In the Garden of Disgrace Page 2

  “Yes, my lord, I have.” She looked at him squarely though her voice still trembled.

  He was right. Her eyes were brown.

  “Does your master know you went abroad in the middle of the night to witness a duel? That is what you were doing, right?”

  She blinked. “Master?” She glanced down at her clothing, a maid’s uniform, as though she had never seen it before. “Oh y-yes, my master.” She licked her lips—very attractive lips, he noted. “No, he doesn’t know.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Again she hesitated. “Uh…my name is Jane.”

  There was something odd about the way she responded to his questions that piqued his curiosity. Seemed strange, for though she was dressed like a servant she didn’t sound like one. “And, Jane, who is your master?”

  She turned white as chalk. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

  “Your secret is safe with me. In a few hours I’ll be taking a packet for Calais. Who knows when I’ll be back?”

  The reality of that statement depressed Adrian enough to change the direction of his thoughts. He glanced out the window, for the moment lost to all but his own misery. Twenty-six years of age and life as he knew it was at an end.

  “Dover…”

  He looked at the maid, curious.

  “I should have realized we were headed for Dover,” she said.

  He started to respond but felt the carriage move as James climbed back on the box. Shortly thereafter they rolled onto the highway. Adrian turned to the maid again and was met by an expression of consternation on a face he had decided was really quite lovely. Too bad she wore that oversized cap.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Don’t you think I should have stayed at that inn? I mean, I could have taken a coach back to London.”

  “Should have thought of that before now. I can’t waste time on the chance I’m being pursued. Besides, do you have any money for purchasing your fare?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, Jane—if that’s your name—I’ve very little blunt on me and I need that for my trip into France.”

  “I forgot about money,” she said in a small voice.

  “Look, I know it is an inconvenience—although I won’t apologize since it’s not my fault you are here—but my friend Mr. Endicott has to return this hack to its owner, so he’ll be returning to London as soon as I book passage for Calais. You won’t reach home until tomorrow morning, but I think it is the best we can manage. After all, I am in the act of fleeing.”

  She must have caught the irony in his words, for she once again gave him a look that made him uncomfortable.

  “It’s your fault that you stole my hack,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you take your own carriage?”

  Oh ho. The little maid has teeth, he thought, his interest once again engaging. If she could fend for herself verbally, he had no difficulty trading words with her. In fact it might make the ride to Dover more agreeable. At once Adrian found himself wishing she would remove that ridiculous cap.

  “The hack doesn’t carry my crest,” he offered. “Not quite so easy to follow.”

  The only reply he received was a disdainful sniff.

  “Do you begrudge me my escape, Jane?” he asked in a silky voice.

  She eyed him, and he could see his tone had made her wary. “I saw the duel, my lord, and…and what came after. You had no choice and that’s what I would tell anyone who asked. That is if I could admit to being there.”

  “Dear Jane, have you become my champion?”

  A blush stained her cheeks. “No, but I try to be fair. Lord Findley would have shot you had you not stopped him.”

  “How old are you, Jane?”

  As he intended the abrupt change in the conversation seemed to confuse her. “How old am I? Why, ah…eighteen years.”

  Though Adrian believed she had not been entirely truthful with him, he decided the statement of her age came close to the mark. A little younger than he liked but still old enough to be interesting.

  “I have a favor to ask. I’m finding it more and more difficult to converse around that cap. What say you remove it so I can see with whom I’m speaking.”

  She began to shake her head, slowly at first then more rapidly until Adrian grew impatient. He plucked off the offending cap.

  She glared at him. “Now see what you’ve done!”

  Indeed he did see what he had done.

  She must have stuffed all her hair under the lace piece without using pins, for her hair fell past her shoulders in a glossy cascade of sable brown. Static caused feathery strands to float tantalizingly around her face.

  She snatched the cap from his grasp, a grasp gone suddenly slack. So had his jaw.

  “My, my,” Adrian murmured as a flicker of heat stirred in his groin. “Seems I’ve absconded with a treasure. What do you think, Jane, have I the right of it?”

  She appeared anything but gratified by his pretty words. “If a tangle of uncrimped hair makes you think so, my lord, then I’m certain you must be right.”

  “This may come as a surprise but I hate crimped hair. Women have a habit of tampering with nature, often not for the better.” He allowed a slow smile to ease his mouth. “Leave your hair alone, Jane. You cannot improve on perfection.”

  She sent him a look of incredulity—mixed with scorn?—and Adrian acknowledged her silent disapproval with a wink. Little Jane was a disrespectful baggage who did not know how to treat her betters. Of course, his interest in her had little to do with her station in life. He found himself surreptitiously examining her figure.

  The young woman clamped her lips together and, with an obvious effort to put him in his place, primly folded her hands in her lap and found something to occupy her interest outside the hackney window.

  A challenge—there was nothing Adrian liked better than a challenge. He left his seat, moving to the maid’s side of the carriage, and plunked down next to her. When she turned to glare at him, he gave her a wolfish grin.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I like it better over here. More comfortable, don’t you think? I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

  “Hardly.” The slight tremor in her voice belied her words. “However, since this seat is more to your liking, I give it to you.”

