Between a Rake and a Hard Place (12 page)

Jonah didn't know what to say, so he just kept stroking her hair.

“She hit her head on the iron balustrade,” Serena whispered. Then she fell silent and as her breathing relaxed into a slow rhythm, Jonah suspected she'd dropped off between one sentence and the next. Then she suddenly straightened and continued speaking. “She never woke up. I sat with her every day. I read to her. Pleaded with her to come back to me.”

A small sob escaped her lips and he tightened his embrace. Pain and grief roiled off her in scalding waves. It was as if she were reliving her mother's loss afresh and Jonah was powerless to do anything to help her.

Except grieve with the heartbroken girl she'd been.

Serena laced her fingers together on her lap, her knuckles whitening. “I prayed the most excellent prayers I could pray, but she just slipped away a little bit more with every shallow breath. She died the day my father came home. I think she was waiting for him…so I wouldn't be alone when she…”

Serena buried her face in his shoulder and wept.

People cried easily when they were foxed, but this was more than the claret talking. In her inmost part, Serena had never gotten over the loss of her mother. Her tears stained the black silk of his banyan. Finally, her nose red from weeping, she subsided into moist hiccups.

Jonah fished in his banyan pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief for her. He might not have the right words for this unexpected situation, but at least he had the right tools.

She blew her nose like a trumpet.

“So I put together my list of pleasures because my mother never got a chance to do all the things she wanted while she was here,” Serena explained, her words tumbling over each other in her hurry to get them out. “She never climbed Snowdon. Never went to Rome. She spent her last days with me planting that ridiculous garden.”

“You know,” he said slowly, “I'm no expert on this sort of thing, but I suspect that your mother thought spending time with you was the best adventure she could have.”

Her chin quivered and he feared he'd said the wrong thing.

“I only told you these things so you'll understand about my list,” she said, her voice growing softer but at the same time more urgent. “Don't you see? I can't wait. None of us are promised tomorrow. And when I come to the end of my life, whenever that may be, I don't want to look back with regret. I don't want to leave this world with anything undone.”

Jonah had seen his share of people leaving this world. He'd wager any amount of money that they all felt they had left things undone, but he didn't think she'd appreciate him saying so. And he certainly didn't want her to ask why he'd been present when so many souls “shuffled off this mortal coil.”

She sniffed loudly. “But my adventures have gone all wrong. I managed to see you covered in Orange Fool. I was embarrassingly sick in your study over the cigar, and now you find me all mushy and maudlin just because I've had too much to drink.” She balled up the handkerchief and shook her head. “What you must think of me.”

“I think,” Jonah said, rising with her still in his arms, “it's time you found your bed, milady.”

We note with little pleasure that Miss Jemima Blackstock and Lord Randall Finchley will be posting the banns in preparation for a rather rushed pre-Season wedding. Rumor has it the couple was caught alone together in the Blackstock family library after a well-attended piano concert at the home. While not absolutely in flagrante delicto, the couple's encounter could be most charitably described as “compromising.”

A reputation, once lost, is tediously difficult to regain. One hopes this cautionary tale warns other young ladies from even the appearance of impropriety.

From
Le Dernier Mot,

The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who Is Anyone Should Know

Since Serena didn't object, Jonah carried her out of the parlor and up the flight of stairs to the family wing of the great house. She was so still in his arms, he thought she'd dropped off to sleep again until he heard her whisper, “Third door on the left.”

He tried to walk quietly, even with Serena's weight in his arms. Jonah could have moved stealthily through a forest without a sound, but several of the floor boards in the long corridor creaked when he stepped on them. If there were any light sleepers on this hall, they'd hear his approach.

He was relieved once he managed to open Serena's door and close it softly behind them. No one else needed to know she was properly foxed. He laid her down on the big bed and drew the coverlet over her.

“Thank you.” Her words were so soft, he had to lean down to hear them. She snuggled deeper into the bedclothes, tucking them under her chin. “You're a good man, Jonah Sharp. If I had an ounce of sense, I'd love you forever.”

The next thing he heard was a small, very ladylike snore.

He straightened immediately. Love? There wasn't supposed to be any of that.
Must
be
the
claret
talking.

Besides, he knew better than anyone that he wasn't a good man.

But perhaps it wasn't unusual that she should be entertaining warm feelings for him. They'd spent a good deal of time together over the last few days. The proximity had affected him too. He couldn't deny that he felt
something
when he looked down at her.

