Jaded Moon (Ransomed Jewels Book 2) (16 page)

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

Ross handed the butler his hat and gloves. The weather was splendidly warm today and he hadn’t bothered with a coat. “Is Miss Josephine at home?”

Banks smiled. “She’s waiting in the drawing room. If you’ll follow me.”

“I know my way, Banks.”

“Very good. Will my services be required later, do you think?”

Ross shook his head. “No. Perhaps Lady Clythebrook needs your assistance in the other part of the house.”

“I’m sure she does,” Banks answered with a smile he quickly hid.

Maybe he could cajole Josephine into taking a ride with him today. He hadn’t been able to talk her into leaving the house on his last visit. Even though she’d assured him nothing was the matter, he knew that wasn’t true. Dark circles rimmed her eyes as if she hadn’t slept well for nights, and the last two times they’d met she’d been uncommonly subdued.

Ross walked down the hall until he reached the room where he always met her and looked inside. The door was open and she stood on the other side of the room looking out onto the terrace and beyond.

She was so lovely, small and petite, her golden hair pulled atop her head to expose her long, graceful neck. She wore a pale blue gown today that fastened high at the neck with a ruffle of white lace. Ivory buttons pulled the dress tight around her narrow waist and Ross remembered how perfectly she’d fit against him. He wanted to walk up behind her and put his arms around her and pull her into his embrace. Instead, he cleared his throat and waited until she turned around to face him.

The breath caught in his throat. She had the most stunning blue eyes. Every time she looked at him they sparked with a vibrancy that warned him she was prepared to challenge his attempt to raise the number of rules he’d accused her of breaking. Today, though, it was obvious that something was wrong. The circles he’d noticed days ago were even darker and the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth didn’t reach her eyes.

He greeted her with a smile and walked across the room to take her hands in his. They were icy cold.

“Good afternoon, Miss Foley. How lovely you look today.”

“Thank you, Lord Rainforth. How kind of you to say so.”

Ross laughed at her perfect execution of drawing room manners and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “How exquisitely you’ve mastered rule number two.”

She played her part to perfection and smiled. “I believe rule number one concerned the gracious manner in which to accept a compliment. Rule number two was that a single woman of gentle breeding must never entertain a male visitor alone without a chaperone present, preferably a lady of unquestionable character.” She pulled her hands out of his grasp. “I’ll ring for Lady Clythebrook to join us. She’s conveniently occupied herself at another part of the house again this afternoon.”

“No,” Ross said with a laugh. “Don’t bother her. It’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m sure we can count on Banks to hover nearby to protect your reputation. I promise to conduct myself with exemplary decorum so there’s no need for you to concern yourself.”

“Very well. I’ll ring for tea.”

“Would you mind very much if we walked through the garden? The day is unusually mild and I’ve been locked indoors all morning working on water estimates and cattle prices. I prefer to feel the sun on my face, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Ross couldn’t help but notice the look of relief on her face. It was as if she didn’t want to be confined to the house any more than he did. Or, perhaps her nerves were so tightly wound she needed to walk off the strain she was under.

Ross opened the door and followed her across the patio, then down the narrow steps. When they reached the bottom, he held out his arm and she placed her hand atop it. Perhaps it was his imagination, but her hand seemed to tremble upon his and the involuntary grip on his arm was much harder than the relaxed touch to which he was accustomed.

“Did Mrs. Lambert tell you I went to the orphanage yesterday?”

“Yes. She said you took the boys fishing. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you returned but I was called away.”

She turned her head, making it impossible for Ross to look at her face. Her cheeks, however, seemed flushed. Something was wrong. If he didn’t know her better, he’d almost accuse her of lying. He wondered what was so important to take her away from the children, but knew she probably wouldn’t tell him.

“Thank you for spending the day with the boys. They’re almost always around women and it’s good for them to be around a man.”

“I’d like to say I did it out of the goodness of my heart, but I have to admit my motives were more selfish than that. I wanted to spend time with my son.”

