To Seduce a Sinner (17 page)

The carriage slowed, and she looked out the window to find that they were on Bond Street.

The door opened and Vale jumped to the ground before turning and offering his hand in assistance. She rose and placed her hand in his, feeling the strength of his fingers. She climbed down from the carriage, and Mouse hopped down as well. The street was lined with fashionable shops, and both ladies and gentlemen strolled by the display window Kdispeds.

“Which way do you fancy, my sweet wife?” Vale asked, holding out his arm. “You shall lead and I will follow.”

“Down here a bit, I think,” Melisande replied. “I want to visit a tobacconist first, to purchase some snuff.”

She felt him glance at her. “Are you a fashionable snuff-taker, like our queen?”

“Oh, no.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought before she recalled herself and smoothed out her expression. “It’s for Harold. I always give him a box of his favorite snuff on his birthday.”

“Ah. Lucky Harold, then.”

She glanced up at him. “Do you like snuff?”

“No.” His turquoise eyes were warm as he smiled down at her. “I referred to his fortune in having such a caring sister. If I’d known—”

But his words were cut off by a sharp bark from Mouse. Melisande looked around in time to see the terrier bound from her side and tear across the crowded street.

“Mouse!” She started forward, her eyes on the dog.

“Wait!” Vale grabbed her arm, holding her back.

She pulled her arm. “Let me go! He’ll be hurt.”

Vale yanked her back from the road, just as a big brewer’s cart rumbled by. “Better him than you.”

She could hear shouting across the street, a series of growls, and Mouse barking hysterically.

She turned and placed her palm on Vale’s chest, trying to convey her desperation. “But Mouse—”

Her husband muttered something, then said, “I’ll get the little beast for you, never fear.”

He let a cart pass and then darted into the road. Melisande could now see Mouse across the street, and her heart seized with fear. The terrier was in battle with a huge mastiff at least four times his size. As she watched, the mastiff shook off Mouse and snapped. Mouse skittered away, missing the gaping jaws by inches. Then he charged forward again, fearless as ever. Several boys and men had stopped to watch the fight, some yelling encouragement to the mastiff.

“Mouse!” She looked this time for carriages, horses, and carts as she dashed across the street after Vale. “Mouse!”

Vale reached the dogs just as the mastiff gripped Mouse in its huge jaws. The mastiff lifted Mouse and began shaking him. Melisande felt a scream build in her throat, but strangely no sound came. The bigger dog would break Mouse’s neck if he kept shaking him.

And then Vale brought both fists down on the mastiff’s snout. The big dog backed up a step but didn’t release his prize.

“Oy!” Vale yelled. “Drop it, you devil spawn!”

He hit the dog again just as Mouse twisted wildly in the bigger dog’s grasp. This must’ve been too much, for the mastiff finally dropped Mouse. Kdro ju For a moment, it looked like the massive animal might attack Vale, but her husband aimed a kick at the animal’s flank, and that decided the matter. The bigger dog took off running, much to the crowd’s disappointment. Mouse leapt forward to continue the chase, but Vale grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

“Oh, no, you don’t, you little idiot.”

To Melisande’s horror, Mouse twisted in Vale’s hold and sank his teeth into his hand.

“No, Mouse!” She reached for her pet.

But Vale held her off with his other arm. “Don’t. He’s mad with temper and might bite you as well.”

“But—”

He turned, one hand still holding the dog that was biting him, and looked at her. His eyes were a deep blue now and held only a certainty of purpose; his face was more stern than she’d ever seen it, dark and lined and with no trace of amusement. It came to her that this must be what he looked like when he’d ridden into battle.

His voice was as cold as the North Sea. “Listen to me. You are my wife, and I’ll not see you hurt, even if it makes me your enemy. There can be no compromise in this matter.”

She swallowed and nodded.

He eyed her a moment more, seemingly oblivious to the blood dripping from his hand. Then he jerked a nod. “Good. Stand back and don’t interfere in what I do.”

She grasped her hands in front of herself so that she might not be tempted to snatch at Mouse. She adored the dog, even knowing he was an ill-tempered animal that no one else liked. Mouse was
hers,
and he returned her adoration. But Vale was her husband, and she could not contradict his authority—even if it meant sacrificing Mouse.

