Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (14 page)

Meg’s mouth dropped open. She was shaking so hard, her knees wobbled. She leaned heavily against one of the columns. “I’ve brought trouble to you,” she choked out. “To all of you. And when he finds us, I fear we’re all going to pay.”

The shining look in Will’s eyes turned hard. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Do you have so little trust for me, Meg? I’ve been beside you since I took you off that damned little boat. I’ve never wavered in my vow to protect you with everything I have.”

He stared at her, and she stared back at him, her lips pressed tightly together. She had no answer for him. What could she say? How to explain that, yes, she trusted him, but she feared Caversham more. Caversham in a rage was
like nobody and nothing she’d ever seen. Caversham in a rage with the force of the British government behind him—now that was something she never wished to see.

Finally, she said in a small voice, “I’ve kidnapped his son, Will. He’ll come after me with everything.
Everything
.”

He spoke through clenched teeth, white flashing between his lips. “He’s a criminal, and I’ll see him hanged before he has a chance to go after you at all.”

She shook her head bleakly. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s a smuggler. For the past two years, he’s been smuggling rum into Cornwall.”

She waited for more, but that was apparently all he had. God, he knew nothing. She closed her eyes. “How did you learn his name?”

“Briggs is in London. After he left us in Plymouth, he sailed the
Freedom
to Penzance. A man there gave him the information.” He took a step toward her and said in a low voice, “Information we could have learned from you, but you refused to tell us.”

She’d told him again and again it was for his own good, but it seemed useless to do so now, so she kept quiet. She gazed down at her blue slippers poking out from underneath the plain muslin dress she wore.

“No more evasion, Meg. You must tell me about him. Tell me everything you know. I need something to work with. I can’t protect you—or myself—against a specter.”

She looked up at him. He was right. What she was doing wasn’t fair. Will was in trouble now, and the least she could do was offer him as much information as she could so he could arm himself.

“Very well,” she whispered.

She staggered to the chair nearest the fire and sank into it. Heat from the flames licked at her toes through her slippers as she stared at the cribbage board without really seeing it. He stood for another long moment, tall and so handsome in the perfectly fitted dark waistcoat he wore, but she waited patiently, and finally he sat in the chair opposite.

She brushed away an errant tear and gazed into Will’s dark eyes. “Jacob Caversham,” she began, “is the Marquis of Millbridge’s half brother.”

Chapter Nine

T
he Marquis of Millbridge was Jessica’s third dance partner for the evening. It was a waltz, which meant they were to spend the entire dance together—there was no exchanging of partners in a waltz.

Jessica took a final sip of her punch and then set it on the tray of a passing servant as she saw the marquis approaching.

“Remember,” Serena whispered behind her fan, “he’s not a ‘Your Grace,’ and for heaven’s sake, do not call him Mr. Millbridge! It’s ‘my lord.’ ”

“Right,” Jessica breathed. Her heart was doing a little pitter-patter in her chest. True, she’d had many associations with the aristocracy—she had a duke and an earl as brothers-in-law, after all. Still, she was notoriously gauche when it came to English titles.

“Yes, my lord,” she muttered. Serena gave her a sharp look as the marquis stepped up to them. Smiling, he gave them a regal bow, and they curtsied in return.

That was it—there was something about
this
marquis that rattled her. He was tall and powerful in demeanor and in position. Whereas Max and Jonathan were perfectly comfortable remaining quiet in politics, she’d learned that this man had very high political aspirations indeed.

He was handsome, too, enough so that Beatrice, who’d been standing beside Jessica when the marquis had asked her to dance, had murmured, “Well, there was no question about that one, was there?” when he’d walked away.

He was much older than she—perhaps twice her age. That bothered Jessica, but as Serena had told her over and over, men matured differently than women. He was an imposing man, with sculpted facial features, somewhat thin lips but a wide mouth, and very thick dark brown hair.

“Are you ready for our waltz, Miss Donovan?” he said in that cultured voice of the English aristocracy.

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I am.”

As he led her onto the dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder to grin at Serena, who was watching them go and gave her a little wave.

