Page 7 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

M eeting one’s potential in-laws was trying enough; meeting them after downing half a bottle of sherry, after telling a horrendous lie about their deathly-sick son, did not help matters.

Oh, Ella had really put her foot in it this time.

How in the world had this happened? She barely remembered pulling Lord Oliver out of the Serpentine.

Her mind was as brackish and muddled as the disgusting water.

She’d spent the better part of the past two days in bed, shivering under an avalanche of blankets, trying to recover and come to terms with the catastrophic event.

Her parents had been furious at her daring rescue, and Cordelia had had to fill her in on the pertinent parts.

Even now she had a difficult time believing that she’d had the strength, nay, the courage to run toward the crash instead of running for help.

What had gotten into her? Having been told her entire life that she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t healthy enough, it was beyond Ella’s reasoning that she’d thought she could do anything worthwhile for the duke.

And yet she’d dragged him from the lake. She had risked her life to save his.

And, unfortunately, in her heady, arrogant delirium, she’d also told everyone within earshot that she was his fiancée.

It could happen to anyone, right?

Probably not.

Cordelia had had to tell her that part too. Ella certainly didn’t recall that boldness. Perhaps in a pique of self-care, her brain had flung away the memory, hoping to never hear of it again. Saying it in her heart was one thing, but saying it out loud? Brazen. Insane.

And now Ella was paying the price, sitting across from this hulk of a man, being jostled about in a carriage by a driver who didn’t care to avoid the holes as he hurried down the road. The last hole jounced Ella so bad, her head almost hit the carriage ceiling.

She should have known her mother wouldn’t help her. Just as she should have known that Cordelia would have informed her mother about Ella’s obsession with the duke.

Ella’s stomach had almost hit the floor when Lord John said the unfortunate word: fiancée .

Her mother’s face, on the other hand, had never beamed brighter, because Ella knew a plan was being hatched.

It had been inevitable. Lady Weston was known for many things: her beauty, her vivacity, her love for her husband, but most of all she was renowned for her ambition.

A duke had somehow—sadly, unconsciously—fallen into her web.

And nothing, not even a lie and a coma, would help the poor man out of it.

Ella would have to see this through. To what end, she had no idea.

She just had to get through the night. And let every step dictate her next. She would find a way off this hazardous ride. There was no other option.

But first things first. She needed to make sure she could walk in a straight line.

Ella searched about the carriage. The finest one she’d ever traveled in, it was resplendent with navy satin silk covering.

The ceiling was pleated in blue damask, with a rosette in the middle with the same damask pattern acting as a border throughout.

Her seat was plush and tufted with velvet, which certainly helped with the frantic driving.

She cleared her throat. “Is there any water?”

Lord John sat back in his seat across from her, thighs splayed wide.

Shadows and light took turns slashing across his face from the shade bumping against the window.

His hair was short, abnormally so, cut close to the skin and sun-bleached to the point where she thought he might be bald.

Even the gentlemen who loved to ride and hunt weren’t as tanned as he.

If Lord John had pulled a golden earring out of his pocket and fastened it to his ear, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

After appraising her long enough to make her squirm in her seat, the lord finally leaned forward with a put-upon sigh.

He reached into the mahogany drawer against the wall and pulled out a small bottle and glass, then unscrewed the top and sniffed it.

Scrunching his nose, he returned the cap and placed the bottle and glass back in the drawer.

“No.”

Apparently, the clear liquid inside the bottle was not water. Good to know.

Lord John—the infamous Lord John—resumed his casual position.

Ella didn’t know all the facts about Lord Oliver’s infamous brother, but she wasn’t sure who in the ton did.

Like everyone else, she’d heard he set sail at sixteen, sporadically visiting his family after that.

If she believed some, Lord John owned his own shipping company; if she believed others, he was a nefarious pirate.

Sadly, no middle ground had ever been taken.

The taciturn man hadn’t spoken to her since he’d thrown her in her seat—and “thrown” was the nicest way she could put it. Clearly, time was of the essence, which made her heart beat faster and harder.

The duke was dying. It was written all over the mysterious man’s solemn face, stitched in the lines that fanned out from his eyes and sunk deep in the brackets around his mouth.

He wasn’t so much scary as intimidating.

Although he was dressed like a gentleman and was aware of the social niceties that went along with the garments, he seemed out of his element, uncomfortable in the fine carriage, sharing his air with a viscount’s daughter.

But pirates weren’t gentle, were they? Lord John’s blue eyes may have hinted at ice, but there was a warmth when he’d touched her hands at the house, unfolding her fingers from each other.

Ella had spotted his concern when he saw her hands, which had become inflamed and swollen after her time in the lake.

He’d taken great care, using just the right amount of pressure and strength to uncoil the panic from her body.

Ella couldn’t help but wish that he would do it again. But she couldn’t ask him to. She wouldn’t demand that he allay her fears, because then she’d actually have to tell him what they were. Yes, of course Ella was worried—beyond worried—that the duke would perish from the accident.

But Lord, she was a selfish, cowardly woman. Because she was more terrified that they all might find out that she wasn’t who she said she was.

“Hm.”

Ella broke from her inner rambling and eyed Jack.

He crossed his arms, the muscles doing their best to situate themselves while straining against the fabric of his jacket.

His size was repressive . No wonder the man spent his days on the bow of a ship; the ocean was probably the only thing in nature that could trump his brawny presence.

Lord John’s expression was marred by a frown that kept coming back to her.

Whenever he managed to tear his gaze away, he did it with another “hm.” As if Ella were a vexing puzzle.

As if Ella were an unsolvable riddle. For a man who’d undoubtedly traveled all over the world, to be so confusing felt almost a little exotic.

