Two Wrongs Make a Marriage (25 page)

The earl sighed. ‘I suppose you are right. Better to make a clean break now than overstay your welcome. You were always one to love and leave, were you not?’

He could not argue that it was not truth, but he’d seldom given it that much thought. And he’d hardly have called any of the previous couplings love.

But this time...

‘You hired me to play a part,’ he said simply. ‘When the play is over, it is time to leave the stage.’ He reached down and pulled the ring from his finger that Spayne had given him to prove his identity as Kenton. It was a mate to Thea’s more ladylike band, set with a huge cabochon emerald. He offered it back to the earl, and to remind himself that the job was truly done.

The earl waved it away. ‘Keep it, my boy. There is no one else to wear it. And you have certainly earned it.’

‘It is entailed,’ Jack had reminded him, surprised at how automatically the words had come.

‘And no longer a part of the property. Lord Kenton is to be lost at sea, remember? The ring will be with him when he dies.’ Stayne looked down at the jewel on Jack’s palm without expression or passion. ‘When you sell it, I would appreciate your prying out the stone and hammering the gold until it is unrecognisable. It would not do for you to be caught with the thing as it is.’

‘I suppose,’ Jack said, trying and failing to view the jewel with as little emotion as Spayne had mustered.

‘It is nothing more than gold and stone, after all,’ Spayne reminded it him. ‘If people see it as more than that, they have fallen victim to a clever illusion, but now we must see nothing but the truth. We must learn to make the best of that.’ The earl looked strangely sad at the prospect.

‘It does no one any good to become enamoured of the parts one plays,’ Jack agreed. ‘They are phantoms. Not meant to last.’

‘Of course not,’ the earl added, but he did not seem fully convinced. And why was he not? Shouldn’t it be he who was reminding Jack that the arrangement was never meant to be a permanent one? Holding out hope for anything more was a sort of cruelty he had not expected to find in the normally genial man.

Then the old man gave a sigh and clapped him firmly on the shoulder, his left hand lingering, a heavy staying weight. The right reached out to clasp the hand that Jack offered him. ‘Farewell, Jack Briggs. Travel safe. Live well. Be happy.’

‘And you, my lord.’ There was something else he was supposed to say, but damn him, for the first time in a long time, he was at a loss. Finally, he said, ‘Thank you.’ But that was not right, nor was it sufficient. ‘It was an honour, my lord.’

‘For me as well.’ The hands released him and the man turned away quickly, as though he’d had enough of the distraction. ‘Go now. It is a long drive to Southend and you are losing the light.’ Then Spayne returned to his desk and the awkward interview was at an end.

* * *

Thea paced in the hall nervously, knowing that Jack was in the library, making his final farewells to the earl. If ever she would say something to him, now must be the time. There would be no other opportunity.

He opened the door and she saw him a moment before he could notice her. Worried, puzzled, hesitant. His face and posture were without their usual confidence. Nor did they have the arrogance she had seen when he’d been Jack Briggs for the pawnbroker.

This new man was yet another person. An odd blending of the two he had been, as though he could not quite manage to settle on a way to represent the change in his character.

He had doubts. It gave her hope. Perhaps the right word or action might be the tipping point that made him decide to stay. All she had to do was to tell him the truth.

And then he turned, saw her and all the character rushed back into his face. He was jaunty, insouciant, blustering and insincere.

And she could not help herself. She frowned in disapproval.

He smiled back. ‘And that is how I’ll remember you, darling. Sulking and irritable.’ He put his hand to his heart. ‘And heartbreakingly beautiful.’

‘As if you had a heart to break,’ she answered, although it felt like hers was well on the way to tearing in half.

‘Ah, the times we had.’ He sighed. ‘Now give me your lips. I must be going.’

