The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares. Kasey Michaels

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      Jessica turned about to goggle at the maid. “Mildred. How did you know? that’s exactly it, exactly what I meant to say. I mean, perhaps not in that way… .”

      “Make it as pretty as you want, my lady, but it comes down to the same in the end, that’s what I’ve learned. One minute it’s, oh, laws, come here and let me have that, and the next it’s for the love of all that’s decent, keep that nasty thing away from me.”

      “Mildred!” Jessica felt her cheeks go hot. It hadn’t been like that. She’d simply been tired. Exhausted. She hadn’t actually told him to go away. “I don’t think we should—”

      The maid went about folding up the bathing sheet and continued as if Jessica hadn’t spoken. “It’s the same for the men, you know, but even worse. They want you till they get you, and use you every which way while they have you, but then it’s not a game anymore, you see. They won, and now it’s time to move on to the next one. That’s what they want most, the winning.”

      Jessica didn’t protest this time. “I see.”

      “I suppose so! And then there’s the worst of all of them. The lying buggers who swear they love you. Ha! We all know what it is they love, and it’s not our pretty smiles or pleasant ways.”

      The maid’s voice had taken on a fierceness now, and Jessica bit her lips together and simply listened, turning about to see pain on the woman’s face.

      “I love you, Millie, is what he told me,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut. “I surely do love you, so why don’t you lie down right here and let me do what I want. Nothing splits wide a girl’s knees like hearing some handsome liar swearing he loves her. Oh, they’re the worst, ma’am, those what swear they love you. Then they run off like their breeches is on fire when you say, oh, yes, Johnny Hopkins, and I love you straight back, I love you quite truly. Run like the wind, they do, when they hear that, and the next thing you know your sister Bettyann tells your Da what you’ve been doing at the spinney and he tosses you out, and now you’re doing what you have to do to feed your belly, and figuring out what you should have figured out long ago, and that’s that love has nothing to do with lying down and letting them do what they want, even when you like what they’re doing.”

      And then Mildred stopped, clapped her hands to her cheeks as if finally realizing what she’d been saying. “Oh, but not his lordship, ma’am! I wasn’t meaning him, no, I was not. Like I said, he’s bosky for you, we all say so. Chased you till he caught you, didn’t he, and here we are, and here we’re going to stay. We’ve a fine life now, all of us. Those society ladies you talked to, well I’ll wager they’re just jealous of that handsome man you’ve got trailing along at your shoestrings. Yes, I do! Would you want me to lay out your clothes for you now, my lady? Doreen’s still off muttering over the pressing iron.”

      “Yes, thank you, Mildred. I’d appreciate that.”

      “The blue sprigged muslin, my lady?”

      Jessica nodded her agreement, her mind traveling back to a morning that seemed so long ago now and yet far from in the past.

      She’d thanked him for not sending her away, she remembered that. But mostly she remembered what he’d said in return: I’m not ready to let you go.

      God, she’d accused him then, hadn’t she? Accused him of being just what Mildred had described, a man who had won, had gotten what he wanted. He’d even gone so far as to marry her, to get what he wanted. With never a word of love. Perhaps she should be thankful for that.

      Because if Gideon had told her he loved her, she would have told him she loved him, too, I love you quite truly.

      And that, at least according to Mildred, would be the worst thing she could do.

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      GIDEON WATCHED JESSICA as she kept her head bent slightly, as if she needed to keep all her concentration on the luncheon plate in front of her. Perhaps she was remembering how their evening had ended and wondered if she believed she’d reneged on some sort of marital agreement they’d made. My protection in exchange for your body. That was a lowering thought and didn’t make him feel particularly proud.

      Then again, was what they had really a marriage, except in the legal sense of the word? He had a quick, fleeting thought of Jessica and him lounging on the grass at Yearlings, one of his smaller estates, located in prime horse country. Just the two of them, alone—talking, laughing, getting to know each other far from London and any thoughts about a possible lethal legacy of his father’s damn Society.

      It seemed so unfair that they couldn’t have that. Or could they?

      He hadn’t seen her since he’d pressed a kiss against her hair that morning and left her to snuggle deeper beneath the covers. He’d rather prided himself on the fact he hadn’t attempted to kiss her awake, hadn’t attempted a lot more. Perhaps he was learning restraint. It was a new experience for a man who had never really questioned his belief that he could take what he wanted because…No, he had no ending for that thought. At least none that wouldn’t make him uncomfortable.

      In any event, he’d hurried his valet through the chores of bathing and dressing, and ordered his mount brought around front before the clock had struck nine, an ungodly hour for any gentleman of the ton to be out and about in Mayfair unless he was finding his way home after a long night.

      A discreet enquiry at one of his clubs—meaning, a gold coin slipped into the gloved hand of the majordomo—had given him the direction of one Marquis of Singleton, for all the good that had done him. It was hours too early to leave his card, but at least now he knew where the man lived, in case he decided to pay him a visit.

      From there, he had gone to Cavendish Square, brushing past a disapproving Soames and heading straight for his grandmother’s bedchamber. After all, thanks to the recently deceased Marquis of Mellis, he now knew the way.

      He learned three things during that very brief visit.

      One, Trixie had no recollection of a Ravenbill ever being mentioned as a member of the society.

      Secondly, there was a reason no one saw his grandmother before two in the afternoon. Gideon’s conclusion was nobody would want to, not if they’d sleep nights! He’d found Trixie still abed, lying on her back in the very center of the large mattress as if she’d been laid out for a viewing, her hands and arms wrapped in thick, greasy-looking cotton gauze, her hair dark with some sort of pomade, and her face, neck and chest slathered with a lavishly applied cream the color of spring leaves. The room was hot, and smelled of at least six different scents; some medicinal, some flowery, none of them particularly appealing.

      And, lastly, he’d learned that, petite as she was, old as she was, Beatrix Redgrave could launch a silver candlestick more than twenty-five feet with deadly accuracy.

      Absently rubbing at his left shoulder—he’d been too shocked to duck quite fast enough—he finally broke the not completely companionable silence of the luncheon table. “I saw Trixie this morning. She sees no connection between the Marquis of Singleton and the society.”

      Jessica laid down her fork. “But Ravenbill? Bird?”

      He shrugged. “Coincidence? Or it proves we were right to conclude they’re no longer confining membership to eldest sons, СКАЧАТЬ