Chapter 25
My dearest,
I confess, I have thought of you all day, in ways I am certain you would enjoy. I pray that you are looking after yourself.
Acheron growled from his pillow by Jess’s feet. She paused with the quill suspended above the parchment, then she leaned over to frown down at the tiny pug.
“What troubles you?”
He repeated the small sound of disapproval, then bounded to the door leading to the gallery. There, he jumped and spun in circles. As Jess fetched her shawl to take him outside to relieve himself, his ears lay back against his head and he growled again. Then he whimpered pitifully and piddled on the hardwood before she reached him.
“Acheron.” Her tone was soft with resignation. The pug whined in response.
Jess collected a towel from the washstand in the corner and moved to the door. As she neared, she heard a masculine voice raised in anger. She dropped the towel on the tiny puddle and turned the knob. The sound of shouting became clearer without the solid wood barrier, and its source became recognizable—Hester’s rooms.
“No wonder you’re upset,” she murmured to Acheron, tossing her shawl on a nearby chair. “Stay here.”
She strode swiftly down the hallway. Regmont’s voice grew louder with every step. Her stomach knotted and her palms grew damp. As familiar fear set in, she fought to breathe in an even cadence.
“You’ve humiliated me! All these weeks … the match with Tarley … I will not be cuckolded!”
Hester’s low replies were indecipherable, but the rapid delivery suggested anger … or panic. When a crash resounded, Jess lunged for the door and threw it open.
Dear God …
Her sister stood in her night rail, her face blanched and lips white. Her eyes were huge in her face and filled with a terror Jess knew all too well. A new bruise was already darkening her temple.
Regmont’s back was to the door, his hands fisted at his sides. He was dressed for a night on the town, and he stank of liquor and tobacco. A side table had been overturned, and the decorative urn that graced it lay shattered on the floor. He began to advance. Jess shouted his name.
He stilled, his back stiffening. “Get out, Lady Tarley. This is none of your concern.”
“I think you should be the one to depart, my lord,” she retorted, trembling. “Your wife is breeding and has orders from the doctor to abstain from any excitement.”
“Is it even mine?” he barked at Hester. “How many men have there been?”
“Go, Jess,” Hester pleaded. “Run.”
Jess shook her head. “No.”
“You can’t always be the one who saves me!”
“Regmont.” Jess’s voice cracked like a whip. “Please leave.”
He rounded on her then, and her heart stopped. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with the single-minded malevolence Hadley always displayed when determined to use his fists on someone who couldn’t fight back.
“This is my house!” he bellowed. “And you … you have come here with your harlot ways and attached scandal to my good name. Now your sister seeks to do the same. I won’t have it!”
Jess’s ears filled with the sound of roaring blood, muffling his vitriol, but she understood his threat to teach her proper behavior. The room spun. She’d lived through this moment before. Heard those same words. So many times …
The fear receded as swiftly as it had come, leaving an odd calm in its wake. She was not a frightened, lonely girl anymore. Alistair had shown her that she was stronger than she’d given herself credit for. And when he came for her, which he would do as soon as she could send for him, Regmont would pay for his actions this night.
“Hitting me,” she said, “would be the biggest mistake you will ever make in your life.”
He laughed and drew his arm back.
Michael vaulted onto the back of his horse, then watched Alistair do the same. A raging feeling of helplessness goaded his agitation. He wanted his handkerchief back, damn it. He wanted Hester. And he wanted Regmont dead with a fervor that scared him.
“Say something!” he snapped at Alistair, who hadn’t spoken since he’d challenged Regmont.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Christ.”
“So you kill him in a duel. Then what?” Alistair spurred his mount away from Remington’s. “You avoid persecution by fleeing the country. Your family suffers without you. Hester hates you for taking her husband from her. Jessica becomes furious with me for being even remotely attached to this mess. Will you feel better then?”
“You’ve no notion of what this is like! How it feels to know she needs looking after and I cannot be the one to do it!”
“Don’t I?” Alistair asked softly, glancing aside at him.
“No. You do not. Whatever envy you may have harbored for my brother’s good fortune, you at least knew he cared for Jessica and saw to her comfort. He made her happy. You did not have to wonder at every minute of every day if he was raising his hand to her. If she was terrified or hurt or—”
Alistair yanked so hard on his reins that his horse reared up with a whinny of protest. The clap of hooves to cobblestone was like a thundercrack in the darkness. The gelding pranced in agitation, turning completely around. “What did you say?”
“He beats her. I know he does. From things I’ve observed, and things my mother has observed as well.”
“Damn you.” The fury in Alistair’s tone was unmistakable. “And you allowed him to leave? What if he’s at home now?”
Michael’s own wrath boiled over. “What can I do? She is his wife. I have no recourse.”
“Jessica is there! And her greatest terror is a man’s rage.”
“What the devil—?”
“Hadley was abusive,” Alistair bit out, pulling his horse around. “He punished the girls as liberally and as painfully as possible.”
Michael’s gut twisted. “Jesus.”
Alistair kicked his mount into a gallop, bending low over the horse’s arched neck and weaving recklessly through the busy streets. Michael followed close behind him.