, and nodded. Sadie thanked her, asked her to hurry, and sent her on her way. Then she turned to Lord Trystan: “Could you arrange to have some of Jack’s clothing sent over from the hotel?”

Lord Trystan nodded and rose to his feet. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by her use of Jack’s Christian name. “I’ll see to it. I have the need to feel useful.” He clapped Lord Archer on the shoulder. “I’ll collect something for you as well.”

Archer set his own hand over his brother’s and thanked him. Sadie envied their closeness, and was glad that Jack had such friends to rally around him.

When Trystan left, Ryeton came forward. “What can we do?”

Sadie glanced at him in surprise. Somehow she’d stepped into the role of lady of the house without meaning to. It felt right to her, as though it was where she belonged—at Jack’s side. “Do you know what arrangements have been made?”

The duke ran a hand through his short thick hair. “The late earl is resting comfortably.” He cast a quick glance at Jack, obviously not wanting to say something that might upset him. “And I sent word round to his solicitor. I expect he’ll arrive soon to discuss the earl’s wishes.”

“Ireland,” Jack said, startling them all.

Sadie turned. He was still on the sofa, but he seemed
to have snapped out of his fog. “I’ll take him back to Ireland. To the family plot.”

Ireland. Home. Sadie could see feelings similar to hers in his eyes. She hadn’t been back since her trip after losing the baby. It was too painful—too little family left and too many memories, both happy and sad. Yet she’d recovered there and grew strong again. Still, would Jack be able to look around that village, around his estate, without remembering something the two of them had shared there as friends and eventually lovers?

Part of her longed to return with him, but there was nothing either of them could do to bring back those happier days.

Perhaps she ought to stop dwelling so much on the past and what she’d lost and think about the future and all the tremulous hope it offered.

Shortly the maid returned with food and Sadie fixed Jack a cup of coffee the way he liked it, along with two thick slices of bread slathered with butter and jam—also the way he liked it. “Eat it,” she commanded gently. “All of it.”

He took the meager meal without fuss. “Thank you.”

And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she ran her fingers through the cropped silk of his hair. What she would give to take some of this away from him. She’d take it all if she could.

She turned to find the duke watching her closely. Arching a questioning brow, she crossed the floor to stand before him. “Your Grace?”

“You’d make a good wife,” he commented kindly, his gaze far too knowing.

Sadie swallowed, throat dry. “Thank you.” She glanced at the duchess, who sat near the window. She looked tired, a sight that put fear in Sadie’s heart, even though she knew it wasn’t rational. “If I might be so bold, Your Grace, I suggest you take Her Grace home. She shouldn’t be overtired in her condition.”

The duke looked startled, but then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. He took the advice to heart, drained the remainder of his coffee with one long swallow, and took care of his beautiful bride. They made their farewells to Jack, and made him promise to let them know if there was anything he needed. Anything at all.

Trystan returned sometime later, to find the three of them sitting in silence in the library. Sadie nibbled on a piece of jam slathered, butter-heavy bread and made a list of things that needed to be done while Archer sat with Jack, making meaningless small talk designed to distract.

Sadie once again went into action. Now that Trystan had brought fresh clothing, she summoned the maid and told her to have baths prepared—one for Jack and one for Archer. The elder of the two remaining Kane brothers protested, but neither Sadie nor Jack would hear it. In fact, Sadie told the girl to prepare a room for Archer, so that he might take a nap after his bath. After all, he’d spent most of the night sitting up with Jack.

As luck would have it, two of the guest rooms were
kept open when the earl was in residence, so the maid asked Lord Archer to follow her and she’d show him to one with its own private bath.

Trystan squatted beside Jack and spoke to him in a low voice. Sadie couldn’t hear their conversation, not that she was trying to eavesdrop. Jack nodded, and a few moments later Trystan stood once more. He turned and walked over to Sadie. “My apologies, Madame Moon, but I have to take my leave. Jack had an appointment this morning that I’m going to attend in his stead.”

“That’s very good of you, Lord Trystan.”

He smiled, but there was little joy in it. “He’s my partner, and my best friend.”

Sadie’s heart pinched, and she felt guilty for blaming this man for Jack leaving her. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Intriguing blue eyes sparkled at her, as though they shared a secret. “I think, my lady, that he is also quite fortunate to have you.” He lightly squeezed her upper arm and turned to leave, but something gave him pause and he looked at her once again and said in a low voice, “This might not be the best time to bring this up, but I’m to tell you that your rent on the shop in Bond Street has been paid for a full year.”

Sadie’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

Lord Trystan cast a quick glance over his shoulder to Jack. “Perhaps he’s not the only lucky one.” He winked at her and strode from the room, leaving her to ponder this amazing announcement.

Within a few moments, Sadie’s attention turned to
Jack. Wonderful, heavy-handed, generous man. He’d eaten the bread she’d given him and was sitting on the sofa watching her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, but there was no emotion in his tone. It wouldn’t have sounded half so dreadful if he’d been angry.

She’d only insult them both—and their unborn child—by pretending ignorance. “I did. Or rather, I wrote to you. I think we both know what happened to our letters.” Was it shameful to place blame on a dead man’s shoulders?

“Not then,” he amended. “Now. You told me so much about your life without me, but you left that part out. Why?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know how to say it without it seeming as though I was trying to punish you.”

He said nothing, just nodded and looked away. He was going to punish himself, it seemed.

Sadie gathered up the clothing Trystan had placed on the back of a chair, draped them over her arm and went to Jack. She held out her hand. “Come.”

He slipped his hand in hers and stood, following her out the door, down the corridor, and up the large staircase. At the top they ran into the maid, who directed them to Jack’s chamber.

It was the earl’s chamber, Sadie realized with horror as they stepped inside. The huge tester bed was freshly made up and the room was spotless, but there was a pair of the late earl’s shoes near the wardrobe, and his personal items on the dresser. Of course the maid would
bring Jack here, where he could use his grandfather’s shaving soap. It was his room now.

She hung Jack’s clothes on a hook just inside the bathing room and left him long enough to turn on the taps to fill the tub. Then she turned to him and lifted her hands to his already loosened collar.

Jack caught her fingers in his. “I can do it,” he said gruffly.

“All right.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. She would have moved away, but he held her still.

“Why are you here, Sadiemoon?”

Now she lifted her eyes to his. Did he really have to ask? Perhaps after the way she’d been lately, he did. “Jack.” She gave her head a gentle shake. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come?”

“He never accepted you. You never liked him.
I
never liked him.”

She smiled softly at him, lifting her hand from his to brush her fingers across his rough jaw. “But we both loved you.”

Loved
. Past tense. As in,
I once loved you
,
you stupid twat
,
but then you walked out on me
,
and I lost our child and now I can’t look at you without thinking about it.
Or perhaps she spoke of love in past tense simply because his grandfather was dead. Maybe all wasn’t entirely lost.

But it felt lost. He’d made a boat load of money this last decade—particularly the last five or six years. And to what end? He’d just inherited that much and probably
more. So in the end, had he achieved anything that made leaving Sadie worth it?

He couldn’t bring himself to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He couldn’t seem to allow his eyes to fill with tears and find release in bawling and snotting like an infant, but he needed
something
to rid him of this numbness and the threat of simmering helplessness that seemed so hell bent on permeating it.