Regency High Society Vol 2: Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch

Jeremiah watched her unconsciously tear apart the flower in her hands, her thoughts turned inward to the husband she’d lost. Once again he was faced by the power of love, a locked room that he’d never enter. Widow or not, Caro was one woman who wouldn’t need the kind of consolation he could offer.

With a sigh he headed toward the door, pausing by her chair to lay his hand briefly on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Caro,” he said gently. “Sorry for everything.”

She bowed her head, staring down at the torn yellow petals scattered across her lap, and he walked past her to the door.

“Your friend David Kerr is still alive,” she said softly, so softly he almost didn’t hear her as his hand turned the latch.

But he’d heard enough to disbelieve it. “What did you say?”

“I said that David Kerr is still alive.”

“How the hell would you know about Davy?” In two steps he was back before her chair. Roughly he seized her by the shoulders, his fingers crumpling the fragile muslin as he dragged her unwillingly to her feet. “David Kerr is dead, along with all the others. I saw their bodies with my own eyes, their blood black on the deck at my feet. Can you do better than that, Countess? Can you? Because by God, if you’re trifling with me—”

“I wouldn’t trifle with you. Not about this or anything else. Believe what I say. Your friend Mr. Kerr is alive, and I know where he is.”

Jeremiah’s fingers tightened into her shoulders as he clung to her as desperately as he was clinging to this last, insane hope she was offering him. “Then tell me where. Tell me now.”

Caro lifted her chin defiantly, trying to hide her fear. It wasn’t him that she was afraid of, despite his size and strength and the anger and pain she saw in his eyes. No: what she feared was that she’d once again lose the courage to say what she must, or worse yet, to speak but choose the wrong words. This American was her last hope of saving Frederick’s life. There wouldn’t be another.

She swallowed hard, searching for the right plea, the perfect bargain, that would make him help her. And dear Lord, all she’d done so far was make him so angry he probably wouldn’t hear a word she said.

“I’m waiting, ma’am,” he said, and she heard in his voice the same velvety threat he’d used last night with George. “And I don’t like waiting for anyone.”

“You won’t force it from me,” she whispered hoarsely. She was too aware of how close he stood to her, of the warmth of his hands as they covered her shoulders, of how his mouth had felt on hers last night. Jack Herendon had told her of his brother-in-law’s temper, but why hadn’t he warned her of the raw power of his physical presence, the animal power that made her pulse quicken and her limbs turn to butter when he touched her? “If that’s your intention, it won’t work.”

Instantly he released her, swearing to himself in frustration. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you. Now tell me.”

She shook her head and backed away, rubbing one shoulder where he’d held her before she self-consciously began to smooth the crease from her sleeve instead. “I won’t tell you a word about your friend until you tell me everything you can about Hamil Al-Ameer.”

There, she’d done it, and there’d be no taking back the words now. She’d expected him to rail more at her before he answered, even call her names, the way Jack had warned her. But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw now.

“Hamil,” he said, his voice as hollow as his eyes. He seemed to age before her, his broad shoulders bowing down beneath the weight of his grief and pain. “What would a fine lady like you want to know about a thieving bastard like him?”

She remembered how he’d been last night when he’d jerked awake from the nightmare, the wild, haunted look that had followed the anguished cry of pain and terror. What could have happened to reduce a man like Jeremiah Sparhawk to that?

“Pray forgive me, Captain,” she began, “for I didn’t mean to upset—”

He drew himself up sharply. “No pity, ma’am. I’d rather be scorned than pitied.”

“I don’t intend to do either. I wouldn’t ask you of this man Hamil if my reasons weren’t most urgent.”

“Then you’ll understand if I prefer to keep my past to myself,” he said wearily. He wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. “David Kerr is dead, and so is every other man who served with me on the Chanticleer. I don’t know what Herendon told you, but I won’t dishonor the memories of Davy and the rest by speaking their names in the same breath as that heathen bastard Hamil.”

“You would rather retain your stubborn sense of honor and propriety than hear in return what I have to say of Mr. Kerr?”

He sighed. “Honor or no, ma’am, I’m not in the habit of making bargains with ladies. Good day, Lady Byfield.”

