The Viscount's Addiction (17 page)

Nothing had changed between them. Not even the liquor could soften the pain. She felt suddenly sick.

She waited only until they were both decently attired again and then lifted the window shade and forced open the window.

“Please stop this thing. Stop this bloody coach!” she shouted.

Jessie tripped down the steps before the carriage had even come to a complete standstill and fell to her knees. She scrambled to her feet. “Do not bloody follow me,” she told him as she exited the coach. The thin soles of her slippers offered little protection as she ran through the underbrush. She took refuge behind some shrubs and emptied her stomach.

She rose on unsteady limbs, brushed the grass from her skirts and pulled the pins from her hair. Let her husband wait. She still bristled with fury at his dismissive behavior, of being tossed aside so that he would not impregnate her. She took her time refashioning a bun. If her husband was to be believed, her notions about being delivered into Retscliff’s hands were absurd. But she had to bring this sweet torture to an end. She could not live a life in limbo. A life that caromed between heaven and hell. Once in town it was imperative that she post a letter to her prospective employer.

His arms crossed over his chest, he pretended a negligent stance, leaning back against the coach, but tension was present in every line of his body. She avoided looking up at him as she passed.

When she resumed her seat, she felt shaken, hollowed out. Had she ever felt such a heart-wrenching sadness before?

He climbed in and resumed the seat across from her. “I will wring William’s neck.” “It isn’t his fault. None of this is his fault.” She peered out the window. “Do you

know what Brighton is like? Have you ever been there?” she asked.

“Once. But why?”

She glanced at him. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “Curious, that’s all. Would lavender grow there, do you think?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I know nothing of plants. If the garden at home isn’t big enough for you I’ll have William dig up a portion of the lawn. Hell, you can turn the whole lawn into a garden if you’d like.”

It was as if her lips and heart were in agreement and she could manage only a sorrowful smile. “I’ve decided I’d very much like to have Titus.”

“As I said. The horse is yours.”

“Could one reach Brighton on horseback?” she asked. “Why would
one
be asking such a question?”

Rather than look at him, she began tugging on her gloves. “I was feeling nostalgic for the ocean.”

“We have a perfectly good carriage to use when
we
travel.”

His emphasis on the word “we” was inescapably pointed. Jessie thought it best to let the subject drop.

When they pulled into the small village, Ryder took a box from a compartment beneath the seat. He removed a pistol not dissimilar to the one his uncle had presented him. “Merely a precaution, on the chance that Retscliff can’t be bought,” he said as he tucked the gun into his waistband.

“I believe he is never without a weapon.” Without thinking, she rubbed the arm Retscliff had wounded. His gaze flicked to her arm.

“Did that whoreson shoot at you?” he asked through clenched teeth. “I was wearing my cloak. He probably thought I was a thief.”

Rage flashed in his eyes.

In desperation, she gripped his lapels. “Promise me you will do nothing to send yourself back to Newgate.”

His nostrils flared. Danger radiated off of him.

She became more frantic. “It was a mere scratch. Besides it isn’t as if I’m your real wife. We were both forced into this marriage. We owe each other nothing.”

He pried her hands from his coat. “Thank you for reminding me of those facts.”

The driver parked the vehicle in front of the abandoned tannery and Ryder climbed

out.

She attempted to follow him.

“Where the devil do you think you’re going?” he asked. “Not with you, I suppose.” She sat back down.

“Do not move that beautiful little arse of yours. Do you understand?”

She peered out the window and waited until he entered the inn before exiting the

coach. With her reticule in hand and her shawl clutched tightly to hide her exposed cleavage, Jessie strode purposefully across the street to the draper’s shop to post the letter. Hopefully they would be able to provide her with a bit of stationery to pen a quick response accepting the position.

She squeezed between the tables piled with bundles of fabric to walk to the back of the shop. She stopped for a moment and slid her fingers over a bolt of crimson satin. The fabric that would suit a viscount’s wife, she thought. A
true
viscount’s wife, she quickly amended. On a sigh, she withdrew her hand from the beautiful satin. Certainly a governess would never have call to wear such finery.

Mr. Jenkins, the proprietor, looked up from his work as she approached. He was scissoring through a great swath of damask.

