Chapter 3
M
ichael Sinclair, Viscount Tarley, found himself in front of the Regmont town house in Mayfair thirty minutes into the two-hour block of time in which Lady Regmont was known to be at home to callers. He dismounted before he could change his mind and passed the reins to the waiting footman, then took the steps up to the front door two at a time. He resisted the urge to check his cravat, which he’d styled modestly with a simple barrel knot. His anxiousness was extreme, to the point that he’d dithered over which of his waistcoats was the most attractive foil for the deep blue coat he wore for her, because she had once said blue was a very attractive color on his person.
In short order, he was announced into a drawing room holding half a dozen callers. Hester sat in a butter-colored wingback in the center of the assemblage, looking as fragile and beautiful as he had ever seen her.
“Lord Tarley,” she greeted, extending her hands to him without rising.
He crossed the oriental rug with swift strides and kissed the back of each pale, slender hand. “Lady Regmont. My day is brighter for having begun it in your presence.”
His pleasure would be dimmed when he left, as if he stepped out of the sunlight and into a shadow. He believed she was made for him, so much so he’d never once contemplated marrying anyone else. In his youth, he had thought it would be perfect for the Sinclair brothers to marry the Sheffield sisters and live parallel, harmonious lives. But Hadley had nursed grander plans for his daughters, and Michael’s position as second son was not of sufficient consequence even to bear consideration.
He’d never had a chance to have her.
To add insult to injury, Hester was denied even a proper Season, just as her sister had been. She was betrothed almost from the moment she was presented at court.
“I thought you had forgotten me,” she said to him. “It has been ages since you last called.”
“I could never forget you.” Although there were nights when he prayed for such to be possible.
She looked over his shoulder with a telling glance. A moment later, an efficient servant moved a damask-upholstered wooden chair to a place beside her. The other guests returned Michael’s brisk nods of greeting with smiles and effusive welcomes.
“Please,” Hester said, gesturing at the chair. “Sit. Tell me everything that has transpired in your life since the last time we spoke.”
He settled into the seat, his gaze ravenous as it swept over her glorious features. Her golden hair was styled fashionably, with ringlets on her forehead and hanging over her ears. She wore a lovely gown of rose pink, and her neck was adorned with a cameo secured by a thick black ribbon.
“I’ve come to reassure you. Jessica is in good hands. Alistair Caulfield has agreed to look after her while she is away. He’s lived in Jamaica for some years now and is well versed in the flow of Society and the personages in residence there.”
“Mr. Caulfield, you say.” A frown marred the line of her brows. “I am not certain she ever cared much for him.”
“I think the feeling might be mutual. The few times I’ve seen them together, they both became noticeably discomfited. However, they are adults now and she requires some guidance in matters in which Caulfield has expertise. In addition, she seeks to sell the plantation, and Caulfield’s property borders hers, so she has the impetus and means to conclude her affairs posthaste and return to you.”
“My lord.” Hester’s lovely green eyes warmed. “You are deviously clever. I adore that trait in you.”
Her last words caused a pang in his chest. Her adoration was only a small portion of what he wanted from her. “I cannot take all the credit. Caulfield rather fell into my lap and volunteered. I was simply in the correct place at the correct time to take advantage.”
“You are a godsend.” Her smile faded. “I miss her terribly already and she has been gone only one day. But listen to me go on so selfishly. She made a great attempt to hide it, but it was clear she anticipated the trip. In fact, she was quite eager. I should at least make an attempt to be excited for her.”
“That is why I came by today. I know how close you are to Jessica and how her absence will pain you. I want you to know … I am at your disposal, for whatever you require, in the interim until she returns.”
“You have always been so wonderful to me.” She reached out and gently, all-too-briefly touched his forearm. An air of melancholy clung to her that disturbed him. “But you have enough new burdens without adding me to the mix.”
“You will
never
be a burden to me. It is my privilege to be available to you whenever you may need me.”
“You may live to regret that offer one day,” she teased, brightening. “I am certain I could devise ways to torment you with it.”
Although her meaning was innocent, his reaction to her words was less so. “Do your worst,” he challenged in a husky voice. “I am eager to prove myself up to the task.”
A blush brought welcome color to her pale cheeks.
“Milady.”
The butler approached with a small, beribboned box on a silver salver. He presented the gift to her.
One of Hester’s guests, the Marchioness of Grayson, began to tease her about secret admirers and how jealous Regmont would be, since his possessiveness over his wife was well known. He was unfashionably doting.
Hester opened the small accompanying card first, then set it on the chair arm beside her. Michael noted that her fingers were shaking as she opened the box, revealing a jewel-encrusted broach of obvious expense. Noting the pinched look around her eyes, he glanced at the card, which had been only partially refolded. He could make out very little of the slashing scrawl, but
“forgive me”
was legible enough. It tautened his jaw and sent a rush of questions through his mind.
“Well?” Lady Bencott asked. “Do not keep us in an agony of curiosity. What is it and who sent it?”
Hester passed the gift into the countess’s waiting hand. “Regmont, of course.”
As the broach made its way around the room to much approbation, Michael thought Hester’s wide smile looked forced. Certainly she was too pale not to raise some concern.
He excused himself, unable to bear the feeling that something was wrong in her world, and he lacked the right to do anything about it.
It was late afternoon, and Jessica had yet to make an appearance on deck.