It wasn't lust. He had no desire to bed her if she wasn't going to be a willing participant. Drunk sex was never as intense as when both parties were in full possession of themselves.

It wasn't guilt. Not this time. He hadn't gotten her into this sorry state, but he felt more than a little satisfaction over getting her out of it. He'd stay with her now and watch her sleep, just to make sure she was all right. Her head would feel like a cannon shot had gone off next to it in the morning, but if that was the worst she suffered for her overindulgence, perhaps it was worth it for her to be able to cross another item off that pernicious list of hers.

After all, she was doing it on account of her mother.

He shook his head and went to sit in one of the chairs before her fireplace. He didn't know which was more ridiculous—a lady who insisted on breaking all the rules or him being cast in the role of guardian angel.

But that still didn't settle the question of what was behind the strange glowing lump in his chest. It plagued him every time he was in the same room with Serena Osbourne.

His ears pricked to a soft tread and the occasional creak of the hall floorboards. When Serena's door swung open, he went still as a stone, satisfied that he was probably hidden in shadow. The fire in the grate cast enough wavering light into the room to show him Miss Braithwaite stealing close to Serena's bed.

She leaned over and sniffed. There was no mistaking the alcoholic fug hanging about the slumbering form.

“Oh, child,” the governess whispered as she settled a hip on Serena's bed, obviously intending to stay a while. “What on earth did you get into?”

“It's more a question of what got into her,” Jonah said softly, deciding he'd fare better if he announced his presence now rather than let her discover him there later. “Which as nearly as I can figure was a bottle and a half of the '90 claret.”

At first, Miss Braithwaite startled at the sound of his voice. Then she rose from the bed and advanced on him, her stiff-legged gait reminding him of a guard dog with its ruff up.

“How dare you, sir,” she whispered furiously. “What are you doing here?” She held up a hand to forestall his reply. “Never mind. It doesn't signify. Get out.”

Jonah rose. “Someone needs to stay with her till she wakes.”

“Well, it's not going to be you. Have you any idea what the marquis will do to you when he hears that you got his daughter thoroughly intoxicated?” She marched up and poked a finger at his chest. “It doesn't bear thinking of, young man. You will kindly quit this house first thing in the morning or I shall be forced to inform Lady Serena's father of this…this thoughtless abuse of his hospitality.”

Damn. That'll put a kink in Alcock's plans.

“What are you waiting for? Someone else to find you here as well?” She was trembling with rage. “If you have the slightest care for Lady Serena, you will go away. And I mean now.”

Jonah cast one last glance at Serena, who was so deeply in the arms of Morpheus she likely wouldn't have wakened if Miss Braithwaite had been shouting at him instead of hissing like a rabid cat. Then he skewered the governess with a steely gaze.

“Don't leave her till she's sensible again.” He started for the door. “Which in her case may be several years.”

***

“All in all,” Serena muttered as she pulled on her stockings, “overindulging in a manly drink was a worse experience than smoking a cigar.”

She wiggled her toes experimentally. Even her feet hurt.

At least after the smoking episode, she'd felt marginally better once she'd been sick. She hadn't become ill over the claret, just incredibly fuzzy about things and afraid her head was likely to detach itself from her shoulders and roll across the floor.

Perhaps it would be a mercy if it did.

When the long case clock had chimed four o'clock in the morning, Amelia had become worried because Serena hadn't stirred so much as an eyelash. She'd rung for a stout pot of coffee, a rack of toast, and proceeded to try to rouse Serena from her claret-induced oblivion.

After being shaken awake and plied with several cups of sugar- and cream-laced coffee, Serena was conscious enough to understand that Amelia was quietly livid with her because Jonah had been in her chamber.

“No, of course I didn't invite him,” Serena protested. At least, she didn't think she had. She vaguely remembered seeing him in the parlor, and she'd discovered one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs in the pocket of her wrapper. Someone had used it and she doubted it was Jonah since she still had the foul thing.

“A gentleman does not generally enter a lady's bedchamber unless he's sure of his welcome,” Amelia said, entirely too loudly.

Every sound was like a bass drum in Serena's ears.

“I was in no condition to welcome anyone. The point is,” she said, trying to keep her voice quiet and even so as not to disturb the uneasy equilibrium her shoulders had reached with her neck, “you say you found him simply sitting in one of the chairs. That doesn't sound as if he were trying to take advantage of my diminished capacity.”

