Shady Lady (20 page)

On that thought, Jo undid the leather strap that fastened the box and lifted off the lid. There was very little there: a change of clothes, a pair of well-worn leather boots, some books, and a box of toy soldiers. One of the books was Aesop’s fables. On the flyleaf, she found the inscription Eric was so proud of.
To Eric, many happy returns, from Papa
.

Her heart did a little flip-flop. The writing seemed familiar. It made her think of John’s script. He always used the Greek
e
. But many people did. It didn’t mean anything.

Thoughts tumbled into her mind, impressions of Waldo. He had told her very little of Eric’s parents, especially the father. She had respected his reticence. He was only protecting his ward’s privacy, as any guardian would.

She scolded herself for the little seed of suspicion that had sprouted in her mind.

John couldn’t possibly be Eric’s father. She knew that Eric was born two months before her wedding, when John was courting her. She
knew
John. He was too decent, too honorable to abandon a woman who was expecting his child.

She thought of the flowery ending to Mrs. Sutherland’s letter.
I think what you are doing is truly admirable and selfless
. She thought of how much Mrs. Foley disliked her.

And she thought of how her imagination was inclined to run away with her, and she was ashamed of what she’d thought.

But her imagination wasn’t wrong. She found it tucked inside a shirt, a folded piece of vellum, a letter from an attorney to Sarah Foley, outlining his client’s provisions for her and his son, Eric. The client’s name was John Saxon Chesney. He’d settled one thousand pounds on Sarah Foley, in trust, for life, and the same for his son, Eric Foley. She didn’t recognize the signature at the bottom of the letter.

Numb with shock, she sank into a chair and stared unseeingly at the document in her hand. Several minutes were to pass before she stirred. Things that had puzzled her were beginning to make sense: Mrs. Foley’s hostility from the first day she’d arrived in Stratford as a new bride; John’s frequent jaunts around the county without her,
to gather local color for the Journal
, so he’d said; and more recently, Eric breaking into the
Journal
’s offices, then pelting her with rotten vegetables.

That wasn’t all. Waldo must be involved too. When he applied for guardianship of Eric, all this must have come to light. He should have told her. She shouldn’t be the last one to know. She must be the most gullible woman who ever lived.

She sat there unmoving, head bowed, trying to understand what could not be understood. The man she had loved with her whole heart, the man she had revered, had lied to her. He’d been her whole life, but he’d had a life apart from her, a secret life. The pain hurt so deeply, it was staggering.

Then anger came, not a trickle, but a deluge. Those were not tears of self-pity that burned her throat. They were tears of outrage and wounded pride. She wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. For ever after, she would remember him with loathing.

That was the hardest thing to bear. Memories she had cherished, memories of John, tore at her heart like poisoned barbs.

It was too much. She jumped to her feet and ran from the room.

The night belonged to Cecy, so Waldo forced himself to a gaiety he was far from feeling. Jo wasn’t there, and all through dinner he found his thoughts wandering to Palliser. According to Mrs. Daventry, Jo had gone out for a walk, had been caught in a sudden squall, and had come home complaining of chills and a headache. She sent her apologies and hoped to see them all at breakfast tomorrow.

Everyone commiserated, then everyone forgot about Jo, except for Waldo.

To one of his asides, Mrs. Daventry responded in an undertone that she thought there was more to it than that, that something had upset Jo but she wouldn’t unburden herself and had insisted that Mrs. Daventry come on to the party.

Waldo brooded. He was thinking about his conversation with Viscount Morden, remembering the attack on Jo a few nights before. He’d thought she’d be safe at Palliser; now he wasn’t so sure. What could possibly have upset her?

As soon as the toasts were over, he made his excuses and left. There was no question of his hiring a horse and riding out to Palliser in his fancy getup, so he took the carriage that had brought Thomas and Mrs. Daventry and as soon as he arrived home told the coachmen to turn around and go back to the Clarendon.

The light was fading and candles had been lit. His first order of business was to divest himself of a suit of clothes his grandfather would have been proud to wear. He’d already removed the wig and stuffed it in his pocket. He’d dispensed with his small sword as well but had left it in the carriage. No doubt Thomas would find it and return it to him. He despised these antiquated rules of court dress and etiquette. It was enough to make a man a republican.