Vale shook the dog in his hand. Mouse growled and held on. Vale calmly thrust his free thumb down Mouse’s throat. The dog gagged and let go. In a flash, Vale wrapped his hand around the dog’s snout.

“Come on,” he said to her, holding the dog in both hands. The crowd had scattered when the prospect of blood had disappeared. Now Vale led her back to their carriage.

One of the footmen saw them coming and started forward. “Are you hurt, my lord?”

“It’s nothing,” Vale said. “Is there a box or bag in the carriage?”

“There’s a basket under the coachman’s seat.”

“Does it have a lid?”

“Yes, sir, a sturdy one too.”

“Fetch it, please.”

The footman ran back to the carriage.

“What will you do?” Melisande asked.

Vale glanced at her. “Nothing terrible. He needs to be contained until he calms down a bit.”

Mouse had stopped growling. Every now and then, he gave Kthe/p>a violent wriggle in a bid for freedom, but Vale held fast.

The footman had the basket out and open when they reached the carriage.

“Close it as soon as I put him in.” Vale eyed the man. “Ready?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The action was done in a flash, the footman wide-eyed, Mouse struggling desperately, and Vale grim. And then her pet was confined in a basket that rocked violently in the footman’s hands.

“Put it back under the seat,” Vale said to the footman. He took Melisande’s arm. “Let’s return home.”

H
E MAY HAVE
alienated her, perhaps made her hate him, but it couldn’t be helped. Jasper watched his wife as she sat opposite him in the carriage. She held herself rigidly erect, her back and shoulders straight, her head tilted down just a little as she stared at her lap. Her expression was veiled. She wasn’t a beautiful woman—a part of him was coldly aware of that fact. She dressed in demure, forgettable clothes, didn’t do anything, in fact, to make herself known. He’d engaged—bedded—women far more beautiful. She was an ordinary, plain woman.

And still, his mind furiously worked as he sat, planning his next assault against the fortress of her soul. Perhaps this was a kind of madness, for he was as fascinated by her as if she were a magical fairy come to lure him into another world.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice dropping into his thoughts like a pebble into a pond.

“I’m wondering if you’re a fairy,” he replied.

Her eyebrows arched delicately upward. “You’re bamming me.”

“Alas, no, my heart.”

She looked at him, her light brown eyes unfathomable. Then her gaze lowered to his hand. He’d wrapped a handkerchief around the bite as soon as they’d entered the carriage.

She bit her lip. “Does it still hurt?”

He shook his head, even though his hand had begun to throb. “Not at all, I assure you.”

She still frowned down at his hand. “I should like Mr. Pynch to bandage it properly when we return. Dog bites can be ugly. Do make sure he washes it properly, please.”

“As you wish.”

She looked out the window and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “I’m so sorry Mouse bit you.”

“Has he ever done it to you?”

She stared at him, puzzled.

“Has the dog ever bitten you, my lady wife?” If the animal had, Jasper would have it put down.

Her eyes widened. “No. Oh, no. Mouse is terribly affectionate with me. In fact, he’s never bitten anyone else at all.”

Jasper smiled wryly. “Then I suppose I should be honored to be the Kredghtfirst.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Merely let him stew for a bit.”

Her face was once again expressionless. He knew how much the mongrel meant to her; she’d all but confessed that it was her only friend in the world.

He shifted on the seat. “Where did you get him?”

She was quiet so long that he thought she might not answer.

Then she sighed. “He was one of a litter of puppies found in my brother’s stables. The head groom wanted them drowned—he said they already had enough ratters about. He’d put the puppies into a sack while a stable boy went to fetch a bucket of water. I came into the stable yard just as the puppies escaped the sack. They scattered and all the men were running about and yelling, trying to catch the poor things. Mouse ran to me and immediately caught the hem of my dress between his teeth.”

“So you saved him,” Jasper said.

She shrugged. “It seemed the thing to do. I’m afraid Harold was not best pleased.”

