Fanning the Flame (23 page)

"I'm sorry. I believe I feel the beginnings of a headache. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go up to my room." She didn't wait for his permission, just started walking toward the door.

Adam crossed the room, his long strides intercepting her, neatly cutting off her escape. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm not doing this to hurt you. You knew from the start marriage wasn't a possibility. I just want to make sure you're taken care of."

He had made it clear he never intended to marry and she had never considered the possibility of becoming his wife. But she wouldn't play the whore for him, either.

"You want to take care of me—like that poor little orphan boy upstairs? Well, I've had enough of your charity,
your lordship.
Your sister was kind enough to offer me the loan of some money, should I need it. As soon as we arrive in London, I'll find myself another place to stay."

Adam gripped her shoulders, his face a mask of steel. "You forget yourself, Miss Whitney. Until the matter of Lord Fenwick's murder is resolved, you'll stay exactly where I tell you. Which means—when we arrive in London, you'll be a guest in my town house, as you were before. Do I make myself clear?"

She clamped her jaw, fighting back tears. "Perfectly." Lifting her chin, she jerked free of his hold and swept past him out of the study.

She didn't start crying until she reached the second floor and escaped into the privacy of her bedchamber.

God, how could she have been such a fool?

Chapter Sixteen

Jillian's mood remained bleak as they prepared to depart for London. As if sensing the dismal atmosphere in the house, the weather had changed. Surly, metal-gray clouds threatened rain, and cold, damp air seeped into their traveling clothes. Before boarding the carriage, she and the earl each bid a separate farewell to the countess.

"You'll be returning soon, won't you?" the older woman had asked her, referring to Jillian as her "dearest daughter-in-law."

Jillian mustered a strained, weak smile, lied, and said, "Of course."

Her mood was grim, but the earl, she discovered, was in such a foul temper everyone tiptoed around as if they walked on eggshells. Even Reggie, who knew him better than anyone, seemed nervous.

"Wot . . . wot about the lad, milord?" he finally asked, forced to broach a clearly unwelcome subject.

"We'll have to bring him along, I suppose. Have him collect his things. He can ride in the carriage with you and Maude."

"Yes, milord."

She wondered what young Christopher thought of the earl and if he had the slightest notion why he had been brought to Blackwood Manor, for clearly he had been placed in a home where he was not wanted.

The trip to London was long and uncomfortably silent. Seated across from Adam, Jillian tried to embroider but kept missing stitches. Adam pretended to read, but time and again his turbulent gaze sliced to her. She was bone-weary and out of sorts by the time they arrived at the George and Dragon, a comfortable little inn along the road.

Jillian stiffly declined the earl's invitation to supper and took her meal instead with Maude, Reggie, and little Christopher Derry.

"Are we truly going to London?" the boy asked excitedly.

Jillian smiled, thinking what a good-natured child he was. "Have you never been there?"

"No, but Mum and Da used to live there. Mum said there's some wondrous sights."

"Aye, lad," Maude agreed. " "T’s wondrous they are and no doubt. Perhaps the major will take ya to Mrs. Salmon's Waxworks in Fleet Street. They got the death masks there." She made an ugly face in imitation, and Christopher howled in delight.

He had the sweetest laugh, Jillian thought, so vibrant and compelling for such a little boy. Instantly the memory of similar laughter rang in her ears. It was a rare, glorious sound she remembered only too well.

It belonged to Adam Hawthorne.

Christopher looked up at Maude. "Couldn't you take me, Mrs. Flynn? I don't think 'is lordship likes me."

Reggie cleared his throat. "A course he likes ye, boy. He just never had no children, is all. Once he comes to know ye, he's bound to like ye. Why, yer 'is own flesh and—"

"Why don't we have some dessert?" Jillian interrupted, flashing Reggie a warning glance. Apparently the servants had come to their own conclusions about Christopher Derry's relationship with the earl. "They have plum pudding tonight. I've heard it's very good."

"Oh, yes," the boy said. "I'd love to have plum puddin'."

And so dessert was ordered for everyone but Jillian, whose appetite had waned. She had too much on her mind: the trial, worry for the child who crept deeper and deeper into her heart, the quarrel she'd had with the earl.

Jillian ached to think of it. It wasn't as if she weren't grateful for all he had done. Adam had come to her rescue, fought for her when no one else would. But she didn't want to be his paid-for woman, the very sort she'd been accused of being before.

It didn't matter that she was in love with him. It didn't change the way she felt. She had no money, no life of her own. The only thing she had left in the world was her self-respect. It was precious to her, and she wasn't about to give it up.

Not for Adam Hawthorne or anyone else.

As soon as the meal was finished, the four of them retired upstairs, Chris in a room with Reggie, Maude on a pallet at the foot of Jillian's bed. It was well past midnight when Jillian finally fell into a troubled sleep.

It was several hours later that she awakened to noises in the room next door. In an instant, she recognized the soft moans and curses, the earl dreaming of the terrible battle in Egypt that he had described. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him with her body, make him forget his awful memories as she had done before.

She knew what would happen if she did.

She was weak where Adam Hawthorne was concerned, and in this she had to be strong. Jillian dragged the pillow over her head to block the cries of Adam's pain-filled slumber.

But she didn't fall asleep until the sounds had faded and the room fell silent once more.

His first day back in London, Adam left the house early, his clash with Jillian brief.

"Take me with you," she demanded.

"Next time," he promised. "Today, I have things to do that are better done alone."

So saying, he climbed aboard his carriage for the trip to Chancery Lane. Thinking of his meeting with Garth Dutton, Adam leaned back against the tufted leather seat, glad to be returned to London where he hoped to move things forward. He only wished Jillian had heeded his advice and remained in the country.