His suite of rooms was on the ground floor: a bedchamber, dressing room, and a parlor that had been turned into a study. He entered the darkened room with the grace and silence of a cat and paused, an ingrained habit from his former life as a spy. But it was more than habit that made him pause this time. It was instinct. Someone was waiting for him. He could smell the faint aroma of lemon, could hear the soft sound of someone breathing.

When that someone moved, so did he. He realized his mistake as soon as he rolled with his assailant and came up on top. His assailant was a female, and not just any female.

“Jo!” he said furiously. “What in blazes do you think you’re doing?”

“I want you to make love to me,” she said tremulously.

C
hapter
20

H
e was sure his heart stopped. This couldn’t be Jo speaking. “What did you say?”

“I said I want you to make love to me.”

It
was
Jo, and he hadn’t misheard her. He brushed his body against hers in a purely masculine response he was powerless to resist. She was in her night clothes, and he could feel the soft swell of her breasts against his chest.

He cleared his throat. “You know you shouldn’t be here alone with me.”

And they shouldn’t be sprawled on the floor, limbs entwined, like cavorting lovers. He should help her up and get her back to her room before the others got back.

When he helped her to a sitting position, she winced. “I think,” she said, “my ankle is sprained.”

He could well believe it. He’d fallen on her like a mighty oak that had been felled by a thunderbolt. “Put your arm around my shoulders and I’ll help you to the bed.”

After depositing her on the bed, he turned away to get a candle.

“Where are you going?” she cried.

“To light a candle.”

She captured his hand and brought it to her cheek. “Waldo, don’t leave me.”

In the semidarkness, he could just make out her features, the sculpted bones, and her hair falling around her shoulders. He felt transfixed. She was so soft and womanly, so much more than he had ever hoped to find in a woman. And, at last, it seemed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“Jo,” he said, and there was wonder in his voice.

He sat on the bed beside her. His hand trembled as he brought her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. They were in shadow.

A flicker of doubt crossed his mind. He’d arrived home with a sense of urgency, a suspicion planted in his mind by Mrs. Daventry that something might be wrong. He’d allowed himself to stray, or he’d been deliberately led astray. Which was it?

“I can’t see your eyes,” he said, “so you’ll have to tell me what you are thinking, Jo.”

Her voice was very low. “I’m thinking I want us to make love. What more is there to say?”

He lifted her hand, turned it over, and kissed her palm. He smiled when he heard her breath quicken. “You can tell me why you’ve had a change of heart. Mrs. Daventry said you seemed upset when she left you. What happened here today, Jo?”

“Do you question all your lovers like this before you take them to bed?”

A jarring note. His fingers tightened on her wrist with enough force to make her wince. “Tell me!” he commanded.

She jerked her hand out of his grasp and massaged her wrist. He could feel the temper rise in her, then, as quickly as it came, it burned itself out. “Something did happen,” she said. “I came to see how alone I am, how friendless. Oh, I know it’s my own fault. I haven’t even kept up with my own family, not really. These last few years I’ve become obsessed with keeping the
Journal
going. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like a good enough reason for cutting myself off from everyone. Cutting myself off from real life is what I mean.”

She rubbed her cheek on the sleeve of her gauze robe before going on. “I went for a walk to think things over and was caught in a sudden downpour. I was chilled to the bone. I stayed home because I wasn’t up to company. I just couldn’t face everyone in my confused state. So I took the time to think about what I really want. And I came to a decision.” She looked up at him with the same shadowed eyes. “I decided that I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I wanted to start living again. I wanted you, Waldo.”

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. “Is it me you want, Jo, or will any man do?”

She gave a teary chuckle. “I don’t know any other men, so I guess you’ll have to do.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, then he said dryly, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that honesty isn’t always a virtue?”

She went perfectly still. Even her breathing became inaudible. When she spoke, her voice strained for flippancy and failed. “I don’t want honesty, Waldo. I don’t want us to become best friends. I just want an affair.” Her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. “I thought it’s what you wanted too.”

She was his for the taking. It’s what he’d always wanted.

Then why did he hesitate?

Because she was coming to him for all the wrong reasons.

He bowed his head as he weighed her words. This was a complete reversal of everything she stood for. She didn’t want honesty. She didn’t want a friend. She wanted an affair.

