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

“Yes, very good. Adam. Because the Society must still exist, I’m certain of that now more than ever. I’ll grant you, I was appalled at what I saw this morning, but not so much so that I’m not relieved he’s…he’s…well, we both know what he is.”

“A bacon-brained halfling who couldn’t locate his own backside with both hands?”

Jessica smiled. “Thank you. Adam is, after all, my brother. I didn’t want to say it myself.”

“You’re welcome. Still, until and unless you’re proven wrong, I suppose I’m now doomed to keeping him close, explaining that particular part of his inheritance, and then watching over him?”

“Yes. I was going to tell you tonight, if I thought I could convince you to listen to reason. Because you’re right, I can’t protect him from the Society if they’re desperate enough to go after him. But you can. My initial reaction was they wouldn’t want him. But if they’ve run out of suitable candidates, they might make an exception.”

“You say I can protect him, and I can. From the ones I know of, yes, but we can’t know them all,” Gideon said, the futility of what he was attempting to do all but smacking him in the face like a cold, wet cloth. He’d been curious, intrigued, and now he was beholden, damn it, the reluctant guardian of one Adam Collier, spotty-faced giggling twit who’d probably think dressing up in a mask and hooded cloak, playing at devil worship, to be the height of good fun.

But it was left to Jessica to really shock him.

“We might, soon. You’ve been seen sporting that horrible golden rose, remember? When I first saw it, I thought you were a member, something that should have occurred to me before I ever contacted you, I suppose. Still, I almost immediately realized you’re not. I believe you on that head.”

“I’d hoped wearing it would—I don’t really know what I’d hoped. I’ll not wear it again. And, again, I apologize.”

“Yes, I know. As I apologize for the pistol. But who is to say, now that my father’s dead, and considering Adam’s clear unsuitability once anyone with two reasonably good eyes sees him, that rose might gain you an invitation to be the new thirteenth member. The eldest child of the founder, Gideon? You’d be a splendid catch.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEY’D GONE BACK DOWNSTAIRS separately, Jessica suggesting it would be better that way. He could simply slip into the gaming room, hopefully crowded at this hour, and she would come down a few minutes later, going directly to the ground-floor supper room to mingle with the patrons stuffing their faces at her expense and hopefully guide them back to the tables.

After all, she still had her business to attend to, and Gideon had kept her from it long enough.

He’d agreed, and left her once they’d decided on an hour to meet the next day. He suggested she come to Portman Square. She’d politely declined, and they’d settled on his coming for her at noon, in his curricle, for a ride to Richmond Park.

“You’re amenable to being seen in public with me?” she’d asked, thinking of his consequence.

“Your half brother is my ward. I see nothing unusual in the two of us becoming acquainted. You’re a widow who earns her living with her uncle, hosting intellectual evenings, correct?”

“And the bloody blazes with anyone who knows better and who’d dare whisper otherwise?”

“I’m not known for concerning myself overmuch with whispers. We’ll make one brief call before getting on our way, if you don’t mind.”

“You have someone you wish me to meet?” She was genuinely surprised at that.

His smile had curled her toes. “Someone I wish to shock would be more accurate. Although I doubt that’s possible. Until tomorrow, Jessica.”

And that had been that. He’d bowed in her direction, and taken his leave. Just as if they’d never been intimate. Just as if their conversation following that intimacy had centered on the state of the weather, or the fripperies of the latest fashions.

He was the most confounding man.

She had remained on the gaming floor until three, when the last of their patrons had finally toddled off, four young gentlemen slightly lighter in their pockets but vowing they’d had the best of good times and would return for a chance to recoup their losses. One of them had very pointedly winked at Mildred, who’d shot a quick, worried glance toward Jessica.

“Nothing more than a friendly round of slap and tickle behind the supper room,” the girl had promised before heading for the kitchens, as her duties included helping Doreen and Seth clear away the remains of the food and dirtied dishes.

Jessica hadn’t found it in her heart to remonstrate with the girl. Not now, considering she herself had gone far beyond a friendly round of slap and tickle. And at last understood its appeal, she’d reminded herself, avoiding Richard’s curious look.

They quietly had gone about the business of gathering up cards and chips and covering the tables with cloths, Jessica still avoiding Richard’s pointed glances until he’d at last directly asked her if perhaps it wasn’t time to close up shop and move their enterprise to Bath, or even Tunbridge Wells.

“I’m fine, Richard,” she’d assured him. “We’re fine. Coming to London was your idea, remember? We’ll soon be able to afford our inn. It would take another two or even three years to earn enough money anywhere but here.”

“He could destroy you with a snap of his fingers.” Richard had come around the faro table to cock his head and look into her eyes. “He may have already done so. You’ve got a new look about you, Jess, and I don’t like it. Soft around the edges. You can’t afford to think like a woman. I always felt that was your best defense—you don’t think like a woman. James beat that softness out of you long ago. Your brother or no, this is not the time to discover you still have a heart.”

