Once an Innocent (34 page)

Naomi recalled how this room had looked when it was her nursery, all adult-sized furnishings to remind her she was small and out of place. The world did not bend to fit a child; rather, it was her duty to learn to fit into a grown-up world.

This nursery, though, was centered around a child’s comfort. In this room, it was adults who would feel like outsiders. The only concession to the fully grown was a rocking chair near the fireplace. It was a bit too big for Isabelle and a bit too small for Marshall. A true compromise, then — a solution in which neither party was satisfied.

Soft voices in the corridor announced the arrival of Lily and Isabelle. “Isn’t this darling?” Lily stepped around Naomi and Caro to coo over a toy rabbit with a velvet body and satin ears. “And the furnishings are all exquisite. Did you send away for them?”

“Most everything was made right here in the village.” Isabelle sat in the rocking chair with a sigh of relief. Her hands cradled her belly. “I’m afraid we’ve been monopolizing the carpenter, Mr. Hardy, and both of his apprentices for the last two months.”

While Isabelle showed Lily all the nursery’s amenities, Naomi’s mind drifted to Mr. Gillows, the carpenter in Lintern Village, who had been the first beneficiary of the charity pantry. She wondered whether he’d recovered from his injury. She couldn’t help but imagine herself placing an order to outfit the Lintern Abbey nursery.

“But where is the cradle?” Lily’s question cut into Naomi’s daydream.

Isabelle looked radiant when she answered, “In our room. We want to keep the baby with us for a while, until we hire on a nurse. And we’re not in any rush to do so.”

“Won’t you be using a wet nurse?” Lily inquired.

Shaking her head, the duchess pressed her toes into a soft, lambskin rug to continue rocking. “I want to feed the baby myself.”

Caro strolled to the window, its casement freshly painted crisp white. “I never nursed any of my infants. Quite base, if you ask me, not to mention noblewomen tend toward thin milk. I suppose your low breeding is a boon in this one instance.”

Behind Caro’s back, Isabelle rolled her eyes at Naomi and Lily.

The tall brunette’s mouth carved a mysterious smile. “I wonder if it’s occurred to Ethan that he’ll have to share my breasts with someone else.”

The dowager duchess made a horrified sound. “I never!” she proclaimed in a scandalized tone. “Naomi,” she said, “let us leave the common to their vulgar ruminations.” She swept from the nursery without waiting to see if Naomi followed. Which, of course, she did not.

Naomi truly did love her mother, but even she could not deny how the very air in the room palpably relaxed once Caro quit the apartment.

“Isa,” Lily said, pulling out one of the small dining chairs and perching precariously upon it, “do you suppose you might be a dear and have that baby today? We leave in the morning to return to Town. Michaelmas term begins next week.” She crossed her legs at the ankle and hooked them behind one leg of the chair.

“I’m quite willing,” Isabelle assured her. “I’m not at all sure babies consider our preferences in deciding when to make their entrances. However, I shall have a word with the young lord or lady on your behalf.”

“Your efforts are appreciated,” Lily said with a laugh. She tossed a glance Naomi’s way. “Are you to join our maternal ranks? Have your courses arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Naomi answered. “I don’t believe there’s anything to worry about, though.” She’d awoken this morning with abdominal cramps, which always preceded the onset of her courses by about a day.

“That’s good,” Isabelle said. “You’ll have lots of babies when the time is right.”

Lily agreed, but Naomi only stared wistfully at a small, silver rattle on a shelf. The only man she cared to have children with had left her weeks ago, without so much as a word since. Jordan was gone. Naomi had to accept the fact, gather up the tattered remains of her life, and carry on.

• • •

In the end, it was all so simple. Jordan spent several days tying up business in London, and at the appointed time his carriage bore him away. Nerves had his toes tapping in the coach’s chilly interior. His thumbnail worried at his cuticles. New adventures always made him anxious, and this surely qualified.

Once beyond the capital’s sprawl, the coach picked up a little speed. Jordan tried without success to relax against the burgundy upholstery. His agitation was more of a surface disturbance, however. Deep down, he knew he had chosen the right course.

When he thought back over that final, dreadful day at Lintern Abbey, Jordan couldn’t remember fighting for political stability. Duty never once crossed his mind. Earning accolades from the Foreign Secretary or serving the greater good were concepts which might have dwelt in a different universe.

