Page 19 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Jaxon

Standing with the front door closed behind me, I adjusted my hat and growled. Blast that damn woman and her demands. And what aggravated me the most was that I was customarily a calm person. I had been trained to command my features, my reactions, and my words, and it took a great deal to unsettle me. Yet, somehow this woman had reached deep inside and poked at all my weaknesses, irritating me to no end.

I could not believe at one time I had considered marrying her kind. The beautiful, London lady—the daughter of a fellow peer attached to a significant dowry and a noble name. Though I’m certain once all this traitor mess was behind me, Father would still place such expectations upon me. If not for my own future and happiness, the future of my sisters depended on it.

Yet, as I continued to ruminate on the subject, I was quite determined to make sure my future bride had nothing in common to that blasted woman that was now a guest inside my lodge. “Certainly, she must have a significant dowry to attract a man who would tolerate her,” I mumbled, then frowned. That was a cruel thing to say. In all truth, regardless of her natural beauty, even in that disheveled dress and those unsightly lumpy stockings, her superiority and audacity irked me. Women like her—demanding, pushy, and selfish—ones that have received everything they wanted all their lives and are still unhappy, deserved to live a life of spinsterhood with no husband or children to keep the condescension from spreading.

Now, out of simple poor luck, this woman and her patronizing attitude had intruded upon my isolation, and that is not the worst of it; with the bridge washed out, I won’t be able to receive any post updates from Hunter and Zachary.

The only consolation to my hindrances was that if, somehow, the threat found me here, they too would be unable to cross the river to reach us. And I truly did not want to add to my worry by now having to protect this vexing woman and her entourage. Perhaps I should let her go off into the woods, then I could wash my hands of her… but I knew that would be impossible of me. I was bred to be a gentleman and, regardless of how much I wished not to, I would worry over any woman’s safety in those woods.

Striding toward the stable, I longed for a robust ride, but the rain had already begun anew. I would not chance injury in poor weather, so I retrieved a bristled brush to brush down my horses. Chesapeake, the charmer, nudged my arm with his nose, pushing to be first. Peeking in on Miss Amelia’s horses, the gelding continued to suffer more than the mare. He might have an irreversible leg injury. If that was the case, he would need to put down posthaste.

“Mr. Jack.” As Mr. Gentry found me, he continued, “I believe the carriage wreckage has created a dam and has caused the river to swell.”

“Is it flooding the banks?”

“It appears so at the bend.”

“Well, let’s go take a look.” I pulled my greatcoat collar up to my neck and, despite the tradesman neckcloths I wore, they did not always keep the rain and dirt from reaching my skin. I had resigned to being wet and muddy for over a week now, so I hadn’t even bothered to dress in any type of gentlemen’s attire for fear of ruining all that I had. Uncle Jones had a wardrobe full of outdoor wear that came in handy, though Mrs. Gentry had to alter several shirts and breeches for my use.

Mr. Gentry and I hiked down to the bend in the river. Sure enough, he was right, the water had risen even since this morning. Dangerously so in some parts, more in others.

When we reached the largest portion of the broken carriage, the other two horses that we had been unable to unhitch before it broke apart lay still, partially submerged. My heart ached to see such truly magnificent creatures die such a horrible death.

Mr. Gentry rubbed his chin. “We’re gonna have to break the wood down so it all just floats downstream.”

“Yes, that may be the only solution,” I agreed.

Pulling my gloves tighter, I stepped to the edge and reached for a splintered piece of wood. I knew that it would take more than only my efforts to separate the pieces, but I wanted to get an idea of how stuck they were.

I tugged and it confirmed my theory. The solid mass of wood attached by bolts and tacks would need tools and multiple hands to break it down. This was going to be a greater dilemma than I suspected.

Just as I was about to push away from the wood, I spied a gold chain wrapped around a hinge where the door used to be. I wasn’t sure if I could reach it or not. “Mr. Gentry, hand me that branch over there,” I instructed just as O’Keefe joined us at the river’s edge.

