Suzanne Robinson (31 page)

“Ida!”

“Here,” said a new voice. “Let me help you.”

He glimpsed a black beaver hat and veil, a rifle cloth riding habit, and ash blond curls. Black kid gloves sank into the chignon at the back of Ida’s head and yanked. Ida yelped and sailed backward to land in a heap at his feet. Liza released her quarry, stepped between Jocelin and Ida, and removed a familiar-looking gold-trimmed pistol from her belt. She pointed it at Ida.

“This is your mistress,” she said calmly.

Jocelin swallowed, then sneered at her. “One of them.”

She hardly winced at all. To his consternation,
she nodded and then sank to her knees beside Ida. Touching the barrel of the pistol to Ida’s breast, she smiled at her.

“Good morning, Miss Birch.”

“Ooo.”

Liza continued as if conducting a morning call. “I am his lordship’s new wife, Lady Radcliffe. This is the only conversation you and I will ever have, so listen carefully.” The pistol tapped its way up the buttons on Ida’s gown and came to rest beneath her chin. “If you ever touch my husband again, I will shoot a lovely hole through your—hat.” The barrel touched Ida’s nose.

Miss Birch screamed. “Jocelin!”

Fascinated, unsure of whether to risk grabbing for the pistol, Jocelin kept his mouth shut and didn’t move.

Liza rose and flipped the pistol at Ida. “Run along, Miss Birch. I’m sure you can catch a train if you hurry.”

Ida was swelling with pique and blustering like a frightened guinea fowl. “You’re demented. Quite demented.”

Liza put an arm around her victim, squeezed her as if they were close friends, and addressed the woman in confiding, serious tones.

“All the more reason for you to be frightened.”

With a shriek Ida fled, calling for her maid and a carriage. Jocelin couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Never in all his dealings with women had one exhibited such wild jealousy, or had the boldness to draw a gun on her rival. She was jealous, which meant she cared for him. His smile spread into a pleased grin as Liza turned from watching Miss Birch’s retreat. The
grin vanished when she pointed the pistol at him this time.

“No mistresses,” she said. “No gin shop ladies, no opera dancers, no actresses. No maids, no young housekeepers, no plump and frisky young cousins. Not even a dressmaker. Is that clear?”

“Now just a moment.”

“I know how to fire a gun. Toby taught me. I don’t often have occasion to use one, but my aim is excellent.”

Jocelin sprang to his feet. He felt a tingle of anticipation as he beheld Liza’s tapping foot, her narrowed eyes, and the way she squared off in front of him. Why hadn’t he realized how much she excited him when they brawled? He couldn’t resist the challenge.

Folding his arms over his chest, he said, “I’ll not be dictated to by my own wife.”

“And I’ll not sit at home tatting lace while you cavort with other women.”

He smiled, delighted that she’d accepted the challenge. “You’ll keep to your place. And I’ll do as I please. A man has rights, and a woman’s duty is to see to his home and keep her nose out of his affairs.”

“Absurd.”

Jocelin stared at her as if unable to believe she was disagreeing with the civilized customs by which everyone abided.

“You’re one of those women,” he said.

“What women?”

“Those women who want—” he lowered his voice. “Rights, education.” He lowered his voice again and stepped toward her with great drama. “Divorce, and, and the vote.”

Liza stepped back and tossed her head. “Oh, that. Of course I do, but that’s not the point.”

He laughed then, but stopped when he heard her curse. “It is the point. Such desires are unwomanly.”

“I know your backward views on women, my lord. I’m not interested in them. I’m only interested in making you understand your situation. You can behave yourself and adhere to the same standards of conduct that you expect of me, or you can hop from bed to bed and risk what I’ll do to you.”

His amusement vanished at this comment. She’d gone too far. His jaw worked, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d care to say to a lady.

“And by the way, there will be no excuses.” Liza waggled the gun at him. “No hiding behind the proverbial animal nature of men, those ungovernable urges that are supposed to exempt you from responsibility for your actions. Illogical nonsense.”