That day, Jordan had fought for Naomi. He’d fought to protect her. He’d battled his way through the Frenchmen set to guard him and his men at the abbey ruins and pursued the fleeing agents to get Naomi back from her captors. Everything had been so clear. He’d known there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

Later, he’d gotten fuddled up with ideas of keeping her safe, of fulfilling his duty to the Foreign Office, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. How was Naomi best served by Jordan staying away from her? How could he keep her safe if he wasn’t actually with her? And besides, he’d realized, with a gnawing sense of dread, if he didn’t marry that woman, someone else would. Jordan hated the thought of causing Naomi grief, but he’d damned well turn her into a widow before he let another man touch her.

The only home for Jordan would be with Naomi. The only children for him would be borne by her. The only bed he could sleep in would be the one he would share with his wife. He had to have her.

Castlereagh had offered Jordan everything he wanted. But Naomi Lockwood was everything he needed.

The journey lasted a small eternity of two days, but eventually he found himself in the parlor at Helmsdale, awaiting the entrance of his beloved. A large window granted him a view of distant, rolling, hills and trees adorned with fall colors. The morning sky was leaden with dark, blue-gray clouds. Inside, a cozy fire and two oil lamps created a snug atmosphere. Jordan enjoyed the scenery, as well as the hot tea provided by the hospitable butler.

Noon was marked by the chiming of a clock on the mantel. On a base of black marble, a pretty shepherdess figurine lounged against the clock’s movement, with a lamb at her feet gazing up adoringly. Jordan frowned at the insipid sheep. He’d already been waiting nearly half an hour.

Setting aside his teacup, he reached into his coat pocket to make sure he had his papers in order. Yes, there they were. He took them out just to double-check they were the correct ones. Of course they were. Christ, but he felt more nervous now than he had before his first tup.

“Jordan.” It was Marshall’s voice.

He turned with a smile in place to greet his old friend, only to meet thunderous fury in the duke’s dark eyes. Then he was treated to the less pleasant sight of that same duke’s fist flying at his face. The bone-jarring strike landed on his jaw. He tasted blood from a cut on the inside of his cheek. Jordan clapped a hand to his face and let out a strangled sound.

He fished out his handkerchief and released his bloody saliva into it. “Fair enough. I deserved that.”

Marshall’s younger brother, Lord Grant, had appeared at some point in the last five seconds while Jordan’s head was ringing. Standing at about six feet tall, several inches shorter and a fair bit leaner than his brother and Jordan, Grant Lockwood still cut an imposing figure. Especially in his current, enraged state.

The younger man’s shoulders rounded forward, his hands balled into fists the size of grapefruit. When he drew one back, Jordan couldn’t help flinching, anticipating the blow. Hard as a stone, Grant’s fist drove into his stomach, forcing out his breath. A sharp pain accompanied by a wave of nausea had Jordan doubled over, gasping for air.

“God damn you, Freese!” Marshall shouted.
“Keep her safe
, I said.
Just keep my sister safe.
You promised you would. You swore to defend her life with your own.” Jordan propped his forearms on his knees and managed to raise his head enough to see his friend shaking and white-lipped. “Not only was she beaten and bloodied during your stupid mission, but you …
You
.
”
The word ripped from his throat and somehow managed to summarize all of Jordan’s wrongdoings.

The duke flung his head back and dug his hands into his hair. “And now I have to call you out.”

“Let me do it, Marshall.” Grant cast Jordan a contemptuous glare. “Allow me to spare you the distasteful task of killing a friend.”

The elder brother turned in a tight circle, hands on his hips. His chest rose and fell like a bellows. “Thank you, Grant, but I shall see to this myself. I would appreciate you acting as my second.”

“Naturally.”

All right, this had gone far enough. They were entitled to knock him around a bit for sullying Naomi’s virtue, but he was here, damn it all. He’d come. “I’m not dueling either of you.” He aimed for a moderate tone but went a bit wide of the mark, owing to his aching jaw and throbbing middle.

Grant stepped toe-to-toe with him. “We will have satisfaction,” he seethed. “You have insulted our sister and
will
meet one of us on the field of honor.”

Restraining the urge to roll his eyes at the hotheaded younger man, Jordan tried for reason. “Would you make a widow of Lady Naomi? I’m here to make things right, gentlemen.”

