The Hidden Heart (27 page)

“Oh, no, no…” Jessica went to him. “It was not your fault. Caroline chose to leave. She tried to sneak out and steal your daughter from you when you were not here. You had no idea—how could you not react with anger? Anyone would have. Anyone would have resisted her taking their child away. And she was the one who ran instead of staying and trying to work something out. She selfishly took your daughter away from you and ran. That was neither right nor fair. It is no wonder you reacted with anger. How could you know what would happen if you chased them? And she is as much at fault for urging the driver to go faster. It was a horrible, tragic accident. They did not deserve to die, and you did not deserve to have them taken from you. It just happened, as horrible things sometimes do. You cannot blame yourself for it. You cannot make the rest of your life miserable in penance!”

Impulsively, Jessica slipped her arm around his waist and leaned against him. Almost convulsively, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. His body was taut, rigid with tension. She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him, and her hands stroked his back. Richard buried his face in the crook of her neck, making a low moan of despair deep in this throat. His shoulders shook as the sobs took him, and he clutched her even more tightly to him.

Jessica clung to him, absorbing the pain that poured out of his body, the years of unspoken guilt and blame. She was sure he had never told anyone what he had just told her; he had doubtless held it deep inside, loathing himself, eaten up with sorrow and guilt and thinking that he deserved it as his penance.

“It’s all right,” she murmured, rubbing her hands soothingly up and down his back. “It will be all right.”

His hand clenched into fists, digging into her dress and squeezing handfuls of it as he cried. He had cried before for Caroline and Alana, and always, when he cried, he had felt as well the bitter lash of guilt, the knowledge that he deserved all the pain he felt and more, that he could never repent or repay enough to take back that precipitate chase that had led to the deaths of all he loved. Now, for the first time, he cried for himself, for the pain inside, the bitter, almost unendurable misery that had been his life for the past four years.

“Alana would not want you to blame yourself. You know she wouldn’t. She loved you as only a child can love—fully, happily. She would ache to know you hurt. All she would want for you is to feel good again, to be happy again—whether she was here or not.”

His arms tightened further at her words, almost squeezing the breath from her, and she heard his ragged intake of air. “Oh, God. You’re right. How did you—you did not even know her. Yet you understand her better than I.”

He pulled back from her, wiping the tears from his face, and looked down at her. Jessica smiled up at him.

“I know how a daughter feels about her father. My father’s scandal ruined both our lives. There were times when I was so angry at him I wanted to scream at him, to pound him with my fists. There I was, ostracized by almost everyone I had associated with before, suddenly on the edge of financial ruin, not knowing what to do or where to turn, and he would go out at night, drinking and carousing. I would rage at him, beg him to tell me what he had done and why, and he would tell me that he could not. Then he would leave again. There were times when I hated him.

“But when he died, I thought I would come apart with grief. I regretted every bitter word I had ever said to him or thought about him. He was my father and I loved him, and I still to this day cannot believe that he did anything wrong. I would give anything to have him back. I would be willing to endure being ostracized time and again, if only I could somehow change those last few months and make him alive and happy. I know now that all that really mattered was how much I loved him. And I hope desperately that, wherever he is, he is happy. That’s how I know what your daughter would want for you. Because I want it for my father.”

Richard drew a long, shuddering breath, and he raised his hands to her face, laying them against her cheeks and gently stroking his thumbs over the ridges of her cheekbones. “Alana would have loved you.”

“I think I would have loved her, too.”

He smiled a little. “I am certain you would have. She was like you in some ways—fearless and honest…and blunt. And very tender of heart.”

“I think perhaps she is also rather like her father in those ways.” Jessica smiled and went up on tiptoe to brush a light kiss across his lips. “You are a good man. Don’t destroy yourself with grief and guilt.”

Richard gazed at her for a moment. “Thank you.” His voice was husky with emotion. “You seem to be in the habit of saving me.” He bent and returned her light kiss, then pressed his lips against her forehead, as well. “Whether I want it or not.”

Jessica chuckled. “I am glad that I was there when you needed…help, I would say. Not saving.”

She looked up at him. “In the end, I don’t think you would have used that pistol, even if I had not been there. Even if Gabriela and I had never come here. You have too much strength, too much courage. You would not have done it.”

“I am not as sure as you.”

Jessica shrugged. “That is because you don’t see the whole picture of you, as I do.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I would not think it is a very pretty picture.”

“Not pretty, perhaps.” Jessica’s smile was warm and a little flirtatious. “But quite appealing, nevertheless.”