‘If that is what it will take to make you leave.’ She would not cry, she reminded herself. If she did, he would taste the salt on her lips. Instead, she gave herself over to the kiss, pouring all her feelings into it. She could feel the crisp hairs at the back of his neck bristling under her fingers, the ache in her breasts as he pulled her body against his. His mouth moved on hers possessively, reminding her that they knew her body and would know it again, should he decide to stay. It was the sweetest possible lie, and, for a moment, she gave herself up to the idea that he loved her, that this was a new beginning and not simply the end.

She gave back eagerly, soft and compliant, knees weak, making it clear that, with the slightest push, she would be on the floor, her skirts around her waist and her legs spread wide for him. They were at war and submission was her greatest weapon.

Then he broke from her, giving an admonishing wag of his finger. ‘If you keep at me like that, I will never leave.’ He touched her chin with a finger. ‘And we both know the trouble I will cause if I stay. I am not the husband for you, my dear. I would embarrass you, just as your mother does.’

‘You are not the husband for me because you are not real,’ she reminded him. But he seemed real enough when she touched him.

He laughed. ‘Neither are you. You tailor your moods, your likes and your dislikes to the current fashions and the people around you, just as you have been taught to do.’

‘Perhaps you would prefer that I do not blurt my secrets and opinions out for all to hear.’ She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. ‘There is such a thing as too much honesty, Jack Briggs. And, sometimes, there is not nearly enough.’

‘Point taken,’ he said, glaring back at her. ‘Since we will never agree on a happy medium, it is better that we part.’

‘We would be quite hopeless for more reasons than that,’ she said. ‘You would likely expect me to follow you about the country, waiting in the wings as you play-act, applauding your every falsehood. I think we can both agree that is no life for a gently bred woman.’

But perhaps, if you loved me, you might have suggested it.

He kissed her again, on the forehead, but his lips were cold and the contact brief. ‘In time, you will meet the man who deserves you. I hope you are happy with him.’

It sounded like a sincere blessing. But there was something in it as well that sounded like a curse. In return she said, ‘And you should go back to the sort of women you favour. It is hardly my place to wish you joy of them.’

‘I shall,’ he assured her. ‘Very much so. They are simpler than you. But just as easily forgotten when I am through with them.’ He offered her as courtly a bow as any he had made on stage before placing his hat upon his head and pulling on his gloves. ‘I bid you adieu. I’d say that parting was such sweet sorrow, but I know how you hate it when I lie.’ And with that, he turned and was gone.

Chapter Twenty

J
ack whistled as he walked down the path to the beach and as he got into the little sail boat. He continued until he was well out from shore. It was an annoyingly cheerful song for such a grim day. The slate-coloured clouds threatened a storm and warned that it was no day for an extended outing.

But then it was not to be a grim day at all for Lord Kenton. He was young and in love. The world must think him happy. And Jack Briggs should be happy as well, for it was the first time in over a year that he’d had his freedom and a chance at his old life back.

Yet it was a struggle to keep up the role. He could be in bed with Cyn right now. The minx had done her best to keep him there a little while longer. She had not resorted to embarrassing and sloppy sentiment. Instead, she had used her body. It was much harder to part from eyes and thighs and lips and breasts all eager for his kisses.

The man who would have her was lucky indeed. Jack stopped whistling and cursed that man, whoever he might be, to all the hells he deserved for the heaven that he was about to receive. His Cyn would likely pick some proper gentleman, just as she had been trained to. The fellow would be as dumb as a fencepost and probably faithless. But he would have money and a title, which was all she had wanted from the first.

It was no concern of his. She would be a widow and free to do as she liked.

And she had given him a full demonstration of just what she liked. She had been the enthusiastic lover that he’d wished and hoped for on that first day when she’d waylaid him. It was highly unlikely that she would wait past the minimum time of mourning before finding another to warm her bed. Declarations of a life of abstinence had been conspicuously absent from their parting.

As had words of love. On his part as well. He hadn’t bothered, for she’d have seen it for the lie it was. Jack Briggs did not love anyone.

No one save himself, of course.

Which was why it went against his nature to aim the little boat back towards shore and straight for the nearest rock. It was a mad risk, but he could think of no better way to provide an explanation for his disappearance that would provide sufficient evidence of death, but no body. So he tied the rudder and threw himself over the side into the icy water.