Marshall paced around Jordan and Grant, circling, like a shark scenting blood. “My sister shall not be a widow for she is not married to you, nor shall she be, if she does not wish it.” The deep baritone of his voice was clipped, each syllable undercut with indignation. “Years ago, I determined Naomi would be free to marry as she would, up to and including never marrying at all. Even if she had a child out of wedlock — or a dozen — she would be afforded my home and my protection. Always.”

A surge of something primal pumped through Jordan’s veins. He felt his grip on cool reason slipping. “Marshall, you could not deny me my child. If Naomi is increasing … ” With a growl, he shoved Grant aside and pulled Marshall around to face him. “Is she, Marshall? Is Naomi pregnant?”

Marshall’s nostrils flared, and he looked ready to plant another facer on Jordan.

Over the duke’s shoulder, Jordan glimpsed a head of disarrayed, bronze hair appear in the doorway. Ethan Helling strolled in, took in the tense scene, and grinned. “Hello, Freese. I must say, the sight before me leaves me positively awash with … ” He drummed his steepled fingers together beneath his chin. “
Schadenfreude
,” he said with a snap. “I knew the Germans would come through for me.” He sauntered over to a chair and sat, his long limbs lazily arranged, like a cheetah at rest. It wouldn’t do to dismiss him, Jordan knew. Like the great cat, Thorburn could spring to action in the blink of an eye.

Jordan did not wish to fight all three men, but he would do it. He would tear this house apart brick by brick if anyone tried to keep him from his love, from Naomi. The thought that she might, even now, be pregnant with his son or daughter made him wild. He hadn’t spilled inside her, but sometimes that wasn’t precaution enough. He took a hasty, mental inventory of the parlor, looking for improvised weapons with which he could debilitate his adversaries — beginning with smashing that blasted clock into Thorburn’s smug face. Just then, Ethan pointed to the floor at Jordan’s feet.

“There’s a paper on the rug. Did one of you drop it?”

Jordan snapped it up and shook it under Marshall’s nose. “Special license, you idiot. Will you please give over this dueling nonsense and let me speak to Naomi? She wouldn’t like it if your face is a wreck for the wedding.”

Marshall snatched the slightly tattered document from his hand and smoothed it out. Some of the ire in his face drained away as he read it. “You’re not good enough for her,” he said without much heat.

“No,” Jordan agreed. “But then again, neither is anyone else.”

At that, Marshall’s lips curved to one side. He clasped Jordan’s hand for a firm shake. “I’ll call off the hounds and let you speak to Naomi.” His grip tightened to a painful degree, while his smile remained in place. “If she won’t have you, old man, I still may have to kill you.”

• • •

Opening the parlor door, Naomi stopped in her tracks. Marshall hovered near the entrance, like a guard. Across the room, Jordan.

Just … Jordan.

There might have been descriptors to mark his dress or demeanor, but Naomi only registered his presence. In the weeks since she’d seen him, she must have forgotten the precise angle of his jaw and the contrast of his scar against his bronzed cheek, for neither were just as she remembered. He was gorgeous, always. But had his eyes always held such heat when he looked at her?

She pressed a hand to her middle, trying to calm the sudden onslaught of butterflies buffeting her from the inside.

Jordan likewise just stared, seeming to drink her in from a distance. Neither of them was ready to do more than revel in the nearness of the other.

Marshall cleared his throat. Naomi heard him, but her eyes could not leave Jordan. “Naomi,” her brother said, “Lord Freese is here to speak with you.” Her brother stepped in front of her, cutting off her visual access to Jordan. She huffed in annoyance and tried to step around, but his large hands on her arms put an end to her fidgeting. “Look at me, please.”

Her gaze slid up his front to a face filled with love and concern.

“You know you’re always welcome here,” Marshall said.

Naomi’s brow puckered. “No, I didn’t know that. You said — ”

“I said some things I wish I hadn’t,” her eldest sibling cut in. “But you
are
always welcome. This is your home, for as long as you want it to be. No matter what. Never think you must make a choice based on what you perceive to be my desires. I only desire what is best for you — and you’re the best judge of that.” Marshall squeezed her hands and kissed her cheek. Then he left the parlor and closed the door, leaving her alone with Jordan.