Poetic Justice (32 page)

For once he didn't wince when he opened the door and heard the little bell tinkle a warning, and he didn't choke when he breathed in the familiar smell of camphor and herbs. In fact, the old prison of a shop seemed bathed in some iridescent radiance. And that glowing light was enough to outline the back of a young woman standing on a stool, her arms stretched up for a jar on a high shelf.

For fear of startling her, John didn't speak. But he gazed with immense pleasure at the fine ankles revealed when she hitched up her gray skirt to keep from tripping. "Just a minute, sir," she called out, grabbing the jar. "I'm just getting the arrowroot."

Her voice made him close his eyes with relief and the dissipation of tension. He heard her hop down from the stool, her shoes clattering on the oak floor.

"John."

It was only a whisper, but it echoed in his heart. He opened his eyes, and opened his arms.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Benedick: I do love nothing in the world so well as you.

Is that not strange?

Beatrice: Love on; I will requite thee,

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.

Much Ado About Nothing, III, i

Jessica took time only to set the jar on the counter before running into John's arms, into the warmth of his undeniable presence. For a moment she just rested there, her head on his chest, listening to his heart pound against the pulse in her temple. This was joy, wasn't it, as she'd never known, and he knew it too.

"John," she whispered into his shirt, "I could throttle you. What took you so long?"

"Took me so long? Took me—you little—"

His unwonted inarticulateness might have indicated guilt and remorse, but Jessica, leaning back against the support of his arms, saw something else entirely in his face. Fury.

She knew better than to give him time to express it. "Yes, you took too long! It's been seventeen days, for pity's sake. I finally gave up hope yesterday and bought a ticket on the noon mail coach, thinking at least I could be there to watch as Mr. Wiley took my collection and opened my trunk and stole my Shakespeare play and used it to persuade the whole world that Bacon wrote
Hamlet
." She slanted a glance up at him: Still no remorse. "Another hour and you would have missed me, and I would have had to face Mr. Wiley all on my own. And then come back here and work for your tyrannical brother the rest of my days."

John's arms dragged her back to his rigid body. "If you knew what I've been through, you little termagent, you would be rejoicing that I managed to get here at all!"

"Well, I am rejoicing," she said fairly. "But it's been a difficult time for me, thinking that you didn't want me after all." She didn't want to think of the bleak nights alone in her inn room, the days she had to force herself to be cheerful so that no one would guess her heart was breaking. He was here, that was all that mattered. "Or that you were so stupid you couldn't figure out where I'd gone."

"It isn't as if you made it easy for me. Why didn't you tell me you were planning on scarpering? And why?"

"That would have been too easy. I had to know—"

"What?" That was only a whisper.

"That you cared enough to find me."

His arms tightened around her, until she thought she might faint for lack of breath. She wriggled against him to make a bit more space, and with a muttered oath he kissed her, his mouth hot and fierce against hers.

Finally, he let her go, all but one hand, which he held like a lifeline. "Well, now you know. I care more than enough. And I know you. I knew right away, that's why you ran off. To test me. To challenge me."

She felt bereft of his body, which had been so hard and still next to her. But there would be time for that later, after they had straightened everything out. So she only brought his hand up to her face, rubbing her cheek against his palm. "You needed a challenge to wake you up. You were so very insulting."

"I didn't mean to be. You know that. Devil a bit, Jessica, you might have given me another day to explain. Not that it would have changed anything, what with Wiley's machinations."

"What do you mean, his machinations? When I left, he was going off on holiday to Tunbridge Wells."

He started laughing, and for awhile she thought he wouldn't be able to stop. He must be weary too, if he drove through the night, and she knew that was what he would have done. She thought he must have stopped at an inn this morning, for he was clean-shaven and his cravat was impeccably tied. But under his eyes were shadows of weariness.

