The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares

Jessica felt her cheeks growing hot with indignation, her own fears forgotten. “You’re no longer amusing, my lord.”

“Oh, no, my lady, don’t say that,” Lady Caro interrupted, nearly pleaded. “I’m certain his lordship most certainly didn’t mean—”

“Ah, yet his lordship most certainly did,” the marquis interrupted. “But I will take myself off now, mumbling insincere apologies as I go. Ladies, my best to your husbands. Do tell them I will be seeing them at some other time, as I’m always about somewhere, aren’t I?”

Jessica watched as the marquis bowed with much grace and some insolence and then turned away, moving unerringly across the ballroom now cluttered with couples taking up positions for the next dance, and heading straight for the staircase. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He had to know her eyes had followed him.

“Well, whatever was all that about?” she asked the ladies, struggling to compose herself. “He seemed so pleasant and then…well, and then not quite so much.”

“The marquis is not known for his polite manner,” Felicity Urban said. “He was a naval officer you know, a mere second son until his brother’s death, and not at all suited to ascend to the title.”

“He exudes power, don’t you think?” Lady Caro asked nervously, as if to counter Felicity’s complaint.

“I think you’ve been sneaking wine from the servant trays again, and your brain has disconnected from your mouth,” Felicity Urban said, turning her back to the woman, blocking Lady Caro from Jessica’s sight. Suddenly, inexplicably, her eyes were alight with intelligence and perhaps some desperation. “So you’ll consider joining us in Isleworth, my lady? I’ll send round an invitation in the morning. Please do give it your attention. Your immediate attention.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ll be certain to do that,” Jessica said, her heart leaping as she saw Gideon striding toward her. She stood up to greet him as would a stranded sailor at the sight of an approaching ship.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“IS SHE ALWAYS LIKE THIS?”

Richard Borders took another sip from his teacup and replaced it on the tray in front of him. “You mean the pacing? Yes, I’m afraid so. Jess, sweetheart, you’ll soon wear a rut in his lordship’s pretty carpet.”

It was after two, and Gideon was more than ready to say goodnight so that he and Jessica could adjourn to his bedchamber. They had only made love in hers, and it was time he introduced her to his, where she would spend the majority of her nights in any case. He’d made a mistake, plunking her down with the wives before he knew more about Lord Charles and Archie Urban. He wanted to make amends, or at least divert her from her fears.

But Richard had still been awake when they’d returned to Portman Square, and once she’d seen him she’d gone rushing toward him, to tell him what had happened at Lady Jersey’s ball.

“Yes, Jessica, sit down,” Gideon said, not for the first time. She was still the most beautiful woman in the universe, but she looked exhausted, drained of her usual liveliness. “You can’t know he recognized you any more than you can be certain it was him in the first place.”

She stopped her pacing at last and plopped herself down rather inelegantly beside Richard, rather like a rag doll that had lost half its stuffing. She took the man’s hand in hers. “But only because I’m exhausted. No, Richard, I can’t be certain. And I kept my eyes down as much as possible. And it was more than four years ago in any event. Still, those eyes—”

“And the man you speak of was wearing a French uniform when we saw him,” Richard pointed out, again not for the first time. “Speaking flawless French as he asked his questions.”

Gideon rubbed the brandy snifter between his hands. If Jessica was correct, they may have just made a large leap forward. But at what cost? She was obviously terrified; all the way home from the ball she’d been working her hands together in her lap, clearly trying to hold on to her composure. Did he need to remove Jessica and Richard from London before this Ravenbill fellow’s mind could be jogged into remembering them? It seemed a prudent move. “Tell me again if you please, Richard. From the beginning.”

Richard ran his fingers through his shock of white hair, as if that might help put his thoughts in order.

“We’d traveled no more than a few miles’ distance from the inn just outside Augsburg where we’d left Jamie, when we were stopped. This man, this marquis, or so thinks Jess, was at the head of a small troop of Bonaparte’s soldiers. They were everywhere in Bavaria, roaming quite freely, popping up in city after city with rarely anyone attempting to stop them.”

“I looked so guilty,” Jessica said on a sigh, her head fallen back against the cushions, her eyes closed. “I know I did. He wanted to know why we were abroad so late at night, and with only the one horse. But Richard was magnificent, he really was, and had an answer for every question. I was his niece, our last name was Anderson, my horse had tripped and broken a foreleg so that it had to be put down. We were actors on our way to rejoin our troupe in the next village. On and on, just as calm as can be.”