“No, wait, I beg you!” she cried, rushing after him. “This isn’t a bargain that I ask of you, only an exchange of information, a way we might help each other!”

Though her desperation was unmistakable, he refused to be swayed. “If you’re like every other woman on this earth, you’d merely tell me what you believed I wished to hear, whether it was true or not.”

“No!” Frantically she rushed back to the little table beside her chair, yanking the drawer in it out so forcefully that the vase of yellow flowers toppled over. She pawed through the papers until she found the one she sought, then held it up to read, her fingers trembling and her voice shaking.

‘’ ‘Kerr, David, mariner, first mate, surviving of the brig Chanticleer, of the city of Providence of Rhode Island in the United American States. Of medium height, not above five and one-half feet, in age thirty-seven years, fair complected with brown hair, both ears pierced for the wearing of rings. Marked by a crooked left arm, broke long ago and ill-set, a star-shaped powder burn on the upper right back shoulder—”

“Let me see that!” Jeremiah lunged to tear the paper from her hands but she darted clear.

“You didn’t believe me, did you?” she said breathlessly, dancing just beyond his reach. “You wouldn’t trust me because I’m only a silly, ignorant woman, because I couldn’t possibly feel the same loyalty as a man for those I love!”

His green eyes were as wild as a madman’s as he shoved a chair aside to try to reach her. “What the devil is it, anyway? God help you if you lie!”

“The messengers of the Pasha of Tripoli do not lie, Captain Sparhawk, not when there is ransom to be earned from prisoners!” she cried, bunching her skirts in her fist as she ran from him. “From Naples this comes, from King Ferdinand’s own secretary, but I won’t read another word unless—”

She hadn’t heard the knock at the door, and turned with a hiss when Weldon entered the room himself. She froze beneath the butler’s scrutiny, as did Jeremiah, both panting and flushed amid the overturned furniture. The only other sound was the slow drip of water from the upset vase onto the carpet.

Weldon’s expression remained unperturbed. “My lady needs assistance?”

Caro pressed her palm to her forehead. “No, Weldon, I do not, nor do I appreciate your entering this room unannounced!”

“My apologies, my lady, but I did knock. I did not realize you were engaged.” He looked pointedly at Jeremiah. “But Mr. Stanhope has arrived, and demands a word with you at once.”

“Damn Mr. Stanhope! Tell him I’ve no wish to see him, that I’m not at home, or better yet, tell him to go—to go straight to Hades!”

Weldon nodded. “Very well, my lady.”

“Oh, Weldon, stop being so provokingly literal! Of course I’ll come and speak with him, but only as far as the door. I won’t have the wretched man in my house, acting like it’s already his.”

“Nay, ma’am, you’ll do no such thing,” ordered Jeremiah. “I won’t have you running off like a frightened chicken until we’ve settled this between us!”

“I’m not running, Captain, you can be sure of that, not until you reconsider your own position.” Her face still flushed, she glared at him, folded into quarters the paper she’d read from and shoved it down the front of her gown. “You wait here. I shall return directly.”

As the door shut behind her and the butler, Jeremiah struggled to control his frustration, and failed. Over went another chair, followed by the needlepoint-covered footstool he heaved across the room. Damn the woman! Either she did have news, real news, of Davy, or else she was the most convincing liar he’d ever met. He thought of how she’d toyed with him, teasing him along with stolen kisses and contrived robberies and statues of naked women, when here she’d been keeping a secret he’d kill to have. Davy alive, Davy a prisoner. Sweet Jesus, could it really be true?

With an oath he jerked the drawer from the table where she’d taken the first paper and dumped the contents onto the sofa. Receipts from dressmakers, half-finished letters dated months ago, a sheet of music to a love ballad. He scanned them all and found nothing more from Naples.

Double damn the woman! Jeremiah sank heavily into an armchair, his head in his hands. He’d known David Kerr since they’d been boys, one of only a handful of men he’d call friend. They’d sailed together, sought whores together, fought together. He’d stood up with Davy when his friend had wed Sarah Wright, and he was godfather to their oldest boy. Of course he intended to call on all the widows and orphans left by his crew as soon as he returned to Providence, a grim, heartbreaking responsibility for a captain, but telling Sarah would have been the hardest of all. And now, perhaps, he wouldn’t have to do it. But what did Caro Moncrief expect from him in return, and what did it have to do with Hamil?

