What an Earl Wants (10 page)

Jessica held up her hand to stop him. “Not that last one,
surely. A treasure? Why would your family do that? And why would anyone take the
body with them, whether there was some sort of treasure to be found there or
not?”

“I agree. It was only one of many possibilities, and a rather
feeble one at that. However, I do believe, after years of not believing it,
there may be some sort of treasure. Some precious gem perhaps, made a part of a
larger golden rose, the symbol of the Society? Or something they prayed
to—mayhap an enormous diamond stuck into the fat belly of a pagan idol?”

Jessica tucked her legs up on the couch, as if prepared to stay
there all night, until she’d somehow solved the problem that so confounded him.
“But wouldn’t every member of the Society know the location of that sort of
thing? They all gathered for their—I hate saying
ceremonies.
The word is too respectable for what they did.”

“Drunken orgies?” Gideon offered. “Debaucheries? Deflowerings
of whores paid handsomely to pretend they were intact innocents being offered up
for some carefully orchestrated sacrifice? The open passing around of wives in
some hope of alleviating the boredom of marital fidelity? Christ! Their own
wives.
Were they willing or unwilling, do you
think?”

She shot him a dark glance that made him want to know more of
what had happened to have her run off with James Linden. “I’m not convinced the
members cared. All done in praise of the devil.”

“Devil worship. Imitators of Sir Francis Dashwood and his ilk,
but without any cursory bow to a pretense of an interest in the intellectual.
We’re back to that. I’d rather think them drunks and idiots. Otherwise I’d have
to believe my father—my father!—discovered a way to make them all able to
believe they were better than they were, acting in some higher purpose. Still,
it’s possible. I don’t know how he’d have accomplished it, how any one person
manages to twist minds to do his every bidding, no matter how vile, but he could
have managed it.”

“Until his wife shot him in the back when he was about to duel
down her lover,” Jessica said quietly. “I’m sorry. Was...the man one of the
Society?”

“I can’t say anything for certain. I was only nine years old at
the time. I thought he was my new tutor, a Frenchman who’d fled France
immediately after the fall of the Bastille. He’d only been at the Manor for a
few weeks before both he and my mother were gone.”

“Again, I’m sorry, Gideon. Not that your father was shot, I
can’t honestly say that, but that you lost your mother. I’m certain she didn’t
want to leave you. She must have felt she had no choice.”

“I wonder if she would have made that choice if she could have
known she and her lover would be swept up in the Terror two years later and sent
to the guillotine. As someone reminded me just today, in the end the bill must
always be paid.”

For a moment, he could see his mother in his mind’s eye.
Beautiful, loving, but sad. Her eyes had always been so sad. There had been
times he could coax a smile from her, but those times had been seldom. He
treasured those few good memories. Strangely, he remembered his father only
through the painting of him as a young man that hung in the portrait
gallery.

Damn, but this woman was getting to him. He never thought about
the boy he’d been twenty years ago. He’d never spoken of any of this. Not with
his siblings, not with his grandmother. He’d shut it all down, all he’d felt at
the time, all he’d so carefully avoided since he’d been awakened to the news of
what had happened just before dawn that long-ago morning. Max and Val had been
too young, and Katherine only an infant. He’d been the only one to really
understand what
dead
meant, what
gone
meant.

Jessica got to her feet. “So what bill has come due for the
members of the Society?”

Gideon snapped himself back to attention.

“I can think of one theory. It’s not as if any of them could be
proud of what they’ve done, and want it out in the world. The sins of relatively
young men, trotted out for an airing twenty years later, could be more than
embarrassing. Add even the whisper of devil worship to the mix, and the secret
becomes dangerous. Your father sat in Parliament, remember. Someone may be
blackmailing the others, or simply killing them off to silence them. I can’t
even be sure how many of them there are. There could be some who no longer wear
the rose.”

“Thirteen,” Jessica said quietly. “The devil’s dozen. At any
time, there must be thirteen. James told me that much. One dies, two die, they
must be replaced, or there can be no ceremonies. I promise you, they were still
active five years ago. There could have been several new members since your
father’s time. The usual method was to draw from the blood relatives of the
members. And, of course, a member’s eldest son inherited his father’s position
by right.”

Gideon looked at her curiously. One day they’d have to speak
more of this James Linden. “No one has ever approached me.”

“You were a child when your father...died. As an adult, I doubt
anyone would have dared. You’re a rather formidable man, Gideon.”

He looked at her in sudden realization. “Adam.”

“Yes, very good. Adam. Because the Society must still exist,
I’m certain of that now more than ever. I’ll grant you, I was appalled at what I
saw this morning, but not so much so that I’m not relieved he’s...he’s...well,
we both know what he is.”

