The Rebel's Promise (19 page)

“Your words suggest that the lady is alone, Cholcombe.” Jack, seated at his desk, continued with the task of sharpening a pen. “In which case, I am sure that you have already denied me and that you would do so to
any
lady indiscreet enough to visit a gentleman in his home without the protection of her chaperone?”

Cholcombe bowed, his discomfiture obvious, “I did try, my lord, but the lady was most insistent. She said I must tell you that Miss Delacourt is most desirous to speak with you.”

Jack looked up at that. Cholcombe, who knew his moods well, was hard pushed to know what he was feeling. “Very well, show Miss Delacourt in. And, Cholcombe?” that faithful retainer waited, “You will strive to forget that Miss Delacourt has paid me this visit.”

Cholcombe permitted himself a tiny smile. “My memory is not at all good, my lord,” he stated blandly.

Rosie hesitated on the threshold, putting back the hood of her cloak to reveal a worried countenance, and Jack came forward, forgetting, if only momentarily, to keep his distance. Possessing himself of her hands, he scanned her troubled face in concern.

“Why, Rosie, what has happened to cause you such distress?” he asked, and the unexpectedly gentle note in his voice made her lip tremble slightly.

She returned the warm pressure of his clasp gratefully, “Oh, Jack,” her voice caught pathetically and she determinedly bit back the tears. “It is Harry …” Realising she was trembling, he drew her over to a sofa close to the fire, “Sir Clive has kidnapped him …” Jack stiffened at the mention of Sheridan’s name and abruptly released her hands.

“
Kidnapped
?” He repeated with no little stupefaction and she nodded. His manner had changed so quickly and dramatically that she felt suddenly nervous and struggled to find the right words.

“He … you see, I … we quarrelled and …” It had seemed an easy matter to explain when she had rehearsed it in the hired hack which brought her here. But now Jack raised his brows incredulously and under that supercilious stare her explanation floundered, “Tom said I should come to you and ask for your help,” she finished lamely.

“I feel Tom may be labouring under a misapprehension about my feelings where you are concerned, Miss Delacourt. I see no other reason why he would imagine I might embroil myself in your affairs.” Jack informed her coldly.

Rosie bit her lip, “Jack, you do not understand …” her voice refused to rise above a whisper.

“Oh, I think I do!” a mirthless smile just touched his lips. “You have had a tiff with your lover, and you imagine that flying to good old Jack for sympathy will serve to make him jealous!”

The first, tiny flicker of rage stirred within her at his mocking laugh. “And, as always, you have Tom twisted so tightly around your little finger that he is convinced I will be happy to help.”

“I told Tom that to come here would be a mistake!” Rosie burst out furiously, “I should have known you would be too pig-headed and stubborn to even listen to me!” She jumped up, whirling away from him and heading towards the door. She turned back, her fingers grasping the handle, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did now, with her eyes flashing fire and her cheeks flushed. “I will find Harry myself and rescue him from the danger he is in … and …” she faltered, trying to find the right words.

“Good luck with that, hampered as you will be by your petticoats!” Jack looked her feminine attire up and down sardonically.

Rosie was so angry she could barely speak, “To … to
hell
with you, my lord!” and, whirling away, she slammed the door as hard as she could, causing Cholcombe, who had been loitering nearby in the hope of hearing something interesting, to jump nervously and skitter away.

“Damn you, Jack, I should ram your teeth right out through the back of your throat.” Tom barged into the room where Jack was, once again, seated at his desk trying to concentrate on his sheaf of letters.

Jack raised a brow and regarded his friend’s furious face thoughtfully. “Why, Tom, what delightful surprise,” he drawled mockingly. “You will permit me to inform you that your society manners still leave something to be desired.”

“Don’t look down your nose and sneer at me, my lord!” Tom growled furiously. “I came only to tell you that, thanks to your refusal to help her, Rosie is hell bent on pursuing that cur of a betrothed of hers alone.”

Jack paused a moment, and Tom thought he saw a flicker of emotion in the depths of his eyes. It passed quickly, and he shrugged disdainfully, “You must be all about in your head if you think I’ll be dragged into Miss Delacourt’s romantic entanglements, Tom.”