“Mr. Jenkins, I need to post a letter. Would you be able to provide me with some paper and ink?” She pulled a few coins from her bag.

“Certainly, Miss Nash.” He finished cutting the damask and then, with swift efficiency, folded the two halves of the cloth. With a smile, he plucked the coins from her and cleared a spot on his cluttered desk. She hurriedly scribbled a response. Her shoulders were nearly to her ears. She kept expecting to hear the sound of gunfire coming from the inn. She clamped the quill between her fingers yet her writing looked shaky. She hoped her penmanship would not create a poor impression.

After referring to the man’s letter, she copied out his address then folded and sealed the letter with the gum Mr. Jenkins had provided.

Mr. Jenkins was often careless about his postal duties. Jessie would not have been surprised if other people’s letters had been mislaid in the pile atop his desk. “I would be very appreciative if this letter is included in the next batch of mail.” She handed him the letter along with enough copper to pay for postage and encourage his cooperation.

She began weaving her way between the fabric laden tables. “Do wait, Miss Nash. My wife has finished your dress.”

Luck was with her, it seemed. The dress gave her a perfect excuse to be visiting the draper’s. She turned back to Mr. Jenkins with a smile.

Jessie stepped out of the shop feeling as though she’d accomplished something. As she half expected, she did not make it back to the coach before her husband. He had a rather grim look on his face when he held the door open for her.

He glanced from the draper’s shop to her then stared pointedly at the packet she held. “I thought I’d been quite clear. And as I recall—” though his tone had been calm at first as he continued speaking it deepened to an angry growl, “—I told you to keep your arse parked on that seat.”

“I needed to fetch my dress for the Ducketts’ party. I’d brought it in for alterations when last I visited Lucy. It’s seasons old. But lilac has since come back in fashion, so I thought it might do.”

He raised his brows at all her blather and heaved a sigh.

Once started, it seemed she couldn’t stop herself; his silence was too accusatory. “I’d instructed the seamstress to add a French gauze skirt over the silk.” She peeled back one of the corners of the paper to give him a glimpse of the lilac fabric. “I’ve had Mrs. Jenkins trim the hem with lace scallops and add bangles to the satin arm bands and—”

He pressed two fingers to her lips.

“Enough about the bloody dress. I’m far more curious about the correspondence you mailed.” He removed his fingers from her lips and her tongue no longer felt so nimble.

The driver shifted on the box. Jessie figured he was angling himself within better hearing range. Ryder, obviously noticing as well, gave his servant a sideways glance before returning his full attention to Jessie.

He addressed her in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the prying driver. “Your advertising has paid off and now you have been offered a position in Brighton. Thus the hurry to post a letter. Correct?”

His assumption hit the mark with startling accuracy. Unnerved, she managed a shrug in response. So he had destroyed her first attempt to compose an advertisement.

“Go get the letter back.”

“I most certainly will not,” she said in a hushed tone that hissed with anger. She flinched as his expression turned thunderous.

He took hold of her elbow and marched her across the street. At the door of the draper’s shop, she balked. With a flare of his nostrils, he dropped his grip on her arm and, ducking under the low lintel, entered the shop.

In moments, he exited with letter in hand. He proceeded to rip it into strips. “I know you resent being bound to a man who was once a convict.” He stuffed the shredded paper into his pocket. “But do act the cooperative wife and get into the bloody carriage.” Ryder climbed atop the box and grabbed the reins from the driver.

Jessie clambered aboard to find Lucy, smelling of sweet perfume, ensconced in the sleek coach. Instinctively, Jessie leaned over and gave her a hug.

“Your man, is he coming?” she asked. She was trembling.

Jessie pointed to the ceiling. “He is riding outside.” She reached over and took Lucy’s frail hand in hers.

“More than a bit intimidating, that one. Had Retscliff bowing and scraping. ‘Yes, my lord. Whatever you’d like, my lord’. What a sight that was.”

On the trip back, Jessie discovered that Lucy was as much in the dark as she was about Lord Blackwood’s mysterious actions.