With the branch in my hand, I tried slipping the pointed end beneath the chain to catch it and bring it back toward me, but it was tangled. I tried again. After several attempts, I conceded it might just have to go down with the wreckage until I noticed the clasped jewel that weighed it down. Surely it held a miniature of sorts, probably—I wrinkled my nose—Miss Amelia’s affianced.

I began to walk away as the rain drizzled weakly overhead, but my conscience got the better of me. That necklace undoubtedly meant something to her and was likely torn from her neck in the brutal accident.

I wheeled back, snatched the stick again, then strode further down the bank to make another attempt from the opposite end. My boots, however, betrayed me, sinking deep into the treacherous mud. I fell forward, tumbling into the ripples of the angry river. Flailing, I scrambled to latch onto the weathered wood panel before me. I knew it was unyielding, for it had been the target of my earlier efforts. I gripped it tightly as water swirled all around me, threatening to swallow me whole.

O’Keefe, now aware of my predicament, retrieved a larger branch, but I had since drawn myself up onto the leather thoroughbrace and straddled it. This offered an alternate view of the coach and I examined its damage thoroughly from this angle, easily identifying the weaker points.

“Grab this,” O’Keefe cried, extending the branch out for me to grab.

I quickly reached for the chain, unwound it, and held on as I grasped the thick branch my man held. With a grunt, he pulled me back over the rushing water and to solid ground once more.

Sitting on the ground, I unfolded my fist and marveled how the jewel and chain had made it entirely intact. I was sorely tempted to open it, curious to see if it was indeed a miniature of her intended and what the man looked like. Although it was not underwater when I found it, the relentless rain surely destroyed its contents.

But I resisted the urge to look and slipped it into my pocket.

Between the three of us, we managed to loosen two of the wheels, springs, and boot from the rear quarter and this allowed a channel for the water to slide through, only alleviating the pressure momentarily. At least for now it would not block the river and allow us time to come up with a more suitable plan.

Entering the house once more, I did not see the princess or her maid in the great room, which was a relief since I hardly needed to hear some snappy comment about her accommodation, the food, or even my sopping wet attire.

En route to my bedchamber, I diverted first to the coach driver’s room. When I arrived at the partially open door, I was surprised to find Miss Amelia at his bedside reading. Sadly, my uncle did not have a library at his hunting lodge, but I had begun putting one together in one of the spare rooms. Had she found it?

I perused the cover of the book and found it was not a novel at all but… I adjusted to get a better look— 1752 Ancient Roman Empire —and the toe of my boot hit the wooden door.

She jumped at the noise and quickly snapped her book shut, hiding it beneath her palms on her lap.

“That did not sound like Jane Austen.” I chuckled, then reminded myself of my frustrations with Miss Amelia and schooled my features.

Her entire body tensed, and it was only then that I realized she still wore the same borrowed dress from the maid. Not only had one of her trunks been saved, but all the clothing I found this morning likely belonged to her. I wanted to laugh, recalling the way she reacted to me holding her corset in my hands. Just the memory will give me something to chuckle over for days.

“Y—you know Jane Austen?” she squeaked out. “You can read?”

I arched a brow. Did I really have to defend my intelligence? “Yes, I can read.”

I watched her throat bob nervously. “Oh.” Her eyes flashed to the man who still slept before her and lifted her chin a notch. “Mr. Duncan does not prefer those types of books…”

“What types of books does Mr. Duncan prefer?” I folded my arms over my chest and leaned against the frame of the doorway. Now she had me curious. Most coach drivers and footmen claimed a limited education, much less finding interest in an academic volume.

A fine layer of pink tinged her cheeks while she stuttered. “G—Gulliver’s Travels.”

I narrowed my eyes as she kept her book folded in her lap. That was most certainly not Gulliver’s Travels. I had a green, leather copy of my own. This book was beige with a red-letter title on the Roman Empire. She just lied to me . Her circumvention and evasion seemed like an artform. Now I knew I could not trust this woman.

I breathed through my nose. “How is Mr. Duncan faring?”

“He has not awakened in my presence.” She sounded truly sorrowful or at least appeared to be. “But I was told he was awake briefly in the night.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “It was why I had him brought up here.”

She did not stand or face me, keeping her eyes on her hands. A stretch of silence passed between us before she spoke again, “Forgive me, Mr. Jack.”