The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed three times. Jeremiah sighed impatiently. The countess had been gone nearly an hour, far longer than she’d indicated. He rose and walked to the window, pushing back the heavy curtains with two fingers as he looked toward the driveway.

Before a hired carriage parked at the base of the steps stood Caro and a man. Though Jeremiah was too far away to hear them, it was obvious they were arguing, Caro waving her hands in short, angry motions to emphasize her words. Abruptly the man turned to speak to the driver on the box, and Jeremiah recognized him as George from the night before, the man he’d guessed was the countess’ lover. So much, thought Jeremiah cynically, for all her careful pledges of devotion to her husband.

As Jeremiah watched, Caro twitched her skirts away from George and, with her head high and the last word, began up the stairs. But before she’d taken three steps, George had thrown his arm around her neck, and pressed a handkerchief over her mouth. She fought against him, tearing at his hands as he dragged her down the steps to the carriage, until her struggles became weaker and by the time George lifted her into the carriage she was limp and still in his arms.

Though he knew he’d be too late, Jeremiah raced from the room and down the hall, reaching the front door in time to see the carriage disappear behind the first stand of beeches on the way to the road.

“Lady Byfield regrets that she will no longer be able to continue your interview,” said Weldon behind him. “She has been unexpectedly called away.”

Jeremiah swung round to face the butler. “Damn your impudence! Where are your eyes? She wasn’t called away, she was kidnapped! That man drugged her and hauled her off without so much as a by-your-leave!”

“Mr. Stanhope is his lordship’s nephew and heir,” said Weldon with infuriating calm. “I do not believe he would wish her ladyship any harm.”

“That bastard’s the old earl’s heir?” How neatly the pieces now fell together! No wonder George Stanhope wanted her money, and no wonder, too, that she didn’t want to give it to him. Besides, he was relieved she had better taste in men than to choose such a sorry specimen, and mentally he apologized for doubting her loyalty to her husband.

“Yes, sir. That is, he is not a bastard, but the son of my lord’s sister Lady Stanhope.” Weldon let a gleam of smug contempt flicker briefly in his eyes, and Jeremiah remembered how the illegitimate daughter of a prostitute had become a countess. Trust a servant—an English servant—never to forget the scandalous details. “Mr. Stanhope is a fine gentleman. It will be an honor to serve him in time.”

“No time soon, if I have anything to say about it.” Jeremiah stared out into the direction the carriage had gone, already making plans. They wouldn’t get far before he found them, for though Stanhope was impulsive, he wasn’t particularly clever. He’d find them and rescue her, for Davy’s sake, as well as her own.

“And Weldon.”

“Yes, sir?”

“As the lady said, Weldon, you go to Hades, too.”

Chapter Four

Jeremiah found Desire in her garden, sitting alone with a book turned open on her knee, in the shadow of a tall boxwood hedge. It was late in the day, too close to dusk for reading any longer, and she had pulled her cashmere shawl over her shoulders and around her arms against the chill. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he failed to notice how she was here alone at this hour and not inside with Jack or the children, or speaking with the servants concerning supper, and in his eagerness he began speaking as soon as he’d spotted her.

“That woman, Des, that woman’s told me the most amazing thing! She swears that Davy Kerr is still alive, and I’m almost halfway to believing her.”

Desire looked at him sharply. “Whatever are you talking about, Jere? You’re making no sense at all. What woman?” “Caro Moncrief. Lady Byfield. You know, that pretty little countess who tossed me her diamonds.” He sat on the bench beside his sister, resting his hands on his thighs as he stretched his legs out across the grass. “Though I haven’t learned how just yet, she’s come by some sort of paper to the King of Naples that lists prisoners in Tripoli up for ransom, and Davy’s name’s on the list.”

“And you believed her?” asked Desire with dismay. “Oh, Jere, I thought you’d promised not to go near her again!”

