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Authors: Sally MacKenzie

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BOOK: Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack
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A shudder racked Ned’s body. “Ellie’s increasing.”
“Ah.” That was exactly what Jack had suspected. The pregnancy was not precisely a surprise. The entire household knew Ellie had been sharing Ned’s bed since the night they announced their betrothal.
“What if Ellie dies, too, Jack?” Ned’s voice was raw with despair. He looked up, his eyes so full of pain, Jack almost winced. “What will I do?”
Ned did not need false promises. He wouldn’t believe them. While it was true most women survived childbirth, Ned had learned all too well the agonizing difference between
most
and
all
.
“You’ll mourn again. We all will.”
Ned’s eyes widened, and he jerked his head back as if punched.
“No one can predict the future, Ned. Not even you.”
“I know that. I—”
“But just as I can’t say Ellie will be fine, you can’t say she won’t be.” Jack wouldn’t give Ned empty promises, but he wouldn’t listen to needless worry, either. “You don’t know what will happen. You can only live each day as it comes and hope for the best.”
Ned stared at him while his drunken mind processed his words. “But I feel so damn helpless.”
“I know.” He
did
know, all too well, the frustration, fear, and anger of having no control over life. He’d come to terms with that, at least to a point.
He knew not all the babies he rescued from the stews would live, though thank God Ursula had written just this morning to report baby William Shakespeare was flourishing.
He needed to get out to Bromley again soon to see how William and the other children went on. If he hadn’t been so blasted busy, he would have been there a week or more ago. He’d written Ursula back, asking her to tell the children he’d visit as soon as he could.
But when? He’d been spending every spare minute rushing futilely around London trying to identify the Slasher before the blackguard killed any more women. He felt like he was chasing his damn shadow.
And what if the madman got hold of Frances?
Panic slammed into his gut. He should—
He clenched his teeth. He should stop panicking.
“Panicking never helps,” he told Ned—and himself. “Nor does despair.” He put his hand on Ned’s shoulder. “And you certainly can’t spend the next eight months in a drunken stupor.”
“I know.” Ned closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the chair. “But what am I to do?”
“Tell yourself all will be well, and then act as if you believe it.”
Ned kept his eyes closed. “I can’t.”
“You
can
.” Jack tightened his grip, and Ned glared up at him. “You have to. Ellie’s depending on you.”
Ned’s face stilled, and then his jaw hardened. “Yes, you’re right.” Disgust crept into his voice. “I’m being a coward.”
Oh God, Ellie didn’t need Ned flogging himself. “No, you’re being human. But now you’ve got to pull yourself together for Ellie’s sake.” Ned loved Ellie intensely; he’d do anything if it was for her.
Ned nodded and then shook off Jack’s hold, hauling himself upright. “I shall go b-beg Ellie’s pardon immediately.”
“Just go tell her how happy you are about the baby. You
are
happy, aren’t you?”
Ned’s face held an arrested expression for a moment, and then he grinned. “Yes. Yes, I am. I’m terrified, but also very happy.”
“Then tell Ellie that.”
“I will.” Ned wove his way across the room and out the door.
Jack smiled, poured himself the last of the brandy, and sat in the chair Ned had just vacated. So Ellie was increasing. It might be fun being an uncle. Would the baby look like Ned or Ellie?
He hooked one leg over the chair arm and cradled his glass in his hand. Ellie would be a wonderful mother.
He took a sip of brandy and swung his foot back and forth. What sort of mother would Frances be? He chuckled. She’d acted as if he were handing her a poisonous snake when he’d given her baby William to hold on their mad dash to Bromley, but by the time they’d arrived, she’d been cradling the infant securely in her arms. And she’d been wonderful with little Eliza, who normally didn’t take to strangers.
She might be a bit awkward at first, but Mama would help—
He sat up so abruptly, his brandy almost splashed out of his glass.
Good
God
, what was he thinking? He’d exchanged a few chaste kisses with the woman, and now he was imagining her the mother of his children?
His cock jumped with enthusiasm.
He glared at his cock. Marriage was more than a physical union.
His cock argued that, yes, of course it was, but it was still very physical and Frances had splendidly long legs.
Yes, she did. He hadn’t been able to erase the memory of those legs clad in breeches. And she had big green eyes and wavy red hair that was just beginning to grow out.
And a voice that made him think of twisted sheets.
And a rare but lovely smile.
A brave, indomitable spirit.
And...
