When Marrying a Scoundrel (17 page)

“Y
ou had a bloody awful way of showing it.” Sadie’s big multi-hued eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

Jack managed a smile, even though there was a peculiar pain in his chest. Listening to her had rubbed something inside him raw. Such pain and suffering in her voice, in her very demeanor, all laid upon him. How could he ever fix that? “I was young and stupid. I thought I did all right at the time.”

Wide lips curved sadly. “Believing in me isn’t exactly the same as believing in what I can do, is it?”

“Beating a dead horse isn’t exactly the same as riding it either.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Exactly.” At her droll look he tried again, “Look, why does it matter so much to you that I don’t believe in tea leaves? I don’t believe in tarot either, or palm reading.”

She shook her head, the plumes on her ridiculous hat
bobbing. “I can’t explain it, but it matters. What if I didn’t trust your judgment in business matters?”

“You’d be foolish. I can prove I know what I’m doing.”

Triumph—and a little sorrow—lit her gaze. “So can I. Talk to anyone whose leaves I’ve read and they’ll tell you that I’ve been right.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue that they believed because they bent what she said to what they wanted to hear, but sense prevailed and he kept that opinion to himself. Instead, he said, “You never did finish that reading I paid a fortune for. Maybe we can try again?”

She eyed him suspiciously—an expression that hadn’t changed much over the years. “How much of a gulpy do you think I am?”

She knew him too well to believe he’d give in that easily, but he was surprised to realize that he wanted to see her in action. Obviously she was doing something right to have all of London clamoring for her attention, and if reading his leaves pleased her, he would have her do it as often, and as eagerly, as she wanted.

“You,” he replied honestly, “are the least gullible person I know.”

She still didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t pursue it. “All right. I’ll do another reading for you since you were foolish enough to pay so much for it.”

“I’d pay more than that for an hour alone with you.” And he meant it—even though it sounded far too smooth to be honest.

She actually flushed, the smooth ivory of her cheeks turning a sweet rosy color. “Scoundrel. You always were a charmer.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever thought that.”

A pointed glance. “Lady Gosling would agree with me.”

Guilt gripped him hard. “Nothing happened with her.”

Sadie shrugged, calling his attention to the snug fit of her peacock blue walking costume. She was like an hourglass on legs. Very long legs. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not as though we’re legally married.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, only this time it pissed him off. “I’ve always thought of you as my wife, Sadie. I always will.”

A stricken expression claimed her features. “Oh, Jack—” Whatever else she’d been about to say was lost when he grabbed her by the shoulders, hauled her against him and kissed her. He had to duck beneath the brim of that ridiculous hat, but it was worth it. Her soft, warm mouth tasted of sweet tea and butter and he swept his tongue inside, eager to have as much of her as he could.

Her hands slid up his chest to twine around his neck. He brought his own down to circle her, pressing his palms against the long, supple arch of her back. A familiar tightening started at the base of his prick and it began to harden. He stepped forward, pushing her into the bedroom toward the bed.

Sadie pushed against him, her hands suddenly releasing
his neck. “No,” she insisted, wrenching her lips away from his. “Not here.”

Slightly dazed and extremely randy, Jack blinked. “Why not?”

She wriggled free of his arms. “I can’t. Too many…memories.”

Christ, were they that bad? he wanted to ask, but didn’t have the balls. Honestly, he didn’t think it was memories of the two of them that she found unsettling—it was her time spent alone in this place that haunted her.

For perhaps the dozenth time since his return, Jack felt like an arse. A
real
arse. He’d thought only of how much Sadie had hurt him by leaving, and never once about how much being alone must have hurt her.

She hadn’t once asked him to stay all those years ago. She’d supported his decision, but looking back and remembering the look in her eyes, he knew now that she hadn’t wanted him to go. And he remembered looking back the morning he left and seeing her, her back to the boat, her shoulders shaking as he drifted away.

He should have been a better husband, but he’d been too young, too desperate, and too determined to prove himself a man. Now, a decade later, he stood before this strange and beautiful woman and realized he wasn’t much of a man at all.