The marquis found a spot for them, and as the music began, he took her into his arms. Jessica loved to dance. Dancing was the one thing her mother had taught her that she wholeheartedly enjoyed.

So she slipped one arm around the Marquis of Millbridge and allowed him to take her gloved hand in his own. The music swelled, she inhaled, smelling the pungent odors of perfume and the crowd of humanity present tonight, and they began to dance.

“You’re a very good waltzer!” she exclaimed as he swept her into a wide circle.

He chuckled. “So are you. It takes two to waltz.”

She grinned up at him, and he smiled down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. They danced in silence for a while, then he said, “So, I hear you hail from the West Indies. Where, pray, did you acquire such excellent dancing skills?”

She laughed. “Hours of practicing with my sisters—mostly my sister Phoebe. We both love to dance.”

“Oh? How many sisters do you have?”

“Four… well, three. The eldest is Meg. She’s married to the Earl of Stratford. Then Phoebe—Mrs. Harper—and Olivia—the Duchess of Wakefield.”

His dark brows drew together in a frown. “But you said four, at first.”

“Yes.” Her voice shook a little as they spun in another circle. Goodness, this man made her feel like she was flying! “Once I had four. But my eldest sister, Serena, died long ago.”

“Oh, I am sorry.” There was a pause as they danced around another couple. “How did she die?” he asked softly.

Jessica swallowed hard. Even though she knew now that it wasn’t true, it still hurt her to say it. “She was lost at sea. Presumably drowned.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes boring deep, as if he were trying to dig under her skin with his gaze alone. “Presumably?”

She shrugged. “Well, not
very
presumably. She was lost at sea and has been missing for eight years. Unless she was rescued by mermaids…” She allowed her voice to trail off. She didn’t love to lie. Other than Phoebe, none of the Donovan sisters had ever been good liars. She hoped Meg would agree to revealing herself soon. Then
the world could rejoice with Jessica and her family that Serena and Meg were both alive.

“But have you searched the seven seas for her? Perhaps she
is
alive.” Jessica looked up at him, and he grinned, showing pearly white teeth that were a bit too small for the size of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he said, “she was rescued by pirates and she escaped and is living somewhere, alive and well.”

Jessica tore her eyes from his, suddenly scared to death they would give her away. The marquis’s words were disturbingly close to the truth.

A realization struck her, and for the first time in years, she stumbled in the middle of a waltz. Fortunately, the marquis had not lost his composure, for he righted her quickly and continued on. “Forgive me,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Oh, you didn’t upset me.” She chewed on her lip a moment, debating what to say. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it? If she were rescued, I mean.”

“I shall hope that is what has happened to your sister. And I hope the pirates will return her to her family soon.” He squeezed her hand, and compassion showed in his eyes. “If she does return, you will let me know, won’t you?”

“Oh, of course,” Jessica exclaimed. “We’d be so excited, we’d publish it in every newspaper in England!” That was the truth—too bad Meg wouldn’t let them do that. Ultimately, Jessica understood Meg’s predicament, and she wouldn’t tell the Marquis of Millbridge—or anyone—that her sister was alive, but oh, how she wanted to!

They spoke of more mundane things—like the weather and the next ball both of them planned to attend—and
then the waltz ended. The marquis returned her to Serena, they bowed to each other, and then he disappeared into the crowd.

“Well?” Serena asked as Beatrice joined them. “How did it go?”

Jessica frowned after him. “Very well, I think. But he seemed overly interested in our long-lost sister.”

Serena glanced at the marquis, her brow furrowing. “That’s odd.”

“Very,” Beatrice said.

Jessica shook off the uncomfortable feeling that had settled over her. There would only be a minute or two until the next dance, and she’d promised it to the very handsome Mr. Trenton. “Never mind. He’s just an odd one, that’s all.” She turned to Beatrice. “You must tell me, Beatrice, how was your waltz with Sir Folsom?”

Will paced back and forth across the spacious drawing room, his mind roiling. “So Caversham’s illegal activities are filling the Marquis of Millbridge’s coffers.”

“That’s right.” Meg had not moved from her chair. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her shoulders were tight, and her face was pale.