“A bacon-brained halfling who couldn’t locate his own backside
with both hands?”

Jessica smiled. “Thank you. Adam is, after all, my brother. I
didn’t want to say it myself.”

“You’re welcome. Still, until and unless you’re proven wrong, I
suppose I’m now doomed to keeping him close, explaining that particular part of
his inheritance, and then watching over him?”

“Yes. I was going to tell you tonight, if I thought I could
convince you to listen to reason. Because you’re right, I can’t protect him from
the Society if they’re desperate enough to go after him. But you can. My initial
reaction was they wouldn’t want him. But if they’ve run out of suitable
candidates, they might make an exception.”

“You say I can protect him, and I can. From the ones I know of,
yes, but we can’t know them all,” Gideon said, the futility of what he was
attempting to do all but smacking him in the face like a cold, wet cloth. He’d
been curious, intrigued, and now he was beholden, damn it, the reluctant
guardian of one Adam Collier, spotty-faced giggling twit who’d probably think
dressing up in a mask and hooded cloak, playing at devil worship, to be the
height of good fun.

But it was left to Jessica to really shock him.

“We might, soon. You’ve been seen sporting that horrible golden
rose, remember? When I first saw it, I thought you were a member, something that
should have occurred to me before I ever contacted you, I suppose. Still, I
almost immediately realized you’re not. I believe you on that head.”

“I’d hoped wearing it would— I don’t really know what I’d
hoped. I’ll not wear it again. And, again, I apologize.”

“Yes, I know. As I apologize for the pistol. But who is to say,
now that my father’s dead, and considering Adam’s clear unsuitability once
anyone with two reasonably good eyes sees him, that rose might gain you an
invitation to be the new thirteenth member. The eldest child of the founder,
Gideon? You’d be a splendid catch.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HEY
’
D
GONE
BACK
DOWNSTAIRS
separately, Jessica
suggesting it would be better that way. He could simply slip into the gaming
room, hopefully crowded at this hour, and she would come down a few minutes
later, going directly to the ground-floor supper room to mingle with the patrons
stuffing their faces at her expense and hopefully guide them back to the
tables.

After all, she still had her business to attend to, and Gideon
had kept her from it long enough.

He’d agreed, and left her once they’d decided on an hour to
meet the next day. He suggested she come to Portman Square. She’d politely
declined, and they’d settled on his coming for her at noon, in his curricle, for
a ride to Richmond Park.

“You’re amenable to being seen in public with me?” she’d asked,
thinking of his consequence.

“Your half brother is my ward. I see nothing unusual in the two
of us becoming acquainted. You’re a widow who earns her living with her uncle,
hosting intellectual evenings, correct?”

“And the bloody blazes with anyone who knows better and who’d
dare whisper otherwise?”

“I’m not known for concerning myself overmuch with whispers.
We’ll make one brief call before getting on our way, if you don’t mind.”

“You have someone you wish me to meet?” She was genuinely
surprised at that.

His smile had curled her toes. “Someone I wish to shock would
be more accurate. Although I doubt that’s possible. Until tomorrow,
Jessica.”

And that had been that. He’d bowed in her direction, and taken
his leave. Just as if they’d never been intimate. Just as if their conversation
following that intimacy had centered on the state of the weather, or the
fripperies of the latest fashions.

He was the most confounding man.

She had remained on the gaming floor until three, when the last
of their patrons had finally toddled off, four young gentlemen slightly lighter
in their pockets but vowing they’d had the best of good times and would return
for a chance to recoup their losses. One of them had very pointedly winked at
Mildred, who’d shot a quick, worried glance toward Jessica.

“Nothing more than a friendly round of slap and tickle behind
the supper room,” the girl had promised before heading for the kitchens, as her
duties included helping Doreen and Seth clear away the remains of the food and
dirtied dishes.

Jessica hadn’t found it in her heart to remonstrate with the
girl. Not now, considering she herself had gone far beyond a friendly round of
slap and tickle.
And at last understood its appeal,
she’d reminded herself, avoiding Richard’s curious look.

They quietly had gone about the business of gathering up cards
and chips and covering the tables with cloths, Jessica still avoiding Richard’s
pointed glances until he’d at last directly asked her if perhaps it wasn’t time
to close up shop and move their enterprise to Bath, or even Tunbridge Wells.

“I’m fine, Richard,” she’d assured him. “We’re fine. Coming to
London was your idea, remember? We’ll soon be able to afford our inn. It would
take another two or even three years to earn enough money anywhere but
here.”

