The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance (47 page)

Jared sat up. His face was suffused with crimson. “You’re married?”

His outraged expression surprised the truth from Francis. “I was. Robert died at Waterloo, along with most of his friends.”

Jared sank bank on to his seat. “He was a military man?” His face was still red, his voice not entirely steady.

Francis found it impossible to meet Jared’s eyes. She might have shared his bed, but talking about Robert made her feel achingly vulnerable. “He was a rifleman with the 95th.”

“The Light Division?”

She nodded, relaxing a little.

“I never heard of a Robert Taylor in the 95th.”

“Not Taylor, Spencer.”

Jared jerked his hand, almost upsetting his mug of ale. He gave her a perplexed look. “You gave your name as Taylor at the Horse and Hounds inn. Why?”

Francis was uncomfortably aware of Jared’s curious eyes boring into her. She opened her lips to tell him it was none of his concern, but blurted out something else instead. “That was my family name. Robert’s parents live nearby. I don’t want them to know I am here.”

“Why not?”

Francis looked down at her hands. “The Spencers threw us off after we married. My father was a small-time lawyer in London, with no connections.” Francis’ hands clenched. She had never been good enough for Robert’s parents and, as a result, he had been forced to choose between her and his family. It had been a devil’s bargain. Francis had never reproached Robert for his love of gaming in the years that followed, for she understood it was driven by his need to recapture the inheritance he had lost. In the end, Robert’s debts of honour had swallowed up what was left of his military pay, leaving her with nothing but the ruby.

The server provided a welcome interruption by arriving with a tray of food. Francis busied herself with a piece of mutton pie, and the heavy food exercised a calming effect on her. By the time she had made short work of the pie, the rigid tension of her body had relaxed.

“Have some ham,” Jared said, heaping her plate with thick slices of the roast pink flesh.

Francis sighed, inhaling the savoury aroma of the pork, and then she attacked her plate. Halfway through her second piece of meat, she looked up to see Jared frowning at her.

“When’s the last time you had a decent meal?”

Francis shrugged. There was an angry look on Jared’s face that warned her not to answer his question.

He crossed his arms. “Spencer seems to have done a poor job of providing for you.”

Francis fired up. “Don’t you dare criticize Robert! He left me the Panchamaabhuta.”

“What about his arrears of pay?”

Francis toyed with a slice of ham, her appetite suddenly deserting her. “He had a run of bad luck before he died. He would have come round again if it hadn’t been for Brussels.” Francis closed her eyes and leaned back against the bench, trying to block out the picture of the French troops cutting her husband to ribbons on the battlefield. It was an image she had pieced together in her mind from the stories of the survivors. Her breathing went shallow as she battled the disturbing vision, forcing herself to come back to the present.

Jared’s breath against her cheek startled her. “You look unwell.” He chafed her wrists. “Your pulse is rapid. Let me take you upstairs, so you can rest.”

Francis opened her mouth to protest that she was fine, when it occurred to her that Jared was offering her the perfect opportunity. “If you think that’s best.” She gave Jared what she hoped was a sickly smile.

When he went to see the innkeeper, she thought through the details of her scheme and ate every remaining morsel of ham. When Jared returned to the dining room, Francis was ready. He led the way up the stairs to a chamber on the second floor, and she leaned heavily on his arm.

When the innkeeper unlocked the door for them, Jared startled her by taking her up in his arms. The innkeeper stumped away, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

Francis wriggled in his arms, trying to get down. “For heaven’s sake, what will he think of us?”

He winked at her. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Mrs White.” Giving her a teasing smile, he slung Francis on to the narrow bed. Then he strode to the door and closed it. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you.”

Jared leaned over her to unfasten the top clasps at the back of her gown, and then he loosened her hair. “Now you should be more comfortable.” He straightened up. “I’ll go now, and let you sleep a while.”

Francis stiffened. Jared’s plan must be to escape with the ruby while she was feeling weak, unable to summon any help. She caught his hand. “Oh, no, please stay with me.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “You need to rest.”

