Jaded Moon (Ransomed Jewels Book 2) (7 page)

Rainforth’s reaction was tangible. “Are you suggesting that permission to cross Lindville Grange may no longer be granted?”

Baron Lindville gave out a sinister laugh. “Of course not. I can’t imagine matters going so far. Can you, Miss Foley?”

Josie couldn’t answer. She knew exactly how much was at stake and it had nothing to do with access roads.

“I am only warning you because this area is not always the safest,” Lindville continued, his glare shifting from her to Rainforth.

“Are you warning me of highwaymen in the area?” the marquess said, leaning back in his carriage seat as if he were enjoying the conversation.

Lindville smiled again and Josie couldn’t stop the shiver that raced down her spine. Or ignore the uncomfortable tension that sparked between the two men.

“There are all manner of dangers, Rainforth. I would hate for something to happen to you and realize I’d been remiss in my obligation to give fair warning to anyone venturing where they didn’t belong.”

Josie clutched her hands in her lap to keep from reaching out to cover the fist Lord Rainforth had clenched on the seat beside her. Geoffrey Lindville was generally the most good-natured of men, but she knew why his reaction to Rainforth’s venture had elicited such a strong response. Geoffrey had just as much at stake as she did.

“Thank you for the warning,” the marquess said sitting forward. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Well, I’ve done my duty, then. If you will excuse me.” Lindville turned his mount as if preparing to leave, then stopped. “Oh, and Miss Foley,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “If you’re ever in need of an escort, don’t hesitate to call upon me. I’m always at your service.”

Josie stared at Geoffrey Lindville’s retreating back as he cantered off down the narrow path toward Lindville Grange. She felt the need to apologize for Lindville’s rudeness but couldn’t find the words. Rainforth’s voice stopped her.

“Is there some reason Baron Lindville thinks he has the right to tell you with whom you may or may not associate?”

She lifted her chin. “Of course not. I alone decide with whom I associate.”

“And do you associate often with Baron Lindville?”

“Baron Lindville and I have known each other since the Earl and Countess of Clythebrook took me into their home. Lord Clythebrook and Baron Lindville’s father were boyhood friends and had attended Eton together. It was only natural that the two families associate when they were both in the country.”

Josie saw the taut lines etched on either side of Rainforth’s mouth. The confrontation with Geoffrey had obviously affected him even though he was trying to give the impression it hadn’t. She wondered how many times he’d had to face the same demeaning accusations and knew it was probably often from the tight grip he still had on the reins. He was as primed as a powder keg near a burning flame and she thought of what to do to ease his anger. She placed her hand atop his arm before he could snap the reins and begin their journey home.

“Would you mind if we got out and walked?”

She almost heard his sigh of relief as he answered, “Of course not.”

She thought he might need to walk off his frustration and anger, just as she always needed a brisk walk when the concerns of the orphanage weighed too heavily.

The marquess stepped down and turned around to lift her out. His hands came around her waist and she stepped into his arms with a confidence she felt with very few people. A warm rush spread to every inch of her, from her cheeks that a moment ago had felt the chill of the air, to the tips of her fingers, tingling where her hands rested on his broad shoulders.

She couldn’t let herself feel this way. Couldn’t let his nearness affect her like it did. Yet it did. A shiver of awareness ran up and down her spine.

“Are you cold?”

She shook her head, not able to tell him it wasn’t the cold that affected her, but a blazing heat inside her she couldn’t explain.

He held her gaze and her body for a long moment while a riot of unfamiliar sensations battled to be acknowledged. A frown made a deep furrow on his forehead as if he were asking himself the same questions as she. With a rush of breath he released her, then took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

The sturdy wool was still warm with the heat from his body, and the backs of his fingers brushed against her flesh as he slowly brought the material together beneath her chin.

Josie knew she should step away from him. Knew she should insist he remove his hands, but she didn’t. She wanted to stand here just a little while longer and let the unfamiliar emotions he brought out surge through her. She wanted to absorb the pulsing heat that raced down her arms and legs and settled low in her belly.