No, he doubted her stodgy brother would’ve been happy with a mongrel in his house. But Melisande would’ve ignored any complaints and simply done as she pleased, and poor Harold would’ve had to eventually give up. Jasper was learning that his wife was almost terrifyingly determined when she set her mind to something.

“We’re here,” she murmured.

He looked up to find they were drawn up in front of his town house.

“I’ll have the footman bring Mouse inside.” He caught her gaze to impress upon her his inflexibility in this matter. “Don’t let him out or touch him until I say you may.”

She nodded, her face as serene and regal as a queen. Then she turned and descended the carriage without waiting for his help. She walked to the town house steps and climbed them unhurriedly. Her head was erect, her shoulders level, and her back straight. Jasper found that back oddly provoking.

He frowned, cursed under his breath, and followed in his wife’s wake. He may’ve won that round, but in some ways he felt as if he’d been ignominiously routed.

Melisande winced as Suchlike set a pin in her hair. The sound was muffled, true, because it came from three floors below. Vale’d had the dog locked in a little stone storage room off the cellar. Mouse had begun barking shortly after he’d been locked in. Probably when he realized that he wasn’t going to be let out again right away. Since that time—late this morning—he’d barked steadily. It was evening now. Once in a while, he’d stop as if listening for a rescue, but when none came, he’d start up again. And each time the barking seemed louder than before.

“Loud little dog, isn’t he?” Suchlike said. She didn’t sound particularly put out by the racket.

Maybe the household wasn’t as affected as Melisande thought. “He’s never been locked up before.”

“Do him good, then.” Suchlike set another pin and then stepped back to eye her handiwork critically. “Mr. Pynch says he’ll go stark raving mad soon.”

Her lady’s maid sounded as if she’d relish the valet’s insanity.

Melisande arched an eyebrow. “Has Lord Vale returned?”

“Yes, my lady. A half hour or so ago.” Suchlike began to tidy the dressing table.

Melisande stood and wandered across the room. Mouse’s barking stopped suddenly, and she held her breath.

Then he began again.

Vale had forbade her from going to the dog, but if this lasted much longer, she didn’t know if she could stay away. Mouse’s distress was terribly hard for her to bear.

A knock sounded on her door.

She turned and stared. “Come.”

Vale opened the door. He may not’ve been home long, but from the dampness of his hair, he’d had time to wash and change his clothes. “Good evening, my lady wife. Would you care to accompany me on a visit to the prisoner?”

She smoothed down her skirts and nodded. “Yes, please.”

He stood aside, and she led the way down the stairs, the barking becoming clearer the nearer they got.

“I’ve a boon to ask, my lady,” Vale said.

“What is it?”

“I’d like you to stand back and let me handle the dog.”

She pressed her lips together. Mouse had only ever responded to her. What if the terrier tried to bite Vale again? Her husband seemed a gent S seipsle man, but she sensed that the gentleness was but a surface layer.

“Melisande?”

She turned. He had stopped on the stairs, waiting for her answer. His turquoise eyes seemed to gleam in the shadows.

She nodded jerkily. “As you wish.”

He descended the last steps and took her hand, leading her back to the kitchens.

The hallway became more dim as they entered the servants’ domain until they reached the kitchen. The room was huge, dominated by a large arched brick fireplace at one end. Two windows at the back of the house let in light, making it a bright room during the day. At the moment, candles supplemented the fading light from outside.

The cook, three scullery maids, several footmen, and the butler were all in the midst of dinner preparations. At their entrance, the cook dropped her spoon into a pot of simmering soup, and everyone else stilled. Mouse’s barking echoed from below.

“My lord,” Oaks began.

“Please. I don’t wish to interrupt your work,” Vale said. “I’ve just come to deal with my lady’s dog. Ah, Pynch.”

The valet had risen from a chair by the fireplace.

“Did you find a scrap of meat?” Vale asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Mr. Pynch said. “Cook has most kindly given me some of the beef from last night’s supper.” He proffered a lumpy folded handkerchief.

Melisande cleared her throat. “Actually . . .”

Vale looked down at her. “My heart?”

“If it’s for Mouse, he loves cheese,” she said apologetically.