“I never promised you anything of the kind, and a good thing, too.” Her lack of excitement disappointed him. Of anyone here in England, he’d expected Desire to be the one who’d understand. “Just as she was explaining it all to me, that same whining little bastard from last night—George Stanhope’s his name—appears on her doorstep, quarrels with her, and when she doesn’t say what he wants, he slaps some sort of smelling spirits over her face and hauls her off in his carriage, just like that! And the worst of it, Des, is that her own people, her butler, who saw the whole thing, are pretending none of it happened.”

“So of course you’ve appointed yourself her savior?”

“I can’t let him get away with kidnapping her, not when she knows about Davy!”

“Or says she does.” She took his hand in hers. “Listen to me, Jeremiah. You can’t let yourself get tangled in Lady Byfield’s affairs. She could have trumped up this whole business about David simply to draw you into her quarrel with George Stanhope. The whole county follows it like a sparring match. It’s been going on for years, all the way back to Frederick’s mother.”

“But Des—”

“No, you listen to me! Most likely Caro learned enough of your past from Jack to appeal to you, and because she can be quite—quite charming, you believe her. Even Jack’s willing to forgive her all manner of impositions, and he’s known her for years.”

“That’s Jack’s folly, not mine. I’m no greenhorn, Desire.” Indignantly he pulled his hand away, folding his arms across his chest. “The woman knew too much about Davy to be cozening me.”

She sighed with exasperation. “Listen to me, you great fool! Even if you manage to separate her from Stanhope, and if she has proof enough that David lives, what then? Go to Tripoli to rescue him, too? Or have you forgotten that America’s at war with the Turks, and that if you’re captured again, this time they’ll make sure they kill you?”

“Oh, aye, and what do I say to Davy’s wife? I’m sorry, Sarah, but I couldn’t go after him from fear of soiling my trouser hems?”

“And what do you say to me, Jeremiah?” demanded Desire. “We’re all that’s left of our family, you and I, and I don’t want you risking your neck because some pretty little chit winks and simpers your way. When I think of how close to death you were when they brought you here—”

Suddenly her voice broke, more emotion than he’d expected spilling over into her words. “I can’t lose you, too, Jere. I can’t. I want you to forget Caro Moncrief and all her foolishness, and I want you to sail for home the way you’ve planned, so I can picture you there in our old house, safe at last.”

She closed her eyes and pressed one hand over her mouth to try to stop the sob that broke through anyway. With her other hand she cradled her belly, striving to calm the child within her, who’d sensed her agitation and grown restless.

“Oh, sweetheart, forgive me,” said Jeremiah, remorse sweeping over him. Awkwardly he slipped his arms around Desire’s shaking shoulders and she buried her face against his chest. She wept from the heart and he let her, patting her back to comfort her as best he could. She was right, they were the last of their family, and he alone understood the depth of the sorrows they’d shared together: the early deaths of both their mother and father, and then, again too soon, that of their younger brother.

The candles and lamps had been lit within the house before she finally grew quiet, and he held her still a little longer to be sure.

“We’d best be off now, Desire,” he said gently. “Jack will be sending out the guard if we don’t go in soon.”

“He’s gone, Jere.” She pushed herself away from him with a final fragmented sob, and took the handkerchief he offered. “He left this afternoon, while you were out.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

“What other meaning can there be?” She sniffed loudly, fumbling with the handkerchief as she struggled for her composure. “His orders came for him to rejoin his ship, and by now I expect they’ve cleared Portsmouth to chase after Frenchmen again. He says the Peace of Amiens is nearly done, that this horrid General Bonaparte will break it any day now. Jack’s known for days, but he said he didn’t want to spoil our time together by telling me before he had to.”

Her voice wavered precariously. “He said…he said…oh damn, Jere, I don’t want to cry anymore!”

“Hush now, sweetheart,” he said gently, wishing for something, anything to say to ease her pain, “it will be all right.”

“No, it won’t,” she said bitterly, “not as long as men insist on making war, killing each other for their precious honor, or their king, or some forsaken scrap of land like this wretched Malta. God in heaven, Jere, I don’t even know where Malta is, and for its sake I may lose my husband!”

“Do you know exactly where he’s bound, how long he’ll be gone?”

She stared down at the handkerchief, rolling it tighter and tighter into a soggy ball in her hand. “You know he can’t tell me any of that, Jere. He can’t tell me anything beyond that he’s leaving. Jack’s like that with his orders: the word of the admiralty lords is his almighty God.”