  She came to her feet, but the Gods must have decided to atone for the poor start to his day. One of the carriage wheels hit something in the road and she lost her balance.

  Adrian instantly reached out and, wrapping his hands around her trim waist, pulled her onto his lap. She went still, probably too shocked by her sudden difficulty to struggle.

  “Most comfortable of all,” he murmured, his speech turning thick when he realized her mouth was now inches from his own.

  His breathing accelerated as he permitted his scrutiny to travel from her lips, over a flawless complexion, to a pair of magnificent brown eyes staring back at him with reproach. His own eyes narrowed as he continued to study her lovely features, features somehow oddly familiar.

  “Do I know you, sweet Jane?”

  He saw fear flash across her face as she finally placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed away from him.

  “Are you quite finished with your inspection, my lord?” The words no more than a shaky whisper.

  “And if I am not?”

  She swallowed and Adrian found his gaze wondering to the smooth column of her throat, where his attention lingered as desire intensified and washed over him. He could not remember the last time he had so wanted to kiss a female. Perhaps the savage emotions that had erupted within him on the dueling field had turned into another form of aggression. He sent his regard back to hers, and for a moment they shared a tension-filled look. Some of what he was feeling must have been apparent in his expression, for the young woman began to wriggling in earnest in an effort to get away. That only served to heighten his awareness of the proximity of her body.

  “Stop now,
” he said, gripping her more tightly. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She ceased moving, but her breathing came in short quick pants, and he felt as though he held a frightened bird in his arms.

  “Lord Wicked,” she spat.

  Adrian’s brows snapped together. “What did you say?” He pulled back from her so he could see her face more clearly.

  “I said, my lord, your reputation is no hoax.”

  He was impressed by the little maid’s unexpected courage, for she looked at him, gaze never wavering. But her words were like iced water on his warm thoughts. As swiftly as the passion had risen it receded.

  Now also angry, more at himself than his companion, Adrian shoved her from his lap as he stood and swung back onto the other seat. Repositioning his body, he folded his arms across his chest and glared at her in disgust.

  She looked stricken. A part of him realized his behavior had been boorish, but his pride stung at the moment. Therefore, though feeling a pang of remorse, he refused to admit it. He was unused to being turned down by experienced women and, frankly, he found her virginal performance suspect. In fact Adrian found everything about this person suspect. Nevertheless, if she had no wish to while away the hours in a little pleasurable diversion, so be it. Although many things, he was not a cad.

  She had resumed her preoccupation with whatever passed by outside the window, hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes blinking rapidly as though she held back tears, and he could no longer ignore his conscience.

  “I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved,” he said at last. “I don’t think I’m myself today.” Apologize—that was something he didn’t often do, he thought, deciding to feel good about himself.

  The contemptuous look she turned on him caused Adrian to cringe inwardly.

  “I suspect you are exactly yourself today, my lord.” And with that she turned back to window.

  He started to respond but knew the effort would be wasted. He had lost his opportunity—if ever he’d had one. Moreover, that woman had a tongue like a prickly thistle. He had the discomfiting notion that in the war of words he had been the loser. Disgruntled, Adrian leaned his head back against the cushions, hoping to find the sleep he had been seeking when initially he had entered the carriage.

  *****

  Jillian listened to the soft snores of the gentleman who reclined across from her in the hack. It would be night soon, and from her window the outskirts of Dover had come into view. Already she could smell the sea.

  They had traveled all day with Mr. Endicott doing the driving, making only those stops that were absolutely necessary to change horses and use the convenience. She had found herself unable to eat, especially since Lord Wickham had indicated his funds were limited, but she had given in and taken fluid at his insistence. Jillian could not remember anything ever having tasted better than that iced lemonade.

  She had worried about James Endicott recognizing her, although they did not know each other personally. Thus she had put on her mobcap again, pulling it down around her face as much as she could. Fortunately, the man, aside from a curious glance in her direction when he had exchanged a few words with the earl at one of the stops, had shown her no interest.

  Jillian assumed since she wore a maid’s uniform and had her hair covered, she looked like the servant she was supposed to be. For that she was relieved because it would only complicate matters to return to London with a man who could report her misadventure to an eager ton.

  She had also feared Lord Wickham might recognize her as he was friends with her brother Simon. Six years before Simon had invited the earl to her family’s ancestral home at Sutherfield, but his handsome guest had given little attention to a smitten, twelve-year-old child. Frankly, she had no reason to believe Lord Wickham had any memory of her at all.

  In recent years the earl had refrained from venturing into society, probably because he had attained the dubious distinction of being a pariah in most of London’s better households. Consequently, Jillian had not seen him in a long time except from a distance, although the rumors about him ran rampant. She suspected her brother continued to see his old friend but the earl’s reputation being what it was, she knew Simon would not be inclined to bring Lord Wickham around his female relatives.

