What an Earl Wants (25 page)

“That’s all right, my lady. We’ve all of us got to learn our
way here, and that’s what I tell Doreen. Now, if you were to stand up, I’ll
fetch you that bath sheet I’ve got warming by the fire.”

A few minutes later, Jessica was sitting at her dressing table
and Mildred was standing behind her, muttering over the tangled hair she was
doing her best to tame and suggesting mayhap his lordship might wish to consider
learning how to weave a fine braid if he wasn’t going to let her lady’s maids
within ten feet of her at night.

“Mildred?” Jessica asked, watching the woman in the mirror. “Is
this all real, do you suppose? I mean...that is to say...it all seems like a
dream, doesn’t it? And...and perhaps too wonderful to last?”

“Ah, and now you’re staring into the mouth of a gift horse, is
that what you’re doing? That’s dangerous, my lady, and courting trouble. His
lordship is bosky over you, any fool can see that. And it’s not a bubble soon to
burst, I don’t think.”

“But how would a person know that?” Jessica asked, taking the
brush from the maid’s hand, needing to do something more than just sit there;
she had a long way to go before she could simply be waited on, she’d lived too
many years on her own. “I met a pair of ladies last evening at the ball. Married
ladies. Neither seemed very happy. They hinted husbands become disenchanted
sooner or later. And when all you have is...How do I say this?”

“When all you have is that hot burning to be in each other’s
drawers and then mayhap just as sudden there you are, stuck looking at each
other across the mutton and trying to remember what all the fuss was about?”

Jessica turned about to goggle at the maid. “Mildred. How did
you know? That’s exactly it, exactly what I meant to say. I mean, perhaps not in
that way....”

“Make it as pretty as you want, my lady, but it comes down to
the same in the end, that’s what I’ve learned. One minute it’s, oh, laws, come
here and let me have that, and the next it’s for the love of all that’s decent,
keep that nasty thing away from me.”

“Mildred!” Jessica felt her cheeks go hot.
It hadn’t been like that. She’d simply been tired. Exhausted. She hadn’t
actually told him to go away.
“I don’t think we should—”

The maid went about folding up the bathing sheet and continued
as if Jessica hadn’t spoken. “It’s the same for the men, you know, but even
worse. They want you till they get you, and use you every which way while they
have you, but then it’s not a game anymore, you see. They won, and now it’s time
to move on to the next one. That’s what they want most, the winning.”

Jessica didn’t protest this time. “I see.”

“I suppose so! And then there’s the worst of all of them. The
lying buggers who swear they love you. Ha! We all know what it is they love, and
it’s not our pretty smiles or pleasant ways.”

The maid’s voice had taken on a fierceness now, and Jessica bit
her lips together and simply listened, turning about to see pain on the woman’s
face.

“I love you, Millie, is what he told me,” she said, her eyes
squeezed shut. “I surely do love you, so why don’t you lie down right here and
let me do what I want. Nothing splits wide a girl’s knees like hearing some
handsome liar swearing he loves her. Oh, they’re the worst, ma’am, those what
swear they love you. Then they run off like their breeches is on fire when you
say, oh, yes, Johnny Hopkins, and I love you straight back, I love you quite
truly. Run like the wind, they do, when they hear that, and the next thing you
know your sister Bettyann tells your Da what you’ve been doing at the spinney
and he tosses you out, and now you’re doing what you have to do to feed your
belly, and figuring out what you should have figured out long ago, and that’s
that love has nothing to do with lying down and letting them do what they want,
even when you like what they’re doing.”

And then Mildred stopped, clapped her hands to her cheeks as if
finally realizing what she’d been saying. “Oh, but not his lordship, ma’am! I
wasn’t meaning him, no, I was not. Like I said, he’s bosky for you, we all say
so. Chased you till he caught you, didn’t he, and here we are, and here we’re
going to stay. We’ve a fine life now, all of us. Those society ladies you talked
to, well I’ll wager they’re just jealous of that handsome man you’ve got
trailing along at your shoestrings. Yes, I do! Would you want me to lay out your
clothes for you now, my lady? Doreen’s still off muttering over the pressing
iron.”

“Yes, thank you, Mildred. I’d appreciate that.”

“The blue sprigged muslin, my lady?”

