Grace (The Marriage Market Book 2) (14 page)

"Lucky me," Effie sassed back. "I want to see my friend."

              "Yes, lucky you indeed. Something tells me you won't think so tomorrow," he promised, yanking her toward the stairs. "Come along in, Jonah. Mother will be glad to see you."

"This is my wife, Grace."

"We've met, a charming woman when she's not threatening me with an imaginary gun," he said over his shoulder, turning at the last moment to look at Grace's dirty face.

"Yvette," he called, pulling Effie into the house. "Get a bath ready for Miss Lane and find her something suitable for her to wear. Mrs. Blackthorn will also need the same."

              "But, Monsieur Sam, they will ruin your Ma Ma's carpets," Yvette replied, looking the women up and down.

              "A valid point," Sam responded. Standing in the foyer he kicked off his shoes and spun Effie around until she smacked into his chest. Without another word, he slung his arm around her waist and picked her up like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring her howls of indignation, he started up the stairs.

"Bring your wife, Jonah, but be mindful of mother's carpets."

Jonah kicked off his boots and tossed Grace over his shoulder. When her feet started kicking, he gave her a hearty swat on her wet bottom that must have stung like the dickens as she immediately froze and then collapsed limply over his shoulder.

"Jonah," Grace began, yelling to be heard over Effie's ranting.

"Save it, Gracie," he replied in a clipped voice. "I'd prefer to discuss tonight's shenanigans in private, and where the hell is your shoe?"

"I umm… yes, Jonah," she murmured meekly.

Upon reaching an enormous bathroom, Sam set Effie down and Jonah followed suit.

              "Yvette, see that they're made presentable and then bring them downstairs so Miss Lane can make her apologies to mother. If either of them gives you any trouble, call out. We'll be right in the study and I'll leave the door open. Come on, Jonah. We'll get cleaned up and I'm ready for a brandy."

              "Sounds good to me, Sam. Behave yourself, Gracie," he warned sternly, giving both young women a profoundly annoyed look before leaving the room.

              Nearly an hour later, Yvette escorted both young women to the study where they found Sam and Jonah enjoying a drink before a roaring fire. Thankfully, Yvette had been able to locate clothing for them. Effie wore the black dress Amelia had abandoned and Grace a serviceable black dress provided by Yvette herself.

The men rose as they entered, Sam taking in every detail of the small blonde woman.

              "Your photograph didn't do you justice, Miss Lane," he remarked. "Black suits you somehow."

              "Why, are you planning to kill me, or perhaps you are anticipating your own demise, Mr. Jordon," she drawled moving closer to the flames and holding out her hands.

              "Nothing so dramatic, Miss Lane," he replied, amused despite her appalling behavior. "I only want to make you
wish
you were dead."

"How kind," she cooed. "I'd like a drink if you please."

              Her blue eyes challenged him to refuse her liquor and she was slightly surprised when he bowed and poured her a glass of brandy. Offering it to her gallantly, he watched as she took a big swig, her face turning nearly blue as she fought to regain her breath.

"I gather you're not part of the temperance movement, Miss Lane," he taunted.

"Of course we are," Grace insisted, taking a glass and pouring her own drink. "It's purely for medicinal purposes."

"Grace, don't," Jonah warned as she tipped the glass to her lips, but he was too late.

Coughing and sputtering, Grace collapsed into a chair, gasping for water.

It was at that moment, Tempest entered the room.

              "Mon Dieu, what are you doing to the poor mademoiselles? Jonah, I would not expect this of you. Samuel, oui, but not you," she sighed, glaring at her son. "Come, Cheri, we will get you some tea with honey to sooth your throat," she cooed, putting her arm around Grace and waving for Effie to follower her.

              "Just a moment, Mother, Miss Lane has something to say to you," Sam said, looking at Effie with narrowed eyes.

              "I'm terribly sorry about your window, Madam. You must let me pay for the damages," Effie said sincerely, ignoring Sam.

              "You are forgiven," Tempest smiled. "You see, I too love Amelia and if I thought anyone was threatening my precious angel, I would do the same. My son should have explained to you, Amelia is quite happily married," she said, scowling at Sam. "This one is… difficult at times," she sighed. "Come, my son tells me you have not yet eaten. I will have the chef prepare a little repast and I will tell you about Amelia and Hugh."

