Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (247 page)

Jessica bit her lips. Patience was her most pronounced shortcoming and she warred with it in an effort to think before speaking.

“It would simplify matters,” he said.

“It would complicate things for me.”

He continued as if he had not heard. “I have property, although my holdings are not as vast as those belonging to the duke. I am not destitute, and Devlin is generous.” He looked pained at making that admission. “He would never suffer me … us … to live in poverty.”

He hurried on, not allowing her opportunity to argue. “I have funds put by to purchase a commission in the army. I am twenty-five years old; mature enough to take a wife. The dowager adores you. I am certain she would insist you live with her while I am away on military campaigns. Your life would go along much as it is now. Assuredly you would continue to enjoy the comforts of the ducal estates.”

She held up a hand indicating she desired a word. “Why would you want to marry me?”

“Would you believe me if I said I love you?” He raised his eyes to her face, as if curious to see how those words might be received.

“No.”

He flashed an admiring glance. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“What makes you think you do?”

“This is a ridiculous conversation.”

“At last, a reasonable statement. Your first.”

Lattie ignored the gibe. “Devlin shows no interest in taking a wife. If he does not produce a legitimate heir, our children — yours and mine — would inherit the title, the estates, and all that goes with it. There is always the possibility of some tragedy befalling Devlin, taking him prematurely, in which case, the title would come to me. Perhaps you find being a duchess compelling.”

She stared at him. Had Lattimore hired the men who waylaid Devlin on the road? Could a man reared by Lady Anne Miracle sanction such a deed? No. Yet, Lattimore sounded as if he could be jealous of his brother and of the title. She tried to conceal her suspicion.

“So you plan to force Devlin to support me and any children I might produce while you perform your military duty until either you or our hypothetical offspring inherit his title and property? A convoluted scheme. Surely there are more direct ways to rob your brother of his birthright.” She had not intended to use the word robbed. It just slipped out.

Lattie’s eyes narrowed. “If you were a man, I would demand satisfaction.”

“If I were a man, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

His jaws clenched. “See you no virtue in me at all, Jessica Blair?”

She did not answer, afraid of what she might reveal either by her words or her usually transparent facial expression. Certainly he had virtues, though she had scarcely looked closely enough to determine what those might be.

Finally, Lattimore filled the awkward silence with what seemed private musings spoken aloud. “Truth be told, the title was not Devlin’s birthright. It belonged to our brother, Rothchild, the eldest.”

Was that how a younger son justified hiring men to attack, even murder an older one?

Lattie looked to the sky, crossing his arms. “What if I told you marrying me would save Devlin’s reputation? Maybe even his life?”

She inhaled. “What do you mean? What have you done?”

His fury at her nefarious question made his hands fist and caused sweat to break out at his upper lip. “You have heard the rumors?” he asked quietly.

“Not rumors, more bits of information pieced together.”

“There are those who believe I would be more malleable than he; that if they were to provide me the title, I would be grateful enough to squander all that goes with it.”

“How would our marrying change that?”

“Those desperate souls, who would rather I bore the title, have heard you hold sway over Devlin, thus, if I controlled you as your husband … ”

“Who are these desperate souls?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information to you, even if I knew, which I do not. I have only rumors relayed through friends trying to prevent further tragedy in this family.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “I would have to hold evidence behind such rumors in my own two hands before I would believe them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I am not interested in participating in any schemes to dupe the duke.” She swelled to her full height and turned toward the door to the salon. “Unless you produce such evidence or name names, I want no part of any plotting.”

“Yes, well, I can see my proposal and my best arguments for the proposition have taken you by surprise. I was afraid of that. I even told … ”

She turned an unbelieving look on him and he flashed a charming, boyish grin. “Let’s say mutual friends verify that you are refreshingly outspoken, which is a reason for my suit. I don’t believe I have ever met a truly honest woman — the dowager, perhaps, being the exception.”

“Then, it may be time you reevaluated your choice of friends.” She paused to think. “I would appreciate it if you would demonstrate your regard for my honesty with like honesty.”