Jessica nodded her agreement, her mind traveling back to a
morning that seemed so long ago now and yet far from in the past.

She’d thanked him for not sending her away, she remembered
that. But mostly she remembered what he’d said in return:
I’m not ready to let you go.

God, she’d accused him then, hadn’t she? Accused him of being
just what Mildred had described, a man who had
won,
had gotten what he wanted. He’d even gone so far as to marry her, to get what he
wanted. With never a word of love. Perhaps she should be thankful for that.

Because if Gideon had told her he loved her, she would have
told him she loved him, too,
I love you quite
truly.

And that, at least according to Mildred, would be the worst
thing she could do.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

G
IDEON
WATCHED
J
ESSICA
as she kept her head bent slightly, as if she
needed to keep all her concentration on the luncheon plate in front of her.
Perhaps she was remembering how their evening had ended and wondered if she
believed she’d reneged on some sort of marital
agreement
they’d made.
My protection in
exchange for your body.
That was a lowering thought and didn’t make
him feel particularly proud.

Then again, was what they had really a marriage, except in the
legal sense of the word? He had a quick, fleeting thought of Jessica and him
lounging on the grass at Yearlings, one of his smaller estates, located in prime
horse country. Just the two of them, alone—talking, laughing, getting to know
each other far from London and any thoughts about a possible lethal legacy of
his father’s damn Society.

It seemed so unfair that they couldn’t have that. Or could
they?

He hadn’t seen her since he’d pressed a kiss against her hair
that morning and left her to snuggle deeper beneath the covers. He’d rather
prided himself on the fact he hadn’t attempted to kiss her awake, hadn’t
attempted a lot more. Perhaps he was learning restraint. It was a new experience
for a man who had never really questioned his belief that he could take what he
wanted because... No, he had no ending for that thought. At least none that
wouldn’t make him uncomfortable.

In any event, he’d hurried his valet through the chores of
bathing and dressing, and ordered his mount brought around front before the
clock had struck nine, an ungodly hour for any gentleman of the
ton
to be out and about in Mayfair unless he was
finding his way home after a long night.

A discreet enquiry at one of his clubs—meaning, a gold coin
slipped into the gloved hand of the majordomo—had given him the direction of one
Marquis of Singleton, for all the good that had done him. It was hours too early
to leave his card, but at least now he knew where the man lived, in case he
decided to pay him a visit.

From there, he had gone to Cavendish Square, brushing past a
disapproving Soames and heading straight for his grandmother’s bedchamber. After
all, thanks to the recently deceased Marquis of Mellis, he now knew the way.

He learned three things during that very brief visit.

One, Trixie had no recollection of a Ravenbill ever being
mentioned as a member of the society.

Secondly, there was a reason no one saw his grandmother before
two in the afternoon. Gideon’s conclusion was nobody would want to, not if
they’d sleep nights! He’d found Trixie still abed, lying on her back in the very
center of the large mattress as if she’d been laid out for a viewing, her hands
and arms wrapped in thick, greasy-looking cotton gauze, her hair dark with some
sort of pomade, and her face, neck and chest slathered with a lavishly applied
cream the color of spring leaves. The room was hot, and smelled of at least six
different scents; some medicinal, some flowery, none of them particularly
appealing.

And, lastly, he’d learned that, petite as she was, old as she
was, Beatrix Redgrave could launch a silver candlestick more than twenty-five
feet with deadly accuracy.

Absently rubbing at his left shoulder—he’d been too shocked to
duck quite fast enough—he finally broke the not completely companionable silence
of the luncheon table. “I saw Trixie this morning. She sees no connection
between the Marquis of Singleton and the society.”

Jessica laid down her fork. “But Ravenbill? Bird?”

He shrugged. “Coincidence? Or it proves we were right to
conclude they’re no longer confining membership to eldest sons, which seems
eminently logical. In other words, I don’t think we can dismiss Simon Ravenbill
as yet. I’m much more concerned with your belief you saw him several years
ago.”

“Wearing a French uniform,” Jessica pointed out, and now she
was turning the fork over and over on the tabletop. “I know it was him. I just
don’t know what it means.”