She drank in the warm gray of his eyes that today seemed soft and inviting, then lowered her head until her gaze rested on the top bone button that fastened his shirt. He was close to her, closer than she’d ever let a man stand to her before and yet…

A small voice deep inside her wanted him to step even closer. Wanted him to take one small step forward until their bodies touched.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he clutched both lapels of the jacket he’d placed around her shoulders and held it securely beneath her chin with one hand. Then, he inched his other hand upward, following the narrow column of her throat, then upward further until the long, slender fingers that had handled the carriage reins so deftly skimmed her face. His hands were not soft, but not roughly callused either. They felt incredibly perfect against her skin.

He cupped her cheek, his hand cradling her face. Then his index finger slid beneath her chin and raised upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.

She didn’t speak; couldn’t speak. Her mouth was too dry to form any words, even if her mind had the ability to function enough to find them. She stood frozen, her gaze locked with his, her heart a runaway train that thundered in her chest.

He didn’t smile and she didn’t know why she thought he might. Perhaps to make light of the intensity that enveloped them. Instead, the expression on his face seemed to darken, the gray of his eyes deepening even more. Then his gaze moved down to her lips and she knew he was going to kiss her.

Time seemed to stand still and race ahead at the same time. Sunlight exploded through the clouds that billowed in the sky. The breeze that a moment ago had been damp and chilly was suddenly warm and balmy. Without a word, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Josie had never been kissed before. She was not so naïve she didn’t know what happened between a man and a woman, nor was it that she’d never seen two people kiss. But she’d never imagined that the feel of a man’s lips against hers would cause the eruption of fiery heat to spread like a burning wildfire as it ignited every part of her body.

In her confusion, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward to answer his kiss. She didn’t want him to stop. Didn’t want him to break the captivating contact of his mouth against hers. And just when she thought it was impossible for her blood to rush through her head any faster, he deepened his kiss and she soared to a place even more amazing than where she’d been.

He gently pressed downward on her chin and she opened her mouth for him.

Someone moaned. Perhaps it was her. She wasn’t sure. Then the moan came again and Josie tightened her hold around his neck. He deepened his kiss. And her world bloomed around her.

For an eternity they remained locked in each other’s embrace, absorbed in each other’s warmth, reveling in the feel and touch and taste of the other. He kissed her long and deep, with an intensity that startled and consumed her. Then, with a low growl, he lifted his mouth from hers and ended the kiss.

As if he knew the effect his kiss would have on her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. With her arms clamped tightly around his waist, she rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the violent thundering of his heart beneath her ear.

For several long moments Josie didn’t move. She knew when she did she’d be forced to face what she’d done. It was as if she’d traveled too far down the wrong path and now it was too late to turn back. As if he’d shown her something it was impossible to forget.

She took a shuddering breath and dropped her hands from around him. Waves of anger built inside her, anger at herself for being such a fool. And anger at him for forcing her to give in to an emotion to which she had no intention of ever succumbing. On legs that were still not steady, she turned away from him.

“Stay away from here, Lord Rainforth. Nothing good can come from you being where you don’t belong.”

“This is where I belong. It’s maybe the only place I truly belong.”

Josie sucked in a breath and held it, then turned to go back to the carriage. She didn’t look at him. Not because she didn’t want to. Oh, she did. She wanted to study his strong, noble features, and memorize the rigid cut of his high cheekbones and angular jaw. And she wanted to drown in the pewter-gray of his eyes, eyes that drew her in like a lush, secret hideaway. And most of all, she wanted to sit close to him and let his quiet strength envelope her. It was this strength she both admired and feared. A strength that had the ability to both save and destroy. And she was so afraid she knew the direction his path would take him.

They rode back in silence and when they reached the front of Clythebrook House, he jumped down and tied the reins to the brass pole. Before he could return to help her dismount, Josie stepped down from the carriage unassisted. They hadn’t spoken during their journey back from the cliffs. Maybe the marquess was trying to understand why he’d been so foolish and had kissed her. Maybe his silence indicated his regret. Whatever the reason, Josie was glad he hadn’t felt the need to talk.

As if he realized she wouldn’t accept, he didn’t offer to escort her up the walk. Instead, he nodded politely and let her pass him. Josie was only a few steps away from him when she met Banks coming down the walk.

