Hardly a Husband Page 7

  "Why not?"

  "Younger men tend to be more interested in receiving satisfaction than they are in giving it. They are less settled, in greater demand, more easily distracted, and a great many are on allowances provided by disapproving papas."

  "You are none of those things," Sarah pointed out.

  "I am an exception," he admitted. "The point is that you might prefer an older lover like Lord Rob. He's wealthy and generous and he's been a widower for many years."

  "And he's already seen my bare leg and derriere," Sarah added. "And I've already done my blushing, so he could continue my education with a great deal less bother than you've had to endure." She looked Jarrod in the eye. "Tell me, Jays, do you intend to return to your house and sing my praises to Lord Mayhew? Or bemoan my flaws? Will you suggest that he marry me or simply become my protector?"

  "No, that's not what I intend," Jarrod said.

  "What do you intend?" she asked.

  A vivid mental image of everything they could do in the coach in the minutes left to them before they arrived at Ibbetson's Hotel popped into Jarrod's head. The upholstered seats were covered in thick, soft velvet and the windows were hung with matching curtains. It was dark and comfortable and private and he and Sarah could… Jarrod sighed. After he relieved Sarah Eckersley of her virtue, he could see her home to her room at Ibbetson's Hotel. He could set her on the path she claimed to have chosen with no one the wiser.

  And with no strings attached.

  Jarrod gritted his teeth. He could have what he wanted without answering to anyone. She had no father, brother, cousin, uncle, or guardian to demand satisfaction. He could be her tutor. He could teach her everything he knew about lovemaking — about taking pleasure and giving it. And when the affair ran its course, he could say good-bye without guilt because Sarah wasn't interested in becoming the next Marchioness of Shepherdston. She only wanted him for her first lover. Hadn't she told him that he was hardly her idea of a husband?

  "I intend to see you safely to your hotel," he said at last. "And then I intend to return home and have breakfast with Lord Rob and go about my usual business."

  "And pretend this morning never happened?"

  "Exactly," he replied. And except for the fact that he would have to answer a few of Lord Rob's questions and add a meeting with Lord Dunbridge about the Helford Green living to the list of his usual business, Jarrod would do just that.

  "Well" — Sarah tilted her head and looked at him from beneath the cover of her lashes — "you can try."

  "Ibbetson's Hotel." The driver announced their arrival at their destination.

  Sarah opened the door and stepped down from the carriage before Jarrod or the driver could assist her. "Thank you for the lesson, Jays," she said as she closed the door in his face.

  "Sa-rah…"

  "I'll look forward to the next one."

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

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  Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs.

  — Oliver Goldsmith, c.1728-1774

  "Come in," Lord Mayhew called from Jarrod's study as Jarrod entered his town house a quarter of an hour after dropping Sarah off at her hotel. True to his word, Lord Mayhew had made himself at home by stoking the fire, settling onto a comfortable chair, and propping his feet upon the matching leather ottoman. "Henderson brought a tray of coffee. I'll pour you a cup. Go ahead and warm yourself by the fire."

  Jarrod gratefully accepted the cup of coffee his godfather offered. He took the cup from the saucer and wrapped both hands around the delicate china cup, as he walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. "Thanks for the coffee and for the loan of your coach."

  "You're welcome." Lord Mayhew gave Jarrod a rueful smile. "It's the least I could do after my untimely intrusion."

  Jarrod took a sip of coffee. "No need to apologize, Lord Rob," he said. "The young lady was leaving. Your timely intrusion prevented me from making what would have been a terrible mistake."

  Lord Mayhew lifted an eyebrow. "The young lady's mode of dress would lead one to conclude that the mistake you fear you would have made was committed earlier in the evening."

  "It wasn't," Jarrod answered. "I managed to refrain from taking her upstairs to bed." Jarrod took another swallow of coffee. "Despite her mode of dress."

  Lord Mayhew raised his coffee cup. "My boy, I salute you! You have the willpower of a bloody saint!"

  "Don't salute me." Jarrod left the fireplace and walked over to the chair opposite Lord Rob's. Jarrod sat down on the chair and Lord Rob pushed the ottoman an inch or so closer to him, encouraging Jarrod to share it. "You arrived in the midst of our first kiss."

