Regency 09 - Redemption (21 page)

Dare snorted in disbelief.
He just couldn’t help it. “So far beneath her? I am the son of a
gentleman, your grace. Our stations are not that
dissimilar.”

“But you are a scoundrel.
And while necessity requires that Jenny be married, and quickly,
she does not have to have a daily reminder of how low she’s
sunk.”

Their discussion could
quickly escalate into a shouting match. Dare didn’t let that faze
him. While he held himself primarily to blame for the whole
situation, he was practical enough to allow Jenny some
responsibility as well. It hadn’t been rape, after all.

He couldn’t keep a trace of
sarcasm from coloring his reply. “I would think she’d have that
anyway, when the child arrives.”

A spasm of pain nearly made
Dare clutch at his heart. His child. Would he never get to see his
own baby? A sweet little being with blond hair and cornflower eyes
just like its mother.

“At least the child will be
legitimate. And she has already shown that she eagerly awaits the
child’s birth.”

That, at least, gave Dare
some small comfort. A woman who so looked forward to her child’s
arrival couldn’t totally hate the man who gave it to her…could
she?

“Is Jenny aware of
your…plans?”

“Yes.”

The single word, said
without hesitation, would have brought Dare to his knees had he
been standing. He was thankful he was not. He couldn’t appear so
weak before this man.

After a moment of intense
concentration, he forced his body up. He took a deep breath,
tamping down his anger and dismay. “Very well. I will return in two
days. Good day, your grace.”

Dare wondered ever after
how he’d actually managed to walk out. He entered Adam’s carriage,
his extremities numb to the drizzle in the air.

He would not weep. Yelling
with more force than necessary, he ordered the coachman to drop him
at the nearest tavern, the lower the company, the better. Once
there, Dare proceeded to get very, very drunk.

They were duly married.
Jenny said her vows in hardly more than a whisper. Dare’s were a
little louder but with an air of boredom that was quite insulting
to the bride and her family.

The groom didn’t care. He
wanted to be anywhere but where he was. He had wanted this woman
from the first moment he saw her, and now that he finally had her,
he was being forced to leave her…again.

The cleric finished with
more joy than was being displayed by anyone else. He suggested the
groom kiss the bride and then stood there and beamed at them,
completely oblivious to the undercurrents of misery, resignation,
and anger that were a nearly palpable entity in the small
saloon.

Glancing down at Jenny, he
saw she was watching him, but not with anger, more like
despair.

Her misery enraged him. A
few short months ago, Dare would have been the first to say she had
reason, being trapped into marriage with him. But now, she had no
need to be miserable, as he would be leaving before the ink was dry
on the marriage lines.

Something perverse nudged
Dare. Snaking an arm around her waist, he brought her up against
him, hard. Not a breath of air could pass between them from chest
to thigh. He knew she could feel the proof of his hunger for her.
Lips parting on a soft gasp, her eyes darkened with
desire.

Dare kissed her brutally,
without honor or respect, branding her, marking her. He wanted her
under no delusions about his possession of her.

There was a collective gasp
from their astonished audience. Dare broke the kiss before anyone
could forcefully remove him from the room.

Looking deep into lambent
blue eyes, the bridegroom growled, “Remember that while I’m
gone.”

Abruptly releasing her, he
stalked from the room.

Jenny was too astonished to
do more than watch him go. Then, suddenly, her knees gave out and
she crumpled to the floor, tears coursing down her pale cheeks.
Burying her face in her hands, she wept, releasing all the tears
she’d held back.

Her mother’s arms came
around her but she was too distraught to take any comfort from the
gesture. Her life was ruined and she was unsure exactly who to
blame.

“Shh, love. Calm yourself.
Think of the child.”

Her mother’s softly
whispered plea penetrated her hysterical sobs. Straightening from
her near-fetal position on the floor, Jenny swiped at the seemingly
endless flow of tears.

Gulping rather inelegantly,
she managed to say around the huge lump in her throat, “He left.
How could he leave?”

