A Woman Scorned (18 page)

Cole shrugged. “I am persuaded, Jonet, that you do not fully comprehend the nature of my relationship with James and Edmund. You say that I am blinded by affection, but you are very much mistaken. I daresay no one knows either of them better than I. Believe me when I say James would do nothing to harm his brother, and that Edmund is incompetent to do so.”

Jonet shuddered again. “But James would dearly love to see me hang.”

“That may be true,” Cole whispered. He stared across the grass at Stuart, who was running down the length of the Serpentine with the collies on his heels. “But only if he thinks you guilty.”

“But I am not!” she cried stridently, crushing one fist into her lap. “Oh, I have grown so weary of this! Why will no one admit that
I
had no reason to kill Henry! Indeed, he was hardly worth the effort. We went our own ways long ago, and I am no better off for his having died.”

“But now you are free to remarry,” said Cole a little desperately, not knowing where such words had come from. He stared down at the dainty hand he held too tightly in his own, and felt a moment of sick regret.

“
Oh!
” she cried, dispelling it. “As if I would be so foolish as to take another husband!”

Cole held her gaze intently. “You cannot fail to be aware, Jonet, that there are many who expect you to wed Lord Delacourt as soon as your mourning has ended.”

Almost hysterically, Jonet began to laugh. “Oh, do they indeed? Then we must hope no one holds their breath in anticipation, or there shall be yet another funeral instead of a wedding.” She threw back her head and stared into the trees overhead. Cole could see her blinking rapidly.

“Jonet—”

“David and I shall never marry,” she cut across him sharply. “The very thought is ridiculous. He is my dear . . .
friend
. And that is all we shall ever publicly be.
Friends
. Why can society not accept that of me, when every other woman of the
ton
has a vast collection of escorts and lovers trailing after them?”

“Perhaps,” he said simply, “because you are more beautiful and more bold than any other woman of the
ton
. Perhaps you . . . intrigue them.” At that remark, her chin dropped, and her head swiveled toward him. Jonet’s eyes were wide, her face blank with confusion. Cole could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, and he knew that despite his tanned skin, his face was red. He steeled himself for a setdown.

But there was none forthcoming. “I thank you, sir,” Jonet quietly replied. “But beauty can be a curse, too, and I can see plainly enough that mine is not what it once was. I am thin, too drawn, and I look like . . .” She sighed sharply. “Well, like a haggard old crow these days.”

A haggard old crow?
Cole was arrested for a moment. Was it remotely possible that Jonet Rowland did not know that she was more beautiful now than she had been at eighteen? Such naïveté was incomprehensible. No doubt she was merely toying with him. And yet when Cole looked at her, she appeared to be perfectly sincere. Almost grateful to him, in fact. What a perplexing woman she was. And how he both longed and feared to know her better. Yet there was no denying that she had made him almost violently angry this morning in the breakfast parlor. Now, however, Cole was forced to admit that his heated response to her words could not be fully blamed on Jonet. He had, perhaps, overreacted by seizing her hand. And Jonet’s comments had been calculated to make a hard point, but not to open an old wound.

How could it have been otherwise? The woman hardly knew him. Most certainly, she did not know his failings. No one did. It should have galled him, perhaps, to see her struggling so valiantly to do with her life just what he had failed to do with his, but it did not. Oddly enough, Cole’s admiration of the lady seemed to grow in spite of their many setbacks and misunderstandings. In spite of the fact that she might be a murderess. Grudgingly, he released her hand and sat a little bit away from her on the bench.

With a facile brilliance, Jonet turned to smile at him. “Let us talk of something else. Will you share with me your impressions of my sons? Are they terribly behind in their studies?” Her voice regained its resolve and composure. “They are quite bright, are they not?”

Readily, Cole agreed that they were. In fact, little had suffered from the four months without schooling—except, perhaps, their discipline. For a long while he and Jonet talked of the boys; of their likes and dislikes, and of their weaknesses and aptitudes. Unlike some parents Cole had seen, it was quite clear that Jonet held no delusions about her children. She weighed both their shortcomings and their talents with an equal hand, and in all things, Jonet Rowland gave every impression of being a sensible, loving mother, and nothing like the shallow, selfish woman James had led him to expect. Indeed, if one could but ignore Jonet’s dark beauty and volatile temper, she seemed perfectly . . . normal. A witty, vibrant woman whom Cole might have wanted as a friend, had circumstances been different.