Once inside the manor, she settled Lucy, who looked quite peaked, before the fire in the library. Jessie decided to put on less seductive clothing. She chose a prim and proper dress she rarely wore. Despite Lord Blackwood’s denials, she was still convinced that Lucy would be the next female to share his bed. She should have feigned illness to get out of dinner, to avoid the inevitable pain of seeing him flirt with another woman, but her

curiosity was raging. After inspecting the dining room, she found the table set for six. Lord Blackwood was expecting other guests for this odd evening.

Jessie heard the door open and a man introduced himself as Constable Jeffers to the new housekeeper. She stopped dead in the hallway, and her pulse took up a rapid beat. Hadn’t he threatened this from the beginning, saying that when he tired of her he’d have the lot of them carted off to prison? If he truly believed her so prideful that she was ashamed of his prison past, then wouldn’t seeing her suffer the same fate be the ultimate revenge? Only Lewis would avoid the fate. At least, for this evening. Unless he was already in prison. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. And Lucy was here so that Lord Blackwood would not have to suffer a night alone.

Jessie couldn’t seem to put one foot in front of the other. Hearing his steps on the stairs, she thrust her hands out in front of her. She put her wrists together. “Do you have some irons you’d like to clap on me?”

“Not at the moment. Perhaps later.” Ryder’s lips quirked into a completely irresistible smile.

He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and took her to greet his guest. “I’d like you to meet—”

“Miss Nash, Henry’s stepdaughter,” she interjected. Ryder’s nostrils flared slightly, a sure sign that he was annoyed. She’d only thought to spare them both from having to explain. She was certain he regretted making the mistake of introducing her as his wife to William.

The constable gave her a respectful bow, his shiny bald pate reflecting the candlelight from the chandelier. The man was nearly as tall as his host and as broad. He grasped his hat between nervous fingers, his gaze drifting to the high ceiling as Lucy’s had done.

When the next guest arrived, she realized Lewis had not escaped either.

They assembled around the dining table. Someone had managed to coax Henry down to dinner, but he hadn’t bothered to change out of his dingy neckcloth or shabby coat. He inspected Lucy, his mouth curling into a repulsive smile. “His tastes run low, just like his sire. Likes to skim the scum from the brothels for his pleasure,” he muttered under his breath. Thankfully, Lucy was not close enough to hear his ugly words.

“Have you come to drag the bastard back to Newgate, Constable?” Henry asked. Constable Jeffers responded with diplomatic silence.

Jessie sat expectantly at the table, waiting and watching for a cue that would tell her that her world was about to crumble. Ryder’s face gave nothing away. Though he did not flirt openly, his attention, as she’d expected, was drawn to Lucy. It felt as if an icy knot had settled in her stomach. She drank her wine for courage. After her glass had been refilled for the third time by a very efficient maid, she did catch her husband’s attention. He raised one dark brow in admonition. Too bloody bad, she thought, she intended to enjoy what might be the last night of her freedom. She raised her glass to him in challenge. He looked far from pleased with her gesture.

“Does the slut practice the black arts as well?” Henry nearly shouted. Jessie cringed. A dark flush spread over the constable’s bald head.

Lucy dropped her spoon with a clatter. She jumped to her feet, overturning her chair. Her face had drained of all color. “I know who you are.” She pointed a shaking finger at him. “She told us about you. How you’d jabber on about the black arts and witches. Preached at her ’til she was ill with it.”

“Made her ill, bah. That whore never heeded a word I uttered.” He took a taste of soup, his thin lips smacking with satisfaction.

Lucy’s delicate frame shook with rage.

“She’s long dead now,” Henry laughed. “No need to quake with indignation on her account.”

“Who’s dead, sir?” the constable asked.

“The witch at Retscliff’s place. Done the whoring wench a good turn. Though she hardly merited it. Exorcised every ounce of evil from her.”

Jessie flinched as Henry suddenly reached over and drew his finger along her neck just below the jaw line.

Ryder was on his feet in an instant and looming with menace over his uncle.

Henry’s eyes glinted with wicked glee. “If you cut just so, you need not score deeply to release the demons.”

“Not such delicate work you did on poor Miss Maggie, I’m afraid,” the constable said as he pushed himself away from the table. He placed his napkin neatly at his place setting. “It’s best you come with me, sir,” he said calmly to Henry.