“Really?” His tone matched hers, and his eyes fell to her lips. “Not half as appealing, I’ll warrant, as what I see when I look at you.”

“Flattery—” Jessica began, but her words were cut off by his lips coming down on hers. He kissed her gently, tenderly, but his mouth lingered, tasting hers at his leisure. When at last he raised his head, her heart was pounding and her cheeks were flushed.

“Jessica…” he breathed, and then he was kissing her again, his arms surrounding her, pulling her up into him.

Her whole body flamed in response to him, and she went up on her toes, her arms wrapping around his neck and her mouth avid on his. He made a noise low in his throat, and his hands roamed over her back and down onto her hips, pressing her pelvis into him. He was hard against her, and it excited her.

He pulled his mouth from hers, kissing her cheek and ear and neck. “We shouldn’t…” he murmured as his lips roamed her skin.

“No,” she agreed breathlessly.

“Tell me to stop,” he told, taking her earlobe between his teeth and worrying it.

Heat blossomed between her legs.

“Tell me to leave.” His hands were kneading her buttocks, moving her against him.

“I can’t….” Jessica shivered as his lips trailed down the side of her neck, hot and velvety. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to…” She released a little moan as his tongue delved into the soft hollow of her throat. “Stay…” she said, her hands digging into his shoulders. “Please stay.”

His mind clouded, as it always did with her. It was difficult to think about anything but the way her skin felt beneath his fingers, or how her mouth tasted, or the silken, seductive beauty of her hair. Always before with women, even Caroline, he had remained in control, his brain working over and above the desire that ran through him. But with Jessica, it was always fire and hunger and immediacy, his brain struggling to keep up with the raging needs of his body. Reason burned away, and his thoughts seemed to consist primarily of imagining how she would look naked, or how sweet it would be to slide into her and feel her legs lock around his back.

He raised his head and put his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her around. He started on the buttons down the back of her dress, the sides of the dress separating and curling away, slowly, teasingly exposing first her neck, then her back. Her head was bent, so that her neck gently curved forward, and the sight of it, tender and vulnerable, stirred the desire in his loins. He leaned down and placed his lips upon her neck, soft skin covering the ridge of bone. Gently he kissed down the line of her backbone until his lips were stopped by her plain white cotton camisole.

Her dress was open now all the way down her back, sides sagging away from each other. He slid his hands beneath the fabric, moving around until his fingertips touched in the front across her stomach. As he moved, her dress fell farther open, slipping off her shoulders and onto her arms. Richard pressed his hands against her stomach, pushing her back until she was flush against his body. His hands moved up her front beneath the dress, gliding over the camisole until they cupped her breasts. He buried his lips in her neck, kissing and nibbling, his breath rasping in his throat, as his fingers caressed her breasts and teased the nipples into hard buttons.

Jessica gasped, pressing harder back into him, moving her hips in an untutored way that sent fire roaring through him more than any lightskirt’s practiced caresses. He untied the ribbon over the front of her camisole and slipped his hands beneath the cloth, taking her bare breasts in his hands. Her flesh was soft and silken, tantalizing. He kissed the nape of her neck, her scent filling his nostrils. His lips moved over the hard line of her collarbone to her rounded shoulders and then her back, and he pushed her dress down over her arms and off, exposing more of her to his caresses. Still the loosened camisole impeded him, and with a soft oath he pulled it up and over her head, flinging it away. He explored her naked back with his lips as his hands loved the orbs of her breasts. Jessica moaned, trembling under the assault to her senses.

His hands slid downward, encountering her petticoats, and he untied the tapes and pushed them down. They pooled atop her dress at her feet, and she was clad in nothing but stockings and cotton pantalets. His hands caressed her buttocks and moved back around to her stomach, over the undergarment and down between her legs. Jessica stiffened and gasped at the touch, but she did not move away. She gave a little shiver and leaned back against his chest, relaxing her legs. He slid his hand between then, caressing her through the cloth, now wet with her desire. The evidence of her passionate response to him stirred Richard almost past reason. He wanted to sink immediately into her and ease himself, but he held back.

He remembered well her response to him the last time, and he wanted to take her higher now, to show her new and more stunning depths of passion. He picked her up to carry her to the bed and laid her down upon it. Then he removed the last bits of her clothing, until she lay completely naked before him. Richard did not think he had ever seen a sight quite so lovely.

He gazed at her, passion pulsing thickly through his veins, as he removed his own clothes, tugging impatiently at laces and buttons and ripping off the garments, throwing them aside. Jessica shivered a little, and he pulled down the bedcovers and tucked them around her, then crawled into the bed beside her and took her in his arms. She was small and soft against him, and for a moment he just lay there, holding her and letting his hands roam over her body. But the feel of her rounded flesh beneath his hands soon had the blood pounding in his brain.

