Page 16 of The Courtesan’s Protector (About An Earl #4)

CHAPTER 15

R ipley’s mind was spinning, or was the room spinning? He was too flummoxed to tell the difference in that moment. All he knew was that everyone was staring at him, worried, wondering…

And then there was Jane, her hand still in his, her soft voice encouraging with words he couldn’t quite grasp as his father’s name echoed in his mind over and over.

He realized she had guided him to the settee and she tugged him down and lifted her hands to his cheeks. They were cool on his heated skin, her gaze firm on his. Everything calmed with her at the center.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Jane said.

Delacourt stepped closer. “Pottinger is your father?” he asked gently.

Ripley looked up at him. Both this man and Ramsbury held the same rank in Society as his father. What would they think of him now? But did it matter? Jane needed him to push past the negative feelings that boiled inside of him and focus. So for her, he did.

“Yes. I’m his illegitimate son.” He arched a brow, ready to face some kind of interrogation or cruelty.

It was Ramsbury who replied first. “I see.”

It was said so softly, so lightly. It almost felt like pity. He cleared his throat and withdrew his hands from Jane’s. “So this Eldon person. My half-brother. He seems to match all the items we know about whoever was involved with Nora.”

“What kind of—” Jane began, and then cut herself off. She glanced at Ripley and he realized she was trying to protect him. Thinking of him rather than her sister.

“Ask whatever you wish to ask,” he said. “We need to know.”

She shook her head. “This is too much, though. I can see it.”

“It’s not,” he said. Lied because it was. But he loved her enough to endure it.

She faced the others. “What sort of man is he, then? Marianne, you said you knew him.”

“He was always very quiet, almost a wallflower in his own right. I didn’t think much of him one way or another, but he never seemed cruel or calculating.”

Marianne glanced at Ripley as she spoke, but he could tell she answered the question honestly. He doubted the kind countess could be anything but honest.

There was a fraction of relief on Jane’s face. “That’s something then.” She looked at the two earls. “Do either of you know him well enough to reach out? Or…or to his father or grandfather?”

Ramsbury and Delacourt exchanged a look. “They’re both so much older,” Delacourt said. “I think that set found the two of us rather foolish.”

“And with reason,” Ramsbury said with a faint smile. “But I suppose I could make some inquiries and make a meeting?—”

Ripley rose to his feet. “No. I’ll do it. I’ll reach out to my father, myself.”

Jane followed him up. “No! Cam, no, you’ve done enough.”

She had used his first name and it fit. This was, after all, the most intimate of moments when he was stripped down to the heart of who he was. The heart of his pain and his past and his loss. He could see the use of that name wasn’t lost on the others, either.

“We’ll leave you a moment,” Delacourt said, and the couples stepped from the room. Marianne closed the door behind them.

Now that they were alone, Ripley stared down into those beautiful dark blue eyes, rimmed with unshed tears and regrets. “She’s your sister,” he said softly.

“You can’t.” She shook her head. “You can’t. I know you don’t want to see him—speak to him—after all he did to you and to your mother.”

She wasn’t wrong and he wouldn’t lie or deny it. That would be sporting with her intelligence. “For you?” he said instead. “For you I’d do anything, Jane. You know that.”

Her expression twisted before she bent her head. She rested her forehead against his chest with a shuddering sigh. “Even if it destroys you.”

“Yes,” he said. They stood that way, quiet for a long moment. Then he drew a shuddering sigh. “Let me send a message to him and see if he’ll even receive me. He’s been fairly quiet since the last time he sent me a message and I wrote Fuck Off Tosser on it and sent it back.” He shook his head at how wide her eyes went. “But we’ll see.”

She nodded. “Thank you and…and I’m sorry.”

He cupped her face, loving the slide of her soft skin through his rougher hands. Loving how she tilted her face toward his without hesitation. Like she was his. Like he was hers. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck without hesitation and opened to him. He didn’t take. Oh, he felt passion rise in him, of course. Just being near her did that and would do that until the moment he took his last breath. But this was about comfort. His to her, but also hers to him. He took her in, reveling in her warmth and her presence and everything that gave him the peace he’d been looking for his whole violent life.

They parted at last and he withdrew from her arms with difficulty. He smiled at her, hoping it would give her comfort, that he could somehow show her he was fine with all this. Of course he wasn’t. And yet he would still do it and accept whatever consequences would come.

* * *

W hen Jane called for the others to return to the room a few moments later, all she saw was their kindness. Their support. It was odd that it was harder to see that for herself, but she was grateful Ripley had found it. He knew these men, after all. Depended on their patronage. It seemed he wouldn’t lose it. Perhaps he would even gain a deeper friendship by the time it was all over.

Ripley cleared his throat. “I appreciate your kindness,” he said to the group at large. “I wonder if I might ask for a bit more of it. Delacourt, may I send a message from here?”

Her lips parted. “You’re sending the message to the earl now?”

“The duty won’t get any easier the longer I wait. And we’ll be more likely to have a response the sooner I do.” His voice was rough as he spoke. Pained.