Gideon felt the impulse to go around the table and take her in
his arms, swear to her that no one would ever hurt her, not while he lived. He
wouldn’t allow it. But fear was fear, and he wasn’t immune to the feeling; he
had to protect her.

“It could mean two things,” he told her. “If the Society is
somehow aligned with the enemy, he could have been there to help further their
cause with Bonaparte. Either that, or he’s working for our government. The
former worries me, the latter possibly more so, as we wouldn’t want to do
anything that might jeopardize whatever role he’s playing and put him in
danger.”

Jessica blinked at him. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility.
It would make what he said to Lady Caro and Mrs. Urban last night take on an
entire new meaning. It would have been a threat, or even a dare, wouldn’t
it?”

“It would, yes. The man may be playing his own game. No matter
which scenario we could choose, I believe we need to stay out of Singleton’s way
until we know more. Hell, Jessica, at the moment, seeing you with those women,
he may believe
I’m
a part of the Society.”

“If he’s even aware of the Society,” Jessica pointed out
correctly. “Perhaps he’s been watching them because of what they’re doing,
perhaps he has suspicions of his own or the government has suspicions for some
reason. But perhaps only Lord Charles and Mr. Urban are suspects. They may have
no idea of the scope of the conspiracy, that there’s a devil’s dozen of them
plus anyone they might be blackmailing into cooperating with them. There are so
many possibilities, far too many of them. We were chasing murderers, that’s how
this began for you, and I was attempting to protect Adam. We’re out of our depth
now, Gideon.”

And now they’d come to the heart of the matter.

“I agree. We’ll soon have a different theory for every day of
the week, won’t we? It’s the deaths of the more longtime members that started it
all, just as you said. That, and a tree branch poking a hole in the Redgrave
mausoleum. I certainly didn’t go into this with any thoughts of stumbling into
anything quite so dangerous. My father has a lot to answer for, doesn’t he, even
twenty years dead?”

“Your father, and mine. But there’s something else to consider.
If my father hadn’t died, you and I would never have met, would we? I wouldn’t
have approached you about Adam, you wouldn’t have learned what happened five
years ago, you wouldn’t have confronted Trixie—none of it. Those murders may
have been the worst mistake the Society could make. Gideon, we know so much, but
clearly not enough.”

That wasn’t precisely true, but Gideon knew this wasn’t the
moment to tell her he did know one thing, one very important thing: it was time
for Jessica to be as far from London as possible. He’d have to ease his way into
the subject, however; he’d already ducked one candlestick today.

“For the moment, let’s concentrate on the marquis. I won’t ask
you again if you’re positive you recognized him, but I will ask you to once more
consider if he may have recognized you.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I had the hood of my
cloak raised, and I stayed behind Richard for the most part. But I suppose it’s
possible he might recognize Richard, and then remember me.”

“Yes. Richard. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t
we?”

Jessica lowered her head into her hands. “Yes, I know. Poor
Richard, he loves London so. You’ll send him off?”

“Only as far as Redgrave Manor.” He took his chance. “And you
with him.”

Her head shot up, her eyes gone wide. “What? But why?”

“Because, either way, Jessica, patriot or traitor, if Singleton
recognized you last night or his memory is jogged when next he sees you, you are
now a problem to the man.”

He could tell she hadn’t considered that possibility. “I was
thinking only of how he could be a problem to us. But I see your point. We could
confront him, ask him if he’s working for the Crown and— No, that wouldn’t work,
would it? If he is, he’d lie to us, and if he isn’t, he’d lie to us. And if he’s
neither, and I’ve mistaken him for somebody else, well, that would be even
worse, wouldn’t it?”

Gideon smiled. He enjoyed listening to Jessica think out loud.
“Immensely, yes. So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed to what? What are you agreeing to, Gideon? I’ve agreed
to nothing.”

“I noticed that. Are we about to have our first argument? Yes,
what is it, Thorndyke?”

The butler bowed and held out a small silver salver with a
folded note on it. “Excuse me, my lord. This just arrived by messenger. I was
informed it’s imperative her ladyship reads it immediately.”

“Then why are you handing it to his lordship, or have I been
somehow rendered invisible?” Jessica asked, snatching the missive from the tray
even as Gideon reached for it.

“And now we’ve both been put in our place, haven’t we, Thorny?”
Gideon remarked, laughing.