“It doesn’t matter why you did it. The boys had a wonderful time. They were still talking about it at dinner.”

“Next time I’ll have to do something that includes the girls, too. They felt left out, but Vicar Chadwick saved the day by giving them each a gumdrop.”

“He keeps a jar of them on his desk for just such occasions.” The smile slid from her face and she looked at him. “Are you going to tell Charlie you’re his father?”

“Not yet. Not until I know it’s safe to take him home with me.”

“You’re not going to be safe until you give up your plan to bring in cattle.”

Ross could hear the water in the fountain just ahead of them and led her to the same bench where they’d sat before. “Are you saying someone might try again to shoot me?”

She pulled her hand from his arm. “Don’t make sport of what happened. You could have been killed.”

“Do you know who shot me?”

Her face paled but she didn’t answer. He wouldn’t give up. “Do you, Josie?”

“Rule number seven, Lord Rainforth. A gentleman may not call a lady by her first name until she gives him permission.”

“Then may I ask your permission, Miss Foley?”

She shook her head. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“You know it wouldn’t.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Do you know who shot me?”

“Of course not.”

“But you have an idea.”

“No, I don’t. But I do know whoever shot you wanted you dead.”

“And you’re concerned for me?”

She came to a halt and glared at him. “Of course I’m concerned. Isn’t it enough that your son is going to grow up without a mother? Do you want him to go without a father, too? Give up your cattle venture. If you truly want to be a father to the boy, don’t put yourself in danger.”

Ross opened his mouth to explain that making St. Stephen’s profitable was the only way he could provide for his son. St. Stephen’s would someday be Charlie’s and the cattle were the assurance that he would be provided for. But none of that mattered if his son wasn’t proud of who he was. Discovering who was behind the smuggling was one small step in redeeming the Rainforth name. Not until he saw the smugglers hang would he finally feel like he’d done something good to make up for all the lives his father had destroyed.

“I can’t give up. There are reasons the cattle venture must go forward.”

“No.”

Ross wasn’t surprised by Josephine’s negative response. There’d always been a combative fierceness to her stand against bringing in the cattle. But for the first time, as she sank onto a nearby bench, he saw an emotion that hinted at desperation. Or perhaps it was fear. He slid onto the bench and clasped her hands in her lap.

“Something’s wrong, Josephine. Let me help.”

She didn’t pull away as he was afraid she would but held on with a grip that sent waves of concern racing through him. The simple holding of hands was a bond that connected them. The clasp it had on his heart was more powerful than the tightening of her fingers or any of the kisses they’d shared.

A squirrel scampered across the lawn and raced up a tree, but he could tell she never saw it. Her eyes were focused on an empty patch of ground, and the way she worried her lower lip said something else occupied her mind.

Ross placed his arm around her shoulder and brought her close to him. She went willingly, then with a heavy sigh, she laid her head against him. He didn’t move, was afraid to move for fear he’d break the spell. Finally, she broke the silence.

“Give up the cattle venture.”

“I can’t.”

She stiffened, then pulled away from him. “I have to go to the children,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ve been gone too much lately.”

Ross rose with her and offered her his arm. “I’ll take you then. I’ve got my carriage outside.”

She started to walk away. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know, but I’d like to.”

He walked with her across the terrace and back into the house, hoping she’d trust him enough to confide in him. But she kept her silence until they entered the drawing room. Then, a small gasp of surprise echoed through the room and her hands closed over her open mouth.

Two huge bouquets of hothouse flowers sat on tables on either side of the settee, their fragrance filling the room.

“Servants from Lindville Grange brought these, for you, miss.” Banks said carrying in a third. “There’s a note attached to this one.” He brought the flowers over so she could take the note.

She stared at the piece of folded paper nestled between the blooms of the flowers but she didn’t take it.

Banks didn’t set the third bouquet down but held it in front of her. “Would you like me to have them wait for a reply?”