The duchess’s eyes
glistened with sympathetic moisture. “Oh, my poor dear. You love
that man.” It was not a question, but rather a startling
realization on the part of a parent determined to do the right
thing for her child no matter how distasteful the action might
seem.

And distasteful it had
been. Lady Denbigh had not agreed with her husband’s decision to
force Darius Prestwich to leave but she had supported him because
she thought her daughter might be better off with an absent
husband.

But now, after the groom
had so angrily stormed off to only God knows where, the Duchess of
Denbigh realized how very wrong they’d been. Jenny loved the man,
no matter how many mistakes he’d made. And if her suspicions were
correct, Lady Denbigh was quite sure Dare loved her daughter with
equal force.

Looking up, the duchess met
her husband’s angered blue eyes. She couldn’t prevent a tear from
falling. The duke stood stoically, for all intents and purposes
unaffected by the whole debacle.

But she knew her husband.
He was hurting as much as she was; indeed, more so. He was simply
better at hiding it.

Connor, on the other hand,
usually very adept at hiding his feelings, looked ready to do
murder.

Something in the duchess
snapped. Her baby was hurting and her men were standing there doing
nothing to help.

“Go after him, you fools,”
she hissed. It was something so unlike her usual calm poise that
they stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.

Shaking off the perverse
spurt of satisfaction she felt at managing to shock them—they were
two men who did not shock easily—she added, “You have to catch him.
If he leaves he may never return because his pride won’t let him.
If he doesn’t return…” She let her words trail meaningfully to a
halt, hoping she wouldn’t have to spell it out for them in front of
Jenny, who Lady Denbigh knew was listening despite her
tears.

Connor’s bright eyes fell
on his sister, reading her posture and actions with the senses of a
bloodhound. He glanced up at his father, sharing the briefest of
looks before he turned and ran from the room.

They waited.

And waited.

Jenny managed to bring her
raging emotions under control, for the baby’s sake if no one
else’s. It was apparent, to her at least, that this child was all
she’d have of the man she loved more than life itself.

Connor finally returned,
his facial features drawn into a mighty frown. He stopped abruptly
in the doorway, sought out Jenny’s red-rimmed eyes, and sighed,
shaking his head.

Jenny bit her lower lip,
determined not to dissolve again. It was as she’d suspected—he was
gone.

Standing with regal
dignity, Lady Genevieve Prestwich nodded once to her brother,
curtsied to her father, and turned to her mother. Imbuing her words
with a measure of haughty disdain, she said, “I’d like to
leave.”

Her request startled
everyone. It had been planned that Jenny would stay with her
family, just as if nothing had changed. She knew this but had been
led to believe that while Dare had certain obligations he could not
ignore, she would see him from time to time whenever he returned to
England. She had not been informed that part of her father’s plans
were to deny Jenny her husband.

It was all so clear now.
Dare hadn’t left because he wanted to. He’d been compelled to
leave.

When no
one responded to her demand, she raised one brow in haughty
inquiry. “I assume there is a small house somewhere that can be
leased for me.” Sending a sidelong glance of scorn in her brother’s
direction, she added, “I will not stay here. I
refuse
to stay with people who care so
little for me.”

The duke was stunned but
retained enough presence of mind to say, softly, “Everything we’ve
done was out of love for you, Jenny.”

“Love for
me?” she scoffed, every rigid inch of her body speaking of her icy
contempt for their
loving
attention. “You speak of love for me.” She drew in
a shuddery breath. “Your
love
,” she said, making the word sound
abhorrent. “Your love for me has cost me a husband. A man worth the
lot of you put together. In character if not in property. But,
apparently, property is what’s important to you. So, I will assume
that a place will be provided for me. It is the least you can do,
considering.”

She swept from the room,
drawing her primrose skirts around her, lest they brush her
brother’s legs as she left. She did not miss the look of hurt in
Con’s eyes, and though it pained her to do something so despicable
to the brother she had loved so well, she resolutely ignored
it.