Shifting her weight, Jonet propped her elbow on the back of the bench and studied the man who was seated next to her. Overhead, the leaves tossed lightly in the breeze, dappling sunlight and shadow over the hard planes of his face. The day had grown warm, and as she listened to the calming rumble of Cole’s voice recount Robert’s morning antics in the schoolroom, much of her unease settled. Together, they found themselves chatting almost companionably for the next quarter hour, until a sudden, awkward hush fell over them, as it so often does when two people who have resolved to dislike one another unexpectedly find common ground.

Quickly, Jonet spoke to dispel the silence, but her words were clumsy. “You are a widower, Cole, are you not?” She dipped her head, feeling the heat rise to her face. “That is to say . . . well, I seem to recall that you married shortly after Henry and I. That is why I remember,” she finished awkwardly.

She sensed at once she had touched a nerve. The muscles of his face drew taut, and his throat worked violently. “Yes,” he said at last. “My wife died while I was in Portugal.”

“I am very sorry,” Jonet said softly. “How tactless I am. No doubt your marriage was quite different from mine, and you miss her a great deal.”

His eyes searched her face, as if he struggled to understand Jonet’s question. “Rachel was a good woman,” he finally said. “It was a great honor to be her husband.”

Jonet noticed he had said nothing about love or devotion, and she wondered if the omission was deliberate. Had Cole felt passion for his wife? If so, one could not discern it from his words, and yet, he looked like a deeply passionate man. “A pity you had no children,” she said lightly. “You are quite good with them.”

There was a long silence during which Jonet watched the knuckles of Cole’s hand whiten where he gripped the edge of the bench. She began to feel increasingly awkward. Good heavens, when had she lost all semblance of tact? Indeed, she sometimes feared she was losing her mind. First her irrational reaction this morning, and now this! Clearly, she had touched on another delicate issue. After all, what did she know of this man? Perhaps he
did
have children. Perhaps he was somehow estranged from them. Really, it was none of her business! She had grown entirely too interested in Cole Amherst. She had foolishly allowed herself to bask in the fleeting illusion of friendship, and in the process, had let down her guard, and possibly insulted him.

Cole’s face remained flat and emotionless. “No, I have no children,” he finally answered.

Jonet did not know what further to say. At the end of the bench, Cole shifted, then turned, as if he could not make himself comfortable. Finally, he made a vague gesture toward the Serpentine. “Your cousin, Miss Cameron, seems quite pleasant,” he said tightly.

They watched as Ellen threw a stick and Rogue scampered toward the water after it. “She is very dear to me,” agreed Jonet, turning to look sharply at him. “And on that score, I daresay I owe you another apology. I had meant to introduce you at dinner last night, but when you dined out instead . . . well,I find that my mind has been much occupied of late.”

Cole inclined his head in acknowledgement of her apology. “I met Miss Cameron yesterday afternoon. In the book-room. Tell me, has she always made her home with her aunt?”

“Oh, no! She grew up with me in Scotland.” Jonet sighed wistfully. “Her father was my father’s younger brother. We are both devoted to Kildermore.”

Cole’s brows pulled incrementally together. “She has never wished for a home of her own? She has never wished to marry?”

The question gave Jonet an uncomfortable pause.
Did Cole find Ellen charming?
Clearly, he disapproved of Jonet rather keenly, so perhaps Ellen was indeed more to his taste. She certainly had not failed to note how Cole had offered Ellen his arm and escorted her through the park, his golden head bent to her darker one as they conversed in muted tones. Immediately, she felt ashamed. In many ways, Ellen and Cole would be ideally matched. Jonet should be pleased.

“No.” Jonet lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Kildermore is her home, just as I consider it mine. Her parents died when she was young, and Papa brought her to live with us. We even came out together.” Jonet wrinkled her forehead in thought. “But Ellen never really . . .
took
.”

“Perhaps it is your family’s tendency to breed women who are over-bold,” Cole replied, and Jonet’s head jerked toward him. She was relieved to see a teasing light in his eyes.

“No doubt you are right,” she agreed with mocking good grace. “I daresay an inheritance the size of mine is sufficient to offset any number of dreadful faults.”