“How?”

“First, recant. You do not love me.”

His grin became sheepish. “No. Nor do you love me, which is the way people at our level of society form such liaisons. Among members of the ton, a marriage takes more the form of a political alliance, like a treaty between nations. Sovereigns with like interests band together for mutual benefit, which is precisely what I am proposing you and I do. I see that you admire Devlin. You’ve made that clear. It seems right that he should be a beneficiary of our joining.”

Jessica shook her head. “Thank you, Lord Miracle, for the truth, although I do not see what benefit I might bring to such a union.”

“I would at least like to report that you have agreed to think on the idea.”

“Report to whom?”

“It is better you not know.”

She wondered about his character, his ambitions, his opinion of his remaining brother and, mostly, about his friends. Had he chosen them or they him? And to what end?

Lattimore appeared to take her silence as an affirmative response and looked pleased, until she spoke.

“No. My answer is and will remain no. I will not make an alliance with you, most certainly not with any of the questionable sorts you represent.”

His expression soured. “Do not entertain illusions about Devlin, Jessica. Do not mistake his kindness or his generosity. You are attractive. He may dally with you, but a duke does not marry an untitled, undowered girl, no matter how fetching her face or form.”

She felt the sting of his words, but the implication was a new thought to her. “No, I don’t suppose he does. Nor would this untitled, undowered woman consider marrying him, a possibility you failed to factor into your hypothesis.”

Again, she turned to leave. Lattie quietly intoned one word. “Wait.” She hesitated. “What about the danger to Devlin? As I said, a sacrifice on your part might protect him from attacks on him and, quite literally, save his life?”

“I think you are gulling me, or your friends are, through you, preying on what you hope are my tender feelings for your brother.”

Tired of the exchanges, she brushed by Lattimore, hurried through the salon, down the corridor, and up the stairs. She asked that a luncheon tray be brought to her room rather than enduring any more of Lattie’s company.

• • •

The younger Miracle decided to stay at the town house. Lattimore was his usual charming self when he joined the dowager and Jessica for tea late in the afternoon, as if their earlier conversation had not occurred. He focused his charm, however, on his mother. Jessica accepted the rebuff with relief and growing concern for Devlin’s safety.

As she recalled Lattie’s proposal, she couldn’t imagine why he had more need of an untitled, impoverished peasant wife than his brother. How would Lattimore benefit from such a joining? What about his scheme might save Devlin’s life? Was he being overly dramatic, or had he heard some evil rumor?

• • •

It was not unusual for Jessica to visit the stables, but she felt unusually restless that afternoon. When, eventually, she saw Bear, she invited him to walk.

“Lattimore suggests there are people who want him to be the duke rather than Devlin.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Have you heard the same?” He had her full attention.

“Yes, mum.”

“Has Lattie spoken with you, too?”

“No, mum.”

She poked his upper arm with her fingers as if nudging him might release information. “You must tell me what you know, Bear, or I shall go out of my mind with worry.”

“Yes, mum, and I will, just as soon as ye leave off talking.”

She waited what seemed like a dozen heartbeats before Bear met her searching gaze. “I talked wi’ young master Hardwick’s groom.” He took a long breath. She remained silent. “It was Mr. Fry hired the men who attacked Devlin on the highway.”

“And Lattimore?”

“Knew nothing of it.”

“Is Hardwick’s groom reliable?”

“Yes, mum.”

“What did Fry have to gain?”

Bear waved a hand indicating she should listen, not speak. “It was Fry who hired John Lout fer the job.”

“Oh.”

“It was Lout that stopped that nobleman from finishing ’im.”

“That sounds like one of John’s boasts. Did he tell you that?”

“No, mum, it came from Hardwick’s groom who was on the road hisself.”

“Was Hardwick in on it, too?”

“Nay. The groom was returning from carrying a message to Hardwick’s country place. Happened into ’em at the tavern. Tarried for a drink, then rode alongside ’em thinking it was better to be in company than by hisself on that stretch at night. There’d been stories of riders alone being robbed. As it happened, he was riding with the very ones he’d been warned against.”