The fingers clasping his arm had tightened almost painfully and when Ross looked at her, the little color she’d had when he’d arrived was gone, leaving her as pale as the white orchids in the vases.

He put his hand over hers. “Josephine? Would you like to read it?”

“No,” she said, clasping his arm even tighter. “Send them back, Banks. Have the servants take them back.”

“Are you sure, miss?”

“Yes. Take them back!”

Her fingers still gripped his arm, wadding the material in her fist until it was a mass of wrinkles. Banks left with the first vase of flowers then came back for the second before she moved. The breath left her body in a rush.

She swallowed hard, then looked down at the material clenched in her fist. She released her hold of him. “I’m sorry. That was silly of me.”

“Would you like to sit down for a while?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Why would Lindville send you flowers?”

“He didn’t.”

“Josephine, don’t lie to me. Why?”

She jerked her head up, her eyes filled with an expression he was positive he had misinterpreted. “Lord Lindville sent the flowers as a joke. They didn’t mean anything.”

She watched as Banks returned for the third vase.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her chin high and her shoulders back. “To take me to the orphanage?”

“Of course,” he said, and followed her from the room.

He had no idea what the flowers meant, but whatever it was, their arrival had frightened her to death.

Another rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, but Josie didn’t slow down. If anything, she walked faster. She was desperate to come up with a plan to discourage Lindville. But no matter how fast she walked or how far, the same overwhelming fear suffocated her when she thought of how determined he was to get his hands on Clythebrook Estate. Why else would he consider marrying her?

It was well after midnight. The moon had been out and the sky clear when she’d left the manor house. But that had been hours ago. Since then, clouds had filtered in until there was a heavy covering that concealed the stars. It was black now with nothing but shadows and an occasional clap of thunder to intrude upon her thoughts.

How could he even consider such a preposterous scheme? Surely the land above the caves wasn’t worth so much he’d consider marrying her to get it. He knew the circumstances of her birth. Yet the scathing message she’d received after she’d returned the flowers was closer to a threat than a suitor’s proposal.

For the first time, Josie sensed the lurking of a danger even more frightening than she’d felt after Rainforth had been shot.

She made her way across the meadow, then down a shallow ravine and up again. She didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the cliff overlooking the caves, then pulled her woolen cloak tighter and let the wind whip around her.

She couldn’t do it. Even if marrying him were the only way to save the children, she couldn’t do it. She’d always known she would never marry. From the day she’d escaped the abuse she’d suffered at Foster’s hand, she’d known she would never be a bride. But now, Geoffrey Lindville thought he could force her by threatening Lady Clythebrook and the children.

She hadn’t taken him seriously at first. Why should she? The very idea of a baron marrying a bastard was unthinkable. Yet, that was what he was proposing and he was becoming more insistent every day.

Yesterday he’d come to the orphanage to see her and she’d barely escaped him before he could corner her again. But he’d left a note for her. A note that made his threats terrifyingly real.

Josie looked down onto the cove where the boats brought their supplies ashore. She couldn’t believe the money was so important to him. The amount wasn’t that substantial.

The first raindrop hit her cheek and she wiped it away with her fingertips. Another drop struck her face. She reached up to wipe at it but froze when the grass rustled behind her. She spun around, fearful it would be Lindville. She nearly cried out in relief when the Marquess of Rainforth came toward her.

“Josephine?”

She grabbed her hand to her chest and waited for her heart to stop pounding. “Don’t
ever
do that to me again. You scared me half to death.”

“Seeing you standing out here in the middle of the night didn’t exactly calm my nerves either,” he said, coming closer to her. “Step away from there.”

She looked out over the edge. “Are you afraid I’m preparing to jump?”

He laughed. “No. Jumping isn’t your style. You’re more the stand-and-fight type. I just wonder who it is you’re getting ready to fight.”

“Are you worried it’s you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He reached out and pulled her from the edge, then brushed away a drop of rain from her cheek. He didn’t step away from her or remove his hand, but cupped his palm against the side of her face. His touch was gentle and emitted a strength she needed badly right now.