And then he knew. He
knew
!

He went to the mantel and got a candle lit, then he lit several other candles around the room. When he came back to her, she was on her feet, her flimsy negligee clinging enticingly to her curves. She had certainly dressed for the part of seducing him.

His voice was like velvet. “How did you find out?”

Her lashes swept down. “Whatever do you mean?”

He reached out with one hand and forced up her chin. “Look at me!”

When she gave him her eyes, he nodded. “So you found out about your dear departed husband and you thought you’d punish him by seducing me?”

She slapped his hand away. “The thought of seducing you never once entered my mind. How is it possible to seduce a rake? I thought you wanted this. Evidently, I was wrong.”

“Don’t bandy words with me, and don’t call me names or I might return the compliment. Oh, yes, there’s an ugly word for you too, Jo.”

She sucked in a quick, shaken breath, then her hand lashed out, but he caught it in midair, blocking the blow. “Let me go,” she cried. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’ll do a damn sight more if you continue to provoke me. Now, sit down and answer my question.”

He had to admire her courage. Though fear leapt to her eyes, she subdued it and walked with a straight back to the chair he indicated. There was no pretense now of a sprained ankle.

Chin tilted and eyes unfaltering on his, she said, “I can’t see the point in discussing this.”

“Can’t you? Then you’re not as clever as I thought you were. I want answers—that’s the point. So start at the beginning. How did you find out?”

There was no attempt at prevarication now. “Eric’s grandmother, quite deliberately, sent on a letter that she knew would fall into my hands, a letter from an attorney to Eric’s mother outlining the provisions John had made for her and her child.” A thread of bitterness entered her voice. “But of course, you must know all this.”

“That must be obvious. I could hardly apply for guardianship of Eric without learning all there is to know about his background.”

Her voice rose alarmingly. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“And disillusion you about a husband you worshiped? What would be the point? Besides, messengers of bad tidings generally come to a sad end. Just look at you now. Your eyes are flashing. Your teeth are clenched. John Chesney is beyond your reach, so you’d like to punish me instead.”

Her hands balled into fists.

He nodded. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it, Jo? He may be in his grave, but you still want to punish him. Well, I want no part of it.”

He waited for her to refute his words, but when she sat there stony-faced, he turned away and walked to a table with glasses and a decanter of brandy on it. After pouring himself a generous measure, he took a long swallow, then another. If she was disillusioned, so was he. He’d thought better of her than this. Her only use for him was to punish her husband for his sins.

When he heard her sniff, his softer feelings began to stir. He could never be angry with her for long. Naturally, she was angry at Chesney. She had every right to be. If only she would leave him out of it.

“Look, Jo,” he said gently, turning to face her, “Chesney wasn’t a bad man. He tried to do the right thing by the girl, didn’t he? And he tried to do right by you. Besides, it happened before he married you, and that was the end of it.”

A moment before, she’d been the picture of misery. Now she sprang to her feet, every muscle tensed. “Are you defending him?” she demanded incredulously.

“No. I’m trying to be fair to him.”

“Well, you might try being fair to me. He was my best friend. We vowed always to be honest with each other, yet he visited that woman all the time we were married, and he never said a word.”

“He visited his
son
.”

His words made no impression. “He lied to me! He said he was in one place when he was in another. He had a son, for God’s sake. Eric was born before we were married. Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

“Yes, I do. But if you had known, what would you have done?”

She drew in a long breath. “We’ll never know now, will we?”

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Come now, Jo. Don’t lie to yourself. Chesney knew what you would do. You demand perfection in those who are close to you, and no one can live up to that. You haven’t kept up with your family. Your friends have fallen away. You said so yourself. Oh, I think Chesney knew you would turn him away, so he concealed the truth from you. I can almost feel sorry for him. He must have loved you very much. It couldn’t have been easy living on a pedestal. I know I couldn’t. Then, of course, I’ll never be asked, will I, Jo?” He gestured with one hand to the bed. “My role would have been insignificant. Any man would have served your purposes.” He gave a slight shrug. “Contrary to what you may think, even I have scruples. Thank you, but no thanks.”

