In the Garden of Disgrace (31 page)

The footman, in the act of turning away,
looked to her again. “Yes, My lady?”

“Enjoy yourself.”

Biggs face broke into a grin. “Thank you, my
lady.”

As the servant retreated, Jillian brought
her attention back to her guest. “Now, my lord, what can I do for
you?”

Lionel still watched the doorway where Biggs
had stood but when Jillian spoke to him, he brought his gaze to
her, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Yes…” he said slowly. “I
wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other night.”

“You mean the night when Lord Wickham
pummeled your face?” She watched him cringe beneath her brutal
words.

“That would be the night,” he agreed.

“I believe he hit you very hard, my lord,
because I can still see the marks.”

“Wickham has a certain brutishness about him
that must be admired, I suppose. And to his credit he thought he
was protecting your honor.” His expression turned spiteful. “Too
bad he couldn’t manage to protect you eight years ago when it would
have mattered.”

Jillian came to her feet. “This is getting
us nowhere, my lord. You wanted to apologize—I accept. You should
leave now.”

Lionel stood as well and moved toward her.
“Jillian, please, I did not mean to offend. If you knew how much
I’ve suffered, you would find it in your heart to forgive me. You
cannot be as indifferent as you want me to believe.”

“Lionel, it’s not indifference. We’ve
changed, you and I. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“I love you, Jillian.”

That was the second man to proclaim such
feelings for her in less than a
sennight
. Adrian had warmed
her heart. Her only response to Lionel’s declaration was
irritation.

“I want you to go, my lord.” She moved
toward the entry to see him from the house.

“There’s something else I wanted to tell
you,” he said in a hurried voice, following her across the room.
“It’s Meredith.”

“Meredith? What do you mean?”

“She, uh…she wants to see you.”

“She does? Then why didn’t she come
herself?”

The marquess placed his finger in his
neckband as though his collar had become too tight. “She thought
you might not receive her. She asked me to come in her stead.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. Only
last week—”

Jillian paused because his gaze had turned
watchful, and she feared revealing something Meredith had attempted
to conceal. “Then tell her I would be happy to receive her.”

“Now there’s the problem,” he said, looking
even more uncomfortable, “she’s not feeling well and she hoped you
would be kind enough to pay a call on her.”

That sounded reasonable enough. For many
women the first months of pregnancy were fraught with nausea and
related discomforts.

“Tomorrow. Tell her I will call tomorrow
when she is feeling better. Give me your card with your direction.”
Jillian moved toward the door, almost desperate now for him to
leave.

“She’s expecting you today. She’s set out
tea and everything. I beg you, Jillian, I promised her.”

“Lionel—”

“Please,” he said again. “You have no idea
how the loss of your friendship has pained her. She’s not been
herself in weeks. You say you’ve forgiven me, now please forgive
her.”

The way he put it made her feel less than
charitable. She opened her mouth to refuse him but found herself
accepting instead, albeit reluctantly.

“All right, but I’m doing this for Meredith
not you.”

“Understood,” he said, pulling her toward
the entrance. “Meredith will be so pleased you’ve consented to
come.”

He was talking fast as though still trying
to convince her, fearing it seemed that she might change her mind
at any moment. He picked up his hat and cane from the hall table
and ushered Jillian onto the walk. A rented conveyance waited for
them as they reached the curb.

“This is a hackney, Lionel,” she stated when
he released the door handle. “Where is your carriage?” Jillian
asked only out of casual curiosity, but immediately she detected an
altering in her companion’s demeanor.

He turned on her a brooding look. “Sometimes
I like to travel without being recognized. A crest emblazoned on
the carriage hardly allows for anonymity.”

“That is true but why would you want to go
unrecognized?”

“I have my reasons,” he said.

His manner had transformed so swiftly and so
completely, at once she felt nervous. Jillian wished she had
followed her first inclination and stayed home. Only now did she
think to wonder why Lionel, who was scarcely an admirable husband,
would suddenly be concerned with his wife’s emotional state.