She looked him in the eyes, their gazes locked in a heated blaze that sent currents rippling through her chest. Standing this close to him always did this to her—stole her breath and caused a cascading waterfall to plummet to the pit of her stomach.

It was raining harder, not a downpour, but coming steadily enough that her pelisse was showing water spots. She didn’t care. Rain always made her feel good—clean. He brushed another drop from the tip of her nose.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, then wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. She went willingly.

Raindrops fell, but she didn’t notice. He placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face upward. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him.

She closed her eyes and waited.

His mouth came down on hers, his lips firm and warm, his need vibrantly demanding. How could one man’s kiss be so different from another’s? How could one man’s touch be something she craved, while another man’s so repugnant to her? She leaned into him until no space separated them.

There were no words that needed to be spoken, no permission to be granted. The understanding between them was mutual. They’d both realized that a force far stronger than either of them could control had brought them to this point. A primal need she’d always been able to stamp down with ingrained mental discipline raged within her and demanded to be satisfied. Just this once, she thought with an ache that burned deep inside her, she didn’t want to deny the needs growing within her. She wanted to replace all her nightmares with one night of passion. She wanted his face to be the one she saw when she remembered. She touched his cheek. “We need to find shelter.”

He placed his hand atop hers and looked down at her. “You need to go home.”

His face was wet now. Drops of rain spiked his lashes and made them seem darker. “Granny’s cottage is just ahead. We can go there.”

“You won’t be safe with me there. You’re barely safe with me out here in the rain.”

“I don’t want to be safe. I want to be loved. Just this once.”

Josie didn’t know where the words had come from or what person had spoken them. It wasn’t the Josephine Foley she’d known all her life. This was a stranger. The Josie she’d been just yesterday was watching from a distance while this outsider found the courage to ask for something she’d been craving her whole life.

“Please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Come,” she said, taking his hand and guiding him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and walked with her into the woods. Twice he stopped to kiss her. Once she stopped to kiss him. Rain poured down now and they ran the last steps into the same cottage where they’d spent time together while he healed.

He tossed his wet jacket over one of the chairs, then unfastened her pelisse and laid it over the other chair. “Let me light a fire.”

“No light. Just the darkness and the rain.”

He ground his mouth against hers again, demanding what she’d never dreamed she’d be able to give to any man. His mouth opened and he gently urged hers to do the same. The second her lips parted for him, he entered her mouth.

His tongue searched and found its mate. He moaned a sound she caught and would not release, then he tilted his head and deepened his kiss.

Their clothes were damp and more difficult to remove than if they’d been dry, but he seemed to accomplish the task with little difficulty. His mouth stayed on her—on her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. She didn’t simply allow it, she encouraged it. When he moved his kisses upward to recapture her mouth, she threaded her fingers into his hair and pushed him lower, offering herself to him.

She was naked when she climbed beneath the covers and waited with a racing pulse while he undressed. She didn’t know if it was normal for a woman to help the man remove his clothes, but she couldn’t have done it even if it was. She wasn’t that brave.

The mattress sagged when he knelt beside her and she opened her arms to him. Not because he needed the invitation but because she wanted to hold him. He came down over her and touched her, flesh to flesh, warmth to warmth, desire to desire.

She should have been embarrassed. She should have been self-conscious and shy and remote, but she wasn’t. The darkness helped but that wasn’t the reason she felt no embarrassment. It was him. How could she regret something she’d waited her whole life to experience?

He kissed her again, his kiss deep and hungry and filled with need. And while his mouth drank from hers, his hands moved over her, touching and kneading and caressing. He nestled himself over her and looked into her eyes.

Oh, she loved him. Even though she’d fought the emotions from the day she’d met him, she loved him with every fiber of her being. She cupped her hands on either side of his face and brought his mouth down for a kiss.

“Teach me,” she whispered when he lifted his mouth. He kissed her again lightly in answer.