“But for what purpose?”

Slowly, Meg shook her head. “I don’t know, exactly. Caversham is extremely careful about who he reveals information to, and he certainly never deliberately revealed anything to me. But after hearing bits here and there for eight years, I began to piece some of it together. The Marquis of Millbridge is a great supporter of the Duke of Cumberland.”

Will nodded. Cumberland was the king’s younger
brother, and third in line to the throne after the Duke of Clarence and Princess Victoria. The king was currently on his deathbed—he wasn’t expected to survive the summer—and everyone believed the Duke of Clarence would be crowned King William IV by this time next year.

The populace mumbled, though. Worry had settled over Britain. The Duke of Clarence was old and suffered from poor health, and Princess Victoria was a child yet, too young to take on the duties of a monarch, not to mention the fact that she was female.

Will nodded at Meg. “Go on.”

“Well, I believe the Marquis of Millbridge is using these ill-gotten gains to somehow advance Cumberland’s power in England.”

Will frowned. “But for what purpose?” Cumberland was already extremely powerful. He possessed a strong voice in the House of Lords, and, though he’d recently suffered a major defeat in the passage of the Catholic Relief Bill, he still was a force to be reckoned with in Parliament.

Meg shook her head. “That, I don’t know.”

Will leaned against one of the Grecian columns and studied Meg. Her gaze was fastened on the fire. Wisps of blond hair, lit bronze by the firelight, tumbled around her face. Just looking at her heated his blood.

Now he could understand, at least a little, her hesitance in telling him all this. It wasn’t good news. The criminal he’d been after for the past six months was heavily entangled with a marquis and possibly the man third in line to the throne. Two of the most powerful men in England.

But why? What was Millbridge using those funds for?

Meg turned her head and looked up at him, her gray eyes dark and sad. “Caversham hates those who are not
like himself, those he considers less than himself. He is the son of a marquis, but he is illegitimate. It is the worst sort of a curse to him, and a fact that will haunt him until the day he dies. He envies Millbridge, who is his younger brother by two years, but he also loves him. He has always wanted to prove he’s more than simply the bastard sibling. He married Sarah out of lust more than anything, but he kept me prisoner in hopes that I would mold Sarah into a wife he could introduce to the marquis with pride.”

Will returned to his chair and sank into it. “Did you succeed?”

She shook her head, her eyes glistening. “Not really. Sarah was born to a poor family in America. She was who she was, and she couldn’t change—she never really wished to. Caversham punished her for that, though. Over and over, until he utterly broke her.”

“Did he beat her?” he asked, remembering Lady Fenwicke and how brutal her husband had been to her.

“Sometimes.”

“Did he beat Jake, too?” he asked, thinking of the boy’s ever-serious expression and his somber blue eyes.

Meg wrapped her arms across her chest. “Once in a while. But… mostly… well, you’ve probably noticed this about Jake—he’s different.”

Will nodded.

“He’s not simpleminded or mad, but sometimes people mistake him for an idiot. And that infuriates Caversham beyond reason. Jake withdraws, and in turn Caversham mocks him, scorns him, berates him, uses cruel words in an attempt to draw the boy from his shell.”

“Does that work?”

She flinched. “It does, sometimes. But only in the
moment. Fear of his father only makes Jake withdraw further and for longer periods of time.”

Will shook his head. “Why, if he thinks so low of his son, will he pursue him?”

“Because Jake is the only bit of Sarah he has left. He loved her in his way. Despite his cruelty, his jealousy, his obsession with her, he loved her.”

“I see,” Will said, although he didn’t, not really.

“And Jake is his only legitimate son,” Meg continued. “Caversham has always blamed Sarah and me for spoiling him. He believes that with proper discipline, he can turn Jake into a son worthy of bearing his name. And without Jake, who will take on Caversham’s legacy after he’s gone?”

“His legacy?” Will asked.

“As the modern-day pirate. The man who breaks every law he can and reaps a fortune. The man who owns a fleet of ships scattered through the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. The man who is, when all is said and done, even more powerful than his marquis brother.”