Delacourt nodded. “Of course. I’ll take you to my study and give you materials and some privacy.”

Marianne approached Ramsbury and touched his arm. Their eyes met, silent communication flowing between them. Jane flinched. She recognized that she had the same with Ripley. That was love, wasn’t it? Just knowing another person without having to say a word.

“I think we’ll leave you,” Ramsbury said. “But Ripley, if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate.”

Ripley looked at him with gratitude plain on his face before he shook the earl’s hand. Delacourt did the same, then kissed his sister’s cheek before he motioned for Ripley to follow him.

Esme squeezed Jane’s hand before she led Marianne and Ramsbury away for their own farewells. Jane drew a shaky breath when she was left alone. This felt like a storm she couldn’t hold back now. Everything would crash down soon, for better or for worse.

Esme returned to the room and wrapped an arm around her. Together they walked to the window and watched the Ramsbury carriage make its way from the drive and into the busy street. “Why don’t you two stay for supper after the message is sent?”

Jane glanced at her and the words bubbled up with her hardly knowing she was about to speak them. “I hate the shop.”

Esme blinked. “That’s an unexpected response to an invitation.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane shook her head. “I know I’m horribly ungrateful, but I watched Ripley be so brave in confessing his truth, I knew I had to share my own.”

Esme nodded slowly. “I’m glad you did. I know it’s very different from anything you ever knew.”

“It’s tedious ,” Jane admitted. “And I live in terror that someone who knew me before will come in. It happened already. Elizabeth Bowerton.”

Her friend pulled a look. “Oh, I remember her. Nasty thing.”

“She wasn’t always, sometimes she was more when we were together. But she was dreadful when she realized it was me behind that counter.” Jane sighed. “I wasted your charity, I fear. But I hope you can ultimately sell the place. Make some of it back.”

“If you don’t wish to continue there, then I’d never force you,” Esme said. “But what will you do instead to support yourself? Perhaps support your sister when you find her?”

Now the truth would have to be shared. The pain begun. “I think I’ll…leave London,” Jane said softly. “Get a small place with the little I have left. I could do some kind of servant’s work. Fake the references and I’m sure I could find that.”

“You think that would be less boring?” Esme asked gently.

Jane looked toward the door. “Probably not. But it would be less dangerous.”

“I don’t think you’re talking about former lovers now. Or standing at a counter waiting for customers.”

“No.”

Esme said nothing in response to that, just let Jane ponder the statement.

At last Jane sighed. “I adore you. I adore him. But I can only hurt you by staying. I already have. It’s what I do.” She held up a hand when Esme took a big breath to retort. “Please don’t argue. I’m so tired of arguing. Just let me go if that’s what I decide to do.”

Esme’s eyes were filled with rare tears as she gripped Jane’s hand. “You saved my life more than once. So did he. I want you both to be happy and I believe with all my heart that you could be together. But I also know that you’ve spent a great deal of time having to do what others wanted. I would never stop you from following the path you thought was right. But I will love you like the sister you are to me whether you hide from me or not. And I won’t be the only one.”

Jane shivered. The fact of that felt so raw, but she was saved from having to respond when Ripley returned to the parlor, Delacourt at his heels. Jane forced some brightness to her face.

“You were quick.”

He shrugged and she hated how all the color was gone from his cheeks. “I didn’t have much to say. Just a simple…well, perhaps not-so-simple, request.”

“I’ve invited you and Jane to supper,” Esme said without releasing Jane’s hand, even though she held it far more gently. “And she has refused to answer.”

Ripley looked at her and then he shook his head slightly. “I appreciate the kindness, Es. I do. But I wouldn’t be good company right now.”

Esme released Jane and moved to Delacourt. He put an arm around her, his faced lined with concern for his wife. For Jane and for Ripley, too. But Esme’s voice was steady as she said, “I understand. Please tell us if you need anything.”

Ripley nodded absently and motioned for the door. The carriage he had let remained a little ways back on the drive. It rolled forward as they made their way out the door and Ripley said something to the driver as Jane hugged Esme. She felt the tremble in her friend.

“Please don’t do anything rash, love,” Esme whispered. “And never run away without telling me.”

“I never would,” Jane promised. She squeezed Delacourt’s hand with true gratitude for all he’d done and continued to do. When she turned, she let the Delacourt footman help her into the rig. She watched as Delacourt shook Ripley’s hand and then Esme lifted up to kiss his cheek. She said something to him, too soft for Jane to hear. His expression softened a fraction.

“Thank you, Es,” he said, and then he followed Jane into the carriage. Soon they rolled through the busy London streets together. She didn’t ask where he was taking her, but it didn’t matter. All she could think about was her sister, all she could think about was how Ripley would cut himself open for her. Her two failures, pressed tightly together now, showing her that she could only cause pain to those she loved.

Eventually they pulled up to the club and he helped her down. He spoke to the driver as she stood before the big, double doors leading into the fine life he had created. At last the man drove away, taking the rig Ripley had probably spent far too much letting for her. All for her. All this loss for her.