“He could destroy you with a snap of his fingers.” Richard had
come around the faro table to cock his head and look into her eyes. “He may have
already done so. You’ve got a new look about you, Jess, and I don’t like it.
Soft around the edges. You can’t afford to think like a woman. I always felt
that was your best defense—you don’t think like a woman. James beat that
softness out of you long ago. Your brother or no, this is not the time to
discover you still have a heart.”

“My
heart
is not involved,
Richard,” she’d told him. “What Gid—what the earl and I have between us is
strictly business. He wants the Society destroyed, and so do I. For Adam’s sake,
for my sake. That’s all it is.”

“And now you’re lying to me. Me, who knows the truth. Two days,
undoing the trust of more than four years together.” He’d sighed, shaken his
gray head. “We’re all we’ve got, Jess, you and me. At the end of the day, when
he’s done with you, that’s all we’ll still have. So you guard that heart you say
isn’t at risk, and I’ll be here to pick up the pieces, as always.”

Jessica had kissed him on the cheek, given him a fierce hug,
and they’d gone back to work. As it was, she’d have only a few hours’ sleep
before Gideon returned to Jermyn Street. Then she’d crawled into her unmade bed
to realize Gideon had left his scent behind, and even those few hours of
oblivion had mostly alluded her. She didn’t fall asleep until nearly dawn and
woke shortly after ten, her eyes going immediately wide and shocked as she threw
back the tangled covers, grabbed at James’s banyan to cover her bare body and
went in search of Mildred and the tub they kept in the kitchens.

“Doreen!” she called out as she ran barefoot down the stairs.
“I need a tub, now. And fresh clothing. And something to eat. Doreen—oh, my
God!”

She clasped the wrapper more tightly around her at breast and
thigh as Seth looked up from the table, a piece of thickly slathered toast
clamped between his jaws, his eyes gone round as saucers.

“Out!” she commanded, not daring to let go of the wrapper in
order to point him toward the door.

Seth scraped back the chair and stood up, the toast still held
in his teeth. He was looking at her bare feet, for pity’s sake, as if he’d never
before in his life seen a woman’s toes. Strawberry jam slid off the slice of
toast and plopped onto the floor, unnoticed.

“Come along, Seth,” Richard said calmly, appearing from behind
Jessica and walking over to take the boy’s arm. “We’ll leave your corruption to
another time.” He stopped in front of Jessica and pushed the boy ahead of him,
through the doorway. “I consider it a blessing of our understanding that you do
not cavil at prancing about this place in all manner of undress, but now we have
the boy to consider.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t think. I overslept, and Gid—and the
earl will be here at noon.”

“Gideon. I can resign myself to hearing you call your lover by
his name.”

“He’s not my— Oh, hang it, Richard. It’s not as if I’m some
vestal virgin, now, is it?”

“And he’s a very pretty man. I don’t fault you your attraction,
even as it surprises me. But wounds heal, so that’s probably a good thing. It’s
the avoidance of new wounds that worries me. Seth and I are just back from the
stalls at Covent Garden,” he went on, just as if he hadn’t all but delivered a
stern warning, at least stern for Richard. “Capons were too dear, so we settled
on fish chowder for this evening’s suppers.”

“I loathe fish chowder,” she said, smiling. “You’re punishing
me, aren’t you?”

“With my usual subtlety, yes. Wear the yellow. It suits you.
But put up your hair. It will drive him mad. He shouldn’t be the only one to
have slipped half her wits, should he?”

And then Richard was gone, and Doreen was pouring a mere two
inches of heated water into the small tin tub.

Jessica was just putting the final pin in her slightly damp
hair when Doreen knocked on the bedchamber door to tell her his lordship had
sent in his tiger. His name was Thomas—the cutest little scrap, really, and all
dressed in the finest livery—to beg Mrs. Linden didn’t keep the earl’s bays
standing above five minutes, because that’s what he said, and he said it quite
nicely, and called her
ma’am
and everything, all so
very prettylike.

“I’m ready,” Jessica responded quickly to cut Doreen off,
grabbing up her bonnet and shawl. “How do I look?”

“Like spring itself, Mrs. Linden,” the maid of all work and
front door sentry exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You ain’t worn the yellow
since last summer, now have you, and it’s a shame the sun shines so little here,
though thank the saints it’s fine today, because the fog is yellow itself at
times and dirties everything. Why, it took me
hours
to brush it all away last time you wore it. Now when was that? Oh, yes, last
summer.”

“Thank you,” Jessica told her, chagrined that she’d so
forgotten herself as to think Doreen could give a simple answer to a simple
question. Still, if there were ever a person who could stall a constable on the
ground floor whilst Jessica and Richard and their patrons hastily stowed the
cards and markers and pulled out the tomes of poetry, it was Doreen.