In truth, she'd been in more danger of succumbing to Jonah without an ounce of liquor in her system back in that hunting lodge, but Amelia didn't need to know that.

“Still, it could have been ruinous if anyone but I had found him here,” Amelia said.

She tried to push another piece of toast into Serena's hand. For the last five hours, she'd been cajoling and begging Serena to eat in order to sop up some of the claret in her stomach. Serena choked down a single bite and put the toast back down.

“If I let something happen to you,” Amelia said, wringing her hands, “your father would never forgive me.”

“But isn't that what life is about?” Serena gave up and nibbled at the toast once more. “Things happening to me. You can't stop it. Why would you want to?”

“Serena, you're being purposely obtuse. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

Amelia crossed the room and threw back the curtains—out of spite, Serena figured—to let the morning sun stream in.

She covered her eyes with both hands.

“Where are my tinted spectacles?” she whimpered. Serena hoped the blue lenses would take the edge off the bright light.

“In the second drawer of the highboy,” Amelia said unhelpfully.

“Will you please get them for me?”

“No,” Amelia said waspishly. “If you insist on having things happen to you, who am I to stop you from enjoying the full experience?”

Serena shaded her eyes with her hand and walked, stoop-shouldered as an octogenarian, across the room to the tall chest. Eyes closed, she felt her way up the piece of furniture to the second drawer and located her tinted glasses. They didn't change her vision, but viewing the world through the cool blue was a relief. Once she propped them on her nose, she held out marginal hope that she'd live till lunchtime.

Amelia straightened the bedclothes so Serena wouldn't be tempted to crawl back into the bed. “At least we don't have to worry about Sir Jonah Sharp any longer.”

“Why, pray tell, is that?”

“Because I ordered him to leave the house this morning. I expect he's gone by now.”

“You what? Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because someone needs to protect you from a rake like that.”

“He may have the reputation of a rake, but he has acquitted himself like a gentleman with me.” She worried the lace on the hem of her night rail and managed to start it raveling. Starting with his brother, Jonah had a long history of accepting the blame and consequences for other people's bad deeds. “I won't make Jonah my scapegoat. He had nothing to do with the claret. I decided to drink it on my own.”

“On the list, was it?”

Serena nodded.

“Oh, that stupid list. I never should have encouraged you about it. Honestly, Serena, why are you jeopardizing your entire future for a few moments of foolishness today?”

“Which is more foolish—to dare to try new things or to sit on the sidelines and watch life pass one by without living it as you do?”

Amelia flinched and Serena felt a momentary pang for having wounded her. It wasn't her friend's fault that circumstances had given her so few choices. Even if Serena's exploits were uncovered, she knew she was somewhat insulated from her unconventional experiments by virtue of her wealth and station. She might be passed over by the Duke of Kent. She might lose a few invitations to a few balls, but she'd still be a marquis's daughter, with all the wealth and privileges attending that rank.

Society would censure someone of Amelia's standing heavily for the same missteps. If a governess were discovered dead drunk with a man in her room, she'd likely be given the sack and turned onto the street without character.

“You still had no right to order Jonah to leave,” Serena said in a softer tone, in an effort to both be more conciliatory and keep her head from imploding.

“I've seen the way he looks at you, dear,” Amelia said. “And the way you look at him. No good can come of it. Someone has to protect you from yourself.”

“No, someone needs to protect me from
you
.” Even though her head still banged like a smith's hammer, Serena stomped across the room to confront her old friend. “You had no right to send Sir Jonah away. He's my father's guest, not yours. And in the marquis's absence, this is
my
house. I decide when someone has outstayed their welcome. Not you.”

Amelia lowered her gaze and looked so remorseful Serena felt a stab of guilt for scolding her. Usually when they wrangled about something, the rebukes went the other way around.

She wondered if Amelia had ever felt guilty for dressing her down. She wouldn't have thought so, but theirs was a complicated relationship. Less than a parent and child, but far more than a governess and her charge. The love Serena and her old friend felt for each other always clouded the issue whenever they butted heads, which thankfully wasn't often.

“I apologize, my lady,” Amelia said, using Serena's title as both weapon and shield, a subtle reminder that they could never have a truly fair fight.

“And I'll accept it,” Serena said as she headed for the door, “as soon as I find Sir Jonah and convince him to return to Wyndebourne.”