Jaded Moon (Ransomed Jewels Book 2) (4 page)

“Don’t you?”

He moved his hand to the other side of her face and cupped her cheek. His thumb gently stroked the contour of her jaw and she shivered.

“Please, take your hand away from me.” She gritted her teeth and pressed her head against the bark of the tree until her scalp hurt. She wanted to blame her reaction on fear but she knew that wasn’t the only reason her blood pounded against her ears and her skin tingled as if on fire. It was him. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

His brows shot up as if he questioned her words, then rubbed his thumb across her jaw once more. She prayed he’d let her go, but instead he anchored his hand against the tree again to keep her from escaping.

“Why won’t you tell me where I can find Carrie Gardner’s child?”

His abrupt switch of subject caught her off guard. A small gasp caught in her throat at the same moment a cloud slid away from the moon to expose his face in vivid clarity. It was then that she remembered in detail the steel gray of his eyes, the dark, haunting boldness. The promise of danger.

“You’re lying when you say you don’t know what happened to the child. From what I’ve gathered, there isn’t anything about a child in the whole area to which you are not privy.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Lord Rainforth, but—“

“I’ve heard that you’re the first person on the spot when a child is left unprotected. I’ve heard you steal them away before the authorities have a chance to decide what’s to be done with them.”

“Steal them? You make it sound as if I’m a bigger threat to the children than if they were left alone in the world to fend for themselves.”

“Do I?”

Josie bristled. “Just what are you implying?” She shoved hard against his chest, trying to move him. He didn’t budge.

“I’m not implying anything. I’m simply stating a fact as I see it.”

“As you see it?” Josie gritted her teeth. “Then you are either blind or your mind is so warped it’s left with no option but to create answers as you wish to see them.”

“I don’t think there’s anything warped about being concerned for children who have no one else to protect them. Especially from someone like you.”

“Like me? Just what nefarious plan do you assume I have in mind for any child unfortunate enough to be left alone in the world?”

“Perhaps sell them to anyone willing to pay a price.”

The air rushed from her lungs and her hands balled into fists at her sides. “What did you say?”

“Don’t tell me there aren’t plenty of tenant farmers searching for cheap labor. What better place to supply that labor force than an orphanage.”

Josie battled a wave of fury unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“What is the going price for a child, Miss Foley?”

“You think I sell the children? You think I take money…”

“I think it takes a sizable amount to run an orphanage. The money has to come from somewhere. How better than to—“

Before Josie could think better of her action, she reached out her hand and slapped him hard across the face. His reaction was equally as swift.

In a movement so fast she didn’t see coming, he clamped his fingers around her wrists and pinned her hands against the tree on either side of her face. The bark bit into her flesh, but she barely felt it. The look in his eyes caused her more concern than a little pain. She kept her gaze focused on his anger, but refused to let him think she was afraid of him.

“I would advise you to never do that again,” he whispered in a voice so deadly soft it sent shivers down her spine.

“As I would advise you to have a care with your accusations.”

The next few seconds stretched headlong into eternity while she stood still as stone. If she could have found the courage to risk his wrath, she would have turned her head to the side in defiance. But she couldn’t move. In that one second she realized what a formidable force he presented. And she knew without a doubt that if she backed down now, he would destroy her. As well as the children.

She clenched her hands into tighter fists and locked her gaze with his. “Release me,” she said, her voice sounding remarkably steady considering how violently every part of her seemed to tremble.

He held her a fraction longer, then loosened his fingers from around her wrists and pulled away. Josie dropped her hands to her sides. But he didn’t step away from her.

“I won’t give up, Miss Foley. If you refuse to help me locate Mrs. Gardner’s child, I’ll simply have to find another way.”

“And I’ll simply have to do everything in my power to keep you from succeeding.”

There was enough space between them now for Josie to escape his overpowering presence, but she didn’t move. Pride wouldn’t let her run away from him. She’d had to stand up to insurmountable odds her whole life. From the moment she’d been left alone in the world. This was no different. No matter how hard he glared at her; no matter how much he tried to intimidate her, she refused to buckle beneath his domineering ways. No one would ever have that control over her again. Never again.