“I’ve reconsidered, my lord. I believe it
would be best if I call on Meredith tomorrow as I said
originally.”

Lionel grabbed her arm. She glanced down
where he held her, his hand squeezing a little tighter than was
necessary, then looked him in the face. A fine sheen of
perspiration covered his upper lip, however, his expression
appeared harmless enough.

“You gave your word, Jillian,” he said, all
but pushing her into the carriage. “Think of Meredith.” The
marquess lumbered in behind her, closing the door, and the hack
rolled immediately. Jillian was flabbergasted by his behavior
although she suppressed her initial reaction to fight him. After
all, why was she afraid? This was Lionel—weak, ineffectual Lionel.
She chanced a peek at him but he did not return her look, instead
staring out the window as if engrossed by the passing scenery. “In
what part of Bath do you reside, my lord?” She spoke, not because
she cared where he lived, but because the unrelenting quiet made
her nerves vibrate.

“Across the Avon,” he said abruptly.

Nonplussed by his vague answer, Jillian gave
up trying to communicate with him and looked out her own window.
Gradually the streets changed from ones she knew to ones she did
not know. She expected any moment the carriage would turn onto one
of the many avenues where the fashionable sought housing, but the
hackney continued on its journey, and sure enough they took the
bridge that crossed the River Avon. When at last they entered a
neighborhood that could be called modest if one were being
generous, she turned to her companion.

“Lionel, where are we?” she asked, not
bothering to hide the consternation in her voice.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

“You still have not said where that is.”

“See for yourself. We are pulling to the
curb as we speak.”

So they were. As the hackney came to a halt,
Jillian peeked out the window to see a small townhouse in the midst
of more houses much the same. Although the townhouse appeared newly
painted and in decent condition, it showed in obvious contrast to
the dilapidated residences on either side.

Jillian gave the marquess an incredulous
look. “You live here?” she asked.

Lionel had opened the door and, after
leaping out, helped her to the ground. “It’s not so bad,” he said,
sounding defensive as he turned to pay the driver.

Jillian glanced at his face, and once again
she noticed his truculent attitude. More and more she realized she
had made a mistake in coming.

They were met at the door by a burly fellow
with thick features and a dull look in his eye. The man wore no
livery, thus Jillian assumed he was not a butler or footman. Even
if he had been appropriately costumed, she could not imagine a less
likely individual as an upper servant. Strange that this seedy
person was opening the door to those who called on the
Marquess.

“Riley,” Lionel said to the man, “everything
quiet?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Riley answered in an ignorant
accent, his gaze darting to Jillian. “Ain’t nobody been to see you
‘cept that one woman what was ‘ere last week. She was real
angry—”

“That’s enough,” Lionel cut him off. “Tell
me about it later.” Taking Jillian’s elbow, he said, “We have a
guest Lady Jillian who will be with us for a little while.”

As the hulking servant centered his full
attention on her, Jillian felt the energy drain from her body.
Despite her weakness she pulled her arm free of Lionel’s grasp and
backed away from the men as Riley’s face lit with interest.

“She’s more beautiful than the rest,
m’lord,” the servant said on a lopsided grin.

“Indeed, she is,” Lionel agreed, his eyes
narrowing with a less than subtle emotion that made her skin
prickle in disgust. Oddly, his bad humor had fallen away as though
it had not existed only moments earlier. As she watched him Jillian
wondered how she could have ever fancied herself in love with this
man.

“Lionel,” she said, her voice shaking with
outrage, “
where?
Where is your wife? You told me Meredith
wanted to see me.”

The marquess pursed his lips. “Yes, I
believe I did—a necessary lie. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you do such a
thing?”

“Come into my parlor—it’s humble but
comfortable,” he said silkily, indicating the first room off the
entry, “and I will explain.”

“No!” She moved toward the main entrance,
but Riley stepped in her way. Now feeling truly fearful, she said,
“I demand that you take me home immediately.”