“My lord,” he said, stopping before the carriage. “Lady Clythebrook is hosting a small dinner party tomorrow night and would enjoy the pleasure of your company. She has invited several landholders and local merchants from Clytheborough and thinks perhaps the gathering might give you an opportunity to discuss your idea.”

Josie’s heart thundered in her chest. This couldn’t be happening. Didn’t Lady Clythebrook realize how opposed Josie was to this?

“Tell Lady Clythebrook I shall be honored,” the marquess answered, the confident tone of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

“Very good,” Banks answered and returned to the house.

A blinding flash of fury raged through her. She spun around to face him and was met by a blinding smile. “You haven’t won. I still intend to stop you from proceeding with a venture I consider fanciful, even dangerous for Lady Clythebrook to become involved in.”

“As you intend to stop me from finding Carrie Gardner’s child?”

“Yes. The child is happy and content where he is, and I intend for him to remain that way. It will be a cold day in hell before I divulge any information concerning his whereabouts. And a colder day still before you lay eyes on him.”

Before he could reply, Josie spun on her heels and stormed to the house. With a loud crack, she slammed the door behind her.

Her head throbbed, her chest ached. And her lips burned from his kiss.

She’d never been more miserable.

Him.

He had a son. She’d confirmed it when she’d said
a colder day still before you lay eyes on “him”.

Ross stared absently out his study window, then turned his attention back to the papers scattered across his desk. They were filled with words he’d written to present to Lady Clythebrook when they talked, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall what he’d put down. Since Josephine Foley had let slip that the child Carrie had given him was a son, he’d found it impossible to concentrate. And Miss Foley probably didn’t even realize she’d given away such a telling detail.

He dipped his pen in the ink well and started to write, then placed his pen back on the desk. How could he possibly keep his mind focused on such insignificant details as grazing acres, water estimates, and the market value for a few hundred cattle when he’d just discovered he had a son? How could he do the figures for well depths, manpower needs, and initial outlay expenses, when for nearly four years he’d had a son and he didn’t even know his name? Or if the child was well or sick? Or blond-haired like Carrie, or dark like him?

Ross shoved his chair back and bolted to his feet. He thought he knew every nuance of living with the heavy burden of guilt: the racing heart; overwhelming fear; shortness of breath; cold, clammy flesh; sleepless nights; terrifying nightmares; the ringing in his ears, and blood rushing through his head. That he’d killed his father was secondary to knowing that his child was out there somewhere, alone. Perhaps frightened and hungry. Perhaps being mistreated.

He raked his fingers through his hair and fought a fresh wave of guilt that attacked him. How could he have gone more than four years without realizing Carrie might have been carrying his child when she left? Oh, theirs was no great love match. Neither of them had ever considered it so. But they had both genuinely cared for the other.

At the time, she’d explained she was weary of being someone’s mistress and asked him to provide her a modest yearly income and a home someplace a safe distance from London. He’d thought it a reasonable request. It even seemed a welcome solution. Breaking off with a mistress was always unpleasant. He remembered thinking how easy Carrie had made it for him. He’d escaped their relationship virtually unscathed.

Bloody hell.
What kind of bastard had he been? What kind of fool? To not consider there’d been another reason that she’d left him. To not give the woman he’d lived with for more than a year a second thought and to continue his high living without skipping a beat. No wonder his father had stooped to selling military secrets so the son he’d always doted on could continue his extravagant lifestyle.

Ross almost ran to the small side-table to pour himself a drink. For months, the numbing effects of gallons of liquor had been the only panacea to forgetting that he’d been the one who’d caused his father to betray his country. That to save Sam’s life, Ross had been the one who’d pulled the trigger that had put a bullet through his father’s heart. But drinking hadn’t softened what he’d done; only made the nightmares worse. So he’d given up his goal to drown his past and faced it headlong.

If discovering who was behind the smuggling ring was the only way he could redeem the Rainforth name, then he’d move heaven and hell to accomplish it. And nothing Josephine Foley could say or do would stop him.

Ross looked back down at the papers on his desk then stopped when Benedict knocked softly and opened the door.