“Then perhaps it’s time he bowed down to something a bit more exalted than his blasted navy.” Although Jeremiah had come to grudgingly respect his brother-in-law as a man, he could never accept Jack for what he represented, the pomp and authority of King George’s Royal Navy, the same navy that had killed Jeremiah and Desire’s father when they’d been little more than children. “How he can abandon you like this, so close to your time—”

“No, Jere, I won’t hear it from you again!” Awkward though she was, Desire rose swiftly to stand before her brother, her hands where her waist used to be. “Jack loves me, Jere. I’ve never once doubted him since we wed, and I never will. He’s a loyal, honorable man, loyal to me and our children and to his country, and I would no more question his right to do what he believes he must than I’d ask you to, oh, quit the sea and become a tinker instead.”

Jeremiah scowled, unable to follow her reasoning. She could preach all she wanted about loyalty, but the fact remained that her husband had left her when she needed him, and as her older brother, the one who’d always protected her, he hated to see her hurt like this. “I’m trying to be serious, and all you can do is make jests about tinkers!”

“And here I thought I was being serious, too.” She rested her hand with the sapphire wedding ring on his arm. “What I’m trying to say, Jeremiah, is that as difficult as it may be, I love Jack enough to let him go. Can’t you understand that?”

“No, sister mine, I cannot. After all the trouble the man went through to win you, he should damned well want to keep by your side!”

“You’ll never change, will you?” she said sorrowfully. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on his sleeve. “But maybe you’ll understand this. As much as I wish I could keep you here, I want you to sail for home now, tomorrow, before the French try to blockade the channel again.”

“Desire—”

“Hush, hear me out! If you’re healed enough to chase after Caro Moncrief, you’re more than well enough to travel. You’ve no real reason to stay here. I’ve had Jack book passage for you on an English ship bound for Jamaica, and from there you’ll have no problem finding a sugar sloop for the voyage up the coast to Rhode Island.”

“I can’t do it, Desire,” he said softly. “I’d be a coward if I did.”

“At least you’d be a live coward!”

“Since when has that been an issue for our family, eh?” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, her face pale and anxious in the twilight. “If you’d taken the safest course, you’d still be a spinster knitting stockings in our grandmother’s parlor on Benefit Street. We Sparhawks don’t always do the wisest thing, but we’re never cowards.”

“Oh, Jeremiah.” She sighed with resignation and leaned against his shoulder. “I thought at least I could try to convince you.”

“You might as well try to coax the moon from the sky. Likely you’re right about Lady Byfield. Likely she doesn’t know any more about David Kerr than she’s already told me. But if she does, and if there’s even a breath of a chance that I can save Davy or any of the others…”

“Of course you must.” She sighed again, and with her handkerchief in her fist, she struck his arm. “It’s the very devil being a Sparhawk, isn’t it? Think if our greatgrandfather had been a tinker instead!”

“Us Sparhawks tinkers?” Jeremiah snorted. “We’d all have died out from boredom long ago.”

“Well, we’re never bored now.” She searched his face, her eyes still too bright. “You will be careful, won’t you? If there’s another war with France, then the whole continent will be turned upside down.”

“Ah, but Des, I’m an American, and none of it will bother me.” With his own handkerchief he wiped away the last of her tears. “If this Napoleon’s fool enough to go after England again, then he’ll get the whipping he deserves and right soon, too. You’ll see, this war, if there is one, will be done in no time, and your Jack will be home in time to see this baby christened.”

“Dear God, I pray you’re right.” Her smile was shaky, but at least, thought Jeremiah, it was a smile. “But Jere, please, please, tell me you’re doing this for Davy’s sake alone and not for that silly Byfield woman.”

Jeremiah saw the concern in his sister’s face, and thought of Caro Moncrief. Yes, Lady Byfield was silly. She was beautiful, too, and charmingly unpredictable, and she’d made him laugh for the first time in months. She was also married, and no matter what the rest of the county gossiped about her, she was clearly in love with her husband. But all that mattered to Jeremiah was that she needed him, and for that he wouldn’t abandon her.