“My lord,” Hester breathed.
Michael froze, hearing the fear in her voice as if she’d screamed in terror. Pivoting, he faced whatever threatened her and found himself staring into the face of a man who festered with fury and ill will. Michael sized up his opponent, noting the earl’s fisted hands and clenched jaw. Though he’d never known Regmont well, he was certain the man had changed over the past few years. Michael remembered a cocky fellow, whose saving grace had been the warmth and affection in his eyes when he looked upon his wife. There was none of that tenderness now. Only cold calculation and sharp suspicion.
“Regmont.” Michael was amazed his tone was so nonchalant when he felt like lunging across the room and pummeling the man responsible for Hester’s unhappiness.
“Tarley. What are you doing here?”
Michael gave a deliberately casual shrug, uncertain of what Regmont had seen and knowing he would have to tread carefully if he was to spare Hester any further undue suffering. “My mother sent me. It was either come here and assist with her matchmaking efforts or find myself paired with a spouse I can’t tolerate.”
Regmont looked to his wife. “Oh? I’ve been told Lady Pennington has begun visiting often.”
Hester looked pale, her eyes haunted. She swallowed and said, “She would turn to Jessica, if my sister were here. Since she is not, I’ve been helping the countess become acquainted with the debutantes this Season.”
“That’s very kind of you, darling.”
“Dear God,” Michael said, returning to his former seat. “Please don’t encourage them.”
The earl joined them, taking the seat beside Hester. She took a deep breath and began serving tea.
Regmont received his cup and saucer first, then took a sip. He set the china down on the table. “This is barely warm.”
Hester winced.
“My apologies,” Michael said. “I burned the tip of my tongue with coffee this morning and it still stings. Lady Regmont was kind enough to oblige me.”
Regmont pivoted on the seat, angling his knees toward his wife. “And what occupied you while you waited for the tea to cool?”
Straightening her shoulders, Hester looked at her husband with a smile as cool as the beverage he complained about. “I was transcribing Tarley’s spousal wish list.”
The earl’s gaze shot over to the escritoire. He stood in a fluid rush and crossed the room with short, swift strides. He lifted the length of foolscap, his icy gaze raking over the few notations. Then he glanced up at Michael with a smoothed brow. “Brunettes and redheads only?”
In answer, Michael waved one hand carelessly.
Regmont laughed, his tension broken and agitation eased. “Redheads are handfuls, you know, Tarley. Ask Grayson, or Merrick.”
“I like spirited women.” The way your wife used to be before you bullied her …
“Lady Regmont will steer you in the right direction.”
Michael turned his back to the earl, hiding the hatred, disgust, and sick helplessness he was certain he couldn’t disguise on his face. If Benedict had still been with them, Michael could have stolen Hester away from this misery. They could have fled to the West Indies or the Continent or America. Anywhere in the world she wanted to go. But he was chained to England now.
They were both trapped in lives they did not want.
And there was no way out for either of them.
Chapter 19
“Lady Tarley!”
Jessica altered the angle of her parasol and caught sight of the short, portly gentleman waving madly at her from the end of the gangplank.
“Your steward,” Alistair explained as he steadied her with a hand at her elbow. “Mr. Reginald Smythe.”
“What is your impression of him?” She lifted one gloved hand in a slight wave that acknowledged the man’s vigorous efforts to attract her attention amid the noise and activity of the quayside. The smells of tar and coffee blended, teasing her nostrils, and raucous cries of seagulls competed with the calls and shouts of able-bodied sailors loading crates and barrels onto fat-bellied ships.
“A decent fellow. Certainly competent. Calypso has nearly two hundred slaves and they are content enough to be highly productive. However, he could stand to be less antiquated in his views of women in trade.”
“You are more progressive than most gentlemen, I suspect.”
“In my experience, women can be shrewd and ruthless in financial matters. It pays to do business with them.”
“And I would wager they make concessions to you that they would for few other men.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes brilliant even when shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Perhaps.”
She smiled. Alistair’s presence only added to her swelling happiness at returning to the lush, verdant island she remembered so fondly. Her memories had painted the landscape in jeweled tones, and she was delighted to see she hadn’t embroidered her recollections. Behind her, the ocean was the pale blue of an aquamarine. In front of her, the emerald hills and mountains rolled across the landscape. Benedict had once told her that at no point on the island was the ocean more than a score of miles away.
Paradise, she’d called it. A lucrative one, he’d agreed.
“Mr. Caulfield.” Mr. Smythe touched the brim of his brown hat in greeting.
“Mr. Smythe.”
The steward looked at Jess. “I trust you had a safe and enjoyable journey, my lady.”
“It could not have been more pleasurable,” she said, thinking of Alistair and how different she felt now from when she’d boarded his ship. She’d started the journey as a widow, certain she would be alone for the rest of her life. She ended with a lover, a man to whom she’d bared her body and soul, revealing memories of a past she had previously shared only with Hester.
Alistair’s fingers stoked the bend of her elbow.
Mr. Smythe nodded, then turned to gesture at the landau waiting nearby. “We’ll have your trunks brought along after you, Lady Tarley. Good day, Mr. Caulfield. I shall be making an appointment to meet with you later this week.”
She looked at Alistair. After six weeks at sea, during which their relationship had sprouted and blossomed, they were finally faced with separation. This was the point where they parted ways, she to her residence and he to his.
He met her gaze; his own sharply focused as he waited.
Jess could see the question in his eyes—how would she react now that they were once again faced with the rules of Society?
Her reaction was fiercer than she could reasonably share. She wanted him beside her, always. In public and in private. Across their personal dining table for the morning meal and next to one another in a box at the theater. She wanted that, and she would have it if he agreed.
She spoke with feeling. “I know you must have a great deal to attend to, Mr. Caulfield, but would you be able to join us for supper? It would save you from making an appointment, Mr. Smythe, and having to report to me after the fact.”
Smythe blinked, clearly startled.
Alistair grinned at her first salvo in the battle for control of the plantation. He tilted his head in a regal acknowledgment. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”