  "Then I'm glad I could be of service," Lord Mayhew quipped. "Because you were headed for a tumble. And it's doubtful that you would have made it upstairs."

  Jarrod nodded. "As I said, your arrival prevented me from making a huge mistake."

  "What's a godfather for if not to prevent his godson from making a terrible mistake?" He poured himself another cup of coffee, added two lumps of sugar, and stirred it. "It's been my experience that what our hearts and heads tell us is often quite at odds with what our bodies urge us to do."

  They sat in companionable silence, sipping coffee and staring at the fire for some minutes before Jarrod spoke. "I did the right thing."

  Lord Mayhew didn't pretend not to understand. "I've known you all your life, my boy, and I've never known you not to do the right thing." He nudged Jarrod's foot with the toe of his boot. "Sometimes I think you were born knowing right from wrong and exactly what to do."

  Jarrod placed his empty coffee cup on its saucer, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair leather. "It's an illusion," he said softly. "I always try to do what's right, but I don't always succeed."

  "Tonight you succeeded," Lord Mayhew reminded him.

  "Yes," Jarrod agreed, opening his eyes to look at the man who had been more of a father to him than his own father had ever been. "Tonight, I succeeded."

  "You succeeded in doing what you thought was right and yet I hear more regret than satisfaction in your voice." Lord Mayhew frowned. "Enlighten me."

  "I wanted to fail," Jarrod said, simply. "I wanted to do as she asked. I wanted to forget about right and wrong. I wanted to forget about honor and duty and respect. I wanted… her."

  "Then why didn't you take her?" Mayhew asked.

  "Because I'm a gentleman," Jarrod replied with a snort of disgust. "Because I've spent my life living by a code of honor and I couldn't betray it. Even for her. Especially for her." He shook his head as if to clear it.

  "You are a gentleman," Lord Mayhew confirmed. "There's no doubt about that. What's more, you are an unmarried gentleman, and Jarrod, my boy, you must know that there is no dishonor in taking pleasure when it's offered."

  "There is when I know that by doing so, I would be setting her on the Cyprian path."

  "You think she's an innocent?" Lord Mayhew's eyes widened at the suggestion that his godson had been hoodwinked by a slip of a girl professing to be a virgin.

  "I know she is."

  "Because she told you she was?" Jarrod shook his head. "Because she came to me for her first lesson in seduction."

  Lord Mayhew frowned again. "She came to you?"

  Jarrod nodded.

  "You didn't send for her?"

  "I couldn't have sent for her," Jarrod said, "even if I had wanted to because I didn't know she was in town until she showed up on my doorstep."

  "When you escorted her home, where did you take her?"

  "She's staying at Ibbetson's Hotel. I took her there."

  "Did you see her go in?"

  Jarrod thought for a moment. He had let her out in front of the hotel, but he hadn't seen her go inside. Jarrod narrowed his gaze at his godfather. "I've answered your questions. Now, why don't you tell me why you asked them?"

  "Because I found this on the floor of your study after you and she departed." Lo
rd Mayhew took a well-worn calling card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Jarrod.

  "Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women," Jarrod read aloud. "Number forty-seven Portman Square, London." He looked up at Mayhew. "I don't recall a home for displaced women on Portman Square."

  "That's because there isn't one," Mayhew said.

  "And number forty-seven Portman Square is…" Jarrod jumped to his feet. "Bloody hell!"

  "I take it the young lady isn't a virgin after all," Mayhew guessed.

  "Oh, she is," Jarrod answered, crossing the room to ring for Henderson. "But she won't be for long. Not if she intends to pay a call to number forty-seven Portman Square."

  Henderson appeared almost immediately. "More coffee, sir? Or are you ready to break your fast?"

  Jarrod glanced at his godfather.

  Lord Mayhew shook his head.

  "No," Jarrod answered, walking to his desk and hurriedly scribbling out two notes before blotting and sealing them. "Tell Fenton I need hot water for shaving and a fresh shirt and linen immediately. And see that these are delivered right away." He handed Henderson the notes. "And please order my coach readied and brought around as soon as possible."