Adam thought of his clumsy attempt at making her his mistress. Since that night, Jillian had barely spoken to him. Damn, he'd made a mess of things.

He'd been half-foxed that night, immersed in dark memories of Caroline and Robert, angry at the arrival of the boy.

Christopher Derry wasn't his. He'd been careful when he made love to Caroline. Still, accidents happened. His sister, Maggie, was evidence of that, coming late in his parents' marriage when his father and mother had mostly lived apart.

Adam stared out the window of the carriage, his mind on the child and his newly undertaken responsibilities as the little boy's protector. The child was undoubtedly Robert's, and it galled him to have his cousin's bastard foisted off on him. The next time he spoke to Peter Fraser, he would ask the man to employ someone to look into the matter of the child's parentage—another mystery to be solved and unless he was careful, another round of scandal.

Sometimes it seemed as if it were his fate to continually be the focus of wagging tongues.

Not this time,
Adam vowed, determined to keep the child's identity a secret. As much as he despised Caroline Harding, he knew she had also suffered at Robert's hand. She was married now, with children of her own, and he would do his best to protect both her son and the woman he once meant to marry.

No matter what he discovered, there was no question of locating Robert Hawthorne. His cousin was an adventurer, off to the Colonies, the last Adam had heard, and not the sort to accept the task of raising a seven-year-old boy. The child, no matter the sins of his father, was a Hawthorne. He deserved better than that.

Outside the window, a row of brick buildings appeared in Adam's line of vision, followed by a sign for Chancery Lane. Time was running out and it was obvious Jillian was as aware of it as he was. She'd grown distant since they'd left the country and much of the fault lay with him.

Adam sighed, angry with himself all over again. Dammit to hell, he had made his proposal sound sordid when he hadn't meant it to be that way at all. He should have explained things better, made Jillian understand that what he was doing was in both their best interests. She wanted him. He knew women well enough to be certain of that. It was only a matter of stating his case in a way that she would accept.

Adam stretched his long legs out in front of him as best he could in the carriage, restless as he thought of her, wanting her with the same fierce hunger he had felt since the first day he had seen her at the duck pond.

Tonight he would talk to her again, make her understand the way he felt. He cared for her. He should have told her that. It was the sort of thing women wanted to hear and though he was always careful to avoid any sort of commitment, in this case he meant the words.

In the meantime, proving her innocence was all-important. The moment the conveyance pulled up in front of Garth Dutton's office, Adam turned the silver doorknob and shoved open the carriage door.

"Blackwood." Garth's deep voice resonated into the reception area of the stately brick building that housed Selhurst and Dutton, Attorneys at Law. "You're right on time. Please come in."

"Thank you." Adam stepped into the lawyer's elegantly furnished private office. A huge cherrywood desk sat in the middle, surrounded by matching bookcases that ran floor-to-ceiling along the walls. Gold letters glittered on the backs of dozens of leather-bound volumes, and the far wall housed a marble-mantled hearth. The office spoke of success, but Garth was also the grandson of the wealthy Baron Schofield, with an impressive fortune of his own.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I wanted to discuss your progress on Jillian's case."

"Actually, I'm just on my way to see Madeleine Telford. She's been in the country, but she is returned. We've an appointment later this morning."

"I planned to pay her a call today myself."

Garth's thick blond eyebrows pulled together. "As I said before, there's a good possibility you won't be welcome."

"I'll have to take my chances."

"Or we could go together. Perhaps the lady will be more forthcoming if you are in company with me."

Adam nodded. "Good idea."

A few minutes later, they boarded Adam's carriage for the hour drive to Hampstead Heath, where Madeleine Telford, the late earl's widowed daughter-in-law, spent most of her time. If she was surprised to find the Earl of Blackwood accompanying her expected guest, she hid it well, cordially inviting both men into the domed, stained-glass foyer lit by a crystal chandelier.

"It's good to see you, Garth." She allowed him to take her hands and kiss her lightly on the cheek. "And you, as well, my lord, though I admit I'm a bit surprised—considering the reason for this visit and where you have placed your loyalties."

Madeleine was petite and attractive, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a fashionable high-waisted gown of pale blue silk and an expensive string of small, perfect pearls that seemed to match the pearly whiteness of her teeth. At five and twenty, she remained childless, her figure lush, her breasts full and high.

Adam bowed over her hand. "I assure you, madam, my first loyalty is to your former father-in-law, the late Lord Fenwick. No man deserves to be murdered in cold blood. Our only difference of opinion lies in the matter of whom we deem guilty of the crime."

Her smile held a faintly sharp edge. "I suppose that is fair enough."

Adam had become acquainted with Madeleine Telford before her marriage to Henry, Lord Fenwick's only son. Though Adam had found her attractive, she had been an innocent and well out of his reach. Now, as he recognized the intimate glances Madeleine cast at Garth, it was apparent that they were also well-acquainted.

"The drawing room is this way. Gentlemen, if you will please follow me." The salon she led them into looked newly refurbished, the gold-flocked wallpaper glittering as if it had recently been hung, the brocade sofas spotless, the cushions so stiff it appeared few visitors had yet sat on them.

It seemed Madeleine Telford had already begun to make use of the money the late earl had left her. Adam wondered how she would have taken the news that the old man had changed his will and Jillian was to inherit most of his money.

"I've already rung for tea," Madeleine said. "It should be here any moment. In the meantime, why don't we sit down?"

They did so and moments later the tea cart rolled into the room. As Madeleine poured the steaming brew into gold-rimmed porcelain cups, Adam forced himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was to put the woman on guard before his questions had even been asked.