Worth Lord of Reckoning (29 page)

She could not ask him if he’d consort with his opera dancers while in Town, if he’d haul his brother around to the brothels in a display of fraternal hospitality. Men were capable of living parallel lives, she knew that from being Grey Dorning’s sister, and from the mistakes she’d made five years ago.

“I hardly need to pack much,” he said as they reached his room. He left the door open, but disappeared into his dressing room, allowing Jacaranda to peer around chambers she’d been in often enough, but never with him.

“Do you know where my emerald cravat pin has got off to?”

“I wasn’t aware you had an emerald cravat pin.” She followed him into his dressing room, because a possible theft of emerald jewelry on her watch was a very serious—

He dragged her up against him and covered her mouth with his as soon as she was across the dressing room threshold.

A morning kiss,
Jacaranda thought as pleasure bloomed. He tasted of sweetened tea and a little of desperation. She preferred the desperation.

“Damn you.” He pushed her up against a wardrobe. “How can you be so composed when I want to pitch a tantrum?” His kiss became slower, less desperate, more plundering. “I want to consume you, woman, to spend hours in bed wearing you out and then hours longer while you wear me out. Or maybe I’d go first, but what an end, eh? Say you’ll miss me.”

He kissed her neck, holding her hands stretched above her with one of his and brushing his other down her front.

“Worth.” Whispering his name was not a very impressive display of feminine authority. “
Worth Reverence Kettering.
” She got the whip-crack into it that time. “You must stop.”

He hung over her, his lungs working so each inhale meant his chest brushed her breasts. “Why stop?” An incongruous, wry smile bloomed across his features, and Jacaranda was relieved to see it.

“Because in twenty minutes, you’ll have to sit a horse, and I have no intention of permitting you nineteen minutes of liberties first.”

A look passed across his features, arrested, then maybe chagrined. He pushed away and crossed the little room to sink down onto a daybed.

“Cruel but accurate. I really do not want to go.”

“I believe you.” Still, she couldn’t bring herself to ask again when he’d be back. “I’ll look after the girls in your absence, and for Yolanda, it might even be a relief to have some breathing space.”

“That one.” He stood and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I can’t tell if what she wants is to stay with me, or to make Hess pay for leaving her to her own devices.”

“You might talk to her about it.”

“A novel idea: talk to a female about what she wants. Let’s give it a try, shall we? Do you want me, Jacaranda Wyeth?”

Maybe Jacaranda was the one in need of room to breathe. “Bodily? Of course, that has never been in question.”

His smile faded into puzzlement. “We should be back toward midweek. Parliament will go out of session, and I doubt Hess wants people to know he’s underfoot.”

Jacaranda pushed away from the wardrobe. “He’s single, titled, and wealthy. They’ll get word he’s in Town even if he never leaves your residence.” Grey had complained often enough about the London hostesses that Grampion’s plight earned her sympathy.

“Hess’s heir is similarly situated,” Worth reminded her. “I wonder about the wealthy part of it, Jacaranda.”

“In what sense?”

“Hess came down here without a single groom, for pity’s sake. I take a groom when I’m going any distance, to see to the horses, for safety, in case Goliath throws a shoe, a hundred reasons. Why no groom?”

“He made it here without one, and he’s a very private person, your brother.”

“He is. May I tell you something?”

The subject was no longer Hess Kettering, and unease skittered up Jacaranda’s spine.

“I want you to desire me,” Worth said, coming to stand right before her. “I think I can
make
you desire me, in fact, but I am confounded to admit that isn’t enough.”

She must not let him say anything more along these lines. “We haven’t even—”

He put two fingers to her lips.

“I know.” The puzzlement was back. “Will you miss me, Jacaranda? Will you stop in the middle of your day and wonder what I’m up to, if I’m thinking of you? Will you smile sometimes, to recall something I said, something I did? Or am I spouting callow nonsense, thinking, maybe just a little, that you want more than bed sport of me, too?”