“There will be pain,” he said before he took her, but she knew there would not. There was only pain the first time.

He was a gentle lover, careful not to hurt her. He came into her slowly as if anticipating the barrier he knew he should find. When he met no resistance, he embedded himself fully.

The ritual was as primitive as life itself and she met every thrust with a growing need and passion. The end, when it came, was as powerful and beautiful as she knew it would be. He’d taken her to a place she’d never known existed and when she leaped off that very high ledge into the unknown, he’d been there with her.

Then, with a loud moan, he stiffened atop her and found his release.

She clung to him, holding him tightly as if she’d never have to let him go, but she knew she would. When this night was over, there would be no others. She was taking a huge enough risk making love with him once. She wouldn’t risk it again.

She held him close to her, running her fingers over his sweat-dampened flesh. His skin was firm and taut and his muscles rippled beneath her touch. He was perfect and for just these few moments he was hers.

“Are you all right?”

She smiled. “Yes. Perfect.”

He rolled off her but took her with him. With a contented sigh, she nestled her head in the crook of his neck and listened to his heart thunder beneath her ear. Her heart matched his rapid beating and she snuggled closer when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and brought her nearer.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes and she waited, not wanting to be the first to break the silence. He finally ended the reverie.

“Who was he?”

At first Josie didn’t comprehend what he’d meant. For several long seconds it didn’t register that his tone contained an accusatory note or that the way he held her had changed. The difference was minute and if her senses hadn’t been heightened as a result of what they’d just shared, she probably wouldn’t have noticed. There was still a tenderness in his touch—a gentleness, but there was also a stiffness that separated him from her, an aloofness that made him a stranger to her.

“Who?” she asked, but knew what he meant.

“The man you gave yourself to first. Or should I be speaking in the present? The man to whom you are still giving yourself?”

Josie felt the air suck out of her lungs and freeze.

“Is it Lindville?”

“No.”

“He sent you flowers.”

She tried to ease away from him but he wouldn’t let her. She tried again but gave up when he made it impossible. “The flowers didn’t mean anything.”

His chest rumbled beneath her ear. He was laughing.

“The man must have emptied out every hothouse between here and London. Those were orchids you sent back to him. Was it a lover’s spat?”

She jerked out of his arms and this time he let her go. She grabbed one of the loose covers from the bed and wrapped it around her. She suddenly felt very self-conscious, even in the darkness.

Her clothes lay on the floor. She snatched them up and quickly slipped into them. From the sounds she heard from the other side of the room, he was dressing too. She was glad the room was dark. She didn’t want to see the accusatory expression on his face. Or the revulsion in his eyes.

As she fastened the last of the buttons up the front of her gown, the room glowed from a candle he’d placed in the center of the table. Before long, a fire raged in the hearth.

A welcome warmth sifted through Granny’s cottage. But it didn’t reach deep inside her to the block of ice lodged in her chest.

She’d been such a fool. She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t the first one to have her and if he did that it wouldn’t matter. The fact that he thought he had the right to throw her past in her face only made her angry.

Without a by-your-leave, she grabbed her pelisse from the chair and walked to the door. His hand shot out against the door so she couldn’t open it.

“It’s still pouring out there. You can’t leave.”

“I’ve walked through the rain before. It’s preferable to being in here.”

She tried to open the door again and this time he stood in front of it. Moving him was impossible and rather than fight a losing battle, she turned back. She pushed out the coat tree Granny kept in the corner and hung her wrap over it so the fire would dry it. A shiver raced through her when she heard him step up behind her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you weren’t a virgin.”

“Why should I have? Whether you were the first or the one hundred and first is no one’s concern but my own.”

The look he gave her said that what he felt reached far beyond anger. Revealed in the depths of his steel-gray eyes were other emotions she didn’t want to acknowledge, the most obvious of which were disappointment and regret. Josie felt another jolt of her temper and she clenched her hands into tight fists at her side.