And he wondered, if perhaps he could ever repair all the damage that had been done. There was still something between them. Was it enough?

“Tonight,” he said. “At Saint’s Row.” He still had the key to the private accommodations La Rieux had offered
him for the duration of his stay. He’d been surprised she hadn’t asked for it back when she discovered who he truly was.

Sadie frowned slightly, her gaze drifting to his from a spot on the floor. “I can’t meet you there. People will see us.”

“No, they won’t. Meet me in the garden. Nine o’clock.”

For a moment, he thought she might refuse, but then she nodded. “All right.”

Jack’s heart swelled, forcing him to release the breath held deep in his lungs. “Good.”

She nodded, obviously still quite distracted. “I have to go.” Then, just as he thought she was going to run out on him, she placed her hand on his arm and raised her face to meet his gaze. “Nine o’clock.”

And then she was gone.

Jack stood alone for a moment, in the middle of the little room that held so many happy memories for him and so many unhappy ones for Sadie. He’d bought this house for the two of them. It was a good house, appropriate for a man of business. The neighborhood was good, but not too fancy. Sadie would be comfortable here, more so than in a high-class neighborhood. She’d never felt at ease around his family or their friends—not that he blamed her.

Could he build something new for them in this house? Would she let him try to take away all the unhappy thoughts that lingered with her?

It seemed a world of possibilities had opened up before
him—a chance at happiness he thought lost forever. It was a chance he intended to take and fight for. Sadie was his. She was as much his as he was hers. No amount of years or alterations could change that.

So intent was Jack on his new mission when he left the house, he didn’t notice the man in the carriage across the street watching him. The man who followed him at a discreet distance, all the way back to the Barrington before continuing on to his own home in Mayfair.

A man who was not at all pleased by this turn of events.

Sadie’s head insisted that meeting Jack at Saint’s Row that night was wrong, wrong, wrong. Her head, however, was absolutely no competition for her heart. That untrustworthy organ had her picking out just the right dress and obsessing for hours over how to wear her hair.

Honestly. She couldn’t figure out how to wear her hair to meet a man who had seen her at both her best and her worst. Well, perhaps not her worst. That was another thing gnawing at the back of her mind. Her conscience wanted to tell Jack what had happened on the rug he tossed out, why she couldn’t make love to him in that place with that memory kicking at her.

But what purpose would it serve to tell him that was where she’d miscarried his child? None. It would only hurt him. And if she confessed that, then she would also have to confess that she’d suspected the pregnancy before he left and hadn’t told him. She hadn’t wanted to make him stay, even though she had prayed every night
that he would. But more than that, she didn’t want to tell him that his grandfather had taken care of her after the miscarriage, that she had contacted the old man as soon as she began having problems because she was terrified that something was wrong with what she was certain was a son, and she knew the importance of an heir in that world.

The old man never came right out and blamed her, but she could see it in his eyes. Regardless, he’d seen to it that she had the best care, but even that hadn’t been enough to save the baby. The Earl of Garret had stayed with her, and even escorted her to Ireland so that she could visit Granny—all that remained of her family.

Her grandmother had moved into her youngest daughter’s house, too frail to be on her own. While Sadie liked her aunt Colleen, she didn’t know the woman well enough to stay with her, nor did she want the woman to know her business. She stayed with the earl at his grand estate, in the room Jack had slept in as a boy. It was a kindness she never would have expected, as were the doctor and nurse he had monitor her. He did everything he could to help her recover from her loss. That’s when he offered to help her start her new life. He only had two conditions; one that she never contact Jack, and two—that she notify him if his grandson should ever contact her.

At the time Sadie refused. She had believed Jack would return to her. But once her pain began to turn to bitterness, and the months turned into a year, then two, she contacted the old man. He helped her get started and she agreed to his terms readily, though she would only
accept half the sum he offered. He suggested she invest it and let it grow, which she did.

She was still in Ireland when Granny died. Lord Garret helped pay for the funeral—anonymously. And then, since she was healthy and had nothing left to keep her in Ireland, he paid for her return to London.