Jessica’s hands glided over his back, learning the curve of muscle, the sharp outcroppings of his collarbone, the bumpy line of his spine. They slid along his sides and over the sharp points of his hipbones and down the sides of his hips. Her fingertips were like velvet caressing his skin, soft and seductive.

Richard rolled to his side and bent to kiss her breasts. With teeth and tongue and lips he loved her breasts, while his hand roamed lower, exploring her stomach and thighs and finally slipping teasingly between her legs. Jessica shuddered at the touch, and her hands dug into his upper arms.

Slowly his fingers moved upward, teasing and stoking her. He pulled her nipple into his mouth and suckled it, sending waves of pleasure washing through her. Then his fingers came at last to the center of her desire, delving into the slick, hot folds, separating and stroking delicately, until Jessica was throbbing and aching for release. She felt the delightful pressure building in her again, and she dug in her heels, arching up against his hand, wanting to feel the pleasure sweep through her again like a tidal wave. But this time Richard brought her closer and closer to that edge, then moved away, only to build the excitement again.

Jessica dug her fingers into him, almost sobbing, pressing her hips up against his hand. Then he moved between her legs, his manhood teasing at the gate of her femininity, until finally he pushed up into her, breaking the seal of her virginity in a brief flash of pain. For an instant he paused, then began to move within her, creating a pleasure more wonderful than any she had experienced yet. She moved with him, her body instinctively settling into his rhythm. His body was hot and slick with sweat against her, his breath labored in her ear. He murmured her name, and she thought that she had never heard a sound so beautiful.

Then, in a blinding rush, the hot, dark wave of pleasure slammed through her, and she cried out, clasping him to her. He groaned, spilling his seed into her, both of them lost in a mindless swirl of passion, joined in a primitive, seamless union. Richard buried his face in the crook of her neck until finally, spent, he collapsed against her.

Rolling over onto his back, he pulled her on top of him, holding her close, neither of them able to speak. Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his heat, Jessica slipped into an easy, dreamless sleep.

T
he room was chilly when Jessica awoke the next morning. She opened her eyes, blinking, and was immediately aware of the feel of the sheets against her bare skin. She was naked. She remembered in a rush what had happened here the night before, and color rose in her face at the memory, part embarrassment, part a surge of desire.

She turned to look at the other side of the bed. Richard was not there. He would not be, of course, she reminded herself. He was too much a gentleman to make it plain that he had spent the night with her. He would have gotten up, dressed and left long before the servants began to stir.

Jessica sat up, aware of her body as she had never been before, feeling the differences in her, the faint tenderness and soreness, the memory of pleasure lingering sensually along her skin and filling her breasts. With a groan of sheer enjoyment, she collapsed against the mattress, spreading her arms out and grinning foolishly up at the tester above her head. She felt wonderfully young and filled with experience, all at the same time. No woman, she thought, had ever been introduced so magically to love as she had been last night.

She loved Richard. She was sure of that now, had been sure of it last night before she melted in his arms. She knew she was a fallen woman now, beyond the pale of society’s standard, but, frankly, she could not find it in her to care. She could not feel shame for what they had done last night, only joy.

By seeking happiness and love in Richard’s arms, she was condemning herself to the life of a mistress. No matter how much Richard might desire her, no matter what he had told her of his marriage last night, she knew that he was still in love with Caroline. She knew now that his grief had been compounded by his guilt, but that did not change the fact that he had loved and mourned Caroline for years. If he was happier now, as she hoped, if she had removed the burden of guilt somewhat from his shoulders, it did not mean that he had stopped loving Caroline. It did not mean that he loved Jessica instead. No, she was realistic enough to know that he might never love anyone as much as he had loved Caroline.

And even if, by some miracle, he should come to love her, it did not mean that he would marry her. He was a duke, one of the highest peers in the realm. Dukes married the daughters of dukes and earls; they did not marry the niece of a baron—especially one tainted by scandal. With a lineage like his, he could not marry someone whose father had been cashiered out of the army and subsequently died in a tavern brawl, someone about whom treason had been whispered.