Lionel sighed. “Jillian, I’ve gone to some
trouble to bring you here,” he said, the words patient. “If you
fight I’ll have to employ Riley’s considerable brawn to change your
mind.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Jillian looked first at
Lionel and then into Riley’s grinning features and knew she was
wrong.

“I’d rather not but if you give me no
choice…” The marquess shrugged.

How could she have been so stupid? Though
given countless alternatives she would never have guessed Lionel’s
desire for her had become obsession. Unfortunately, clear thinking
was useless at the moment. She either cooperated or would be forced
to do what he wanted anyway. With as much dignity as she could
muster she marched into the parlor, walking to the far side of the
room before spinning around to face her captor.

“You planned this,” she hissed.

“I did.” Lionel closed the parlor door,
leaving Riley in the hall, much to her relief. “Though, it was
easier than I thought it would be. That servant of yours leaving
was a stroke of luck.” He moved to the sideboard and the brandy.
“Drink?”

She ignored the question. “When did you
decide to bring me here?”

“When I discovered Wickham had left Bath,”
he said, pouring brandy in two glasses.

“Why, Lionel, why?”

“Because you are about to make a dastardly
mistake, and I feel it is my duty to stop you.” He looked sincere,
and she knew he believed what he said.

“It is beyond your power to alter what I
will or will not do, my lord. Your influence in my life ended long
ago, and it was your decision.”

“You’re not going to let me forget that, are
you?” he grumbled, crossing the room and handing her one of the
glasses. When she shook her head in refusal, he barked, “Take
it.”

Jillian reached for the drink, ashamed that
her hand shook.

“Now take a sip. It will relax you,” he
said. “I don’t want you quivering like a frightened mouse.”

She downed a small swig of the brandy, but
her throat refused to participate, probably due to nerves. Her
windpipe closed over the burning liquid and she coughed violently,
eyes watering.

As her sight cleared, she wheezed, “I am
frightened. What can you expect when I have no idea whether or not
you mean to harm me.”

“Harm you? Do you think I would harm
you?”

She gave him a long, considering look. “I
don’t know what to think right now, Lionel. What I do know is if
you don’t take me home before it is too late, this little escapade
could escalate into a disaster.”

“Wickham?” He said Adrian’s name as though
it were a curse.

“Among others. My brother will not take
kindly to your treatment of me, either.”

That seemed to give him pause. “I had
forgotten about Sutherfield. Well, no matter. I have tonight to
convince you, and I aim to do just that.”

“Tonight?” Jillian’s chest filled with
dread. “You can’t mean to keep me here overnight. I’ll be
ruined.”

“Ruined you say?” He laughed cruelly.
“That’s like saying I wet down the sea. You’re already ruined, and
it’s hardly my fault. That bastard Wickham is at the root of your
downfall and, by the by, the root of my ruined life as well. I
refuse to take responsibility for his misdeeds.”

“The problems I have encountered recently
with my reputation have been directly related to you, Lionel.”

“Enough!” he bellowed, startling her. He
tossed off the rest of his drink, swallowing slowly as if composing
himself. He slanted an irritated look at her. “I don’t want to
argue about this right now. We are going to have supper, you and I,
and we’ll talk then.” He moved to the door. “Riley will see you to
a room where you can freshen yourself. We eat in one half
hour.”

*****

Jillian glanced at the clock on the bedside
table. In less than five minutes Lionel would expect her downstairs
where, it seemed, they were to share food and “congenial”
conversation. However, her time in this room had not been spent
readying herself for the meal ahead. She had instead spent the
allotted half hour attempting to devise an escape.

Her first inclination was to dash to the
window. Unluckily, the window frame was nailed to the casing, but
it didn’t matter. There were two floors beneath the one she was on
and no secure foot or handholds that she might use to climb down
the outer wall of the house. Had she been able to get through the
window, she would have had to leap to the ground, most likely
breaking bones.

She knew Riley stood watch in the hall,
mainly because he had told her that’s where he would be. He was a
barbarous fellow, clearly unintelligent, and under the right
conditions she might be able to manipulate him. She would have to
keep that possibility in mind if the opportunity arose.