“Don’t involve yourself in what doesn’t concern you, Lord Rainforth,” she said, unsettled by the silver gleam in his gray eyes.

“Is that a warning, Miss Foley?”

“Yes. Stay away. From here. From the orphanage.”

“From you?” he asked huskily.

She swallowed. “Yes. From me.”

His sensual gaze moved along the length of her body. “And if I don’t?”

She stepped back into the shadows where he couldn’t see the hot blush on her face. “You’ve been warned.”

He arched a brow and opened his mouth to reply but she didn’t give him a chance. She turned around and walked away before he could utter a retort.

Josie expected to hear his footsteps crashing behind her. Dreaded hearing them…yet inexplicably hoped for them as well. The flush of heat inside her signaled a warning of its own, making the Marquess of Rainforth more dangerous than she’d ever imagined.

Ross followed the narrow lane that wound through St. Stephen’s, then across the border onto Clythebrook Estate. If he continued onto the main thoroughfare, the lane would go east through neighboring Lindville Grange, then onward until it merged with a more well-traveled road that would eventually find its way to London.

It had been nearly a week since his confrontation with Miss Foley. Six days and nine hours to be exact. And during that time, he’d spent every minute going over the estate books. He had a child now, a child that—because of its illegitimacy—could never inherit any of the entailed Rainforth property. But that child could inherit St. Stephen’s Hollow.

Ross knew what the books indicated and if he wanted to ensure St. Stephen’s would always be profitable, he needed to make improvements to accomplish it.

He’d come up with a plan that would not only make St. Stephen’s more financially rewarding, but would also give him access to the land overlooking the caves used by the smugglers. The idea had merit, but if there was a drawback, it was that it would be necessary to include a rather large section of Clythebrook Estate.

After considering every aspect of the venture, then talking it over with Virgil Thompkins, his steward, Ross was more convinced than ever that his plan would work. Not only would his venture make St. Stephen’s and Clythebrook independently wealthy, but it would also, as Thompkins pointed out, provide an abundant bounty for the orphanage—a benefit to which Miss Foley could hardly object.

He remembered his confrontation with the children’s caretaker a few days earlier and was certain she wouldn’t refuse anything that would help the children. This understanding of her very complex and confusing personality led him to map out his plan very carefully.

He’d already discovered making demands of her didn’t accomplish anything. The more he tried to intimidate her with the power and influence afforded those of his station, the more determined she was to keep his child from falling into his lecherous hands.

She’d already figured out that Carrie had been his mistress, and that she’d had a child by him. It was his character she objected to and his most damning black mark was that she assumed he’d banished Carrie to St. Stephen’s to get rid of her. This was why Miss Foley considered him the worst rake in all of England. Well, he thought with a wry sense of humor, he hardly cared what she thought about him. The child was his and he wasn’t about to let her keep it from him.

Ross considered his idea with renewed determination. His plan was good and as he traveled across Clythebrook Estate, he noticed several other glaring facts that told him the added income from the venture he intended to propose would be more than welcome.

Although the tenants’ cottages seemed in relatively good repair, the same could not be said of the outbuildings on the small plots of land where they lived. Neither could it be said of the crumbling stones on the bridge that spanned the dry creek or the condition of the lanes and byways leading to and from Clythebrook Manor. Even the stone wall once built to keep the earth on the hillsides from eroding stood riddled with huge, gaping holes.

Ross urged his mount forward. The road in front of him, if a road you could call it, was no wider than the span of a wagon in spots and in desperate need of repairs in others. He made a mental note to hire a crew to see to its improvement. The ruts were so deep from the last rain it was barely passable now, and would be a quagmire of sticky mud if nothing was done before the next downpour. Perhaps once he explained how his venture would bring in enough capital to make several necessary improvements, Lady Clythebrook would agree without hesitation.