And she needed him.
He couldn’t quite explain it. She wasn’t anything like the Covent Garden girls, of course, but in some way she was. She was wounded, lonely, and alone. He wanted to share her burdens and bring her joy.
He no longer had to marry her. His parents and her grandparents had seen that her reputation was well on its way to being fully restored. He was free—as she was.
But perhaps he
wanted
to marry her. He hadn’t thought to set up his own nursery so soon, but it might be nice for Ned’s child to have a cousin to play with . . .
No. He should not be thinking about marriage. He was only twenty-six, far too young for such things.
But he was older than Father had been when he’d married. Older, too, than Ash and Ned when they’d first stepped into parson’s mousetrap. Perhaps he was old enough. He certainly felt old. He’d seen so much of the darker side of life these last four years.
A man couldn’t schedule when love walked into his life. If he loved Frances—and he wasn’t sure yet that he did—he would just have to amend his rational matrimonial plan.
But first he had to take care of the Slasher; then he could see what Frances thought about weddings and babies.
Well, he knew what she thought; he needed to find out if she could be persuaded to change her mind.
His cock pleaded with him to persuade her now, before he found the Slasher. If they were married, if she was in his bed, he could keep a close eye on her.
A
very
close eye.
And if what he’d told Ned was true and the Slasher was only targeting women with damaged reputations, marriage would remove Frances from danger.
He stood and adjusted his pantaloons so his thoughts would be a little less obvious. There was no reason he couldn’t take a moment this evening to stroll with Frances in the shrubbery at the Easthaven ball. The weather was warmer, and if he remembered correctly, Lord Easthaven had a pleasantly overgrown garden with an assortment of well-placed evergreens perfect for stealing a kiss or two.
Chapter 17
Caution is good, but sometimes courage is better.
—Venus’s Love Notes
“Thank you for persuading your brother to visit us, Frances.” Lady Rothmarsh squeezed Frances’s hand. “You can’t know what it means to me and your grandfather to finally meet you both.”
They were sitting on a settee in a corner of Lord Easthaven’s very crowded ballroom—Frances had to lean close to Lady Rothmarsh to hear what she was saying.
She squeezed her grandmother’s hand in return. “I doubt I had anything to do with Frederick’s decision, Grandmamma.” The word still felt odd on her tongue. “I suspect his wife was the one who convinced him, but I’m very glad he came.”
At the beginning of the ball, she’d seen Frederick for the first time since that dreadful meeting in the yellow parlor. He’d introduced his wife grudgingly, glaring at Frances as though he expected her to say or do something rude.
A few weeks ago, she
might
have said something cutting. Now she just felt sad. Not at Frederick’s marriage—Maria, his wife, was rather meek and a bit plain, but she clearly loved Frederick and he loved her—but at the mull she’d made of her own life. She wasn’t certain she could ever mend things with her brother, but she found she’d like to try.
Her grandmother shook her head, sending the impressive selection of ostrich feathers on her turban bobbing. “Nonsense. He told us it was your letter that swayed him.”
“Really?” When she’d written her apology, she’d mentioned how kind Lord and Lady Rothmarsh had been to her, but she hadn’t urged him to visit them. She was done with giving advice—or, as it likely would have sounded to him, orders. “I’m glad of it.”
“As are we.” Her grandmother sighed. “We’ve had this huge hole in our lives ever since Diana ran away. Meeting you and your brother has mended it a bit. It’s as if we have a very small piece of our beloved daughter back.” She squeezed Frances’s hand again. “Family is so important.”
“Y-yes.”
Her
family—or at least the family she’d known before this trip to London—was hopelessly broken. Even if she could reconcile with Frederick, she couldn’t imagine ever being able to heal the breach with her father and her aunt.
She’d written to Aunt Viola before she’d written to Frederick, asking why she’d lied to her about her grandparents, and Viola had sent back a very unpleasant, self-serving note saying she’d known that if Frances went to London, she’d be blinded by the wealth and rank of her mother’s family. The only good thing about the letter was that it had shown her what
not
to write in her apology to Frederick.
And as for her father—it wasn’t possible to heal something that had never existed.
“Don’t look so woebegone,” Grandmamma said, patting Frances’s knee. “Lady Amanda has been chasing Lord Jack for years. She won’t catch him.”
“What?” Her grandmother hadn’t seemed prone to demented moments, but she
was
getting along in years. “Who is Lady Amanda?”