He could feel the little pulse beating inside his cheek. There was a tremor in his hands. He bolted his drink and set the empty glass down with a snap. At that moment, he didn’t like himself very much. He’d wanted to hurt her, and it seemed he had succeeded. Her face was ashen. Her eyes were luminous with tears. Her breathing was quick and fast.

Remorseful now, he held out his hand in a gesture of appeal. “I didn’t mean it, Jo. You hurt my pride and—”

Without hearing him out, she picked up her skirts and left the room.

When they reached the turf, Waldo slackened the reins and allowed his stallion to have its head. They’d made this ride many times in all kinds of weather, though rarely in the dark. He welcomed the danger. The wildness in the wind suited his mood perfectly. Setting his heels to Mercury’s flanks, he urged him on.

Powerful muscles bunched and strained, then Mercury lengthened his stride and was soon soaring effortlessly across the sward. It wasn’t only the excitement Waldo craved. On horseback, there were no restrictions on a man who was lame. He felt whole again, and as reckless and as daring as the horse he rode.

The excitement wasn’t enough. It couldn’t drive from his mind the picture of Jo as he’d last seen her, only a few hours ago, white-faced and shaken. There was no excuse for him. What the devil had got into him? Women had offered themselves to him before now and he’d let them down gently if they didn’t appeal to him.

That was the trouble. Jo did more than appeal to him. He ached for her. And because she’d humbled his pride, he’d lashed out like a sulky schoolboy. That wasn’t quite right. A schoolboy didn’t have his finesse. A schoolboy didn’t know how to twist the knife to cause the most pain. She’d confided in him, and he’d taken those confidences and used them against her.

How low could a man get?

There might have been some truth in what he’d said to her, but it wasn’t the whole truth. She took too much upon herself. She hadn’t abandoned her family; they had abandoned her. And she wasn’t without friends. Chloë came to mind. When Jo committed herself to someone, she didn’t count the cost. Then there was Eric.

He didn’t envy John Chesney one bit. The threat of exposure must have nagged at him constantly. Waldo could sympathize, but he could not condone. All the same, Chesney was a decent man. He’d done the right thing by Eric and his mother. If only he’d had the courage to face up to Jo, everyone, including himself, wouldn’t be going through hell right now.

For the next little while, he gave himself up to the wildness inside him. They plunged down dales and vaulted over hedges. Lightning streaked across the sky, turning night into day, but that did not slow them, nor did the driving rain. They made the circuit at breakneck speed.

As they neared the house, he saw a light at an upstairs window. He knew it came from Jo’s chamber. Everyone else had gone to bed long since. Why was Jo still awake?

He slowed Mercury to a walk, then reined in, his eyes still on the light in Jo’s window. What was she thinking, feeling? If he’d kept his mouth shut, they’d be together right now, in his chamber, in his bed, and he was damn sure he could drive the thought of John Chesney clear out of her mind.

He felt the beat of his blood at every pulse point, the slow rise and fall of his chest. The ache inside him was like a physical pain. There was only one cure for what ailed him, and that was Jo.

He’d never been fainthearted with women, but he’d held off with Jo because she was still wedded to the memory of her late husband. It occurred to him now that he and Chesney had much in common. They’d both allowed Jo to call the shots.

He’d be damned if he’d allow that state of affairs to continue. He wheeled his mount and headed for the stable block.

Sleep was impossible, so she’d risen from her bed and tried to read, but that was impossible too. She ached all over. It was sheer luck that he hadn’t broken any of her limbs when he’d fallen on her and sent her crashing to the floor. Though she hadn’t sprained her ankle, there was a nasty gash on it. That’s what came of tangling with a man who wore silver buckles on his shoes.

She was seated at her dressing table, examining herself in the looking glass for little scratches and abrasions she’d taken when she’d fallen to the floor. None of them amounted to anything except the scrape on her ankle.

Her shoulders drooped as the memory of the humiliating scene in Waldo’s chamber came back to her. He had willfully misunderstood her. She wasn’t denying that she was upset at what she’d found out about John, but she wasn’t using Waldo to punish John.

Or was she?

She’d told Waldo the truth as she saw it, that she’d wanted to—what? She couldn’t remember what she’d told him. But she knew how she felt. She’d wanted to do something reckless, to step outside the boring character of Jo Chesney and seize life before it passed her by.