Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy (30 page)

E
xplain yourself!" Bernard demanded. "What do you expect me to say?" Britannia retorted.

Bernard skimmed the note he'd received from Wakefield. "He maintains that you've kidnapped his brother! Where would he come by such a ridiculous notion?"

"How would I know?" Britannia scoffed. "The man's a lunatic. He always has been. I have no idea why you'd interrogate me over something so preposterous."

"Am I to believe he pulled the insane nonsense out of thin air? That he's making bizarre accusations with no proof?"

Britannia didn't answer, and Bernard scrutinized her, wondering what the actual account was.

Wakefield was a pain in the ass, but he wasn't crazy.

Nor was he prone to hysterics. If he would allege such severe misconduct by Britannia, it likely had some basis in fact.

Bernard couldn't guess what scheme Britannia had concocted. She was a riddle he didn't care to solve.

"Caroline must have gotten word to him," Britannia said. "She's filled his head with twaddle."

'To what end?"

"She's determined to stop the wedding." They were back to the wedding again? He gnashed his teeth.

"Madam, I told you to handle this situation. Must I assume—once more—that you can't manage your daughter? How many more discussions must we have on this topic? If you cannot deal with such a simple problem, what use are you to me?"

"I have her completely under my control."

"Do you?"

"No one sees her. No one confers with her. She's totally isolated."

"Then why is Wakefield pestering me? At this very moment, he's racing to Scotland on some wild-goose chase."

She chuckled in a way that frightened him. Anymore, she seemed a bit mad, which had him unnerved and terrified as to what would become of her.

"So... he's off to Scotland, is he?" she reflected.

"Yes."

"Marvelous. He'll be out of our hair."

"I didn't realize he was in our hair."

"The Claytons have always been a nuisance."

He couldn't disagree. Still, he was bewildered over the strange letter and fretting over what it might portend. If Britannia had done something despicable in her pursuit of Caroline's marriage, he ought to respond, but in what fashion?

When he was desperate to have Caroline wed and gone, why would he interfere? If Britannia was only furthering a difficult conclusion, who was he to complain as to her methods?

"I don't wish to be advised as to what folderol you've instigated," he stated, "but whatever it is, be sure nothing happens to Ian Clayton. Or if it does, be sure your hands are clean. I won't be dragged into a scandal, merely because you can't carry out your plan with any degree of circumspection.

"Don't worry, dear Bernard. I shan't get caught. Nor shall you."

She grinned and strolled out, while he mulled in the quiet.

Her comment had him more uneasy than ever. What was she implying? What had she done? What would she do?

He couldn't bear to know.

He poured himself a brandy, drank it down, then climbed into bed. Refusing to be disturbed, he closed the privacy curtains so he could ruminate—without interruption—over Georgie and the awful hole her death had made in his life.

M
ay I speak with Jack?" Rebecca tugged off her gloves and tossed them on the table in the foyer, acting as if she were welcome in Ian's home, acting as if she hadn't been bodily evicted during her previous visit. She feigned confidence, behaving as if she would saunter into the parlor and make herself comfortable as she always had in the past.

"He's not here, Mrs. Blake," the butler confirmed as he discree
tl
y but competently blocked her entry.

"I'll wait—if it won't be too long. When are you expecting him?"

"I don't believe he intends to come back."

"What do you mean?"

"Master Ian has traveled to Scotland."

"Jack went with him? I thought he was staying in London."

She hadn't thought it, at all. She'd just hoped he wouldn't tot off and abandon her. Not that she wanted him to remain, precisely. Not that she'd given him any reason to remain.

"He's gone, too, but not to Scotland. He packed a bag that contained only the clothes with which he arrived, and he left."

"I see."

She peeked into the nearby salon. A footman was covering the furniture with sheets, as if the house was being shut down.

"Is the staff leaving?"

"Yes."

"Forever?"

"I haven't been notified of what Master Ian will do next."

Liar, she mused. "Were Jack and Ian fighting?"

"I'm certain they weren't, Mrs. Blake."

His stony reply indicated that, even if they had been, he would never gossip. It was an attitude she generally respected, but in this instance, when she was dying for information, she wanted to throttle him till he spilled all.

"Has Jack provided a forwarding address?" "No."

"Have you any idea how I could reach him?"

"No," he said again. "Would you like to jot a message in case he contacts us?"

She considered what type of communication she might convey, when she wasn't even clear on why she'd stopped by.

She was simply feeling so morose. She was embarrassed that she'd caused so much trouble, and she hated that Jack was upset with her. To make amends, she'd involved Wakefield in Ian's little drama. If anyone could go against the Countess with impunity, he could. She'd done the right thing for once, and she'd rushed to apprise Jack, to see if he might be proud of her, but the ass had vanished.

Wasn't that just like a man! She'd finally conducted herself in a manner that would have pleased him, but he'd fled before she could boast.

She was frequently labeled a shrew, when she didn't mean to be. She knew how to be a faithful friend, but she'd had so few chances to display any loyalty.

She wanted to tell Jack that she was sorry, that she was inundated by guilt, that she wished she could retreat in time and start over.

But what she said to the butler was, "No, I don't have a message. Thank you anyway."

She grabbed her gloves and walked out, and she loitered on the stoop, remembering their last encounter, when they'd had wild sex, when they'd parted on such bad terms. How could he just go off and leave her?

She didn't understand him, and she was furious that she didn't. If she'd had a heart, he might have broken it.

"Bastard," she grumbled.