No, there could be no possibility of marriage. In taking him into her bed, Jessica knew that she was putting herself beyond the pale of society for the rest of her life. But that weighed little against her love for Richard. She loved him too much, wanted him too much, to deny herself that love because society would disapprove. The sin of it worried her, but Jessica found it hard to believe in her heart that the love she felt for Richard was a sin. As for the regard of society, she knew that she could live without it. And, thanks to the General’s generous gift, she could afford to ignore the opinion of the world. Even after their affair ended, she would be able to live comfortably and not have to depend on someone’s else approval of her to earn her keep—for it would end one day, she did not fool herself in that regard. Men grew tired of mistresses; desire faded. He might someday decide to marry in order to carry his line forward. And she would be cast aside.

It was not a pleasant prospect, but she did not flinch from it, either. The love she held in her heart for him—the joy of expressing that love—those made the possibility of an empty life afterward bearable.

She pushed aside the thought and rose to face the day. Whatever came, she would face it gladly.

Two hours later, Jessica was sitting in Gabriela’s room, struggling through the intricacies of algebraic equations with her, when she heard the sound of a commotion in the hall. It was one of the maids, and she was talking loudly, almost frantically.

Jessica jumped up and went into the hall, followed closely by Gabriela. She found two maids there, talking, and they turned excitedly to her.

“Oh, miss!” one of them exclaimed, as though glad to turn the problem over to someone else. “It’s the minister.”

“Reverend Radfield?” Jessica asked, anxiety gripping her. “Is there something wrong with him?”

“No. Leastways, I don’t know. But I knocked on his door with a tray of breakfast, and he din’t answer, so I pushed the door open—and he was gone. No sign of him.”

“Perhaps he got up early and went downstairs.”

“No, miss, he wasn’t with the others what ate early at the table. And he likes his breakfast in his room, he told me.” She colored faintly, and Jessica suspected the girl had formed an affection for the handsome man of the cloth. “I think somethin’s happened to him. There’s strange things goin’ on here, miss. I never seen anything like it before.”

“Let’s look in his room.” Jessica walked down the hall to Radfield’s room and knocked on the door, followed by the maids and Gabriela.

When there was no answer to her knock, she opened the door and went in. The bed was still turned down, obviously slept in, but there was no sign of personal belongings, such as brushes or shaving kit, on the dresser. Frowning, Jessica walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. No clothes hung inside.

“Do you know—had the reverend taken out any of his clothing?”

“Oh, yes, miss, he kept some things in the dresser there.”

A quick search of the dresser drawers revealed that all were empty, stripped of his belongings. Jessica glanced at the corner, where a trunk and a bag sat. “Did he have any other baggage?”

“Yes, miss, a cloth bag, smaller, like, than those.”

Clearly that piece of luggage was missing.

“I think our reverend may have scarpered,” Jessica said inelegantly, and left the room.

She found Cleybourne in his study, and when she entered the room, he looked up and a smile spread across his mouth, his eyes warming. “Jessica…”

He stood up, seeing now the little frown between her brows. “What is it? Is something the matter?”

“Reverend Radfield is not in his room. He seems to have left.”

Richard looked at her blankly. “The house? You’re saying he left the house?”

Jessica nodded. “So it appears. The maid did not find him there when she took up his breakfast this morning, and it seems that one of his bags and several items of clothing are missing. I think he ran away.”

“In this weather? That’s suicide! What the devil….”

It did not take long to organize a search of the house, which turned up no sign of Radfield. In the meantime, Richard had two horses saddled and set some of the gardener’s men to searching around the house for tracks. Before the house search was completed, the gardener returned with a report that there were tracks of someone wading through the snow, cutting across the field toward the road.

Richard took Mr. Cobb with him to search for the man, telling Jessica tersely to keep the others occupied. She did the best she could, though her mind was on Richard and what was transpiring with the reverend. Why had he run away? It certainly seemed suspicious, as though he had run because he was guilty of a crime. Was he even really a priest?

In the deep snow, the tracks were easy to follow, and two men on horseback moved much more quickly than one struggling along on foot. It did not take Cleybourne and Cobb long to return with the minister in tow. Jessica and most of the guests were seated in the formal drawing room. Rachel was there, too, feeling well enough—and bored enough—today to come downstairs and meet their visitors.

Richard strode into the room, propelling Radfield before him, and Cobb followed close behind. Firmly Richard pushed the minister down into a chair. Radfield sat there, shivering, looking wet, bedraggled and thoroughly miserable.

“Now, Radfield, if that is indeed your name,” Richard said bitingly, “I think it is time that you told us the truth. Did you kill Mrs. Woods?”

“No!” Radfield looked up at him fiercely. “No, I didn’t kill her. I would never have hurt her!”