Grandmamma nodded toward the dancers. “The woman with Lord Jack, the one you were just staring at as if she’d stolen your most precious possession.” Lady Rothmarsh’s eyes twinkled and her brows danced suggestively.
Frances blushed and scanned the ballroom floor with more attention. Oh. Jack
was
there, dancing—and smiling and chatting—with a beautiful blonde.
Her spirits sank even lower. Grandmamma might believe the woman wouldn’t catch Jack, but Jack looked quite amenable to being caught.
“The duchess told me she thinks you two might make a match of it.” Her grandmother winked. “And Jack’s mother is the Duchess of Love, you know.”
If the blonde batted her eyelashes any faster, Jack’s hair would begin to stir.
“Oh no, I think you must have misunderstood, Grandmamma. Lord Jack was afraid we’d have to marry because of the scandal. That’s why the duchess came to London. She and the duke—and you and Grandpapa—have done a wonderful job repairing my reputation. Her Grace was saying just the other day how no one has excluded me from any invitations.”
Her grandmother’s eyes were now laughing. “Oh, I’ve seen how Lord Jack looks at you.”
“Like I’m a sticky problem in need of a tidy solution?”
“Not at all. He—” Lady Rothmarsh’s attention was taken by something over Frances’s shoulder. “Oh dear, Lord Ruland is coming this way.”
Lord Ruland hadn’t approached Frances since Ned’s and Ellie’s wedding ball, though she’d caught him looking at her from across a crowded room more than once. “He’s probably just walking past.”
“No, I’m afraid we are not to be so fortunate.” Lady Rothmarsh tsked disapprovingly and leaned forward to whisper loudly. “I don’t know why he is still accepted in polite company.”
Since Lord Ruland had stopped by their settee at precisely that moment, he must have heard Lady Rothmarsh, but he gave no evidence of it. He bowed. “Lady Rothmarsh, Miss Hadley, good evening.”
Grandmamma sniffed. “It
was
a good evening, and I assume it will be again”—she raised her brows—“after you move along.”
Lord Ruland looked almost amused. “I will once I’ve collected your granddaughter. I’ve come to ask her to dance.” He turned to Frances. “Will you, M-Miss Hadley?”
Had Lord Ruland imbibed too freely? His words were faintly slurred, and his eyes looked a little bloodshot and overbright.
“My granddaughter and I were conversing, Lord Ruland.”
“Yes, but I want to dance with her.” His smile was a bit too wide.
“You are disguised, sirrah.”
“No.” Lord Ruland tugged on his sleeve. “Only slightly in my altitudes.”
Her grandmother straightened and looked to be on the verge of sending Lord Ruland off with a flea in his ear. But if the man was slightly foxed, he might be careless and say something to prove he was the Silent Slasher.
Jack would be delighted—and relieved—to have found the villain out. And if he was also impressed with Frances’s cleverness, that would be all the better. It wasn’t as if there was any danger. Lord Ruland couldn’t harm her in the middle of a crowded ballroom. “It’s all right, Grandmamma. I will dance a set with Lord Ruland.”
She stood before her grandmother could protest and put her hand on Lord Ruland’s arm. The fat rogue smirked, bowed to Grandmamma, and led Frances toward the dance floor.
She could hardly wait to trick some telling detail out of him.
“That’s a fetching frock,” he murmured as they promenaded around the room. “Shame to hide your legs, though.”
“Don’t be impertinent.” She gave him her coldest stare. How could she get him talking about the murders?
Killed any women recently, my lord?
No, that wouldn’t work.
He giggled. “Me, impertinent? That’s rich. You were the one t-traipsing about Town in breeches with the
ton
’s most n-notorious rake.”
“If you are going to be insulting, I shall have no more to do with you.” How dare the man! The fingers on her free hand tightened into a fist, but she forced them to relax. She must hold on to her temper if she wished to get any information out of the drunken scoundrel. Though it was hard to imagine how Ruland could be the Slasher—no woman in her right mind would spend five seconds alone with him.
Ruland was smirking again. “At first I thought Rothmarsh would demand Jack marry you, but then I realized that was the last thing he’d do. Marrying a rake didn’t work out so well for your mother, did it?”
It hadn’t, but bloody Lord Ruland had no place saying so. “My mother never said she regretted her marriage.” She had looked as if she must regret it, but she had never breathed a word against her despicable husband that Frances could remember.
Ruland grunted. “No, she wouldn’t admit that, would she?”