She mustered the most pitiful expression she could. “I’m scared.” She gave a little shiver, and blinked at him. “Please stay.”

Jared sank back down on to the bed. “Shhh,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

Francis sighed and nestled against his firm chest, flooded with a delicious sense of well-being. Scoundrel that he was, Jared’s gentle touch had an immediate soothing effect on her. Cuddling closer, Francis felt her cheek brush against a lump in the pocket of his vest. It was time to put her plan into action. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling herself up so her face was level with his. Jared’s sleepy eyes flickered. Encouraged, she brushed the tip of her finger across his lower lip. “Kiss me,” she said.

He barely touched his mouth to hers, the movement so tender that Francis melted against him.

“I want you.” Her words came out in a husky whisper.

Suddenly, they were tangled together on the bed, his hot kisses depriving her of breath. Francis gave in to the wild pleasure of tasting him, letting her senses swim. Jared drew away and gave her a long, serious look. Francis stiffened, remembering her purpose. Whatever it was that Jared seemed to want to say, it could wait.

“Come, darling,” she murmured, drawing closer and toying with his cravat.

Jared’s breath came in a hot burst against her cheek. She felt for the buttons of his waistcoat and the top button gave, and then the next. Francis slipped her hand inside, moving her palms in a slow circle against Jared’s chest. He moaned. His nipples were highly sensitive, she had learned. When she continued the sensuous massage of his chest, Jared arched his back. Fighting the impulse to plunder him in a different way, Francis claimed his attention with a kiss. At the same time, her fingers probed the inner pocket of his waistcoat. She moved her lips to his neck, and Jared closed his eyes. Quick as a flash, she curled her fingers around the Panchamaabhuta. Retracting it from his inner pocket, she sealed his mouth with a last, hot kiss, and slipped the ring into her décolletage. Then she levelled an assessing glance at him. Jared’s eyes were still closed, his lashes fluttering against his cheek. A pang of longing shot through her at the sight of his golden beauty. His firm chin, full sensuous lips and dark tan were in stark relief to his tousled blond hair, giving him the look of a dark angel. Francis stared at him for a moment, as if she were memorizing him. Then she refastened the buttons of his waistcoat and pulled away.

Jared blinked his eyes open.

“Good heavens, I left my wrap downstairs,” Francis said, wringing her hands.

“What?” There was a glassy expression in Jared’s wide green eyes as if she had pulled him from a pleasant dream.

“The woollen wrap, with red flowers on it.”

Jared’s brow was furrowed. “You don’t have it now?”

“No. When I was feeling dizzy before, I must have left it on the bench. Do please go down and get it for me.” Francis took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

“Later.” Jared lunged forwards, claiming her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss.

She pulled away from him, breaking the kiss. “Someone might steal it. First my ring, and then my wrap. I couldn’t bear it.”

Her words seemed to have pricked Jared’s guilty conscience, for he let go of her and rose to his feet. “Very well. But I’ll expect a reward for it when I get back.” His roguish grin flashed at her, then he slipped out of the room. The door closed shut behind him.

Francis waited for a moment, her heart pounding, and then she cracked the door open and looked out cautiously. The hall was empty. Gathering her courage, she darted to the stairs. She took the stairs two at a time on her way down. It would take Jared time to find the shawl she had hidden beneath the bench in the dining room, but there was always the possibility that he would catch her on the stairs. The thought made her pulse race. Francis breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the foot of the stairs and saw no one at the bottom save a maid carrying a stack of linens. Jared must still be in the dining room. The server had revealed there was a back entrance out of the inn, and Francis scurried towards the back passage of the hostelry. She gave a silent cry of thanks when she reached the wooden door at the end of the hall. It pushed open and she darted through it.