“That is precisely the problem,” she said, trying not to be dazzled with what he’d confessed. Dazzled and heartbroken. “What I want is complicated. I’d hoped we might have time to discuss it, but now I want—”

“I want it, too. I thrive on complexity.” He kissed her again, sweetly, as if her answer had been exactly what he wanted to hear.

Then he rummaged in his bureau.

“Worth, bid the girls farewell. We’ll manage in your absence.”

“Manage.” He banged a drawer closed and held up an elegant gold and emerald cravat pin. “Bugger managing. Tell me, Jacaranda Wyeth. I will not let you out of this room until you do.” They weren’t touching, but his gaze bored into her with unnerving determination. “Tell me.”

Jacaranda took a moment to sort through what else lurked in his gaze: encouragement, a gift of his courage, offered to her to fortify her against any fears.

All he wanted was the truth. That again.

“I’ll miss you,” she said, sliding her arms around his waist. “I’ll say prayers for your safety, I’ll listen for Goliath’s hoof beats coming up the drive. When no one’s about, I’ll lift your pillow to my nose to bring your scent to me. I will not always be housekeeper here, Worth, but for now, I wish I had a miniature of you. I wish I had one of myself to give you.”

They were courting words, also parting words. He kissed her again, each cheek, each eyelid, framing her face with his hands, suggesting he’d heard the courting part and ignored the rest.

“You’ll be on horseback soon, Worth.”

“Right, and I must make my bow in the nursery. Sniff my pillow all you like.”

Then he was gone.

Before she left his rooms, Jacaranda stopped by the great lordly expanse of his high bed and brought his pillow to her nose.

* * *

“Good of Miss Snyder to bring Avery down to see us off,” Worth said. They’d left Least Wapping in the dust, the horses had worked off their fidgets, and Hess still hadn’t volunteered one word of conversation.

“I was surprised your Mrs. Wyeth didn’t see you off. Shall we let the beasts blow?” He brought his horse down to the walk, the steeplechaser Worth had put him on earlier in the week. “Your housekeeper seems fond of you.”

“One hopes she’s fond of me. I’m more than fond of her, so don’t get ideas.”

“About?”

Worth smiled at his brother to ensure hostile notions remained only notions. “I overheard her at breakfast. She might as well have smacked your nose with a rolled-up newspaper.”

“So that’s what put you in such a fine humor? Your housekeeper—who referred to you by your
given
name, by the by—scolding me? Why didn’t you call me out?”

“Same reason I didn’t years ago.” Worth hadn’t foreseen the conversation taking this turn, but neither would he dodge the topic. “The lady makes her choice, we fellows abide by her wishes.”

Hess fixed his gaze on the horse’s ears. “Mrs. Wyeth is choosing you?”

“She isn’t choosing
you.
” Brilliant, dear, stubborn woman. “That’s enough for present purposes.”

“I know this will sound ridiculous, but I wouldn’t want to see the woman abuse your sensibilities, Worth.”

“From you, who stole my bride, that does sound ridiculous.” Worth lifted his reins free of Goliath’s mane. “Touching but ridiculous.”

“Precisely because I did steal your bride, I’m protective of you,” Hess said. “Then too, you’re my only brother, my only adult sibling, my heir. Humor me and tread carefully around Mrs. Wyeth.”

Hess’s expression was a study in impenetrable, titled dignity, though Worth would never have taken his brother for a snob.

“You mean I’m not to offer her marriage?”

“Offer her marriage on a platter,” Hess said, “but only after she’s offered you her heart. I do not need to tell you women can dissemble, and we fellows, led about by something other than our common sense, don’t wake up until it’s too late.”

“Speaking from experience, Hessian?”

“Do you recall Lady Belinda Evers?”

Worth had a vague memory of a girl who’d briefly been as tall as he’d been, before adolescence had turned him into a compilation of elbows, knees, and peculiar vocal pitches.