“I bow to your superior knowledge.” Vale turned to the cook, who was hovering near her soup. “Have you a bit of cheese?”

Cook curtsied. “Aye, my lord. Annie, fetch that round of cheese from the pantry.”

A scullery maid scurried into a room off the kitchen and reappeared with a wheel of cheese nearly as large as her head. She set it on the kitchen table and carefully unwrapped the cloth about it.

Cook took a sharp knife and cut off a slice. “Will this do, my lord?”

“Perfect, Mrs. Cook.” Vale grinned at the woman, making her thin cheeks tinge a light pink. “I am forever in your debt. Now if you will show me your cellar, Mr. Oaks?”

The butler led the way through the pantry and to a door that opened to a short flight of stairs leading into the partially underground cellar.

“Mind your head,” Vale admonished Melisande. He had to bend nearly double to descend the stairs. “Thank you, Oaks. You may leave us.”

The butler looked greatly relieved. The cellar was lined in cold, damp stone, the walls stacked with shelves holding all matter of foo S malood and wine. In one corner was a little wooden door, behind which Mouse had been imprisoned. He’d stopped barking at the sound of their footsteps on the stairs, and Melisande could imagine him behind the door standing with his head cocked to the side.

Vale looked at Melisande and put his finger to his lips.

She nodded, pressing her lips together.

He grinned and cracked the cellar door. Immediately a small black nose peeped through the opening. Vale squatted and pinched off a bite of cheese.

“Now, then, Sir Mouse,” he murmured as he held out the cheese in long, strong fingers. “Have you thought over your sins?”

The nose twitched, and then Mouse took the cheese very carefully from Vale’s hand and disappeared.

Melisande expected Vale to push into the little cellar room, but he simply waited, still squatting on the stone floor as if he had all the time in the world.

A few seconds more and the black, twitching nose reappeared. This time Vale held the cheese just out of the dog’s reach.

Melisande waited, holding her breath. Mouse could be terribly stubborn. On the other hand, he did adore cheese. The dog nudged the door open with his nose. Dog and man eyed each other a moment, until Mouse trotted out and took the second piece of cheese from Vale. He immediately retreated a few steps, turned his back, and gobbled down the cheese. This time Vale held the cheese in his open palm on his knee. Mouse crept forward and hesitantly took the cheese.

When he came back for another bite, Vale ran his hand gently over the dog’s head as he ate. Mouse didn’t seem to mind or even notice the touch. Vale took a long, thin leather cord from his pocket. One end had been made into a loop. When Mouse came back for his next bite of cheese, Vale deftly slipped the loop over the dog’s neck, where it hung loosely. Then he fed Mouse more cheese.

By the time he’d consumed the entire slice of cheese, Mouse was letting Vale rub him all over his little body. Vale stood and tapped his thigh. “Come on, then.”

He turned and left the cellar. Mouse shot a puzzled glance at Melisande, but since he was on the other end of the lead, he was compelled to follow.

Melisande shook her head with wonder and trailed behind. Vale continued through the kitchen and out the back door, where he played out the lead enough to let Mouse do his business.

Then he reeled in the leash and smiled at Melisande. “Shall we partake of supper?”

She could only nod. Gratitude was welling in her chest. Vale had tamed Mouse, proved his mastery over the dog, and all without hurting him. She knew of very few men who would bother to do the same, let alone without beating an animal. What he had done had taken intelligence and patience and not a little compassion. Compassion for a dog that had bitten him only that morning. If she didn’t already love him, she would love him now.

MOUSE LAY UNDER
the table at Jasper’s feet. The leash was wrapped about his wrist, and he’d felt the tug when the animal h Sn tAY ad made a couple of abortive attempts to go to his mistress. Now, the animal simply lay, head between his paws, and gave a theatrical sigh every now and again. Jasper felt a smile curve his lips. He could see why Melisande was fond of the little beast. Mouse had an outsized presence.

“Do you intend to go out again tonight?” Melisande asked from across the table.

She was watching him over the rim of her wineglass, her eyes shadowed and mysterious.