She took one wild look around her to get her bearings, and then she plunged into the street. It wasn’t until she reached an intersection that she paused to catch her breath. Francis knew Bath fairly well; for it was there that she had met Robert. She had a fair idea of where she was and, looking up, she used the distant clerestory of the Bath Abbey Church as her guide. Anxious to put as much distance between herself and Jared as possible, she plunged down the cobblestone street in the direction of the abbey. The office of Mr Davis was located on York Street, not far from the ancient cloister. Every footfall and call behind Francis seemed to be Jared running after her in hot pursuit, and she pounded down the web of narrow cobbled paths as if her life depended on it.

A small building on York Street had Mr Davis’ name on the door in gold lettering. Francis burst through the door, panting. A severe-looking man with greying hair rose from his desk, giving her a startled look. Francis knew she must look a sight with her hair half undone and a gap in the back of her dress where Jared had unfastened it. She took a gasping breath. “I read the advertisement in
The Times.
I am here to sell the Panchamaabhuta.”

The gentleman gave a curt nod. “Then you have come to the right place.”

“Thank heavens for that. Are you Mr Davis?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Mrs Spencer.”

A slow smile spread over Mr Davis’ face. “Where is the ring?”

Francis looked down at her hand, but there was nothing there. She remembered that the ring was still in her décolletage.

Mr Davis was looking at her expectantly.

Francis shifted from one foot to the other. “It is hidden on my person. Please avert your eyes while I retrieve it.”

Mr Davis raised his eyebrows but obligingly turned his back.

Her cheeks burning, Francis extracted the ruby from her undergarments. Then she straightened her dress. “Here it is.” Mr Davis had turned round to face her, and she held the Panchamaabhuta out to him. “Is it the ring you were looking for?”

Mr Davis lifted the star ruby up to the light. He examined it for a long time as Francis watched, her heart in her throat. At length, he handed it back to her. “I believe this is the one. The inscription and the gem are just as my client described. But he will have to judge for himself.”

“Your client?” Francis gave Mr Davis a bewildered look.

“I am a solicitor, Mrs Spencer. My client commissioned me to find the ring for him.”

“Who is this gentleman?”

Before Mr Davis could answer her question, the door of his office opened, and Jared burst into the room.

Francis gave a frightened squeak. Jared’s hair was dishevelled, and he was panting. There was a wild look in his eyes. When he caught sight of her, he gave a little cry of triumph. “There you are. What the devil happened to you?”

Francis backed away from him, trembling.

Jared strode forwards. “Why did you run away? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He sounded furious.

Francis darted an appealing look at Mr Davis, but he stood passively watching her and Jared, a bemused expression on his face.

Francis gathered her courage and turned to look Jared squarely in the face. “I couldn’t let you keep my ring. I came to Bath to sell it to Mr Davis.”

Jared’s eyebrows shot up. A snort of incredulity escaped him. Then he hunched over, his shoulders shaking. As Francis watched, perplexed, Jared collapsed in a paroxysm of laughter. His mirth went on for some time.

Mr Davis cleared his throat. “I was about to send you word that your ring had been found, but it seems you already learned that for yourself.”

Jared chuckled. “Thank you, Davis. It seems your work is done.”

The familiar tone of Jared’s voice registered. Francis looked from him to Mr Davis as it dawned on her that the two men were acquainted with each other. Her teeth clicked together, the pieces of the puzzle forming together in her mind. Jared was Mr Davis’ client. Her perilous quest to Bath had been all for nothing. It was Jared who had put the announcement in
The Times
in the first place and, all this while, he had been making a May-game of her.

Francis gave a little sob, and rushed to the door.

“Francis!”

Heedless of Jared’s cry, Francis plunged into the street, narrowly missing a collision with a hackney. The driver shouted insults at her, but she ran on. It wasn’t until she almost barrelled into a tall gentleman in the square that she realized Jared had overtaken her.

He grasped her shoulder. “Francis, please.”

“All right!” Francis pulled the ruby ring off her finger and held it out to him. “Go ahead, take it. Just promise you will leave me alone!”

But Jared didn’t take the ring. All traces of his former mirth were gone. He stood staring at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “It’s not the Panchamaabhuta I want. It’s you.”