  "Very good, sir." Henderson bowed before exiting the study.

  "Take my coach," Mayhew offered. "And save yourself some time. I'll stay here."

  "I can't take your coach," Jarrod told him. "Because you're going to need it to take you to Portman Square."

  "Why am I going to Portman Square?"

  "Because I've a previous engagement elsewhere," Jarrod explained.

  "I won't recognize the person you seek," Lord Rob replied. "All I saw was red hair, a shapely leg, and the birthmark on her round little bottom."

  "She has a birthmark?"

  Lord Rob nodded. "Yes, indeed. A strawberry-shaped one on her right cheek."

  "Ask for the newest red-haired innocent with a strawberry birthmark." Jarrod flung the words over his shoulder as he left the study and took the stairs two at a time.

  "Dyed red or natural?"

  "Natural," Jarrod answered. "And pay whatever it takes to keep her innocent until I get there."

  * * * * *

  "I'm the Marquess of Shepherdston." Jarrod introduced himself to the clerk stationed behind the registration desk at Ibbetson's Hotel. "I believe you have Lady Dun-bridge and her niece, Miss Eckersley, as guests."

  "You are correct, Lord Shepherdston," the clerk acknowledged. "We are delighted to have Lady Dunbridge and Miss Eckersley patronize our hotel for another season."

  "Would you inform the ladies that I have come to pay a call?"

  "It would give me great pleasure to do so, my lord, but the ladies have asked that they not be disturbed until breakfast."

  Jarrod glanced toward the public dining room. It was crowded with clergymen and academics, easily recognizable in their somber black clothing, enjoying a hearty morning meal. "Then it appears that I've come at an opportune time. I'll order coffee and wait over there." He nodded toward a vacant table.

  The clerk chuckled. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but we are currently serving first breakfast and ladies aren't permitted."

  "What the devil is first breakfast?" Jarrod demanded, frustrated by the delay and the almost certain knowledge that his visit to Ibbetson's would be a waste of time. "And why aren't ladies permitted?"

  "First breakfast is restricted to the male members of the nobility, senior clergymen, and senior academics."

  "Is there a second breakfast?"

  "Yes, sir, but it's restricted to junior fellows, vicars, curates, deacons, laymen, and clerks."

  "Are ladies permitted at second breakfast?"

  "The senior clergy and academics discourage the practice of inviting them, but ladies are permitted if they are in the company of their husbands or other male family members."

  "How much longer until second breakfast?" Jarrod asked.

  "I'm afraid you've missed it, sir," the clerk told him. "Second breakfast begins an hour before first breakfast; and third breakfast, for employees and servants, is a half hour before that one."

  Jarrod wanted to laugh at the irony of calling the current meal first breakfast when it was, in fact, the third. "What of your female guests who aren't accompanied by husbands or other male family members?"

  "Our unaccompanied female guests generally have tea or hot chocolate and toast sent to their rooms."

  "What if your female guests desire something more substantial than tea or hot chocolate and toast? Is there a time when ladies are permitted in the public eating areas?"

  "Yes, of course." The clerk nodded enthusiastically. "The ladies' breakfast begins promptly at one."

  "In the afternoon?"

  "Of course, sir. Before the ladies begin paying morning calls."

  Damnation! Female guests accustomed to country hours might be hungry for half the day before they were allowed to eat in the public dining areas of the hotel in which they were paying guests. Jarrod had been born into a society of wealth and privilege and had lived within its confines all of his life, yet he despaired of ever understanding it. Sometimes it seemed as if everything was upside down. He glanced at the clock on the wall behind the desk. He had a meeting with the Free Fellows at White's in a quarter of an hour, a pair of meetings at the War Office, and he'd invited Lord Dunbridge to join him for coffee at the Cocoa Tree before luncheon.

  "Will you deliver a note to Lady Dunbridge and Miss Eckersley?"

  "Most assuredly, your lordship, and at no charge to our registered guests."

  "Thank goodness," Jarrod muttered.