Tom gave a strangled groan of frustration. “Give me strength! The Lord St Anton I once knew would not turn his back on a friend with this coldness of manner.”

His voice was harsh and Jack threw up a hand in a fencer’s gesture of defeat, “Touché,” he acknowledged. “But I cannot see any reason for this heat! I very much doubt Sheridan will harm young Harry. The lad will shortly be his brother, after all.”

Tom had commenced pacing the room, but he broke his stride at this and threw himself down into a chair nodding towards the decanter on the desk. Jack obliged by pouring them both a glass of brandy and regarded Tom expectantly as he dashed the contents of his glass off immediately.

“There is much to this story you do not know, Jack, but ‘tis not my tale to tell. Rosie herself must decide how much to share with you. Even I do not know the whole. Only that Sheridan has some sort of power over her which has nought to do with the man’s charm or good looks,” his face was a mask of distaste, “I have my suspicions, of course, and I believe it has something to do with young Harry. Suffice it to say, Sheridan is a knave of the worst kind.”

Jack felt his lip curl, “You tell me nothing I do not already know. The man’s reputation has sunk below reproach, indeed, he aspires to the gutter. Rosie must be greatly enamoured, nevertheless. Else why will she not end the betrothal?”

“Do you know, Jack, I never had you down for a fool?” the frustrated groan seemed to be dragged from Tom against his will.

Jack frowned at the outburst, “I must ask you to explain yourself, Tom.” His voice was tinged with ice, disdain lending hauteur to his fine features, “Since I am at a loss to understand the meaning behind your gratuitous insults.”

Tom sighed and shook his head, composing himself once more, “I have already said, Rosie is the only person who can give you a full account of the events leading up to her acceptance of Sheridan, and she is determined she will never do so. If you would look, for once, beyond the end of your own nose, Jack, you might see, as I do, that she is protecting you from your own hot-headedness! No, don’t poker up at me, for the Lord’s sake … we don’t have time for this now!” He sighed again, “I do not know who is more stubborn … only that next to the two of you, a pack of mules would look compliant. ‘Twas only
after
the betrothal was announced that we had an inkling of the true state of our fine gentleman’s affairs. The man would stake his soul – and Rosie’s, not to mention young Harry’s – on the turn of a dice, and he has been spectacularly successful in bringing a fine, grand inheritance to ruin in a few short years.” Tom frowned, his distaste for Sir Clive twisting his mouth into an unaccustomed grimace, “And I have long known that the man has other appetites which are … depraved beyond reason.”

“’Tis a pity you did not set about gathering this information
before
Rosie accepted him,” Jack remarked casually, but his eyes were bright as they studied Tom’s face. He, too, had heard some grim stories of Sheridan’s cruel licentiousness, and he could feel his cloak of feigned indifference towards Rosie’s affairs begin to slip. Rising, he carried the decanter over to refill the other man’s glass. Tom nodded his approval.

“Do you think I don’t reproach myself for that every day?” he gazed into the amber liquid, swirling it around in his glass. “But Mr Delacourt died – suddenly and shockingly – and we believed you were dead too. Rosie … well, something changed in her around that time. When I told her what I had heard about you … about Culloden … I can’t explain how it was … but, although she refused to believe you were dead, some of the light went out of her. For a time she seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. She spent most of her time curled up on the big window seat overlooking the drive as if she expected to see someone come down it. Whatever – or whoever – she waited for never came. Then, one day, she stopped watching and accepted his offer.”

“So Delacourt Grange belongs to Harry now? And is Sheridan his guardian?” Changing the subject, Jack tried to put the picture Tom had conjured out of his mind. He could not bear the thought of Rosie’s sadness, and the knowledge that the person she had been waiting and watching for was him. He realised in surprise that the pain he felt now was as nothing to what she felt then. How would
he
feel if he heard Rosie was dead?
I would not want to live
. The thought was instant and unbidden, and he cursed himself for it. Try as he might to convince himself he no longer cared about her, his gut reaction, at times such as this, always betrayed him.

Tom gave a harsh laugh, “Oh no, Mr Delacourt was a wise old owl. His fortune and lands are tied up so neatly that his fine son-in-law to be, try as he might, cannot not touch them. The estate and the bulk of his fortune are left to Harry with a substantial income at Rosie’s disposal throughout her life, subject to approval by a trustee.”