“You have guests, sir.”

“Guests?”

“Yes, sir. Lady Lindville, and her son, Baron Lindville.”

Ross hesitated. After his confrontation with Lindville yesterday, his first inclination was to have Benedict tell them he was from home. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he placed his pen on the stack of papers he’d been reading and stood.

“Show them to the morning room, Benedict. I’ll be with them directly.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ross tied a hasty knot in the cravat he’d pulled loose and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. Lindville had all but spit in his face yesterday. He couldn’t imagine what could be important enough to bring him here today. And the fellow’s mother, as well.

Ross shrugged into his jacket and prepared himself for what promised to be an interesting meeting. A part of him welcomed the interruption. At least it stopped him from thinking about Josephine Foley or trying to figure out why he’d kissed her. And why the hell that kiss had stolen the air from his lungs.

Bloody hell
! He’d kissed hundreds of women. Had even had a child with one of them, and no one’s kisses had affected him like hers had.

He walked down the hall and gripped the door to his study, thankful he had something else on which to concentrate.

“Lady Lindville. Lindville,” he said, entering the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He looked to Lady Lindville first. The regal-looking matriarch of the Lindville dynasty was exactly as he imagined she’d be. She sat on the velvet settee in the center of the room with her chin high, her back ramrod straight—and a scowl on her face.

She wore a gown of rich emerald green velvet that was as fashionable as the gowns worn in London at the height of the Season. When he entered the room she slowly turned her head and greeted him with a slight nod and an unsuccessful attempt at a smile.

Her son stood on the other side of the room, staring out one of the two ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked a flower garden not yet flush with the blooms that would be a riot of colors in late spring and all through the summer. Baron Lindville turned to face him when Ross entered the room.

Lindville wore the same superior expression Ross had noted the day before, and the glassy look in his eyes wasn’t any clearer. Nor any friendlier. Ross supposed the man might be considered handsome in a soft sort of way, and no one could fault his perfectly tailored attire, even though it was a bit overdone for a casual country call. In London, the expensive cut of his clothing would speak clearly of his wealth. Here in the country, it stood out in a condescending way, as if to make a point of his elevated place in rural society.

Ross took Lady Lindville’s hand in greeting. “I see you are taking advantage of this beautiful spring morning.”

“There is a reason we’ve come,” the baroness said, shifting to sit even straighter.

Ross sat opposite Lady Lindville. “I see. Might I interest you in some tea first?” He pointed to the tea cart Benedict had rolled into the room but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

“No. I prefer to get right to the point.” She pulled her lace handkerchief through her fingers with the same finesse as he imagined a farmer wringing the neck of a chicken, then dropped her hands to her lap. “Geoffrey and I have come to make you an offer for St. Stephen’s Hollow.”

Ross swallowed. “I beg your pardon?”

While walking down the hallway Ross had anticipated many possibilities for why his wealthiest neighbors had come to pay their respects to a man who’d been shunned by all of England. But never had he considered this. He leaned back in his chair and waited for Lady Lindville to continue.

“I’ve been interested in purchasing St. Stephen’s for several years, but until now haven’t seen the necessity to act upon my wishes.”

“But now you do?”

“Yes. My son has indicated a desire to marry and I know it would be advantageous to add St. Stephen’s Hollow to Lindville Grange. It’s common knowledge that St. Stephen’s isn’t entailed, nor has it been of any importance to you since you haven’t stepped foot here since you were a youngster and your mother was still alive. Until recently, we thought you’d forgotten you owned St. Stephen’s.”

“But now that I’ve returned, you suddenly see the need to acquire it?”

“Yes. I wish to leave my son with a substantial inheritance and the acquisition of St. Stephen’s will ensure his security as well as that of his children.”

“How noble,” Ross said, taking note of the brandy Geoffrey Lindville eyed so enviously. “Unfortunately, St. Stephen’s is not for sale.”

“You haven’t heard the amount we’re offering,” Lindville said, his tone of voice as condescending as his mother’s.

“The amount is irrelevant. Selling St. Stephen’s is not a possibility.”

“But why ever not,” Lindville countered, his voice rising in intensity. “You haven’t given this isolated little corner of England a second thought until now.”