Ross smiled. It would be worth it to see the frustration on Miss Foley’s face when she realized Lady Clythebrook supported him. Even more worth it to watch her torn between her determination to keep him as far away from her and the orphanage as possible, and her desperation to provide for the children.

He wanted to smile at his sudden sense of satisfaction, but the reality of what he intended sliced through him as a double edged sword. For some reason he couldn’t explain, she affected him like no other woman ever had. She appeared to him at the most unlikely moments and infiltrating her world would only make it that much more difficult to banish her from his thoughts. That was already happening. He’d had a devil of a time trying to do just that since the night he’d found her running through the woods.

For six sleepless nights he’d tried to pretend the heat that had seared his body when he’d pressed himself against her hadn’t really happened. But he knew it had.

He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle and pushed his mount toward Clythebrook Manor. He knew what his problem was. He’d been without a woman too long. That was the only logical explanation for the turmoil caused by just thinking about her. A turmoil he was determined to ignore—which was why he’d chosen this time of day to pay a call on Lady Clythebrook.

If Josie Foley kept to her schedule, she would be at the foundling home now like she was every afternoon, and he could discuss his idea with Lady Clythebrook without her there to put down every item he proposed. Because somehow he knew she would. At first, at least. Until she found out about the added income for the orphanage.

Ross turned his mount down the long tree-lined lane that led to Clythebrook Manor. The ancient, three-story stone country house still stood majestically on the top of a small rise, but the once carefully-tended lawns and gardens were now threatened with weeds and scraggly bushes. A double row of spreading linden trees flanked the manor house on two sides, yet beneath the lush branches, dozens of saplings sprouted in wild abandon. Ross looked, but there wasn’t a single gardener tending what must have once been a well-landscaped lawn.

He rode his horse to the apex of the semi-circular drive and dismounted. At Rainforth Park, where he’d spent a month or so during every summer in a life he seldom let himself remember, one of a dozen or more stable hands would have been standing ready to take charge of a horse or carriage before any guest could even dismount. The lack of even one servant to care for his horse sent a distinct message. Ross looped his reins through a ringed brass pole and made his way to the front door and lifted the ornate knocker.

After several long minutes, a very distinguished-looking elderly gentleman in faded maroon and black livery greeted him. Although well past his prime, the butler exhibited an austere demeanor Ross was accustomed to from the well-trained, professional staff his father had employed.

“Good day,” Ross said, remaining on the pillared portico. “I’d like to speak with Lady Clythebrook.”

“And who may I say is calling?”

“The Marquess of Rainforth, from St. Stephen’s Hollow.”

The butler gave a curt nod and stepped back to allow Ross to enter the circular foyer. “Won’t you please come in?” he said, taking Ross’s hat and placing it on a table beside the door. “I’ll see if Lady Clythebrook is receiving.”

Ross watched the butler climb the winding staircase, then let his gaze move over the interior of Lady Clythebrook’s home. The vestibule was bright and cheery with radiant streams of sunlight that poured in from the four wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that bracketed the entrance. Ross could imagine Josephine Foley standing in this hall, her golden hair bathed in sunlight. An uncomfortable weight settled low in his gut and he pushed the unwelcome image away.

The furniture was of exquisite taste and quality, although the few pieces that dotted the room were far from new. An ornate receiving table sat in the center of the vestibule atop a round Turkish carpet. Ross could only imagine how vibrantly beautiful the colors had been before the carpet had lost its battle to the constant abuse of the sun.

He looked from one side of the room to the other. Everything shone as if routinely polished with loving care. Even the crystal chandelier hanging high from the two-story ceiling gleamed from recent attention. If he were forced to search for a word to describe the feelings he perceived standing here it would be—comfortable.

Even though he was a stranger to this house, he felt welcome here. The walls were a pale yellow that he guessed hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint for years, but there was an inviting homey air that even the threadbare carpet leading up the curved staircase couldn’t diminish. Ross smiled. His father would have been appalled. But strangely, to Ross it didn’t seem to matter. It only made the house more inviting.

He clasped his hands behind his back and made a complete circle of his surroundings. Several doors led off the foyer, but only one stood open. Before he could amble over to see what room it might be, the butler returned.