Worried, she drew him over to the hard wooden bench that lined the wall under the shelf of ointments. When they were sitting side-by-side, her hands clasped in his, his laughter finally died and he laid his head back against the wall. She raised her hand to touch the faint remnant of a smile on his lips. "Tell me what is so funny."

"It's not funny. It's just that we should have known Wiley'd never concede defeat so easily. Sweetheart, he had me abducted and thrown aboard a Navy sloop. I woke up fifty leagues out in the North Sea. And no one believed I had important business back in London."

It was too much to take in, that he had spent these last weeks helpless while she cursed his intransigence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"I doubted myself, for awhile there. But as soon as I got back to London, I figured your puzzle out."

This Jessica found suspicious, considering how she had labored to set that puzzle up. "As soon as you got back? Surely it took you a bit of thought. I didn't mean for you to decipher it by lightning flashes."

"Well, your note to your uncle had all the clues, but it took a letter from my sister-in-law to show me how to interpret them. Sophie went on and on about this mysterious shop assistant Dennis had hired, and finally I found the key to the maze you made for me. I still don't know how she guessed though."

"I expect the princess was the one to guess. She came in here the first day I worked the counter, and recognized me straightaway. I made her promise not to tell you."' John looked ready to argue this, so she added quickly, "I told you, I didn't want to make it easy for you! I presumed, of course, that she would tell Lord Devlyn, and that he would write to you."

"He wouldn't. He would tell her that I wouldn't appreciate her meddling in my affairs."

"Men are so obstinate! I'm glad she was clever enough to tell Sophie, who must be less scrupulous about such things."

"So am I. I expect," John added thoughtfully, "that means the princess has forgiven me."

"Why was she angry at you?"

"Because men are obstinate, as you said. Jessie, you know, I did this all wrong."

"You found me, at least, though you certainly didn't leave much time."

"No, I mean falling in love with you."

She looked up to see trouble clouding his eyes. A bit of her happiness dimmed. "That's not all wrong. It can't be. It feels too right to me."

"Idiot. I don't mean falling in love was wrong. But I didn't tell you that, did I? When I proposed."

All the joy came flooding back, and she could indulge in a bit of play. "I don't think you ever truly proposed. You declared that I was to marry you, whether I liked it or not, but I don't think that counts as a proposal. At least, it was unlike any proposal I've ever received."

He was grinning, a bit shamefaced, perhaps, but not as much as he ought to be. "I suppose it lacked a bit of passion."

"Oh, no, it had plenty of passion. None addressed towards me, unfortunately. More directed at the injustices of the world which had led you to this disastrous development." Even after three weeks, and these last precious moments, she couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. "The most insulting part of it, of course, was that you seemed to think that I would be resistant to the prospect of marrying you."

His assessing gaze took in their prosaic surroundings, then focused on her gray shopgirl's frock and dark blue apron. "Not such an unwarranted suspicion, considering that you fled the city to avoid our wedding."

"Not to avoid the wedding. To—" She couldn't explain precisely, so she was relieved when he smiled and brought her hand to his lips.

"To test me. Well, I suppose I deserved it, considering what a cock-up I made of the proposal. Will you let me try again?"

Graciously she nodded, and to her surprise he went down on one knee before her, like the veriest cavalier, and took her hand in his hard grasp. "Doubtlessly you've noticed, my darling, that my devotion to you has grown to something more fervent, more fierce, something that can only be called—dare I name it?—love. Your beauty, your spirit, your quick intelligence, all this has won my admiration and my ardor. I will not know happiness until you say that you will be mine."

He seemed to be waiting for some response, and with a smile tugging at her mouth, she gave him one. "That is much better. One of the best I have heard. Not quite as elegant as Damien's—he did his in tercets, like Dante—but much improved."

He rose and yanked her to her feet, crushing her to him. "Say you'll marry me, or I'll not answer for the consequences."

Breathlessly, she whispered, "Yes," and lifted her head to kiss him.