“I did not say that boldness was a fault, my lady. Indeed, it can be quite an asset, but one which some men may find too challenging to take up.”

“You are prodigious good with words, are you not?” Jonet smiled faintly. Apparently, the devil had taken hold of her tongue again. Cole’s gold-brown eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to utter a cutting retort, but no words came out. Instead, the warm spring air was rent by the terrifying scream of a child.

Cole had no memory of leaping from the bench and racing toward the Serpentine. Indeed, he had no memory of wading into the water, nor of dragging Robert and Scoundrel out of it. He knew only that by the time Jonet reached them, flying over the distance with her skirts brazenly hiked up, both he and the boy sat in the grass, Cole’s boots and breeches ruined, and Robert drenched to the skin. Beside him, the dog began to shiver.

“What happened?” Jonet screamed, falling heedlessly to her knees in the grass. She reached out desperately with both hands, cupping her son’s wet, ashen face. “
My God!
What happened here?” Water from Robert’s hair soaked her gloves and ran unnoticed down her wrists.

Scoundrel dipped his head, snuffling nervously at Robert’s coat. At once, Cole became aware of Stiles anxiously hovering, and Ellen drawing in a sharp, sobbing breath. In the background Stuart stood immobilized, the other dog by his side. Ellen stepped closer to Cole.

“Robin! Tell me! What happened?” Jonet repeated, her voice edged with hysteria.

Robert screwed up his face and began to wail. “Scoundrel p-pushed me in!” he cried. “W-w-we were just playing in the water with a stick, and h-h-he wanted to swim!” The last word broke into another wail as Stiles dropped to his haunches next to Jonet.

Stiles looked bloodless and shaken. “I turned me back but a moment, m’lady, I swear it! I went ’round the bushes ter look for the other lad, and I reckon . . . why,I reckon the poor boy stepped over the edge.” The stout footman gestured toward a stand of tall shrubbery. “Mayhap the dog did get in the way like. But it were an accident, nothing more.”

“Miss Cameron!” Cole bit out, pulling the wet coat away from Robert. “What did you see?”

Timidly, she came forward and knelt in the grass beside Jonet. “Oh!” she answered on a sob. “I was just over there.” She pointed at a level patch of grass. “And I think—oh, I
think
I was admiring a cloud . . . and oh, dear! It was dreadfully foolish of me to let my mind wander!” Her voice caught painfully. “I looked away but a moment, Jonet, and the next thing I knew, they were both in the water. And then Stuart screamed.”

“Stiles!” shouted Jonet grimly, tearing her gaze from Robert. “Search the shrubbery.”

The footman looked at her in amazement. “But my lady! T’weren’t no one there! Just the boy and the dog.”

Held tightly in his mother’s arms, Robert shuddered. “Search it!” she ordered. “All of it.”

With a tug at his forelock, Stiles leapt up and began moving swiftly through the clumps of shrubbery that lined the water’s edge. Cole watched the footman as he moved, realizing how easy it was to intermittently lose sight of someone walking along the shoreline. In truth, with a little luck, half a dozen men could have made their way around the shore unseen.

And there
had
been someone in the vicinity. He remembered it now. “There was a couple walking from that direction.” Cole pointed to the right. “A few minutes ago. Did no one else see them?”

Tearfully, Ellen shook her head. “I saw no one.” Filled with unease, Cole returned his attention to Jonet and Robert, whose sobs were beginning to quiet. Almost automatically, he reached out to her, placing the weight of his hand firmly on her shoulder.

Her face swiveled up, her eyes still wide with terror. “Jonet,” he said softly. “Are you all right?” Mutely, she nodded, but the trembling of her full, expressive mouth betrayed her.

“Listen to me,” he said intently. “Robin is safe. Take him home. And get him out of those wet clothes. He’s to have a warm bath at once.” Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. “Jonet, do you hear?”

He waited for Jonet to nod. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

Cole looked grimly at her. “I shall remain behind—with Stuart,” he added firmly.

Panic darkened Jonet’s gaze again. “I will not let him from my sight,” stressed Cole gently. “I will not so much as let go of his hand, Jonet. We are going to have a walk around, and see what, if anything, he remembers. Now go. Get Robin home. And trust me.”