Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

F rom the top of the stone staircase leading to Brownstone Hall's entrance, Maslow greeted Jacob with a smile. "Good afternoon, milord."

He nodded at his butler. This morning, Jacob's steps had been light as he commented on the beautiful weather and how spring seemed right around the corner. Now, he felt as though he dragged leaden soles in his Hessian boots.

He entered the hall and trudged down the polished marble floor. As a child, he would have made a game of the foyer's large checkered flooring, stepping on the white squares and not the black. If only avoiding pitfalls in life were that easy. The mistakes now swirled black, white, and gray in various shapes, sizes, and surprises.

He would never regret having a child, even though he regretted the pain his sin caused and continued to cause others, especially his son.

He'd been foolish to think no one would recognize the resemblance. Part of him was flattered, but the other knew it meant facing facts. Would Emily tell her family? Would they bar him from seeing his son? He rubbed his hands over his face, almost missing Mr. Welsh sitting in a chair outside the study. "Mr. Welsh, good afternoon."

His steward stood, stuffing a ring he'd been examining into his pocket, and bowed. "I'm here for our regular meeting."

"If you're considering proposing to your lady love, I recommend against it. Women only cause problems. The whole lot of them." He entered the study, pulled out his pocket watch, and sank into the leather chair behind the desk. Five past the hour. He'd forgotten the meeting. "I'm a bit distracted. Shall we postpone until tomorrow, or is anything pressing?"

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." Mr. Welsh strode to the door but paused and turned. "Actually, there was a caller who was quite determined. Lady Benton. Maslow left her calling card in the silver tray. She is staying at the Rose and Thistle Inn and is"—the young man cleared his throat—"awaiting your visit."

"When did you mail out the response to her last letter?"

"I posted it right away. It should have arrived a week ago."

"Is Lord Benton with her?"

"Not that I know of. Maslow may have gotten a better look within the carriage."

"I'll check with him. That will be all." Jacob waved him away, then rested his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Why had Lady Benton come to Sylvanwood? The last thing he needed was her creating more scandal. Next time the woman became spoony drunk, he'd let the guests laugh at her passed out on the floor.

What was he thinking? There wouldn't be a next time. He had no desire to return to that crowd. Best for him to resolve any misconceptions or delusions Lady Benton might hold and find out if her husband had been in the area—specifically the night of the Crawford party when highwaymen robbed Lord and Lady Memphis.

Jacob heaved out of the chair and sighed. He needed to keep his reputation clean to make a good impression on the Thompsons, especially now that the truth was out. The public tap room of the inn would create less local gossip and attention since meetings were often held there—both business and private in nature. If only he knew he wasn't walking into Benton's trap.

A s far as inns went, at least the Rose and Thistle was respectable, with whitewashed walls and dried lavender bouquets that scented the air, blending with the heavy smell of spirits.

A few patrons filled the stools at the bar with mugs set before them. The owner was a friendly chap with a red nose and a boisterous voice with a Scottish lilt. He immediately recognized Jacob even though they'd never met. Word spread quickly when the upper ranks came to small towns.

"I heard a friend is in town and thought I'd pay him a visit." Jacob extended his card to the owner. In his last interaction with Lady Benton, he'd been targeting her to gain intelligence regarding her husband's suspicious affiliations. Information was still his objective, but he was no longer willing to use his old tactics, which made their pending encounter tricky.

"His lordship didn't check in, milord, just her ladyship and"—the owner flashed him a sly look—"I don't think she's expectin' him."

Jacob relaxed, his fingers no longer twitching to grasp the pistol hidden in his coat pocket.

"She's playing cards with friends in our back room." He beckoned him to follow. "Right this way." The man directed him past the stairs leading to the guest rooms to a wooden-paneled rear room.

Laughter sounded, but a curtain over the door blocked his view. Jacob walked slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light, and slid his hand into his coat pocket, gripping his pistol just in case. He approached at a narrow angle, staying tight to the wall, and glanced back, orienting where he could be vulnerable to attack. The oblivious owner held the drapery aside and gestured for him to enter. Jacob scanned the room, making out shapes—a cluster of tables and chairs and a group of gents and ladies gathered at the far corner table.

Several barmaids passed out rounds of drinks, but he didn't identify any threats.