“She was plain Belinda Turner when I knew her—a nice girl, not given to airs.”

“I have a daughter with her,” Hess said. “Or I’m almost sure I do. Evers is twenty-some years Belinda’s senior. She presented him his heir and spare, and then he pretty much went shooting for the duration. She told him she wanted more children, and he tried to rise to the occasion, so to speak, but frequently without adequate result. Belinda doesn’t understand I know what she was about.”

“This is quite a tale. How can she think to keep this secret from you?”

And how did Hess feel about not one but two women seeking taking advantage of him?

“Because she doesn’t know Evers shared his woes with me over brandy, complained about having a restless younger wife who demanded children from a man old enough to be a grandpapa, and so forth.”

Life in the north was supposed to be dull. “Then she batted her eyes at you over tea. You could have refused her, but you didn’t.”

“I almost felt as if Evers were asking for my help, truth be known. He dotes on the child. Belinda was miserable to see her boys growing up and nothing in her future but watching her husband age.”

This exchange of honest confidences with Hess had veered into the “be mindful what you wish for” category of business, and yet, this
was
what Worth had wished for—his brother’s trust and all that went with it.

“You use this situation with the fair Belinda and her aging spouse to punish yourself,” Worth said. “I can’t figure out all the details, but this was self-flagellation, wasn’t it?”

“I undertook a casual affair with a willing party—or Belinda did.” Hess spoke the words as if he’d rehearsed them many times. “We’re friends, all of us, in some way. I don’t pretend to understand it, and I’m not about to embark on such foolishness again.”

Hess could tell him this, because despite all, they were still close in a way known only to brothers. The realization warmed Worth as summer morning sun could not.

“You keep to yourself because of the girl?”

“Yes, because of her. Dallying is one thing, but giving up my children to be raised by other men is quite another. Amy is nearly four and has my eyes—our eyes. I’m still waiting for Belinda to tell me she at least suspects the child is mine, but it has been years, and she’s made no admission.”

Amy was an artifact of grief then, for she’d been conceived soon after the death of Hess’s countess. “Belinda is a loyal wife.”

“Oh, right.”

“Well, loyal and faithful aren’t always a matched pair.”

“This child might be my only progeny, Worth. You’d think Lady Evers might take that into consideration as well.”

“She’s trying to do you a favor, I suspect,” Worth said, battling more than a twinge of consternation on his brother’s behalf. “A damned strange sort of favor. I trust she loves the girl?”

“Belinda would give her right arm for her boys, but she’d give her life for that little girl. I have no doubt of that whatsoever.”

The horses walked along for the better part of a mile, while Worth composed a great philosophical oratory about fate and the Almighty and one’s role being mysterious. A fine speech it was, too, full of long words and poetic allusions. Also impressively boring.

London was still better than an hour away, and beside Worth, the earl remained silent.

“I’m sorry, Hess.”

“For?”

“You seem doomed to lose family. Your wife, your parents, your sister, all dead. Your daughter is being raised by another, your remaining sister can’t stand your household, and your brother and your niece live two hundred miles to the south. I’m sorry these hardships have befallen you.”

He phrased the sentiment as a condolence, but a more accurate description for what Worth experienced would have been…pity.

Commiseration, even, for some of those losses Worth had shared, and
his
brother was also two hundred miles distant.

A damned nuisance, that.

“I’ve come to treasure my solitude,” Hess said, “and at least my brother and I are no longer estranged.”

No, they were not, though how that had happened, Worth was not sure—nor did he need to be. “Maybe your luck is changing.”

“One can hope.” Hess nudged his mount back up to the trot, and they exchanged not another word before reaching the town house.

Chapter Thirteen

“Grey, you can’t haul Jacaranda home by her hair.”

Daisy Fromm, nee Dorning, scolded her oldest brother quietly as he paced her back terrace. Grey would be handsome if he weren’t always scowling and glaring, but he was scowling now and looking determined, and that always boded ill for someone.