  "Are you registered as a guest here, Lord Shepherdston?"

  Jarrod glared at the clerk. "No, I am not."

  "Then I'm afraid I must charge you sixpence."

  "Fine."

  "In advance, sir."

  Jarrod reached inside his jacket for his change purse. He removed sixpence and placed it on the desk.

  "Thank you, sir." The desk clerk gave Jarrod a bland smile. "If you will be so good as to entrust the note to my care, I will see that it is delivered promptly."

  "I'll require pen, paper, and wax," Jarrod said, in a deceptively soft tone of voice. "In order to write and seal the note you are to deliver."

  "Very good, sir," the clerk replied. "But because you are not a registered guest, I am afraid I must charge you another sixpence. In advance."

  Jarrod placed another sixpence on the desk, grabbed the paper, pen, ink, and wax, carried them to the small vacant table, and sat down to write his note. He ordered coffee from a passing waiter and wasn't the least bit surprised to learn that a single cup of coffee for an unregistered guest cost sixpence.

  He wondered how much more it would cost him before he set eyes on Sarah Eckersley once again.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

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  A noble person attracts noble people, and knows how to hold on to them.

  — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749-1832

  "What do you mean he's late!" Colin, Viscount Grantham, demanded when Griffin, first Duke of Avon, announced that Jarrod had sent a note saying he might be delayed. "Jarrod is never late."

  Griff cupped his hand around his ear, exaggerating the motion as the casement clock chimed the half hour. "There is always a first time. And today is Jarrod's. He's late."

  "He's not the only one." Colin glanced around. The Free Fellows were meeting in their customary meeting room at White's. The room was set with enough coffee, spirits, and cigars for six men: the three original Free Fellows — Griffin, Colin, and Jarrod — and the three newest ones — Daniel, Duke of Sussex; Jonathan Manners, the Earl of Barclay; and Alexander Courtland, the Marquess of Courtland. Barclay had settled onto a chair near the fire and Courtland sat at one end of the massive leather sofa. But Sussex's habitual place was empty. "Where's His Grace? Hasn't he returned from the coast yet?"

  Griff nodded. "He must have returned late yesterday because I saw
him last night at his mother's gala. I didn't get the opportunity to speak with him in the crush of people there, but I saw him."

  "So did I," Barclay added.

  "Then where is he?" Colin asked.

  Courtland shrugged his shoulders, then leaned forward to pour himself a cup of coffee from the silver coffee service on the low table. "I was at the duchess's ball last evening, but I arrived later. I didn't see Daniel."

  "This isn't like Sussex," Colin said. "He knows we're meeting this morning. He's supposed to brief us on the progress of his mission."

  "Shepherdston is late and Sussex is missing," Barclay added. "It's a most unusual morning already."

  Although they'd originally begun as a secret group of schoolboys, the Free Fellows League had grown and changed as its members had grown and changed. The members had put their secret league to work against Bonaparte, working very closely with the Foreign Office and the War Office.

  The secret work that Colin and Jarrod and Sussex did came under the auspices of a staff of graduates of the Royal Military College and Lieutenant Colonel Colquhoun Grant. While Grant gathered battlefield information on the Peninsula, Jarrod, Colin, and Sussex gathered information on a much larger field of battle and all of it was analyzed, enciphered, deciphered, and included in the constant flow of military dispatches overseen by Griffin's father, the Earl of Weymouth.

  When Griffin became a national hero, the prince regent and prime minister had asked that he retire from active duty in his cavalry regiment and he'd agreed. But retirement from the regiment hadn't kept him from engaging the enemy. And when his role as a national hero had become public, the Free Fellows League, and each member's connection to it, nonetheless remained secret to all but a handful of close associates.

  Griffin and Jarrod and Sussex's positions in society made them subject to more social obligations and more scrutiny than the other Free Fellows. They were limited, in many ways, to planning, arranging, and financing the clan-destine war against Bonaparte, but they were still very much a part of it. The three continued to engage in the occasional secret smuggling holiday, but Colin, as a relatively unimportant and poor viscount, had been the primary foot soldier in the field and the Free Fellow most at risk.