On occasion she even fancied the old bastard liked her, but that was only in her more sentimental moments. He even consoled her when her letters to Jack went unanswered.

All of this would only make Jack feel guilty for leaving, which once upon a time she would have done with relish. But now…Now she just didn’t have the taste for it. She didn’t want to hurt him. Didn’t want to be hurt by him. And yet, here she was, making herself pretty for him, bound and determined to run into his arms and say “damn the consequences” despite the mess that could result.

Finally, her hair was right—loosely piled on the back of her head in a style that would fall apart with the tug of one pin. Very good. Jack always liked her hair down. And her gown was a rich teal satin that bared a great deal of cleavage, made her waist look tiny, and drew attention to the sway of her hips. When she bought it, Vienne declared it a gown designed for seduction. At the time she’d thought to wear it for Mason, but it had sat in her wardrobe for months. Until tonight.

She arrived at Saint’s Row at five minutes before nine. Her heart was already pounding in anticipation as she stepped down from the carriage. Her stomach quivered
with a shivery feeling she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Most embarrassingly, she was already aroused—just by imagining what
might
happen with Jack tonight. No matter how confused she was regarding her feelings, her body wasn’t confused at all.

Instead of entering the club through the main door, she slipped through the gate that surrounded the property. Vienne had given her a key to that and most of the rest of the club a long time ago. Before tonight she’d never had cause to use it. Lifting her skirts, Sadie ran across the lush grass, the cool night air welcoming her.

She slowed to a walk as she approached the back of the building where the gardens bloomed, fragrant and heady. Cautiously, she peeked around the stone steps of the terrace. It was early and the club had yet to fill up for the night—and it was a rare night when Saint’s Row wasn’t full. Vienne made sure she catered to any desire anyone could have. And tonight, Sadie was one of the catered.

A man stepped through the terrace doors, the snowy white of his evening dress bright in the darkening gloom. A smile curved Sadie’s lips as she allowed herself to admire his loose-limbed grace and easy swagger as he came down the steps. Jack Farrington—er, Friday—walked like he was king of the world.

He paused at the bottom of the steps, on the gravel path. He turned his head away from her and then toward her. “Come out, Sadiemoon,” he murmured. “I know you’re there.”

Immediately, she slipped from her hiding spot. “How
did you know?” she asked, glancing at the doors to make sure they weren’t about to be found.

Jack grabbed one of her hands and guided her down the path, his smile turning to a broad grin. “I felt you watching me.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. I’d sense you anywhere.”

Her heart tripped over the words like the toe of a slipper over a loose pebble. “Your Irish is showing,” she informed him pertly. He said nothing, but his grin didn’t change.

A few yards down the path, he veered away from the glow of the lanterns and pulled her into an alcove in the shrubbery. It was arranged so that it was indiscernible at a passing glance. Only if you knew the spot could you see how the hedgerow actually parted and overlapped, making a natural corridor that led to a small stone cottage concealed by flora and darkness.

Jack unlocked the door with his free hand and drew her over the threshold with him, into a softly lit interior that smelled of honey, cloves and…tea? Sure enough, there on a small table set for two, was a teapot, and several plates with cheese, meats, and scones. If she knew Jack, there were also strawberry preserves and clotted cream as well.

“I thought you had seduction in mind,” she remarked, closing the door firmly behind her.

Jack turned to her, so close that she was caught between him and the heavy oak of the door. “I do. I thought
perhaps the leaves might show you exactly what I intend to do to you this evening.”

Awful, teasing man! Of course she shivered at the mere thought of what they might do—and at the idea of telling him what she wanted, disguised as a reading.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She was.

They sat at the table and enjoyed a leisurely meal. Neither of them ate much, but it wasn’t long before they began feeding one another, as they used to years ago. They spoke of trivial things—revealing snippets of their lives apart while avoiding any subject that might cause too much pain for either of them. When Sadie began to feel that perhaps too much time had passed for them to ever find common ground again, Jack licked a dollop of cream off her finger and she felt an answering throb deep between her thighs. Something must have shown on her face because Jack smiled and nodded toward the pot of cream. “Save some of that for later.”