“Firmly, my lord,” Thorndyke agreed and quickly bowed himself
out of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize later.”

“To Thorny or to me?”

“Not you, certainly. Thorndyke hasn’t gotten used to having me
about as yet, but you should know better,” she explained absently, eyeing the
missive as if it could possibly turn into a writhing snake at any moment. She
slid her fingernail beneath the wax seal and unfolded the sheet, her eyes going
immediately to the bottom of the page. “It’s from Felicity Urban.”

“Our invitation?” Gideon asked, rising from his chair, in order
to stand behind her as she read. “Hmm, obviously not the invitation we were told
to expect.”

Jessica read the note aloud. “‘I know what you and the earl are
about. Help me and I’ll help you. Four o’clock today,
Le
Bon Modiste,
Bond Street. Ask for Fontine. I will need five thousand
pounds, and safe transport.’” She tilted her head back to look up at Gideon. “So
much for my belief I was subtle last evening, I suppose. I told you she was
looking at me curiously, as if measuring me or some such thing. She says she can
help us? Honestly, I thought I’d be much better at this than I am.”

“You got results, and that’s what’s most important. But if it’s
any comfort to you, I didn’t do much better at subtlety. She knows what I’m
about? It has to be that damn rose. I only wore it for a few days, but obviously
Felicity Urban took notice.”

Jessica was looking at the note again. “But didn’t mention it
to her husband?”

“Yes, I’ll have to ask her about that when I meet with her,
won’t I?”

Gideon Redgrave—and Thorndyke, for that matter—had a lot to
learn about what it meant to be married to Jessica, but there wasn’t much he
didn’t know about women in general. Or at least he prided himself on learning
quickly.

“When
we
meet with her,” he
corrected almost before Jessica could take in a breath in order to disabuse him
of his former statement.

After all, Trixie may have thrown a candlestick, but there were
knives on the dining table, for God’s sake....

* * *

L
E
B
ON
M
ODISTE
WAS
A
small shop in a tall, narrow building. Gideon had
insisted they make a business of visiting several shops as they strolled along
the block and even convinced Jessica to purchase a new bonnet in one of them.
They walked arm-in-arm, stopping to peer into store windows. They nodded to
passersby, even stopped so that Gideon could chat with a rather florid-faced
matron who begged permission to be introduced to the new countess and invited
them both to a delightful musical evening the following Thursday.

Gideon had promised he would do his best, but it was possible
they would be adjourning to the country prior to that date.

“I never said I’d go,” Jessica had pointed out once the lady
had taken her leave and they were walking on once more.

“You never mentioned a burning desire to submit to a session
with the thumbscrews, either, but that would be an almost enjoyable experience
when compared to listening to Hetty Frampton’s offspring—and there are an even
half dozen of them—as they attack your ears with song and defile every musical
instrument known to man.”

“Oh,” Jessica said quietly. “I mistook your motive. I’m
sorry.”

His smile melted her knees, which he had to know. “I’m sure
you’ll be able to find some way to make it up to me. Now, are you ready? I
believe, rank amateurs that we are, we’ve been suitably clandestine about our
approach to
Le Bon Modiste.
”

“In case anyone is following us? Who would be following
us?”

“Other than Richard, who is prudently keeping out of sight as
he watches for the Marquis of Singleton, you mean? I believe that would be Max,
who returned to London late last evening.”

“Your brother? Really?” Jessica made to turn around, but a
short, sharp tug on her arm reminded her that spies, or whatever it was they
were playing at, didn’t stop dead on the flagway and turn about to peer into the
distance, now did they?

“I begin to see the logic in banishing me to the country,” she
admitted on a sigh as they turned in to the narrow shop.

“That argument sounds familiar. However, I believe it was my
brother saying something of that nature concerning me. I would have taken
umbrage, but he’s probably correct.”

“He actually said you’re not up to the task? That wasn’t very
nice of him.”

Gideon’s smile took her by surprise. “But probably true. He
reminded me I am a newly married man, and my concentration perhaps isn’t as
focused as it might otherwise be.”

“Oh? So he’s blaming not you, but me?”

“He blames the marital state in general, actually. According to
Max, a man who goes into battle with a woman on his mind is a danger to himself
and everyone around him.”