"She'd be somewhere in the mix." The owner tipped his head toward the guests, then left.

"There you are, darling." Lady Benton rose from her seat at the card table. A large plume of feathers adorned her hat. "I just knew you'd come."

The male guests at her table politely rose. At a separate table, the dealer paused, and the players swiveled their heads and gaped at Jacob with dazed smiles and half-open eyelids.

Lady Benton sauntered in his direction, but her hat tilted to the right, guiding her body that direction. With a hand on the fireplace mantel, she righted her angle and tried again, stumbling slightly and tumbling into his arms. Jacob yanked his hand out of his pocket in time to catch her.

"I appear to be a touch jug-bitten. I told Lady Anne we'd only have one drink, but these gentlemen bought us more." She shifted in his arms, leaning on his left side. Her face was flushed, and the smell of gin wafted under his nose as she spoke. "Shame on you, Mr. Klay. You've gone and gotten me foxed."

Jacob grasped her upper arms and leaned her against the wall.

She pouted. "I waited for you, darling, but you never came." She reached out a gloved hand as if to caress his face but instead dragged her finger down over his nose and lips. "I'm fed up with wanting. No, I'm fed up with waiting. Did I say waiting or wanting?" She shrugged a sensuous shoulder. "No matter, I'm done with both."

"Lady Benton, I'm not?—"

"Shhhh." She held a finger to her lips. "We can talk in the other room." She grabbed his arm, and he allowed her to lead him out into the hall so that they'd have less of an audience. She shielded her eyes with her other hand from the front foyer window's bright light. "I'm here for the Rogers party on Wednesday night and the Simmons party on Friday, but in the meantime, I'm happy to entertain."

Jacob stopped. Lady Rogers and Lady Simmons threw lavish parties at their country estates in surrounding towns that drew the height of the le bon ton . Bandits would be drooling to accost the nobility traveling the roads this week.

"The parties will still take place despite the recent robberies?"

"Are you worried for my well-being?" Her gaze rested on his mouth, and she swayed forward, but he shifted, and she fell against his side, laying her head upon his shoulder. She sighed. "The Season must go on, and it can't without the pre-Season parties. Besides, I heard shots were fired. Maybe they got the fiends?" Lady Benton half sauntered, half stumbled toward the stairs, until it registered that he wouldn't follow.

"Silly, aren't you coming?"

"Where's Lord Benton?" Jacob leveled her with a stern glare.

Her bottom lip protruded into a pout before she broke into giggles. "My husband is traveling. He reinjured his shoulder and has ridden to Bath to heal in the pump house spring waters." Her mouth twisted into a cynical smile. "Or to find solace in that wretched light-skirt love of his." She waved a hand. "No matter. He is not due to return for a fortnight, and I told everyone I was visiting my sickly cousin in Sylvanwood. Only Lady Anne knows the truth, and she'll hold my secrets because I hold hers."

A wicked smile blossomed upon her rouged lips. Lady Benton was known for her beauty. Her red lips and pale skin complemented her silky blond hair, but Jacob saw the bitterness masked by her feminine wiles in that smile. He glimpsed her future self, rotted from the inside out unless she changed.

Sympathy for this broken woman washed over him.

"Lady Benton."

She stepped closer, too close, and her head tipped back. "Darling, call me Lucile." She placed her gloved hand upon his chest.

"I'm not your darling." Jacob seized her wrist and pulled her over to a pair of wingback chairs under the stairs, separated by a small table. He lowered her into one and sat in the other. "When was the last time you saw your husband?"

She closed her eyes and pressed gloved fingers to her temples. "Several Saturdays ago." She peered at him and dropped her hands. "Indeed, we'd argued because he was supposed to escort me to the Crawford party, but he refused because his shoulder was injured. He left for Bath instead."

"Your husband received his shoulder injury when he accosted me on the road in Sylvanwood."

She smothered an eruption of giggles. "Surely, you're mistaken. Benton isn't capable of such a feat."

"His henchmen are, and he had no problem holding a gun to my back."

"Oh, my." Her eyes widened, but she waved her hand dismissively. "We'll need to be more discreet. I'm tired of him ruining my fun."

"There has been a misunderstanding. I am not interested in pursuing a relationship with a married woman—nor any woman, for that matter—until I decide to settle down." An image of Emily's smile as she sat beside him on the bridge flashed before his eyes. But she'd never have him, especially now that she knew he was Christian's father.