“It looks a little suspicious, your running away like that,” Richard pointed out. “Why would you take off into the snow, risking your life just to get away, unless you were the killer? Unless you feared discovery?”

“Of course I feared it!” Radfield cried out. “It was clear that you and that Runner were going to pin her murder on me!” He made a sweeping gesture toward Mr. Cobb.

“Now why would we do a thing like that?”

“You knew about her! You searched her room. You are bound to have found—” He broke off and slumped back in his chair, lowering his gaze.

“Found what?” Richard prodded. “The jewels?”

Radfield raised his head and shot Cleybourne a fulminating glance. “Yes, of course, the jewels. You were circling around, waiting for me to make a misstep. And she was—she was gone!” Tears pooled in his eyes.

Jessica, looking at the handsome young man, felt something stir in her brain, some vague hint of an idea. She frowned, watching him, her mind whirring.

“She was the one who always knew what to do,” he wailed forlornly. “Without her, I—I was lost. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You were her partner, weren’t you?” Cobb spoke up for the first time, striding forward and planting himself pugnaciously in front of the slender young man. “You stole that money from Mr. Gilpin together, didn’t you? It wasn’t a middle-aged dancing master at all, just you and that doxy—”

“Don’t you call her that!” Radfield blazed, jumping to his feet.

Cobb grinned, flexing his fingers with relish. “Want to pop me, do you? Well, come ahead, then. I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

“Oh, sit down,” Richard said irritably, putting a hand on Radfield’s shoulder and shoving him back down into his seat. “Don’t be daft. You are no match for him, and you know it.” He turned and gave Cobb a look. “You don’t need to beat the information out of him.”

“And why are you so tender about the man?” Cobb shot back. “’Tis clear he killed her. They were partners, they had a falling-out, and he pushed her down the stairs. He’s no match for a man, but he could kill a woman easily enough.”

“I didn’t kill her!” Radfield shouted. “Why can’t you understand that?” Tears spilled out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He raised his shaking hands to his head, thrusting them into his hair, the very picture of despair. “She is the last person I would ever have hurt. Yes, she was my partner. The one person in the world I trusted. I loved her!”

He broke down into sobs. Richard looked at him, his face touched with sympathy. “You were married to her?”

“No!” Radfield shook his head, letting out a strangled sort of laugh through his tears. “No, we were not married. Nor was she my mistress, for I am sure that will be your next thought.”

The idea that had crept into Jessica’s head a moment before formed fully now, and she said gently, “Mrs. Woods was your sister, wasn’t she?”

Radfield nodded.

Richard glanced at Jessica in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t know, I guessed. Just a minute ago, when he got tears in his eyes, I realized that he looked like someone, and then it came to me. Without the makeup to darken her skin, if her hair had been its natural brown instead of black, she would have looked quite a bit like Rev—I mean, Mr. Radfield.”

Radfield brushed the tears from his face with his hands. “Bettina always looked after me. She was several years older than I. We were always moving about, so we hadn’t any other friends. And we were on our own a lot. Children were a bother. The other members of the troupe didn’t much like having us around.”

“The troupe?” Rachel asked. “You were actors, then?”

He nodded. “Our parents were. Us, too, as we grew older.”

“Of course!” Cobb slapped his hand against his thigh triumphantly. “It
was
the middle-aged dancing master—only that man was you!”

“Yes. We were good at disguises. It made it easier to get away, less dangerous. Who would connect the blond, well-bred lady who befriended Mrs. Gilpin with the Italianate, quiet Mrs. Woods? Or the graying, paunchy dancing master with an Anglican priest?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and went on dully. “Bettina was the one who thought of the jobs, who found the marks and plotted out what we would do. I was just good at opening safes and pocketing things without anyone noticing. Sometimes, when I was younger, I’d work the audiences outside the theater to get a little extra money. It was much easier—and more fun than treading the boards. I hated that life. So did Bettina. She left when she was sixteen, came to London to make her fortune. And she did. She became a very successful courtesan, you see. The toast of London—Marie MacDonald.”

“Good God!” Darius gasped from across the room. “Marie MacDonald!”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at Darius, and he blushed fiery red and said, “Beg pardon. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on with your story.”

“Nothing much to tell,” Radfield said. “Marie was beautiful, celebrated, but she hated that life, too. Besides, she was getting older, close to thirty by then, and you age fast doing that. She wanted to stop, and so, after a while, she came up with this scheme. She knew a lot of wealthy men. Her parties were famous all over London and attended by some of the highest names in the country. She knew where the jewels were and who made a show of wealth and hadn’t any really. So we started out…” He shrugged. “And we were good at it.”