  Still, Jillian had the impression the earl was suspicious of her disguise. Hours earlier when he had asked if he knew her, she thought her heart would leap from her breast. And the way he had said Jane every time he addressed her, with just a touch of insinuation—oh, she’d felt like gnashing her teeth. Yet he must have been ignorant as to her real identity, for she knew he never would have treated Simon’s sister with such disrespect. Luckily, suspicious did not mean he had guessed the truth.

  Of course, Lord Wickham had not spoken little to her since their little argument. He had slept most of the day, waking when they stopped then retreating back into sleep once the carriage began to roll again.

  Her glance slid in the direction of the earl’s slumbering form as she remembered something else. He had wanted to kiss her. Conceivably he had wanted more than that, Jillian decided, her face warming as she remembered the reaction of his body where she’d sat on his lap. Shockingly, he had made no effort to hide his condition. No man, not even Lord Edgeworth, her future husband, had been that familiar with her before.

  Unfortunately, Lord Wickham’s bad manners were not the main subject of her uneasy reflections. The earl’s behavior was bad enough, but what bothered her worst of all was the unacceptable notion that she had wanted him to kiss her as well.

  She relived that moment when his eyes, clear and wintry blue, had locked with hers. The message radiating from his compelling gaze had stunned her, and now as then she experienced an odd shiver of excitement. Perhaps Meredith was right. Perhaps Jillian was “entranced by the infamous Lord Wicked.” That traitorous thought made her feel disloyal to Lord Edgeworth. She chanced another peek at her companion and was startled to find he had awakened. Lord Wickham was watching her through half-lidded eyes, openly assessing, and for the hundredth time that day her heart thumped out of control. She found the silence unbearable and, since he did not appear in a hurry to end the torture, she decided to make the effort instead.

  “We’re in Dover. I expect we’ll be at the docks shortly.”

  “I expect you’re right.” The words were delivered in a bored voice, strangely at odds with the expression on his face.

  “W-will you have to stay away for long?”

  “Long enough, I’m afraid.” Lord Wickham sat straight as the hackney came to a halt then opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle. “Wait here,” he said.

  Jillian could hear him conversing with Mr. Endicott, although she did not know what was said. Moments later, the earl poked his head back into the carriage.

  “Miss…Jane, it’s been a difficult day and sadly it’s only half over. We both have the night ahead to dwell on our misdeeds as we seek our respective destinations. Please believe me sincere when I apologize for the uncomfortable turn our journey took.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Endicott has promised to see you home. Where should he take you when you reach London?”

  Jillian thought to lie, but the only thing she wanted now was to reach home and as quickly as possible. She shuddered to think what her greeting would be once she arrived there.

  “Lord Sutherfield’s residence in Berkeley Square.”

  The earl frowned and once again she was subjected to a considering look. “I know the family,” he said. “I’m a friend to the eldest son. His father is a reasonable man, but if you need someone to plead your case Mr. Endicott can explain what happened. Hopefully that will save your employment.”

  She nodded and then he was gone.

  Almost twelve hours later, just before the sun heralded another day, the hackney pulled into Berkeley Square. Jillian, reaching for the door handle, burst out of the carriage and jumped to the ground before Mr. Endicott could join her.

  “Do you need my help?” he
asked from his perch. “Lord Wickham asked me to offer an explanation to your employer.”

  “No,” she answered, keeping her face turned away from him as she had at every stop during the long night.

  What came next she must brave alone. Waving him on, she pulled her cap more closely over her ears, hoping—no, praying—he had not recognized her. Then she started down the walk.

  The mansion was lit from top to bottom, the lights in the approaching dawn announcing as nothing else could the turmoil that gripped its residents. For one insane moment she toyed with the idea of fleeing as Lord Wickham had done. But even as the thought entered her head the front door was thrust open. Outlined in the doorway stood Papa, imposing and at that moment more frightening than she had thought possible.

  “Jillian!” he demanded.

  She heard the rough texture in his voice, the outrage, and again she prayed as her feet moved in answer to his summons. The trip down the walk was the longest few seconds of her young life.

  She reached the step but dared not look at him. It was not so much his anger she feared. It was his disappointment, for that she did not think she could bear. But because the not knowing was worse than the knowing, she gathered her courage and, when she stepped over the threshold, peered into his features. Her eyes welled with grief as the door closed behind her.

  And so began Lady Jillian’s fall from grace.

  *****

  CHAPTER 2

  Suffolk County, England—May, 1810

  Adrian St. John tugged on the reins of his horse, bringing the animal to a halt as he reached the rise of a small incline. He sat for several minutes, forearm resting on the pommel of his saddle, and surveyed the surrounding property, property owned by the Marquess of Sutherfield. In the distance he could see the main house, a sprawling manor whose history was evidenced by the additions that had been added through the centuries to the original structure.

  From atop the rise the rolling hills, the forest beyond, everything looked reassuringly the same even though the earl had been a young man of twenty when he last visited the Fitzgeralds. He wondered if he would be welcome after so many years.