Fanning the Flame (39 page)

Adam set it on the table, turned, and walked out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jillian left London the following day. The magistrates had said her testimony wouldn't be needed at Madeleine's trial, that the word of a duke and an earl would suffice. With that worry aside, Jillian would be staying with friends of Michael's in Woburn Abbey until he could help her secure a position.

A week later, she moved into the country home of Phyllis and William Marston, Earl and Countess of Richmond, friends of Michael's father, the Marquess of Devlin. The earl was a man in his forties, handsome, with slightly graying hair and a warm, charming demeanor. His wife was several years younger, slender even after three children, a little bit shy, and obviously in love with her husband.

The couple had offered her a position as governess, and Jillian had accepted with a great deal of relief Michael Aimes had given her the chance to begin a new life, and she would always be grateful for his kindness, support, and generosity.

But she was definitely not in love with him.

She was in love with the Earl of Blackwood and no matter how many bleak, empty, achingly lonely nights she endured without him that simply wasn't going to change.

Nearly a month had passed. Still Jillian stood at the window of her third floor schoolroom thinking about him, remembering the first time she had seen him, astride his magnificent black horse. She remembered the night of the murder when he had given her refuge, remembered his solid belief in her innocence that had ultimately saved her life. She remembered his strength and his gentleness, remembered his kisses and the hardness of his body moving inside her.

A hundred times these past dreary days, she had awakened in the night reaching out for him, only to find that Adam wasn't there. She had tried to forget him, tried to forget the pain in his face when she had told him that she loved someone else.

She had expected him to be angry. She had never expected he would be more concerned for her than he was for himself. He had said that he wouldn't forget her. Though Jillian wanted nothing so much as to bury her own bittersweet memories so deeply they would never resurface, she found that she could not forget him. A man like the Earl of Blackwood wasn't easy to forget and without him, her heart felt ravaged, irreparably torn in two.

At the patter of small feet running into the room, Jillian forced her thoughts in a different direction and walked over to the blackboard to erase yesterday's lesson in preparation for another round of teaching. She turned toward the three shining faces of the children busily seating themselves in small wooden chairs lined up in front of the blackboard: Winnie, the youngest, with her curly bright red hair; Rachael, dark-haired and solemn; and Jeremy, the oldest, tall and rail-thin, with the same charming demeanor as his father.

Three darling children whose innocent needs, she hoped, would in time help her to emerge from the black pit of grief she felt in losing Adam.

Dressed in a fashionable high-waisted gown of turquoise brocaded taffeta, pleated beneath the bosom and banded with matching turquoise velvet, Maggie Hawthorne walked next to her aunt out of the Royal Opera House where Garth had taken them tonight. He had been squiring the two of them all over London for the past several weeks, publicly courting her, making his intentions clear.

Aunt Sophie was nearly overcome with joy and Maggie was happier than she'd ever been in her life. She didn't know if Jillian's refusal to marry her brother and subsequent departure from London had been a factor in Garth's pursuit, but there was every possibility that it had been.

Maggie had received news of Adam's failed proposal with surprise and sadness and a fierce shot of hope. Jillian's rejection had hurt Adam badly and that made Maggie sad. Still, if the woman were truly in love with someone else, as Adam had said, then Maggie certainly didn't want him to marry her.

Garth's first invitation had come the day after Jillian left the city, inviting Maggie and Aunt Sophie to accompany him to a play at the Haymarket Theatre. Since then, Maggie had been caught up in a romantic whirlwind that left little thought for anything else.

"Did you enjoy the opera?" Garth's deep voice cut into her thoughts. In the yellow glow of a street-lamp, she admired the faintly sensuous curve of his mouth and the sheen of his golden hair. Her heart stuttered, then started beating again. Dear Lord, the man was handsome.

"I liked it very much."

"Then we shall have to do this again."

God's teeth, she hoped so. She wanted to be with him every night, every minute. "I'm sure Aunt Sophie enjoyed it as well."

Garth said something to her aunt as he helped her climb into the carriage and the older woman laughed.

Aunt Sophie liked Garth Dutton.

Maggie loved him.

And she worried, still, that something might go wrong and his family would force him to end his courtship of her. She pondered that fear all the way back to her town house, though Garth was particularly charming and had her laughing by the time they arrived.

Once they reached the drawing room, he obtained permission from Aunt Sophie to speak to Maggie in private, and the conspiratorial glance that passed between the pair set her heart to pounding again. Had he already spoken to Adam? Dear Lord, if he had, this might be the moment she had been praying for.

Garth slid the doors closed behind them. He surprised her by reaching out and hauling her into his arms. For the past several weeks, he'd been excessively polite, doing little more than holding onto her hand. Maggie had begun to wonder if she had imagined the hot flare of passion they had shared out in the garden.

Then he bent his head and took possession of her mouth and conscious thought faded away. Sweet God, she wouldn't have believed a kiss could be so scorchingly hot and at the same time achingly tender. Maggie kissed him back and clung to him, her heart hammering with love and hope.

By the time Garth ended the kiss, her face was flushed, her pulse racing. Garth was breathing a little too hard, his green eyes blazing with the barely leashed desire he no longer tried to hide.

"Garth . . ." she whispered.

"Marry me," he said bluntly. "I may be a barrister, but right now the only thing I can think to say is how beautiful you are and how much I want to make love to you. I love you, Maggie Hawthorne. Say you will marry me."

Maggie threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Garth, I love you, too." Tears welled, blurred the image of his handsome face. "Yes, yes, yes—I'll marry you! I love you so much." Maggie went up on her toes and kissed him with all the love she felt for him. She heard Garth's deep groan, then heat and desire swept over her, so strong it made her tremble.