Disbelief turned to outrage. He felt his blood thicken and gush painfully through the small veins at his neck and temples. No one told him how to conduct himself, especially not a woman. Grinding his teeth, he slowly began to walk, not directly toward her, but sideways, so that she moved away from the door.

“My, my, my,” he drawled. “You sure got firecrackers in your petticoats, honey.”

“What are you talking about?” She edged away from him as he closed the distance between them.

“If you’re so hot to keep me from other women, you must want me for yourself.”

“I didn’t say that!”

He smiled as the pistol wavered.

“The thought of me and another woman curdles
your milk, honey. Admit it.” They were circling now, but Liza’s attention was on the argument.

“Absurd.”

He laughed and inched closer to her. “You were ready to scalp poor Miss Birch. But you got to realize, honey, that the only way you’re ever gonna be sure I’m not in someone else’s bed is to keep me in yours.”

She sputtered. The pistol barrel dipped, and he lunged, knocking the gun from her hand. It hit the floor. The trigger snapped, but nothing happened as Jocelin dove for Liza. He flew at her, taking her with him as he plunged to the floor. He landed on top of her, but managed to cradle her head so that it didn’t hit the floor. She gasped as he bounced onto her. Transferring his weight to his lower body, he captured her arms and smiled at her.

“Now you’re going to find out why I’m the master and you’re the obedient wife.” She bucked under him, and he laughed again. “I’ll make a bargain with you. The day you can make me let you go, I’ll consider all those arguments you just spit at me.”

She writhed and swore at him, but couldn’t break free. He kept a grip on her wrists, careful not to hurt her. At last, out of breath and curses, crimson from her neck to her scalp, she subsided. Jocelin could feel the heat from her face. He touched his cheek to hers, in spite of her protest. Then he kissed her temple. She jerked her head, but he captured her chin with one hand while holding her wrists with the other. Slowly he brought his lips nearer to hers.

“Come on, honey, I like to scrap, but we’ve got better things we can do.”

W
hen Jocelin plunged to the floor with her, Liza was abruptly thrust from the fugue in which she’d been submerged ever since she’d seen Miss Birch get out of her carriage. She heard him vow to give her his unabridged attentions, saw his lips descend toward her. Then, to her frustration, she burst into tears. This man, whom she feared she loved still, wanted to take pleasure of her as if she were a poor substitute for the mistress he’d just lost. The thought made her cry harder. She heard his alarmed inquiries, but couldn’t respond.

She had followed Jocelin, after days of being shunned and ill-used, with the intention of cornering him and having it out with him. As she’d ridden down
the lane to Nick’s lodge, a carriage had passed her, bearing a woman of dark and voluptuous appearance. Knowing Jocelin, Liza’s suspicions had been aroused.

She’d followed the carriage and met Nick riding down the drive to the lodge in the opposite direction. He had asked her the purpose of her visit, listened with satisfaction, and handed her an ancient pistol with the remark that she might need it. After she came upon Jocelin and the woman plastered together, her thoughts and actions seemed to occur within a crimson haze of rivalry and covetousness so unexpected and so violent that she felt as if she’d contracted some kind of dementia.

That dementia only vanished when Jocelin crashed to the floor with her and threatened to master her. Now she stared up at him through a watery screen of tears. Jocelin raised himself to sit straddling her. He released her hands, then took one of them and began to pat it distractedly.

“Hang it. What’s wrong? I thought you were enjoying our little brawl.”

Liza covered her eyes with her forearm and bawled. She’d already let him see her cry, so she had nothing to lose by unburdening herself. She felt Jocelin pat her hand, then her shoulder, and heard him mutter helpless consolation

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in a confused tone.

“Ah-hem.”

Liza moved her arm and looked up at the length of a well-creased trouser leg. Jocelin glared at Loveday.

Before he could say anything, the valet clasped his hands behind his back and nodded to his master. “Good morning, my lord.”

Liza glanced at Jocelin, who seemed to have lost his urge to conquer.