“I wasn’t quite that brilliant,” Richard said, smiling. “I really did think we’d come a cropper, but at last he let us go, advising we consider the advantages to be had in emoting on the other side of the Channel during such dangerous times, as the winds of change could otherwise blow with some menace toward even the most honest of English citizens. We took his advice and none too quickly, considering Bonaparte’s advances that came soon after.” He turned toward Jessica. “Are you positive it was the same man?”

Jessica kept her eyes closed, clearly seeing something, or someone, out of her past. “I told you. Those eyes. Even with only the moonlight to see him by, a person could never look into those eyes and forget them.”

“Ravenbill,” Gideon said consideringly. “I vaguely remember the brother, the late marquis, but not this Simon fellow. Ravenbill. Bird. And you said Lady Caro was in awe?”

Jessica sat forward, tucking her legs up beneath her gown. “What she actually said was that he exudes power. what struck me most was the way she grabbed onto Mrs. Urban’s hand, as if afraid. Felicity Urban was so here-and-there, so obviously dosed with laudanum, I’m not certain what she thought of the man, or of me. At one point she seemed to be measuring me, as if attempting to calculate my worth to her. Believe me, I’ve seen that look before, as well.”

“And I apologize that you were forced to confront it tonight. But again, her ladyship seemed frightened by the man?”

“Yes, I would have to say that’s true. Neither of them was delighted to see him. He was…insolent. And he made a point of telling them to remind their husbands that he’s always about somewhere. Perhaps he meant for me to remind you, as well. I can’t say that for certain, however. Honestly, Gideon, I’m not prone to hysterics, but I had to fight to remain in my chair. Especially when he insulted your family.”

“But not to my face,” he reminded her. “At least our brash marquis shows some intelligence. Or he may have left the insult as a form of calling card. At any rate, if we Redgraves were thought to be harmless, upstanding pillars of the ton, we’d be even more insulted. Not to mention bored.”

Richard chuckled into his teacup.

“I’m so happy you’re amused, Richard,” Jessica said testily. “And don’t encourage him, he’s arrogant enough as it is. You have no idea what it was like tonight. A London ball is much like being tossed into a nest of vipers. Every word seems to contain two meanings.”

Richard patted her hand. “Well, I’m sure you did just fine, Jess. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m for my bed.”

Gideon lifted his hand to signal his agreement with Richard’s departure and then took up the seat he’d just vacated. “I had an interesting conversation tonight myself, with the husband of one of your new bosom chums.”

“Those two women are not my bosom chums,” Jessica protested. “Lady Caro is such a poor, whipped creature, and Felicity Urban, if I’m not being too fanciful, invited us to be guests at one of their horrible gatherings.”

“The cheek of the woman, to think I’d share you,” Gideon said, and then held up his hands in case Jessica decided to attack him.

But Jessica only sighed. “She ran so hot and cold. One moment as if in a daze, the next all cheery and friendly. And then, just at the end, there was a moment…”

Gideon lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her heated skin. “Yes?”

“She’s sending round an invitation tomorrow. I am to read it immediately. Really, it was as if she were giving me an order.” Jessica laid her head against his shoulder, her entire body sagging in fatigue. “I felt horribly sorry for them, they’re both so clearly unhappy. Did you learn anything from their husbands? You haven’t said.”

“I haven’t been given the chance to say anything,” he pointed out as he gathered her into his arms and stood up, having decided to adjourn to his bedchamber before she fell asleep against his shoulder. “However, I did manage to corral Archie Urban for five minutes. He said something interesting.”

Jessica wound her arms around his neck. “I’d say I’m too heavy for you and you should put me down, but I’m too selfish. I can’t even remember when last I slept, thanks to you. But tell me, what did he say?”

“I interrupted a conversation he was having with a few other gentlemen as they waited for an opening at one of the tables. Urban was offering the opinion Emperor Napoleon is a genius. Tactically, politically. His recent marriage to Austria’s Marie Louise a stroke of brilliance, et cetera. I raised my quizzing glass—an affectation, I know, but often quite effective—and asked if surely he meant evil genius, which he immediately agreed he did. However, I was left with the impression he was soliciting opinions, and one or two actually had agreed with him before I stepped in.”

“Are you saying Mr. Urban was sniffing the air, looking for like minds?”

“Oh, very good, Jessica. You’re better at this than you supposed.”

“Thank you.” Jessica turned her face into his chest to cover her yawn. “And that was all?”