I tilted my head. “For what precisely?”

“For how I behaved earlier. I am most obliged for your care of him,” she whispered. “And for all of us.”

I watched her curiously. That sounded genuine. My brows furrowed. How does this woman do that? One moment she is maddening, the next almost alluring. “You’re welcome.” I continued to study her. Despite her less than regal attire, her posture was perfect, her legs tucked in alignment and slanted as if she wore a fine gown, her shoulders pulled back slightly, exposing her slender neck, and her hands folded over her book at a poised, precise angle. I should not have expected anything less from the daughter of a Viscount and, aside from the bruises and cuts on her cheeks, forehead, and neck, she did not appear to have lasting effects from the incident.

“Did you have any serious injuries from the accident?” I questioned.

“Not so terrible.” She smiled faintly and turned toward me. Brushing her loose strands off her forehead she pointed to some sutures. “Mrs. Gentry managed this quite well.”

I stepped forward and examined it closer. The jagged cut was found just at the edge of her hairline. “That must have hurt,” I said, not realizing how close I truly was, for when my eyes found hers, I noticed small specks of green threaded through her gray pupils. I stiffened and stepped backward. “Did you…” I tugged on my neckcloth as if it choked me. “Did you not find anything suitable to change into?”

“Oh,” she said as she stood up quickly and her cheeks turned a darker pink. Brushing one hand down her ratted skirt she moved the other hand with the book to her side, still keeping it out of view.

“I am certain we saved one of your trunks, did we not? Surely, you must long to relieve yourself of these clothes.”

Her eyes widened at my words, but she quickly composed herself.

It wasn’t until I replayed my words in my mind that I realized how awkward they may have sounded and likely caused her unease. The topic of divesting one’s clothing had ventured into areas a gently bred lady should not be subjected to. “Forgive me, I am only suggesting you might be more comfortable in something that fits your figure more suitably…” I froze.

Did those words just come out of my mouth?

Why in heaven’s name was I speaking of a woman’s figure? I bit my tongue to prevent me from digging a deeper hole. A couple of years at war had made it so I could not even converse appropriately with the fairer sex.

“Th—thank you again for your concern over Mr. Duncan, Mr. Jack. I must go.” She paused as if she wanted to say more but pulled her bottom lip inward. That forced my eyes to her lips. I had not noticed previously how full they were. Blast!

Taking a deep breath, I spoke in measured words. “I am sorry you are forced to remain here under less than adequate accommodations. I will do all in my power to assure you that your reputation is not tarnished.”

Her eyes narrowed and she studied me more closely. Had I revealed too much? Most tradesmen would not concern themselves with a woman’s reputation.

“I—I don’t think you need to trouble yourself with that…” She shifted weight to her other foot. “My, um, betrothed will, uh,” she said falteringly.

She avoided my eyes, a sure tactic in falsities… but why?

Continuing, she added, “He trusts me. He will understand.”

“Pardon me for asking…” I placed my hand on her arm briefly to keep her from leaving, then quickly withdrew it. “Why isn’t the wedding in London? Why Bridport?”

Her cheeks now drained of color. This woman was a puzzle.

“I, uh, have family in Bridport.”

“Yes, you mentioned the elderly aunt, but what of your fiancé?”

“Um, I m—must go, uh, change,” she stuttered.

I turned to allow her space to pass and when her eyes fully met mine, a sharp twinge of pain flashed in my temple. I cringed. This only happened previously when I tried too hard to remember. What was I trying to remember? The megrims had almost entirely ceased in the last few months. I rubbed my forehead.

“Are you well?” she asked, pausing beside me, exposing a kindness in her tone I had not yet heard.

I could not pull my eyes from hers. Something about her triggered this ache. What could that possibly be? “I am fine, thank you,” I whispered.

She tilted her head in a slight nod, though if she knew I was a lord she would have curtsied. Nevertheless, this anonymity was not so dreadful.

As she hustled down the corridor, I slipped my hand in my pocket and remembered the chain. “Oh, Miss Amelia…”

She stopped at her door. “Mr. Jack, I truly don’t need you to fret over me.” And with that, she disappeared inside her room.