But even that little boon wasn’t enough to quell Ella’s anxiety. Her nerves were frayed to a ridiculous level, and by the tenth “hm,” she unleashed.

“You can either stop making that sound or tell me why you’re making it. The choice is yours.”

Lord John’s fathomless gaze fell on her, heavy as the stone they tied to witches right before they threw them in the lake to drown. “Sorry—”

“You’re not sorry.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

Perhaps it was the desertion of her mother, or maybe the untrusting glint in his eye that was even apparent in the moody carriage—or maybe it was the lingering effects of the sherry—but Ella was impelled to regain her voice and her backbone. She needed some sense of control in all this mess.

Jack’s arms tightened over his broad chest even more.

His tongue played with a tooth in the back of his mouth.

Ella imagined he rubbed it back and forth like it was a genie’s lamp with varying results.

His voice reminded her of a knife’s edge, sharp and precarious. “I can’t get a proper read on you.”

Ella steeled herself. His words hit, but she would not grimace. “Is that right?” she returned softly.

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.

Because Ella was so used to people always thinking and believing the best in her, the smile almost felt approving, though his next words squashed that hopeful idea soon enough.

“It is right,” he drawled lazily, “because you said you’re engaged to my brother.

I assume that means you love him, and yet I had to drag you out of your house to see him.

In fact”—he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees—“why did I even have to come and get you? Why didn’t your parents send a letter inquiring about my brother? Why didn’t you try to come earlier?”

That was a lot of whys .

“Because,” Ella replied, knowing that she was blinking too fast to seem normal, “we… we… thought it best to give your family space in this private matter.”

Jack nodded as if he’d already known that she would respond in that way. “But as your mother just said, you’re practically family. Or close enough.”

Ella pressed her back into the carriage cushion, almost wishing she could sink into it and hide from his inquisition.

She didn’t have a brother and had always assumed sisters to be the nosiest siblings.

She hated being wrong. “As much as I would like to think it is close enough, it is not. I did want to overstep—however much I might have wished to. Do you think I wanted to leave your brother that day? Do you think I wasn’t lost as I watched the cart carry his bloodless body away?

You weren’t there. You don’t know what I saw.

Don’t you dare judge me and how I acted.

I only got out of bed this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t rush outside and knock on your door—excuse me, your brother’s door—the instant I could feel my toes again. ”

That felt bloody good. Perhaps a bit much, but still good.

Ella was inexperienced in defending her character.

Everyone liked her—or at least pretended to.

For years her brothers-in-law had catered to her feelings, attempting to get on her good side, knowing that if she didn’t like them, then they’d have little chance with her older sisters.

Yes, it was just flattery at first, but she’d come to recognize them as true brothers who would do anything for her.

Now, this man—this sea dog—thought he could call out her character? Call her a liar?

Well, she was, but she hadn’t meant to be! If only he could see that!

A wistful smile crept onto Lord John’s face. “And I thought love was the strongest force in the world.”

Ella threw up her hands in defeat. “Well then, maybe I am just a weak creature.”

His gaze narrowed. Ella felt herself grow warm under it, not knowing how to react to his study of her.

He was an odd man who said odd things, not like the dandies of the ton who frequented the Westons’ household, reciting poetry, declaring their love to her sisters as if by rote.

This man—this roguish second son—said what was on his mind, when it came to his mind, and that unnerved her to no great end.

Jack rubbed underneath his chin, sliding his hand back and forth in a hypnotic fashion, drawing out the raspy sound as if he enjoyed it more than the scratch. “I’d already settled on that thought, but now I’m not so sure.”

Ella blew out a blustery breath, slapping her hands down on her lap. “Well, how kind of you.”

His teeth were sharp and bright as his lips curled away. “Oh, there’s nothing kind about me.”

Ella shrugged. “You’re here. That says something.”

“It says I’m afraid of my mother.”

Laughter burst from her mouth before Ella could stifle it.

His blue eyes flashed, and Lord John settled back in his seat, a new demeanor overtaking him, one much less combative.

The man was still frightening, still large, still mysterious, but for some strange reason, just by making that comment, Ella’s confidence fluttered.

The thought came to her: I can handle him.

It would take both hands. But she could do it.

“Should I be afraid of your mother?”

He hmphed , tearing the shade away to check outside. “Are you daft? She’s been trying to marry my brother off for years. She’ll love you. The fact that you’re not a whore or an opera singer will make her kiss your feet.”

Ella watched him jerk when he realized what he’d said. She could feel the color on her face, but she could see it on his. He twirled his hat in his hands.

“My apologies,” he grumbled, eyes averted. “As you can tell, I don’t spend much time with… ladies such as yourself.” The stress he put on that word made her want to kick him in the shins. “I forget myself. It won’t happen again.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Ella said slowly, waiting for him to get over his embarrassment. “I meant… should I be worried if I can’t help your brother?”

Lord John’s lips quirked, and he stared at her as if she’d just said something completely nonsensical. “What makes you think you won’t?”

She shook her head, her frustration with the night beginning to take root and sprout inside her. “I’m sure you grew up listening to fairytales like all the rest of us, so you know that it’s the man who saves the sleeping maiden. In no story is it the woman.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I am.”

Jack continued to contemplate her, again with that arresting way that made it hard for her to breathe and think at the same time.

Ella’s heart pumped so hard against her ribcage that she reminded herself to check it tomorrow for bruises.

She barely knew him but was certain that he was the type of man who could make something like that happen, for better or worse.

“Well, that’s fine, Miss Ella, because we don’t need a fairytale.”

“What do you need?”

“We need a miracle.”