“There was a little more. A few discreet inquiries inform me Urban’s responsibility is to see our troops quietly massing on the Peninsula are supplied adequately and in a timely fashion. Weapons, ammunition, foodstuffs, blankets, all funneled into Portugal, most especially into Lisbon. We’re preparing to go back at it with Bonaparte in full force once we’re assured of Spanish cooperation, that’s clear enough. An army is nothing without supplies. Knowing what we think we may know about the man, I find that unsettling.”

He put her down once they reached his bedchamber, and he began the pleasurable job of acting as lady’s maid for his bride.

“I find it unsettling that you were able to learn so much so quickly and easily. Why on earth would anyone tell you about—what was it you said?—a massing of troops on the Peninsula?”

“What? I’m not a man who inspires trust?”

She turned to face him, holding up her now unbuttoned gown, her nearly bared breasts distracting him mightily. “I believe you could coolly bluff your way into forcing your opponent to foolishly declare he can win the Misère Ouverte, and then make certain he doesn’t take more than three tricks. I would never play whist against you, or any other card game. Or any game at all, for that matter. Now tell me how you learned what you learned.”

“Spencer Perceval is a friend,” Gideon told her, guiding her to a chair so that he could help her off with her shoes and stockings.

“The Prime Minister? Really? Well, now I am impressed.”

“You’re weren’t before?” he asked, grinning up at her. “But much as I’d like to take the credit, it’s Max we have to thank for Perceval. He’s worked with him a time or two, on other matters. We all know how it is, Jessica. Even when we’re not formally at war with Napoleon, we’re at war with Napoleon, truces be damned.”

Jessica stood up and allowed Gideon to help her step out of her gown. She wasn’t being immodest, or coy, or anything that would give Gideon any reason for hope. She was simply a woman anxious for her bed. He may as well have been Mildred, he realized with some chagrin.

“You’ve called Max an adventurer, and now you tell me he’s performed services for our Prime Minister. Are you next going to tell me that Val is secretly working for the War Office or some such thing?”

He turned her about and headed her toward his turned-down bed, clad now only in her silk French drawers, following behind her to take the pins from her hair. “Valentine? I’d as much attempt to tell you I’m one of Liverpool’s advisers.”

It wasn’t an answer, but he hadn’t wished to give her an answer.

He watched, in some admiration, as Jessica crawled onto the bed and pulled the covers over her. “I’m not that silly. You don’t take orders from anyone.” She turned her back to him and sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer my question about Valentine. But I’m too exhausted right now to care. Good night.”

So much for his supposed genius… .

Gideon stripped off his clothing and joined her, pressing himself up against her back, curving his body to mimic her bent-knee position. “You do realize you’re in my bed, madam?”

He felt her body stiffen slightly, imagined her eyes going wide as she belatedly took in her surroundings. “Oh, God, I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he spoke against her hair. “And I promised you some detailed groveling, I believe.”

“Gideon, you could recite lines from this Fanny Hill Trixie spoke of while hanging from one of the bedposts with a rose clamped in your jaws, and I will still be asleep in the next two minutes.”

He slid his arm around her, to cup her breast, rub the pad of his thumb lightly across her nipple. “Are you quite certain?” he asked, smiling in the near dark.

She turned onto her back and looked up into his eyes. “Oh, good, you’re not being serious.” Then she turned onto her side once more. “Good night, Gideon.”

Gideon had never shared a bed with a woman unless he was, well, bedding her. Now here he was, in bed with his brand-new bride, and he hadn’t so much as been offered a kiss good night. He’d been rather cavalierly dismissed, actually.

He thought about this for a while and then realized he was listening to the sound of Jessica’s soft, even breathing. He liked the sound. He liked listening to it. He liked being where he was, with her, even if that only meant they were together. He didn’t need more than that. Even in the midst of all he supposed, all that may pose danger to them, to England itself if he was right, he was content. Just to be here. Just to listen to his wife breathe.

How strange…

“HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S ABOUT under the blankets, don’t he, my lady? And that’s fine, it is, for you. But he doesn’t know much about what it takes to press the wrinkles out of a fancy gown, oh, no, he doesn’t. Will you have a talk with his lordship about that, ma’am? Doreen fair to cried when she saw your gown this morning.”

Jessica was caught between pointing out to Mildred that she didn’t wish to discuss her husband’s prowess under the blankets and the fact that poor Doreen seemed to be paying the price for that prowess. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said as the maid ran the sea sponge over her shoulders. “And I apologize again that the two of you waited up until three for me last night. It was highly inconsiderate of me.”

“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

GIDEON WATCHED JESSICA 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.