"I don't want a long betrothal," Garth said between soft, sensuous kisses. "God knows, I couldn't survive it."

"We can post the banns tomorrow."

"We'll wait just long enough to satisfy the gossips."

She nodded, smiled back at him. "The sooner the better."

Garth grinned. "Then again, what's a little gossip? Perhaps we should marry by special license. Then the scandalmongers can sit round counting the months, trying to figure out why we wed in such a hurry. They'd never guess I simply couldn't bear another day without you."

He hugged her hard and Maggie wept with joy and relief. Garth loved her. She wasn't going to lose him.

Her brother's dark image crept into mind, the bleak set of his features the day he had told her that Jillian intended to marry someone else. The happier she was, the more she hurt for Adam.

If only her brother could have found happiness, too.

Adam strode into the stables of Blackwood Manor. He had arrived at the house late last evening, returning with Maude and Reggie, and little Christopher Derry. He should have come sooner, he thought, as he inhaled the sweet scent of hay, heard the soft creak of a harness being polished and the welcoming whicker of horses.

Instead, he'd stayed in the city, restless and numb, unable to do little more than grieve. It was insane to feel so abandoned, so lost, when he had known from the start his involvement with Jillian was doomed to fail.

Hadn't it always been so?

And yet, as he had told her, he was grateful that he had known her, that he had, even for a very short time, been part of Jillian's life. Though his nights seemed endless without her, dreams of the war no longer plagued him. His bitterness had faded and Jillian was the reason. She had helped him to deal with his painful past, and perhaps because of her, he and young Christopher were fast becoming friends.

Adam almost smiled. The boy's intelligence amazed him. He was curious about everything, fascinated by life and amazingly perceptive about it.

"Is Miss Whitney coming with us?" Chris had asked the morning they had left the city.

Adam felt a sharp pain in his heart. "No, Chris, I'm afraid she isn't."

The boy looked up at him. "Why not? I thought she liked us."

"I think she did. I think she especially liked you. But Miss Whitney is getting married. Someday she'll have a little boy of her own." Just saying it made his chest hurt.

Chris stared down at the small gold buckle on the toe of his shoe. "I miss her."

Adam's voice came out rough. "I miss her, too."

Perhaps it was the common loss of someone they both loved that drew the two of them together. And just being there in the country, in the rolling green hills of Blackwood Manor—surely it would help him
to forget her.

As early morning sunlight filtered into the barn, Adam walked toward Jamie O'Connell, his head groom.

"Top o' the mornin' to ya, milord."

"Good morning, Jamie. Did my delivery arrive from London?"

"Aye. Ye've made a fine purchase, milord. 'E's fit as a fiddle and rarin' ta go. I'll fetch 'im outta his stall."

A few minutes later, Jamie led a little white Welsh pony out of one of the stalls, and together the men walked the animal out of the barn, his fine white coat gleaming in the sun.

"Ye've chosen well, milord. 'E's got a fine, sweet disposition, this one. He'll be followin' the boy round like a pet."

Adam nodded. "When I saw him at Tattersall's, that was one of the things that convinced me to buy him. A little girl was riding him and he seemed not to care in the least. Normally, I'm not much for ponies. Sometimes they're more difficult to handle than a full grown horse."

"Aye, but not this one. Gentle as a lamb, he is. Your boy will be ridin' like 'e was born ta the saddle in no time a'tall."

Your boy.
Adam felt an odd tug at the words. Now that Jillian was gone, he would never have a child of his own. In a way, Christopher was an unexpected blessing. He'd left word with Maude that the child should come to the stable as soon as he had finished his breakfast. Adam smiled at the sight of the boy racing eagerly down the hill.

Chris slowed a little when he saw the pony, then started running again. He was a little out of breath when he slid to a halt in front of Adam and Jamie O'Connell.

"Mrs. Flynn said you wanted me to come to the stable." Though he spoke to Adam, Chris' eyes remained locked on the pint-sized horse.

"Yes, I did." Adam stroked the smooth, muscular neck, combed his fingers through the snowy mane. "His name is Ra. Ra was the Egyptian god of the sun. Do you like him?"

Chris reached over and tentatively stroked the horse. "He's a beauty, milord."

"You're eight years old. That's old enough for a boy to have a horse. I never got you a birthday present. Ra is yours. Happy birthday, Chris."

The boy stared up at him, green eyes tilted up in shock. He swallowed. "You aren't . . . you wouldn't be teasin' me, would you?"

Adam solemnly shook his head. "No, Chris. I wouldn't tease about something so important. Ra belongs to you."

White teeth flashed like small squares of fine bone china. "I never had anythin' so splendid. Will you teach me to ride 'im?"

Adam had thought to have Jamie take care of it. Now, looking at the hope in Chris's face, the idea of teaching the boy himself held an odd appeal. "All right. We can start today, if you wish."

"Oh, yes! That would be ever so good."

After setting the boy in the pony saddle, Adam watched him walk Ra around the practice ring, his small hands gently guiding, his posture relaxed, quickly developing an ease in the saddle. Chris had a way with the animal that seemed to come naturally. It was the way Adam had been with horses since he was a boy.

The same uneasy feeling that had bothered him before crept over him.
What if Chris is my son?

If he were, Adam would be proud to claim him.

Adam thought of Jillian and how fond she had been of the boy, how delighted she would be if she could see him now. God, he missed her. Wherever she was, he hoped that she was happy.

She was probably married by now.

His stomach muscles tightened. If Michael Aimes treated her badly . . . .

But there wasn't a thing he could do.

It was nearly two weeks later that Michael Aimes's name came up again. Adam was seated in his study, going over the account ledgers—a job he hated—wishing instead he were out in the sunshine with Chris.