The maid’s prattle followed Jessica all the way down to the
street and outside, where Doreen pointed to the young tiger and said, “See?
Cutest little imp. Now you hold on tight once his lordship puts you to riding
back there, young man,” she called out, wagging a finger at him.

Jessica avoided Gideon’s amused expression as the tiger helped
her up onto the seat. He was, as usual, looking fine as nine pence as he lightly
held the ribbons while his bays signaled their willingness to spring, his curly
brimmed beaver at a jaunty angle on his head, his cravat a miracle of snow-white
cloth. And no golden rose stuck in the center of it.

“And again, thank you, Doreen. I understand it’s to be the
dreaded fish chowder tonight. You must have a considerable amount of chopping to
do?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Linden. First the onions. They always make me
cry, so I get them out of the way directly at the start. Then there’s the pork
fat, and that needs must be sliced thin, and all of the potatoes and the parsley
and such. Mr. Borders brought us back some fine bunches of carrots, and I was
thinking about putting in some of them while I was about it, seeing as how fish
chowder takes most anything, doesn’t it, and mayhap some—”

Jessica waved to Doreen as Gideon released the brake the moment
the tiger was up behind them and then turned her face forward to hide her smile.
“Doreen quite delights in detail,” she said as they moved into the light noon
traffic at the corner.

“The correct term is excruciating detail. I had a tutor rather
like that. Max and I put a frog in his bed. Seven frogs, actually, and all at
once. People always expect an even number. Although we think it was the fifth
that had him hastily penning his resignation. Still, if you ever wish a
comprehensive accounting of the major agricultural products of India, feel free
to apply to me. You look exasperatingly pretty today, Mrs. Linden. Were the pins
truly necessary?”

Jessica touched a hand to her bare nape, her bent elbow nicely
concealing her triumphant smile. “Richard thought so. Exasperating was exactly
what he’d hoped for.”

“Your
uncle
doesn’t care for
me?”

“More correctly, he cares for me. He believes you may be out to
destroy me.”

Gideon didn’t react by so much as a flicker of an eyelid.
“Really? Has he given any indication as to how I’m to go about this
destruction?”

“He believes you’ve already begun. But I assured him I know
what I’m doing.”

“Good for you. And you’re convinced of that?”

She turned to look at his profile, which could have been
chiseled out of the finest marble by a master sculptor. Except that she knew his
lips were warm and soft, not cold and hard like stone. A lie seemed in order.
“Utterly.”

“So you didn’t dream of me last night?”

Jessica folded her hands in her lap. “No.” As she’d barely
slept at all and then it had been the deep sleep of exhaustion, that answer was
mostly truthful.

He turned to look at her, his dark eyes alive with mischief.
“Now there’s a pity. I dreamed of you. Would you care to hear about my
dream?”

“Again, no.”

“Again, a pity. It all but had me flying to Jermyn Street at
dawn, to knock down your door.”

“I thought we’d agreed. That doesn’t happen again.”

He turned to face forward once more. “You pronounced, Jessica.
I agreed to nothing. If we’re to work together, we may as well continue to enjoy
each other.”

She very nearly opened her mouth to say she hadn’t enjoyed him
at all, but even she knew she couldn’t tell that particular clunker with any
hope of being believed. “I won’t be your mistress. I’ll keep the five hundred
pounds you all but tossed away at the faro table because half of it is by rights
Richard’s, but don’t insult me like that again. You’re banned from the cards at
Jermyn Street. Besides, four women should be more than enough for any man.”

He laughed. “Four? At one and the same time? Madam, I enjoy my
pleasures, but that much pleasure would have me a bent and crippled man by
now.”

“Richard’s never wrong.”

“Richard should withdraw his nose from my business before he
loses it. Who are these women?”

“I’m not going to continue this discussion,” Jessica said,
belatedly remembering the young tiger hanging on to the back of the curricle.
“Pas devant l’enfant.”

“Not in front of the child? Ah, you refer to Thomas. He’s been
in my employ for two years, and rendered impervious to shock long before, and if
not then, long since.” Without turning around, he raised his voice to ask,
“Haven’t you, Thomas?”

“Sir?”

“See, he isn’t even listening, are you, Thomas?”

“Singing inside my head, my lord, like always. Would you like
me to sing outside it for his lordship?”

“Perhaps another time. Go back to your inside singing.”

Jessica shot a quick look behind her, to see the tiger had
closed his eyes and was tipping his head from side to side as his lips moved,
clearly singing “inside his head.”

“He’s really singing inside his head?”

“Yes, and much preferable to having him sing
outside
it, which he’s only allowed to do around the
horses, that unaccountably seem to enjoy the sound of Thomas’s
joyful noise.
I think they’re reminded of the goat we
keep in the stables at Redgrave Manor to bear them company. Both
bray
with great enthusiasm.”