They’d reached the side of the room that opened onto the gardens. Ruland turned in that direction. “It’s infernally hot in here,” he said. “Dancing will just make us hotter. Let’s stroll outside instead.”
Oh no, she was
not
going out into the dark with him. “I am happy to forgo dancing, my lord. If you are warm, we can stand by the windows.”
He stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Are you afraid of me, Miss Hadley?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She was not afraid of him as long as she stayed in this well-lighted ballroom. “You’re old enough to be my father.”
His face darkened. “Yes, I
am
old enough to be your bloody father, and if your mother had had any sense, I would have been.”
Frances didn’t know whether to gag or laugh. The sound she did make was a cross between a gasp and a hiccup. This fat little man married to her mother? Perhaps he’d been more attractive twenty-five years ago. She tried to picture him with hair and a smaller belly.
But what did it matter how he’d looked? Any man would make a better father than her own—
Well, perhaps not Ruland. Her father hadn’t slashed any throats that she knew of.
Lord Ruland suddenly looked smaller and older. He ran his finger around his cravat and cleared his throat, turning to stare out the window.
“It’s my fault your mother fled London, you know. I, er, pressed my case a little too ardently.”
What?
Ice spilled through Frances’s veins. “What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you force yourself on her?”
His jaw dropped. Shock and anger colored his words. “Good God, no! What do you take me for?”
She couldn’t very well tell him she suspected he was a murderer, so she said nothing.
He frowned. “Hell, it might have been better if I
had
forced your mother. That would have saved her from Hadley. At least I loved her.” He glared at Frances. “Even though she was as headstrong and wild as you are.”
Arrogant toad. “You mean you loved her in spite of herself.”
His brows shot up and then slammed back down into a scowl.
“You know nothing of the matter.”
“Oh, come, Lord Ruland. What were you going to do with a ‘headstrong and wild’ woman? Keep her in a cage?”
His scowl deepened. “Of course not. She would have settled down once we were married. She just needed a firm hand on the reins. Her father never tried to restrain her—he and her brothers spoiled her dreadfully.”
Frances’s hand curled into a fist again. Perhaps she
would
step into the garden with him. She’d like to practice some of the defensive techniques Lord Jack had taught her, beginning with the one that required her to thrust her knee up hard between—
“Miss Hadley.” Jack had come up next to her. “Ruland.”
Ruland turned his scowl on Jack. “Have you come to take the girl away, then?”
Jack’s brows rose and he looked vaguely amused. “Actually, yes.”
Ruland snorted. “I wish you joy of her. I suspect she’s as bad as her mother.”
“What was that about?” Jack struggled to keep his voice even as he led Frances onto the terrace. When he’d seen her by the doors with Ruland, it had taken all his control not to literally run across the ballroom to reach her. That would certainly have got the gossips’ tongues wagging. And now he wanted to shake her for taking such a risk—or kiss her because she was safe.
Clearly he was no longer fully in control of his emotions with regard to the angry woman walking—no, striding—next to him.
There were three other couples on the terrace, so he headed for the stairs down to the gardens. Given Frances’s current, barely restrained temper, they did not need any witnesses to their conversation.
Easthaven, anticipating the mild evening and the desire of his guests to escape the ballroom, had hung lanterns here and there to light the way. Not
too
many lanterns, of course. The earl understood the allure of well-placed shadows. Too bad Jack wouldn’t be able to put them to their best use.
He’d wanted to take Frances into the shrubbery the moment they’d arrived, but he hadn’t. Besides the scandal that action would have provoked, he wasn’t entirely certain she’d welcome his advances.
He thought she would. After all, she hadn’t slapped him when he’d kissed her in the park, and he’d swear that ever since that interlude, her eyes followed him when she was in the same room with him. Whenever he caught her gaze, she blushed and looked away.
He’d been chased by legions of females; he knew the signs of a woman’s interest.
But now that they were finally headed into the gardens, Frances was furious, blast it. It was not the time for amorous activities, though perhaps he
should
try to kiss her. Slapping him—or kneeing him—might give poor Miss Hadley a way to release her spleen.
“Lord Ruland is an idiot.” She just about hissed the words.
“He is indeed. Did he do something especially idiotic just now?”
Fortunately they were far enough away from the terrace that he thought Frances hadn’t been overhead. Still, it paid to be cautious; he urged her deeper into the bushes. The shrubbery was good for many things, including muffling an irate Miss Hadley.
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