Jessica sighed. “I still don’t know why Fry would want Devlin gone and Lattimore to inherit?”

“I s’pose fer the markers.”

“The eight hundred pounds?”

“That’s right. I’m fair certain Fry thinks like you, that eight hundred pounds is a pile of money. I’ve seen the old duke’s sons lose that and more in one night a’ gaming. The lad has no sense of money. Fry probably thinks to hold the markers over Lattie’s head supposing to make ’im follow orders.”

“Is that not possible?”

Bear snorted his disbelief. “No.”

“Eight hundred pounds?”

“Nor eight thousand. If Lattie knew Fry’s scheme, he would stop it.”

Jessica spun and started back toward the stable, intending to go straight to Lattimore, but Bear caught her.

“This is men’s business, Jessica Blair. Not for you.”

“But something needs to be done. We must get this whole connivance out in the open.”

“Maybe not, miss. Maybe we’ll let Mr. Fry play his cards and catch ’im in the deed.”

“Another attempt on Devlin’s life?” She shivered at the prospect.

“Or yers.”

She looked into his face. “Mine?”

“Ye’r said to influence everyone in the family. It’s a wide-held opinion.”

“So someone might try to murder me on the chance anyone listens to me? That’s crazy. I’m not worth it.”

“I’m studying on it, keeping my eyes and my ears open. You begged me to tell ya and I did. Thought I could trust ye to hold steady.”

She enjoyed the warmth of Bear’s good opinion reflected in his words. He had made the sons of this family into men by allowing them some difficulties. Perhaps Devlin’s strong character was a result of Bear’s not making his road too easy. Should she trust his judgment now? She did not want to risk losing his regard just as she had discovered it.

“All right.” Her voice sounded thin.

He grunted approval and remained at the stable as she whirled and walked stiffly back to the house. It would take her best efforts not to reveal what she had learned.

• • •

“Lattimore said you refused his suit.”

Early that evening, the others absent, Jessica and Devlin sat together in his study. As he spoke, he did not look up from the ledger where he wrote numbers. His comment broke her concentration and she lost count of the row of knit and purl.

Handwork annoyed Jessica. Even the simplest pattern required her undivided attention. “Yes,” she said without looking up, trying to determine the duke’s mood by his tone and, at the same time, recount stitches. How much had Lattie told him of their conversation?

“He said you are too ambitious to settle for the second son, that you want a titled husband.”

“Of course he did.” She glowered at the handwork thinking her displeasure might make the yarn more cooperative and free her gnarled thoughts as well, but something in Devlin’s sudden sharp attention pulled her glance his way. The blue of his eyes darkened when he was angry. At that moment, they became sapphire as he stared at her, as if he expected her expression to verify or disprove his statement.

“Drat and damn.” She dropped the needles to her lap. “I can fashion coops from barrel staves and scraps of rope, but I lack the ability to knit the simplest shawl.”

“What did you mean ‘Of course he did?’” Devlin asked, the vee between his disapproving brows growing more pronounced.

“I meant that of course Lattimore would absolve himself of blame for a woman’s lack of interest.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Simply put, Lattimore and I do not share his generous regard for himself. Neither do we value people’s strengths or weaknesses the same.”

Devlin closed his ledger on a finger to mark his place and set his attention on Jessica. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her a little, yet she remembered his regard for honesty and waited for him to speak.

When he did, the duke sounded defensive. “Lattie comes from a good family and has wealth of his own. He doesn’t need a title to insure his place in society.”

“No, he doesn’t. Nor could a title repair the flaw in his character that stifles my interest in him as a husband.” She shot him a quick look. “That is, if I were looking for a husband, which I am not. I happen to have one potential husband too many already, if you recall.”

“Are you telling me Lattie falls short of criteria set by the exalted John Lout?”

“Do not pretend to be dull witted. You know my situation perfectly well.”