“My heart is not involved, Richard,” she’d told him. “What Gid—what the earl and I have between us is strictly business. He wants the Society destroyed, and so do I. For Adam’s sake, for my sake. That’s all it is.”

“And now you’re lying to me. Me, who knows the truth. Two days, undoing the trust of more than four years together.” He’d sighed, shaken his gray head. “We’re all we’ve got, Jess, you and me. At the end of the day, when he’s done with you, that’s all we’ll still have. So you guard that heart you say isn’t at risk, and I’ll be here to pick up the pieces, as always.”

Jessica had kissed him on the cheek, given him a fierce hug, and they’d gone back to work. As it was, she’d have only a few hours’ sleep before Gideon returned to Jermyn Street. Then she’d crawled into her unmade bed to realize Gideon had left his scent behind, and even those few hours of oblivion had mostly alluded her. she didn’t fall asleep until nearly dawn and woke shortly after ten, her eyes going immediately wide and shocked as she threw back the tangled covers, grabbed at James’s banyan to cover her bare body and went in search of Mildred and the tub they kept in the kitchens.

“Doreen!” she called out as she ran barefoot down the stairs. “I need a tub, now. And fresh clothing. And something to eat. Doreen—oh, my God!”

She clasped the wrapper more tightly around her at breast and thigh as Seth looked up from the table, a piece of thickly slathered toast clamped between his jaws, his eyes gone round as saucers.

“Out!” she commanded, not daring to let go of the wrapper in order to point him toward the door.

Seth scraped back the chair and stood up, the toast still held in his teeth. He was looking at her bare feet, for pity’s sake, as if he’d never before in his life seen a woman’s toes. Strawberry jam slid off the slice of toast and plopped onto the floor, unnoticed.

“Come along, Seth,” Richard said calmly, appearing from behind Jessica and walking over to take the boy’s arm. “We’ll leave your corruption to another time.” He stopped in front of Jessica and pushed the boy ahead of him, through the doorway. “I consider it a blessing of our understanding that you do not cavil at prancing about this place in all manner of undress, but now we have the boy to consider.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t think. I overslept, and Gid—and the earl will be here at noon.”

“Gideon. I can resign myself to hearing you call your lover by his name.”

“He’s not my—Oh, hang it, Richard. It’s not as if I’m some vestal virgin, now, is it?”

“And he’s a very pretty man. I don’t fault you your attraction, even as it surprises me. But wounds heal, so that’s probably a good thing. It’s the avoidance of new wounds that worries me. Seth and I are just back from the stalls at Covent Garden,” he went on, just as if he hadn’t all but delivered a stern warning, at least stern for Richard. “Capons were too dear, so we settled on fish chowder for this evening’s suppers.”

“I loathe fish chowder,” she said, smiling. “You’re punishing me, aren’t you?”

“With my usual subtlety, yes. Wear the yellow. It suits you. But put up your hair. It will drive him mad. He shouldn’t be the only one to have slipped half her wits, should he?”

And then Richard was gone, and Doreen was pouring a mere two inches of heated water into the small tin tub.

Jessica was just putting the final pin in her slightly damp hair when Doreen knocked on the bedchamber door to tell her his lordship had sent in his tiger. His name was Thomas—the cutest little scrap, really, and all dressed in the finest livery—to beg Mrs. Linden didn’t keep the earl’s bays standing above five minutes, because that’s what he said, and he said it quite nicely, and called her ma’am and everything, all so very prettylike.

“I’m ready,” Jessica responded quickly to cut Doreen off, grabbing up her bonnet and shawl. “How do I look?”

“Like spring itself, Mrs. Linden,” the maid of all work and front door sentry exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You ain’t worn the yellow since last summer, now have you, and it’s a shame the sun shines so little here, though thank the saints it’s fine today, because the fog is yellow itself at times and dirties everything. Why, it took me hours to brush it all away last time you wore it. Now when was that? Oh, yes, last summer.”

“Thank you,” Jessica told her, chagrined that she’d so forgotten herself as to think Doreen could give a simple answer to a simple question. Still, if there were ever a person who could stall a constable on the ground floor whilst Jessica and Richard and their patrons hastily stowed the cards and markers and pulled out the tomes of poetry, it was Doreen.

The maid’s prattle followed Jessica all the way down to the street and outside, where Doreen pointed to the young tiger and said, “See? Cutest little imp. Now you hold on tight once his lordship puts you to riding back there, young man,” she called out, wagging a finger at him.

Jessica avoided Gideon’s amused expression as the tiger helped her up onto the seat. He was, as usual, looking fine as nine pence as he lightly held the ribbons while his bays signaled their willingness to spring, his curly brimmed beaver at a jaunty angle on his head, his cravat a miracle of snow-white cloth. And no golden rose stuck in the center of it.

“And again, thank you, Doreen. I understand it’s to be the dreaded fish chowder tonight. You must have a considerable amount of chopping to do?”