“Lady Clythebrook will see you. If you’ll please follow me.”

Instead of showing Ross up the stairs as was customary, the butler led the way across the vestibule to the open doorway he’d noticed before.

“Lady Clythebrook will be down momentarily,” he said, stepping aside to let Ross enter.

“Thank you.”

With a slight nod, the butler backed from the room, leaving Ross alone.

This room held the same inviting warmth he’d felt upon entering the house. A huge fireplace took up most of the opposite wall, but there was no fire burning in the grate.

Two burgundy chairs with matching ottomans flanked the fireplace, while a matching settee and small table sat off to the side. An ornate writing desk sat in front of a large multi-paned window on the opposite side of the room and another cluster of chairs was positioned close to a curtained French door that led out onto a patio.

Ross stepped to the opening and noticed there was a surprisingly well-tended garden beyond the paned door. Someone had obviously taken great care to tend this one spot near the house. Lady Clythebrook, perhaps. Or even Miss Foley. He could imagine her kneeling in the soft black earth with her hands in the loose, moist soil. He shook his head, not at all comfortable with where his thoughts were leading. With a raspy clearing of his throat, he turned his attention back to his surroundings.

A large portrait of a very distinguished-looking gentleman with silver hair and eyes that shone with a sparkle of intelligence hung above the mantel on the opposite side of the room. Ross was drawn to his infectious smile and thought the man would have been someone he would have enjoyed knowing.

“That was my husband. The Earl of Clythebrook.”

Ross spun around as the Countess of Clythebrook stepped into the room. Her butler walked close to her side in case she needed assistance, but she didn’t reach out to him. She relied instead on the ivory-handled cane in her hand.

“I gathered as much,” he said, stepping forward to offer her his arm. She took it with a smile.

Her step was hesitant as she leaned with aging grace against him, and Ross noticed the butler stayed at his post until she waved him away. Then he closed the door behind him and they were left alone, staring at the portrait.

“He was a remarkable man with a good sense for business as well as a humorous outlook on life.”

The longing in her eyes when she stared at her late husband’s portrait spoke volumes. “You were very fortunate then.”

“Yes, I was. I’m reluctant to admit, however, I haven’t done nearly so well at managing since he died.”

“Running an estate is not easy,” he said, standing next to her. “I haven’t met your steward but I’m sure my man, Mr. Thompkins, knows him.”

The open smile on her face when she lifted her gaze stopped his words.

“I’m afraid you are looking at the only steward Clythebrook Estates has.”

“You, my lady?”

She laughed. “Yes. Although, in actuality, it’s Josephine who sees to everything.”

“Miss Foley?”

“Yes. She took over the daily running of the estate even before my husband died nearly ten years ago.”

“Before? But that means she was scarcely—”

“She was seventeen when Walter died.”

Lady Clythebrook turned so she faced him, then breathed a deep sigh. “Josephine grew up in the orphanage, you know, and was always Walter’s favorite. Walter’s grandfather had built Sacred Heart nearly a century ago and Walter was expected to care for it as his father had before him. Every time he visited, he took something special for his little tag-along, as he always called her. When he returned, he would have some little gift tucked in his pocket that she’d given him. Sometimes a swatch of embroidery she’d stitched herself. Other times, a doll she’d made from hollyhock flowers.”

Lady Clythebrook leaned more heavily against her cane and looked up at the portrait on the wall. “From the day she came to live with us, she rarely left his side. She rode with him wherever he went and sat in a chair at his side while he worked on the books, sometimes late into the night. She was such an avid learner it was only natural that she absorb everything there was to know about running the estate.

“When Walter became ill, Josephine assumed even more of the responsibility. She was seventeen when he died and she took over. She visited the tenants the same as Walter had, and made sure none of them went without.”

“But?” Ross asked, knowing there was more.

“It’s been difficult. Clythebrook Estate is not a profitable piece of land and there were many ways Walter found to make ends meet that are not available to a woman.”

“Such as?”