Dying was both harder and easier than he’d thought. The chill hit him like a slap, ringing on his skin, shocking his mind into paralysis. Then he was sinking, dragged beneath the surface, his boots a lead weight at the end of his legs, his fine clothes growing heavy in the water. His head cleared, reminding him of the need to fight for shore. And another voice came, calm, clear, and louder than the urge for self-preservation.

Why bother?

His shocked limbs did not move as his brain processed the idea. It would be easier to do nothing. Spayne wanted a death. A body to go along with the wrecked boat would be the final thing that would convince all. A last gesture to complete the finest performance of his career, and a fitting curtain call. Never mind what Jack felt for himself. The parts of him that were Kenton were profoundly depressed that it had come to this. Returning to his old life meant an end to warmth and peace and comfort. An end to the intriguing challenges of the estate and the knowledge that he must grow to become Spayne.

And an end to his life with Cyn. He’d had a wife. He could have had a family. Most of all, he’d had the love of both a father and a spouse. They had not said so, exactly, but now that it was gone he was as sure that there was no point in living without it.

A wave crested over his head and he looked up at the fading light, clinging to the gulp of air that he’d instinctively taken before he hit the water.

Then he shook himself free of Kenton and kicked to the surface. He managed the swim to the rock, which left him cold and shaking, almost too weak to pull himself out of the water. But he was still alive, and owed no thanks to love for that. It was his own self-interest that ruled him, that could keep his heart beating with or without a wife and family.

The decision was made, but the fates were still against him. The damned boat could not manage its part, hanging up against the stones largely unharmed. In the end, he had to swim back to it, haul himself over the side and hack at the hull with a hatchet until the thing went down, but it did give him a nice piece of clearly marked wreckage to wedge between the rocks along with a torn bit of his shirt. Not as convincing as a corpse, perhaps, but a much saner choice than noble suicide. When they searched for him, there would be no doubt what had happened.

And so he was finally free. He made his way to shore to the clothes he had hidden there, dried, dressed, then built a small fire and warmed himself as he burned every last trace of Lord Kenton.

All save one. The ring his father... No. The ring Spayne had given him was still on his hand. He stared at it for a moment, remembering what the earl had suggested. Then he pulled it off, set it on the ground and reached for a rock to smash it.

His hand froze in mid-air as he stared down at the emerald. Sell it? How could he? For months it had been as much a part of his hand as one of his fingers.

That was Kenton, the character, speaking to him again, whispering righteous nonsense in his ear. Of course Jack would sell it. The thing was worth at least thirty pounds, even melted down and passed to the meanest fence.

But it was worth far more than that, if he counted its true value. He balanced it in his hand for a moment, feeling the weight. It was heavy with tradition, just as Cyn’s ring had been, and made from another stone of the set that the king had given the first Earl of Spayne.

He wet his lips and said aloud, to add a matching weight to his argument, ‘I do not want to go back to the gallows over a simple misunderstanding.’ If an actor was caught with this ring, people would suspect theft, and possibly murder. The real Kenton would not have given it up without a fight. Even now, he had to struggle not to return it to his finger, where it belonged. He raised the rock again.

Yet he could not manage the blow that would crush it. To Jack Briggs, it should be nothing more than ready money, but it was all that was left of Kenton. And despite his dramatic protestations in the water, the man was not ready to die.

Jack sighed. He did not really have to make the decision now. Perhaps at some future date, when his skills faltered and he could no longer hold the speeches in his head, not even fit to do a convincing King Lear. He must simply keep it safe and out of sight. He slipped the ring into an inner pocket beside the fat purse that Spayne had given him. Though it was rather shabby by Kenton’s standards, the plain coat he wore now was better than anything Jack Briggs had owned. The bespoke fit made it clear to all that he was a gentleman, down on his luck, but still able to pay for a night’s lodging. He would have no trouble with innkeepers dressed as he was. He would have no trouble with anything for quite some time.