“And who might the trustee be?”

Tom bowed slightly, “You are looking at him,” he grinned. “My job is to make sure Rosie and Harry have sufficient funds for their needs and – although Mr Delacourt could not have foreseen this particular problem – that Sheridan does not get the chance to gamble it all away. In return, I am the live-in tenant at Delacourt Grange. I maintain it in good order in case Harry should need it. And I am well paid for my pains.”

“I can’t think of a better man for the job,” Jack returned the smile. “But at the risk of incurring your wrath again, Tom, I confess I do not know why you feel this information will prompt me to fly to Rosie’s aid.”

“Since the day she accepted him, Rosie has had to fight tooth and nail to keep Sheridan’s grasping hands off Harry’s inheritance. He has made Rosie’s life a living hell, but she has steadfastly refused to give in to his demands. Apparently, he is on the verge of losing his lands, possibly even Sheridan Hall itself, and he has been getting increasingly desperate. This stunt is his last ditch attempt to get Rosie to agree to access the funds to save his estates … and, indeed, his name. He cares not that she would have to break the law to do so, and he knows that she will always put Harry first.”

“I must repeat, and I apologise if I appear obtuse … he will surely not harm his own brother-in-law?” Jack had a feeling that there was indeed a good deal more to this story than Tom was able to divulge. Harry’s words in the park came back to him. His heart was insisting he should fly to Rosie’s aid, but his head, together with his hurt pride, questioned why he should do so for half a tale. He was still recovering from the backward step he had taken by letting himself get too close to her again on the day of the picnic.

“That is a risk that Rosie … and I … cannot take. Jack, she needs your help, she is half mad with worry because she believes Sheridan
is
capable of harming him. I told her I had more enquiries to make because, when I left her, she was doing a passable imitation of a caged tiger. I don’t know what you said to her but I must warn you, should you agree to help, she’ll not welcome you with open arms! There is no-one I would trust more than you for help with a task such as this … there is no knowing what that Bedlamite is capable of, and the man is a veritable demon with a rapier. In fact,” he shot Jack a speculative glance, “There is only one man I know who could worst him in a duel.”

“You flatter me,” Jack drawled and Tom grinned.

“Confess it, you would love to pink the fellow!”

“And yet, even in the face of such overwhelming temptation, I find I must decline your invitation to join you on this proposed jaunt.” Jack turned dismissively back to his paperwork.

“Jack, you loved her once …”

Jack held up a hand that was not quite steady. “Play fair, Tom.”

“No! Goddammit, Jack! I will not! Rosie saved your life when you were half dead after Swarkstone Bridge … putting herself and her family at risk to do so. But if clinging to your stupid pride is more important than loyalty then so be it. I misjudged you, and I’m sorry for it.” Tom rose and strode towards the door.

“Wait,” the word was dragged from Jack reluctantly, “You do right to remind me of what I owe Rosie. Give me time to change my attire, and I will come with you.”

Rosie offered up thanks for the fact that Harry was a tall for a boy of his age as she shrugged herself into shirt, coat and breeches from his wardrobe. Harry’s shoes were over large, but she discovered an old, discarded pair of riding boots at the back of his wardrobe which fitted her almost to perfection.

Jack’s scathing comments about being hampered by petticoats still stung and she bit her lip. He had made his feelings very clear, and any hopes she may still have harboured had been well and truly dashed. She would have to do this alone, or at least – she modified the thought gratefully – with help from Tom. Critically, she viewed her reflection in the mirror. A wide eyed, boyishly slender figure stared back. She had recklessly taken the scissors to her hair and clumsily chopped it off at collar length. Now her riotous curls clustered about her face and, she hoped, helped to disguise the femininity of her features. Nodding her approval, she gathered up a hat and one of Harry’s cloaks and ran lightly down the stairs to the drawing room.

Lady Aurelia had already set out on her visit to her unfashionable friend, so there was no danger that she would discover her in these clothes or try to scupper Rosie’s departure. She had a small amount of money, just enough to pay for the journey. Determined to prove to Jack – even though he would not be here to witness her triumph – that she could do this, Rosie tiptoed out of the house.