Alistair restrained himself from pacing by dint of will alone. If she decided to avoid him on the ship, it would make wooing her more difficult, but he was not a man who accepted defeat gracefully. He intended to build a rapport with her during the journey, and he would find a way to do it. There had to be means of establishing at least the beginnings of a deeper association. He simply had to puzzle out the key to unlocking her. Last night, he’d thought forthrightness might be the avenue of least resistance, but perhaps he had misread her.
Gripping the gunwale, he stared down at the water. It did not escape his notice that the sea was presently the same gray hue as Jessica’s eyes.
By God, she was breathtaking.
He remembered her entering the great cabin for supper. She’d altered the very air around her, allowing him to
feel
her come in. The weight and heat of her regard had flowed over his spine like a physical caress. He’d arranged to be standing as he was, coatless and occupied, at the time of her arrival. He wanted her to see him as the man he was now—cultured and learned. Polished. His presentation was meant to be the first salvo in what was intended to be a slow, careful seduction.
In actuality, however, she’d struck him a blow that carried equal fierceness. She had stood there before him with guinea-blond hair piled high, her pale skin as flawless as the finest porcelain, her once slender body matured into that of a woman … Full, high breasts. Delicate waist. Long legs he desired to feel wrapped around his hips. There was something inherently vulnerable about her that called to every base and primitive instinct inside him.
He wanted to ravish her. Possess her.
For a taut moment, her features had betrayed her response to the realization of who he was. Seven years ago and now, she’d been drawn to him. He could use that against her, if he tread very carefully.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Caulfield.”
Bloody hell. Even the sound of her voice could send lewd imaginings through his mind. It was as precise and restrained as her deportment. He wanted to turn that clipped intonation into something throatier. Softer. He wanted to hear her say his name while hoarse from pleasured cries.
With a deep breath, he faced her. “Lady Tarley. You look rested. I trust you slept well?”
“I did, thank you.”
She looked more than rested; she looked stunningly beautiful. Dressed in a deep blue gown and carrying a delicate parasol, she was a vision on the deck of his ship. He did not look away from her, but knew every man within eyesight had to be equally mesmerized. She was impossibly perfect in every way.
Joining him at the gunwale, Jessica set one gloved hand atop the wood and looked out at the endless ocean around them. “I have loved sailing from the very first,” she offered in a rush of words. “There is something so freeing yet calming about the lack of visual obstruction. Although I would not wish to be so isolated while alone, on a ship as fine as this, and with such a large crew, there is nothing to mar the joy. Lord and Lady Masterson must be very proud of your successes.”
The sound of his father’s title had the customary effect of making his hackles rise. He shook off the tension by rolling his shoulders back. “Pride is, perhaps, not the word I would use. But they are certainly aware of my endeavors.”
Jessica glanced at him. The nervousness revealed by her quick speech was also evident in the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. Though neither of them had yet to acknowledge the memory of that long-ago night in the Pennington woods, the recollection was wedged between them, more pervasive because they avoided addressing it. He wished to. God, how he wished to. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her.
Instead, he redirected her back to a topic they could both be comfortable with. “I agree the wide ocean is like a blank slate. The possibilities and mysteries of it are endless.”
Her smile was lovely. “Yes.”
“How is your family?”
“Very well. My brother is at Oxford now. Hadley is quite pleased, of course. And my sister has become a hostess of some renown. She will be most helpful to you once you return to England.”
“She wed the Earl of Regmont, did she not?”
“Yes. I introduced them on the eve of my wedding, and the meeting led to a love match, as horribly unfashionable as that is.”
He couldn’t resist. “A night to remember.”
“And your family?” A soft blush tinged her cheeks. “How do they fare?”
“As expected. My brother Albert—Lord Baybury now—has yet to produce an heir, a fact that disturbs Masterson greatly. He fears I may one day inherit the dukedom, which would be his worst nightmare realized.”
She shot him a castigating look. “Nonsense. It is difficult for everyone when there is a failure to conceive. Certainly, it is distressing for Lady Baybury as well.”
The sympathy in her tone clearly sprang from a deeply rooted place, which reminded Alistair that six years of marriage had not produced a child for Jessica, either.
He swiftly changed the course of discussion. “I cannot recall the time of year Tarley took you to Calypso, but the weather now is tolerably hot. On occasion, there are brief spates of afternoon rain, but sunshine swiftly follows. Most find it quite delightful, and I trust you will as well.”
Her mouth curved in a way not meant to be seductive, but he found it so. “You navigate through difficult conversations with remarkable aplomb.”
“A necessity in many business transactions.” He glanced at her. “Are you surprised? Impressed?”
“Would you like me to be?”
“Absolutely.”
One perfectly arched brow rose. “Why?”
“You exemplify the epitome of social grace. One can only think highly of those who receive your approval.”
Her expression was wry. “You grant me more credit than I deserve.”
Turning slightly, he faced her and leaned casually into the gunwale. “Then allow me to say that
I
would be most pleased to earn your esteem.”
Jessica tipped her parasol in a way that shielded her face from him. “You are doing a fine job so far.”
“Thank you. However, do not fault me for trying harder.”
“You are trying quite hard enough.”
Her prim tone caused his smile to turn into a grin.
This time, she was the one to change the subject. “Is the water around the island as clear as I remember?”