The bell on the door tinkled, but for the first time in two weeks she was too occupied to pay it any mind. She pulled an inch away from John's mouth, just long enough to murmur, "I shall be with you in a moment," to the entering customer, before returning to the kiss.

"John?"

Even with her back to the door, Jessica recognized this disbelieving voice as that of her employer, Mr. Dennis Manning. She would have told him to go away, except that she recalled with a bit of guilt that she had been planning to vanish without giving him notice in an hour or so. So she just ignored him, and noted with pleasure, as John murmured love words into her ear, that this was a consensus decision.

She should have known, however, that Mr. Manning wasn't one who took well to being ignored. A square hand took hold of John's shoulder and pulled him away from her. She managed to retain John's hand, though, and together they faced the intruder, wearing, no doubt, identical expressions of annoyance.

Her employer, however, only looked astounded. Not for the first time, Jessica noted with some relief that John did not in the least resemble his stolid, stubborn brother, in feature or character. Dennis gazed blankly from one to the other, pausing to stare at their clasped hands.

"John, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Seducing your shop assistant." John turned away from him, bringing Jessica's hand to his lips and looking deep into her eyes. "Now be a good lad and go away and let me finish. It's all right," he added, "we're betrothed."

"Wait!"

Jessica ignored him, but John wasn't so stubborn. He sighed and raised his head to regard his brother. "What?"

"Think of what Father would say. Lord, I can hear him saying it now—'What are you doing, Dennis, letting your brother scandalize the customers by seducing your shop assistant right there in the middle of the shop?'" Disgruntledly he added, "Wouldn't you know he'd blame me."

Jessica closed her eyes, leaning against John's chest. "Perhaps this will surprise you, but he labors under the impression that your father haunts the shop. And, you might as well know it, the ghost does not approve of female shop assistants."

"And Mother," Dennis broke in, "wouldn't approve of you marrying one either. She expected you to do better than that."

Jessica felt John's chest throb with laughter and raised her head to kiss him again. She decided she would never get enough of that, of the absolute freedom to kiss him, even if it did cause employers and ghosts to squawk with outrage.

"She's just pretending to be a shopgirl," John said, between kisses. "She's really an heiress."

"An heiress?" This at least had the effect of silencing Dennis. In fact, he was so silent that Jessica became worried that he had expired from holding his breath too long. When she sneaked a glance over her shoulder, though, she saw that he was glaring at her.

"An heiress, and you asked for a rise in pay? That takes cheek, I'd say!"

"And now she's going to leave you without giving notice."

"When?"

John detached himself far enough to reach for his watch. "Immediately. We must be married and back to London by tomorrow morning."

"Can we do it, John? Have you got a license?"

"A special license. Now we just need a vicar."

They were too engrossed in exchanging smiles at this prospect to notice Dennis, but eventually his throat rumblings turned into a statement. "Well, if you must marry, you must. Mother wouldn't be happy to see it done by special license, but I suppose that's what you must do with an heiress, snabble her before she changes her mind."

"She's not changing her mind."

Jessica nodded firmly, and Dennis sighed.

"Then I suppose I should come with you to the church to stand up with you."

John glanced at Jessica, then at Dennis, and after an awkward pause, replied, "Thank you, Denny, but I think that's a duty for my elder brother."

For a moment there was silence. Then Dennis, with more grace than Jessica would ever have expected of him, said, "I expect you're right. I'll go for the vicar. He might require a bit of persuading, considering this is one of the days he communes with his Creator out on the fishing pond."

Once he had gone, Jessica let John hold her in tender silence. But finally she had to ask, "Do you think that we should wait till after tomorrow to wed? Just so that we will always know that we married for love, and not the collection?"

John groaned. "No more tests, Jessica. We love each other. We will share a life of adventure and achievement—and start by thwarting Wiley's attempt to slander Shakespeare. After a century or so together, if I haven't made you happy, then I will have failed the test. But give me until then, will you?"

"A century?" It sounded rather too seductive to bear. "I suppose I can wait that long, if I spend every day with you."