              Over the next hour, Tempest explained the mix up with the responses to Hugh's ad and the resulting fiasco while they dined on cold sliced beef, cheese, bread and wine.

              "Why Amelia must have sent that letter before she found out it was all a misunderstanding," Grace gasped, looking at Effie.

              "That's exactly what happened," Duncan said, entering the room after taking off his boots in the foyer. "I've just come from there and she's anxious to see you both. Hugh is looking forward to meeting his bride's aunts, whatever that means. They'll be over first thing in the morning."

              "Duncan, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Grace Wentworth, and this is another friend of Amelia's, Miss Euphemia Lane. Ladies, Duncan Jordon."

              "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Jordon," Effie said holding out her hand, "and my friends call me Effie."

              "My pleasure, Miss Effie," Duncan replied stooping to kiss her hand. "And you, Miss, managing to capture the heart of Jonah here is quite a feat. However did you manage it?" Duncan teased as he took Grace's hand.

              "I really don't know, sir," Grace replied. "It may have had something to do with leaving him nearly naked on the road to Fort Omaha." Grinning, she looked at her husband.

Sam burst into laughter.

"That would certainly make an unforgettable impression on a man," he snorted. "Care to tell us about this, Jonah?"

              "Maybe later," he growled. "For now, I think we'd better be getting back to the hotel. It's getting late."

"Nonsense," Duncan insisted. "You'll stay here, of course. We have plenty of room."

"It's kind of you to offer, Mr. Jordon, but I'm afraid I can't accept," Effie said, looking at Sam and wiggling on her seat. "Um… I have business to take care of first thing in the morning."

"Surely, it can wait a bit?" he said, looking back and forth between Effie and his son.

"I'm afraid it can't," she said earnestly.

              "Sam, tell Miss Lane she's most welcome here. She's looking at you as though she expects you to grow horns at any moment," Duncan said, unable to ignore the tension between his son and their guest.

              "Miss Lane, you're certainly most welcome to spend the night. I don't see how any appointment can be more important than the one you have with me."

              "What are you talking about?" Tempest asked. "You've only just met the mademoiselle. How could she have an appointment with you?"

              "Mother," Sam replied, picking up his wine. "Effie Lane and I are due for a long and serious discussion and she definitely has an appointment over my knees," he continued, raising his glass to Effie with a tight-lipped smile.

              "It's Euphemia Lane to you, Mr. Jordon," Effie snapped back, lifting her own glass and taking a sip. "Only my friends call me, Effie."

              "Samuel," Tempest cried, rising to her feet. "What madness is this?  The mademoiselle is a guest in my home, yet you threaten her? Go to your room at once! You are being a naughty boy. Tell him, Duncan."

Sam laughed and poured another glass of wine as Effie rose to her feet.

              "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Jordon, but I must return to my hotel immediately. I'm truly sorry about the window and wish you'd allow me to replace it."

"That window came from France," Sam said rising. "It was in my great-grandmother's home and dates back to the late 1600s. It was transported here at great expense with loving care; only to have a bit of a thing like you, reduce it to colorful shards of glass in an instant. Your temper and poor judgment seem to know no bounds, Miss Lane, and if you leave here with nothing else but a well-spanked bottom, I will be, if not satisfied, at least mollified."

Effie looked at the tall, angry man and tried to swallow.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered to Tempest.

"Come with me, now," Sam ordered, walking to Effie's side.

"Duncan, do something," Tempest pleaded, but her husband shook his head sadly.

Grace stood when Sam took Effie's arm and began to lead her from the room.

              "Sit down, Gracie," Jonah snapped, catching her arm and pulling her back down on her chair.

"But Jonah, he's going to strike her," she yelled.

              "Yes, he's going to spank her and I can't think of a woman more deserving of it at the moment. Unless, of course, you want to discuss your behavior this evening?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "You let her talk you into such an outrageous plan it boggles my mind. I told you I would help you find Amelia."

"I know but…"

"I really don't want to hear it, Grace. How could you approach the home of total strangers and threaten them with a gun. You could have been killed."

"But we weren't," she replied softly, her head down.

              "No, you weren't, because the Jordons are good people, but you didn't know that. You thought Hugh was holding your friend prisoner. Coming out here on your own without telling me was absolutely foolhardy and I will not tolerate a repeat of such conduct, especially when you have no idea where Remington is."