"But your letter?" Her brow furrowed. "It practically begged for a much-needed diversion from all the work of restoring the hall. I came as soon as I read it."

He recalled his words to his steward. Mention that there is much that needs my attention here at Brownstone Hall, and I cannot be otherwise engaged. "I believe you read too much into what was written."

"But you took me to bed."

Jacob ran a hand across the back of his head. "I aided an inebriated woman in retiring after casting up her accounts in front of her guests, but that was the extent of it."

She blinked and shook her head. "I don't understand."

"That night, you'd dipped too deep in your cups. You wanted to show me your husband's wine collection, but when you stood, you grew dizzy and retched on the floor." He could still hear the laughter of her so-called friends as they cackled over her drunkenness. "I couldn't leave you like that, so I scooped you up. Your footmen were busy cleaning the mess, so your butler, who claimed to have a bad back, directed me to your chamber. I placed you neatly in bed and intended to leave." Or search her husband's chamber for clues of a connection between him and a ring of jewel thieves, but she needn't know that part. "Your husband picked that inopportune time to arrive home. I stole through the second-story window and lowered myself to the first-floor patio."

She frowned.

"Nothing. Happened. Between. Us." Jacob enunciated each word.

"But you dueled?" She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.

Jacob kept his gaze on her face and not the flesh she flaunted. "Your husband demanded satisfaction. My honor was at stake. I tried to get him to see reason, but he'd suspected you and didn't believe a word I said."

"He suspects something?" Lady Benton gasped. "Did he say who?"

Jacob snorted. "He was a tad busy aiming his pistol at me."

"Think back." She sobered a little too quickly. "You don't recall him murmuring a name?"

"I'm afraid my attention was elsewhere. Mostly on the barrel of his gun."

She shrugged. "Well, it all worked out, didn't it?"

"If you consider almost dying twice ‘working out,'" Jacob murmured.

She frowned. "Are you talking to yourself?"

"Sometimes I need expert advice." Sarcasm laced his tone.

She melted into a seductive pose. "Shall we retire upstairs, then?"

Clearly, she had no other useful information for him. It could have been Benton's plan to rob the Memphis coach on route to Bath.

"I'm rather sleepy." She rose, sauntered to the back stairs, and posed against the railing with the seductive curve of her hip pushed out, as if to entice a fool to follow. She faked a yawn.

"Why don't you go on and clean yourself up a bit?"

Her hand moved to her hair, and she frowned. She climbed the stairs, keeping one hand on the wall for balance. "I'll be waiting. Don't tarry."

He watched her stagger up. Once he heard the door of her room open and close, he placed his hat atop his head and strode out the front exit, wishing the owner a good day.

E mily lay snug under the covers of her bed, yet she wafted in and out of sleep with images of Jacob haunting her rest. In her dream, Christian played behind her with his carved horse, neighing and prancing it about. Mama, Papa, and Samuel worked the far field in the distance. Jacob stood a few feet away on her other side. He offered one of his lazy smiles that flipped her stomach and sucked the air from her lungs. He extended his open hand, a tempting invitation. She stared at his palm, so strong, so secure, and so masculine. She longed to slip her hand into his to feel the warmth of his fingers in hers, but she hesitated.

Could she allow herself to love? Could she draw him into her inner circle? She met those blue eyes so sure, so confident. Yes. Her hand reached out as if with a will of its own. Their fingers brushed, and a rush of excitement coursed through her body.

Jacob's hand passed hers, and she frowned as she clasped air. Instead, he reached behind her, grabbing Christian and pulling him away. Christian's small hand waved goodbye, and Jacob led him to his carriage. Emily tried to run after them, but her feet were rooted to the spot. She cried for help, but the words stuck in her throat.

A thud woke her. The Bible she'd fallen asleep reading fell to the floor when she'd rolled. Her heart pounded and her breath came in quick pants. She was in her room. Safe in her bed.

She felt the floor for her Bible. Her fingers found a corner of the leather cover. She set the book on her bedside table and stared at the ceiling.

Lord, You wouldn't allow Jacob to take Christian from us, right? I know You want what's best for Your children, and wouldn't a loving home be better for Christian than the home of a rake? Please don't let this libertine upend our lives.