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

He looked down as he sawed at the roast beef on his plate. Did she wonder why he was always going out, why many nights he stayed away until the wee hours of the morn? Or did she simply think him a mindlessly drunken wastrel? What a lowering thought. Especially since he didn’t particularly like the gaming hells and balls he attended every night. He simply hated the hours of black night more.

“You could stay in,” Melisande said.

He looked at her. Her expression was bland, her movements unhurried as she broke a roll and buttered it.

“Would you like me to?” he asked.

She raised her brows, her gaze still on her roll. “Perhaps.”

He felt his belly tighten at the single, subtly taunting word. “And what would we do, sweet wife, if I did stay here with you?”

She shrugged. “Oh, there’re many things we could do.”

“Such as?”

“We could play cards.”

“With only two players? Not a very interesting game.”

“Checkers or chess?”

He arched a brow.

“We could talk,” she said quietly.

He took a sip of wine. He chased her during the day, but for some reason the idea of simply spending the evening talking with her made him uneasy. His ghosts were most ferocious at night. “What would you like to discuss?”

A footman brought in a tray of cheeses and fresh strawberries and set it between them. Melisande didn’t move—her back, as always, was militarily straight—but Jasper thought she leaned a little forward. “You could tell me about your youth.”

“Alas, a rather boring subject”—he idly fingered the wineglass—“except for the time Reynaud and I nearly drowned in the St. Aubyn pond.”

“I’d like to hear about that.” She still hadn’t taken a strawberry.

“We were in a perilous time of life,” Jasper began. “Eleven, to be exact. The summer before we were sent away to school.”

“Oh?” She selected one strawberry and transferred it to her plate. It was neither the biggest nor the smallest berry, but it was perfectly red and ripe. She stroked it with her forefinger as if savoring the anticipation of eating Stioles it.

Jasper swallowed some wine. His throat had gone suddenly dry. “I’m afraid I’d escaped from my tutor that afternoon.”

“Escaped?” She turned the strawberry on the plate.

He watched her fingers on the fruit and imagined them somewhere else entirely. “My tutor was a rather elderly man, and if I had a bit of a head start, I could outrun him easily.”

“Poor man,” she said, and bit into the strawberry.

For a moment, his breath caught and all coherent thought fled his mind. Then he cleared his throat, though his voice still emerged hoarse. “Yes, well, and what was worse, Reynaud had slipped his traces as well.”

She swallowed. “And?”

“Unfortunately, we chose to meet up by the pond.”

“Unfortunately?”

He winced, remembering. “Somehow we got the notion to build a raft.”

Her eyebrows lifted, delicate light brown wings.

He skewered a bit of cheese on his knife and ate it. “As it turns out, building a raft from fallen branches and bits of twine is actually much harder than one would at first think. Especially if one is an eleven-year-old boy.”

“I sense a tragedy in the making.” Her face was grave, but somehow her eyes laughed at him.

“Indeed.” He took a strawberry and twirled the stem between his fingers. “By afternoon, we were covered in mud, sweaty and panting, and we’d somehow constructed a contraption about three feet square, although square it certainly was not.”

She bit her lip as if to keep from laughing. “And?”

He set his elbows on the table, still holding the strawberry, and assumed a solemn expression. “In retrospect, I very much doubt that the thing we’d assembled could float on the water by itself. Naturally, the notion of trying it out on the water
before
actually trying to sail on it never occurred to us.”

She was smiling now, no longer holding back the laughter, and he felt a thrill of gladness. To make this woman lose composure, to make her express joy, was no mean feat. And the wonder of it was the pleasure he took in making her smile.

“The outcome was inevitable, I fear.” He reached across the table and pressed the strawberry he held against that smiling mouth. She parted her pale pink lips and bit into the fruit. His groin tightened, and he stared at her mouth as she chewed. “We came a cropper almost immediately, the very instability of the raft saving us.”

She swallowed. “How so?”

He tossed aside the strawberry stem and folded his arms on the table. “We got only about a yard from shore before we sank. We landed in the weeds, the water only to our waists.”

“That’s all?”

He felt th S"3"idte corner of his mouth kick up. “Well, it would’ve been all had not Reynaud managed to land almost on top of a goose nest.”