              "I'd like to know more about this Remington," Sam said from the doorway, his hand still grasping Effie's arm. "Mother, Miss Lane will need to borrow a heavy cloak and, Father, if you could arrange to have the carriage brought around, I will escort Miss Lane back to her hotel when we have concluded our discussion."

              Duncan nodded and Tempest reached over and pinched him, hard. The scowl he sent her was telling.

              "If you'll excuse us, we've had a long day," Jonah sighed rising. "Thank you so much for inviting us into your home after…"

              "Think nothing of it, Jonah," Duncan replied rising. "You know you're always welcome here.  I think your wife should get some rest. Amelia and Hugh will be here in the morning. Good night, Grace."

              "Take the room at the end of the hall. I've had it prepared for you." Rising, Tempest walked to Grace and gently cupped her cheek. "Do not worry so, ma petite," she advised. "When a man loves a woman, he must do everything he can to keep her safe. That is all your husband wants for you. Good night."

* * * * *

              Passing the study, Grace heard voices coming from within, but she couldn't make out the words. She reluctantly allowed Jonah to lead her up the stairs. Pausing at the top, she looked down and saw Tempest drape a dark cloak over the banister before she disappeared into the recesses of the house.

              Their room was lovely, decorated in shades of pink and rose. A cheery fire burned in the hearth, chasing away the chill. The bed had been turned down invitingly and on one side lay a white nightdress made of fine satin. Looking at her husband, Grace began to slowly open the buttons on the front of her dress.

* * * * *

              Sam closed and locked the heavy door behind them and pulled Miss Lane further into the room. She hadn't spoken a word since they left the dining room and he was mildly surprised. For such a brazen and outspoken young woman, she seemed remarkably subdued. He didn't think it would last long.

              Taking a straight back chair from in front of the desk he positioned it in the center of the room and began to roll up his sleeves. No comfortable position for this one, he rationalized. She deserved to dangle over his long legs as he gave her a dose of well-deserved discipline. Sitting, he motioned her to come to him by patting his knee.

"Why are you doing this, Mr. Jordon?" she asked, staying where she was.

Sam snorted.

              "I would think that would be obvious to a woman of your intelligence, Miss Lane. Must I spell it out? We aren't in a court room."

              "Yet you have made yourself the judge and jury of my supposed crimes," she snapped back. "Are you also my executioner?"

              "Come now, Miss Lane. This is hardly a trip to the gallows. Surely after receiving my letter you grasped the fact I don't approve of women who threaten people with guns. I think I made it quite clear what you could expect if you showed up under those circumstances."

              "I didn't take kindly to your threats then and I don't now," she said, looking at the size of his hands.

"Yet here you are. I wonder, did you think I was not sincere?"

"I thought you were a pompous blowhard trying to frighten me and keep me from coming to Seattle. My opinion has not changed."

              "Miss Lane, I invited you to visit if you chose to do so, just to leave your weapon at home. Was that so hard to comprehend? I've been given to understand you are well-educated."

"I am an educated woman, sir," she replied, drawing herself to her full height and straightening her shoulders.

              "Yes, and as most women, you are ruled by your emotions and not your intellect," he sighed. "Miss Lane, you came onto private property in the dark of night, unannounced, without even the decency to make your presence known. You brought a weapon of questionable accuracy and could have seriously injured any number of people, including yourself. You even put your dear friend at risk and my parents I might add. In the course of events, you destroyed a family heirloom that has been in our possession for generations."

"I said I was sorry."

"How childlike you are, Miss Lane," he sighed shaking his head. "You think saying sorry will fix things. It's fitting that I intend to treat you in a childlike manner. Now come here. Don't force me to come and fetch you."

              He watched her shoulders slump in defeat as she came slowly toward him. The touch of admiration he felt surprised him. He was easily twice her size, yet she put on a brave, resigned face and presented herself at his side. Gently he assisted her over his knees. Neither her hands nor her feet came near enough to touch the floor, a fact that would make this whole process more difficult and humiliating for her he was sure.

              She didn't struggle as he helped her into the proper position and only covered her face with both hands as he lifted her skirts, exposing her thin cotton drawers. Sam was actually quite surprised at how tiny she looked once the voluminous dress was shoved onto her back. He could easily cover both of her cheeks with one hand and he resolved to remain conscious of his superior strength, but tiny or not, she'd acted rashly in a highly dangerous way and she would pay the piper.