“As you can see, that has changed.”

“Perhaps if we give you time to consider our offer…”

“Time will not alter my decision. I couldn’t accept your offer even if I wanted to—which I don’t. St. Stephen’s belonged to my mother and there is a stipulation that prevents it from ever being sold.”

Tension-filled silence seeped into the room.

“I see,” Lady Lindville said, her voice dripping with icy hauteur.

Lindville stepped forward. “And you still intend to use the land overlooking the cove to graze cattle?”

“The opportunities for both St. Stephen’s and Clythebrook are well worth the risks.”

Lindville paused then slowly lifted the corners of his mouth. “I doubt you’ll find that to be so,” he said, leveling Ross a hostile glare. “Come, mother. We’ve stayed long enough.”

Without bidding Ross farewell, Baron Lindville escorted his mother from the room. Ross wanted to leave them to find their own way out of his home, but years of training forced him to escort them out. He stood beneath the marble portico and watched until their carriage was out of sight.

Lindville and his mother were suddenly very hungry for land. Land Ross knew was being used by the smugglers.

Ross made his way back to his study and looked down at the map spread out on top of his desk. St. Stephen’s wasn’t the only land to which the smugglers needed access. They also needed to get their hands on a large portion of Clythebrook Estate.

Ross sat down behind his desk and wondered if Clythebrook Estate was entailed. If not, he suddenly wondered to what lengths Geoffrey Lindville would go to get it.

…

Josie sped across the meadow at an easy run on her way to Clythebrook Manor. Tonight was Lady Clythebrook’s dinner and Josie wanted a chance to speak with her again before the guests arrived. She’d spent hours last night trying to convince Lady Clythebrook not to go along with Rainforth’s venture. When she’d been unable to get a firm answer one way or the other, she’d bargained for her second option—at least one month of grace time before she let Rainforth start his project.

Lady Clythebrook had listened to her request but hadn’t agreed to anything yet. She said she’d give her answer when the evening was over; after she’d heard any objections from the guests she’d invited tonight.

Josie cut across a dry ravine and had only gone a few more steps before she heard the pounding of horses’ hooves behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and stopped. Geoffrey Lindville was racing toward her so quickly she had to step out of the way until he got his horse under control.

“Good afternoon, Lord Lindville,” she said after he’d jumped to the ground.

“Miss Foley. I was afraid I’d missed you. I went to the orphanage but they said you’d already left.”

“Yes, I wanted to—”

“We need to stop him.”

Josie didn’t need to ask who Lindville was talking about, she knew. And she knew why it was important to stop him.

“Nothing has been decided yet. Lady Clythebrook hasn’t given her approval for the project.”

“Lady Clythebrook
can’t
give her approval,” he said, slapping his hand against his thigh. “You obviously don’t realize what’s at stake here.”

“I’m just as aware of what we could lose as you.”

“No! I don’t think you are. All you think about is that damned orphanage and making sure the children have what they need. We’re not talking about the frivolous little extras the children could do without. We’re talking about what
I
could lose. It’s
my
future that’s about to be destroyed!”

Josie stared in dumbstruck disbelief as Geoffrey Lindville paced a small area in front of her. She’d never see him like this. The two of them had been partners for almost two years and not once had she seen such a display of temper from him. But never had their venture been tested as it was being tested now. “I know what you think you will sacrifice if the money we make from the smuggling is lost.” She tried to keep her voice calm. “You will lose—”

“Everything! Until I’m thirty my mother controls my spending. You know how generous she is to the orphanage.” His sardonic laughter sent out a spine-chilling sound. “Well, she’s no more giving to her own son. It’s how she remains in control.”

Josie pulled the thin shawl she wore closer around her shoulders and fought the niggling voice that whispered a warning. “Rainforth can’t do anything without Lady Clythebrook’s approval. And she hasn’t made a final decision.”

“Then you have to make sure she refuses to give him permission to use the land.”

“I’m almost certain she will. I’ve pointed out every reason I can think of to convince her. She promised she wouldn’t make a decision until after the dinner tonight and I have every belief she’ll refuse him.”