Loveday continued when Jocelin failed to reply. “Forgive me for intruding, my lord. A matter of some urgency.” His gaze trickled over Liza and his employer. “I assume that some great catastrophe has taken place that would require us to sit upon a weeping lady?”

Liza wiped her eyes and stared at Loveday. Jocelin tossed his head, throwing a stray black lock off his brow, and removed himself from Liza. Offering his hand to her, he assisted her in rising. She freed her hand as soon as she was on her feet.

Jocelin marched to the door and held it open. “Get out, Loveday.”

“No, don’t,” Liza cried out. “He’s still playing the gunfighter.”

“I am not!”

Liza set her jaw and stuck it out. “You are.”

Swearing under his breath, Jocelin shut his eyes, then opened them and spoke more evenly. “Perhaps you are accustomed to discussing private matters before servants. It’s not done.”

“Loveday is different. Even I know that.”

Jocelin began striding toward her. “I’m a tolerant man, but you’re not to contradict me in front of a servant.”

“My lord,” came the gentle voice of civility. “We seem to have forgotten our own good breeding. We do not accost ladies.”

“I told you to go away!”

Liza cast a glance of entreaty at Loveday, who raised his voice. “My lord, I said that we do not accost young ladies. We once remarked that such behavior
reminded us of certain actions once directed at ourselves.”

At this remark Jocelin halted in midstride. Surprised and relieved, Liza watched him flush. Then the color drained from his face, and he cast his gaze down at the floor.

“If your lordship will excuse me,” Loveday said as he left the room.

Jocelin nodded, then swept his arm toward the chair he’d vacated. Liza circled him at a distance and seated herself. Jocelin stood several paces away, his spine as straight as a Greek column, and opened his mouth.

“No,” Liza said. “Let me speak. If you do, we’ll only fight again. You’re going to listen to me if I have to haul down one of those muskets and point it at you. Nod if you agree.”

He nodded.

“Good.” She stood up. She felt more at an advantage standing. “I can’t endure this purgatory you’ve designed for me for groundless and unreasonable reasons. Therefore, my lord, you’re going to listen to me. I did not plot to make you marry me. No, don’t say anything.”

She began to pace back and forth in front of him. “I admit spying on you, but only to find my brother’s murderer. And once I realized you couldn’t have murdered William Edward, well, I stopped.” No need to tell him she also fell in love with him. “And do you know why I realized you weren’t a murderer? I’ll tell you. It was because that first day we drove to Willingham, I followed you to Dr. Sinclair’s house.”

“Bloody hell.”

She took satisfaction in the shock on his face.

“I heard what you said to him, and realized what
you’d done when you took that boy and that little girl from St. Giles.”

“Dear God.”

Now he was looking at her as if she had sprouted snakes on her head.

“Yes,” Liza said. “I, whom you consider too weak-brained to vote or own property, am capable of stalking you without your knowledge and discovering your secret crusade. And on top of that, I’ve kept the secret.” She paused while she watched his jaw work. “Now, my lord, if I truly wanted to trap you into marriage, I could have done it long ago, and with no help at all from my bigoted father.”

If she hadn’t cared so deeply about this infuriating man, she could have watched the cascade of his emotions with detachment. The columnlike stature melted. He ran a hand through his hair, and she noticed that it trembled slightly.

He whispered. “How much do you know?”

“Only what I’ve said. You and Mr. Ross have a secret quest to save maltreated children and rid the world of men who prey upon them.”

“Nothing more? You swear it?”

Liza frowned, but nodded. “If you wish.”

He confused her by sighing as though comforted by a miracle. Then he walked away from her so that all she could see was the back of his figure, regimental and aloof. She waited while he stared at a cabinet filled with medieval daggers. After a while he turned suddenly and walked back to her with a quick tread that spoke of a decision made.

She gripped the finial of a chair, prepared to bolt if he came at her. Her gaze followed his movements as he bent, took her hand, and kissed it. His lips barely
touched the back of her hand, but she shivered at the contact. When he looked up, she caught her breath.