A tear tried to leak out, but she wouldn't let it surface. She'd already cried once over the unappreciative oaf, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying over him again.

Are you positive you don't want me to come with you?" Jack inquired of his brother John. . "Yes."

"I'd be happy to accompany you." "It's not necessary. Stay here and escort Emma to the country. That's the best help you can offer me." "I will," Jack said.

John had promised to take Emma home to Wakefield Manor for the birth of the babe, but Lady Caroline's cryptic warning about Ian had altered their plans. Their initial inclination had been to disregard it, but what if she was correct and something nefarious had happened?

John was anxious to discover Ian's true condition, just as he was eager to redeem himself to Lady Caroline by going to check. Jack was delighted to witness such honorable behavior from someone about whom there'd always been such dreadful rumors.

"When will you return?" Emma asked.

"Very soon. The wedding is scheduled for March fifteenth, so if I am to be of any assistance whatsoever, I must get back before then."

"It doesn't give you much time," Emma cautioned.

"A little more than two weeks," John agreed.

"So you mustn't dawdle."

Emma led him out to the drive where his horse was saddled for the fast trip north. She tagged at his coat, tightening it to ward off the chill, and she pulled out a scarf she'd knitted and wrapped it around his neck. John teased her for fussing, but she wouldn't be denied.

The sky was gray and angry looking, with snow or freezing rain seeming likely, and Jack pondered the wisdom of John riding off in inclement weather. A frisson of worry slithered down his spine, and he said, "Why don't you send a letter, instead, to see if he's there?"

"If the answer was slow in coming, and I learned that he hadn't arrived, what would I do? It would be too late to intervene in the wedding, and Caro would kill me."

"And she'd be married to Mr. Shelton," Emma added.

"Which would be a nightmare. I don't know what her father was thinking in proceeding with such a horrid engagement."

"Well, he had her betrothed to you for years," Emma wryly retorted, "but he didn't seem to notice how awful it was for her."

"Very funny."

"I'm glad she's so devoted to Ian," Emma mentioned. "He needed someone to love him."

"Yes, he did," John concurred. "Whether it's Caro remains to be seen."

Emma sighed. "It's so romantic."

"Only a female would find it so."

Emma elbowed him in the ribs, as John grinned over her head and winked at Jack.

The pair said their farewells with a lengthy kiss and much quiet whispering that Jack struggled to ignore. In the days he'd been with them, he was regularly disconcerted by their open affection. He'd never been with a married couple that was so besotted, and it reinforced how lucky he was that Rebecca had refused him. If he was ever to take a bride, he craved what John and Emma had together. He'd hold out for love, for friendship and abiding fondness.

Rebecca would have furnished him with none of those things.

If there was a tiny, idiotic voice deep inside that kept insisting they could have forged a different conclusion, he was an adult man, and he didn't have to listen.

John gave Emma a final hug, then leapt onto his horse. He leaned down and caressed her cheek, saying, "Don't you dare have that child without me."

"I won't," she pledged, "and don't you dare come back without Ian."

"I won't do that, either."

"Be careful. Stay warm. Stay dry."

"For you, my dearest Emma, I will."

He straightened in the saddle and vowed, "I'll meet up with you at Wakefield Manor."

"I'll be waiting. Don't disappoint me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." His gaze moved to Jack. "Watch over my wife while I'm away."

"It will be my pleasure," Jack responded, proud to have been entrusted with the important task.

John waved, yanked on the reins, and cantered off.

Long after he'd disappeared, Emma stared down the street, and Jack tarried a short distance off, loathe to interrupt such a private moment.

Ultimately, she drew away, her smile a tad strained, her eyes watery.

"It's the first time we've been separated since we were married," she explained. "I've gotten used to having him around."

"I can certainly understand why."

"He can be exasperating, but he grows on you."

Jack chuckled. "Yes, he does."

She hesitated, peered down the street again, then nervously asked, "He'll be all right, won't he?"

"Of course he will. He's just traveling to Scotland. It's not the end of the world."

"It seems like it to me." She walked over and linked her arm with his. "Let's go in and eat, and I shall spend the entire meal regaling you with stories of John as a boy."

"Are you sure he'd want you to?" "He'd hate it, so we won't tell him. It will be our little secret."

They laughed and went inside.

Chapter
Twenty-One

I
an stood on a rocky outcropping and stared down at the small valley, studying the haphazard assortment of sagging huts owned by his relatives. With snow covering the hillsides, and smoke curling from the chimneys, it should have been picturesque, but the view was so depressing.

While scarcely more than a boy, he'd left at his father's behest. He'd journeyed to England to befriend his half brother, as well as to become a prosperous gentleman and betrayer. He'd shed his accent, his poverty, and rural mannerisms like a snake shedding its skin, as if heritage and tradition meant nothing.

Since then, he hadn't visited, so his recollections were those of a lad of twenty, who hadn't known how poor he was, who hadn't grasped the differences he'd encounter in the outside world.

His kin had once been powerful and wealthy, had owned huge tracts of Scotland, had fought and died for their legacy and customs. But history had worked its toll, and they had so little remaining. His uncles seemed content, but they were all so old!

Poverty and hardship had worn them down early, had them gray and stooped and weary from the struggle of keeping on.

They were all thrilled to see him, and they'd welcomed him like the prodigal son, but he felt so guilty. Over the years, his father had encouraged him to take so much money from John, and he gleefully had, but he'd never sent a single farthing to his family. His childish memory was that they'd been affluent from whiskey and wool, so they hadn't required any assistance, and he was shamed to be so painfully confronted by reality.