She followed him into the club. It was empty save for Brentwood, who was tidying up for the end of the day. When they stepped in, he stopped and looked from Ripley to her and back again.

“Good to have you back,” he said, and then nodded to Jane. “Miss Kendall.”

“Mr. Brentwood,” she said, hating that heat filled her cheeks. Did she actually care what this man thought of her? Of course she did. He was important to Ripley.

“Any trouble?” Ripley asked, his voice rough even as he crossed to shake Brentwood’s hand.

“None,” Brentwood said. “One or two groused you weren’t here this week, but I matched them with the best at sparring and they started focusing on not getting their heads knocked off instead.”

Ripley flashed a grin she realized she hadn’t seen in at least a day. That carefree, wicked expression she had always been drawn to. Her heart thudded at its return, and it broke with the realization that all her drama had been the reason for its absence.

“Good. Then they’ll be very pleased to have me back once I’m finished with my current issues.” He glanced at Jane and she ducked her head.

“Well, I’m available to run them ragged as long as you need. Are you out again?” Brentwood asked.

“It depends. I’m waiting on a missive.”

“Speaking of which…” Brentwood stepped off and returned with a small stack of letters and cards. He handed them over. “I think you might have a new member coming, judging from that one on top: Pottinger. He seems a bit old to take up fisticuffs, but he has two sons, I think. Both of an age to?—”

He stopped as Ripley dropped the rest of the post and tore open the seal on the folded sheets from his father. Jane rushed to him, grasping his arm as he opened the papers with shaking hands.

Brentwood stared at them, then inclined his head. “I’ll be here tomorrow, Ripley. I’ll take care of everything until you’re back. Good evening, Miss Kendall.”

He left then, though neither of them acknowledged it.

“How could he reply so swiftly?” she gasped.

Ripley shrugged. “He doesn’t live far from Delacourt. If he responded immediately, sent his fastest runners—” He stopped and drew a shaky breath.

She smoothed her palm over his arm. “What does he say?”

Ripley’s face was pale as he handed over the letter. “He wants to see me first thing in the morning.”

She read the few lines.

Mr. Ripley,

I very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow at nine a.m. We have a great deal to discuss.

Pottinger

She found her heart sinking at the cool tone of the note. “He isn’t exactly warm, is he?”

Ripley shrugged. “My mother used to speak of him as loving when they first started together. Kind. But the kind of man who could abandon the mother of his child completely, let her scrap and die the way she did…”

She caught his hand in hers. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You keep saying that as if you created this monster.”

“I did,” she insisted. “You never would have had to see or speak to this man again if it weren’t for me and my wayward sister I couldn’t even keep track of. So yes , I take responsibility for that, Ripley.”

He traced her cheek with a fingertip. “Will you come up with me? Come to my home and my kitchen and my bed?”

She shut her eyes briefly. It was so easy to picture being in all those places forever. She nodded. “Yes. And I’m also coming with you tomorrow.”

His eyes widened. “Jane, you don’t have to do that. I don’t know how pleasant this is going to be or how he’ll even receive you.”

“I unleashed this wave of catastrophe, Ripley. If you don’t think I’ll stand by your side to keep you from drowning, you’re a fool.”

The corner of his lip twitched. “You wouldn’t be the first one to call me a fool. And yes, it would be easier to have you there. I suppose it would be easier for you, too, since you wouldn’t have to wait and wonder what was happening.”

He offered his arm and she took it. Together they went upstairs. The first time she’d come into his home above the club, she had been hysterical, terrified. She hadn’t really looked at where this man made his home. She smiled as he shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“You’re cooking again?”

“I’m out of fire and brimstone,” he teased, reminding her of what she’d said to him that first night she’d come to him with her terror over her sister.

“May I look around your rooms while you do? I want to see the lair of the great Campbell Ripley. See where the Dragon keeps his horde.”

He nodded. “Look away. I’ve no secrets from you.”

He kissed her temple and then left her for the kitchen. She watched him go, watched the sleek movements of that wonderful body. How could a man be such a hulk of muscle and flesh and yet be so graceful, she would never know.

But she’d been given carte blanche to explore and so she did. She stepped into the parlor first. It was a small room but cozy, despite the chill from no fires being lit for a few days. She lit a lamp to carry with her and examined the room. The furniture there was mismatched but appeared comfortable.

There were two chairs before the fire and she could picture sitting in them at night. He would read to her. Perhaps she’d become brave enough to read out to him. He’d never tease her about her mistakes or mispronunciations. Maybe one day she’d even get bold enough to admit she’d learned to read because she’d wanted to keep his little notes and letters to her private. Just hers. A tiny piece of him that no one else could take.

She blinked. What was she thinking? The future wasn’t in this room. And yet she didn’t stop her tour. She found a study next. The desk was big, piled with papers and letters and accounts. This was clearly where he managed the business of the club at night. She moved around, looking at his even handwriting, recalling every time he’d written her name over the years.

Jane. My Janie.

She also noted a portrait above the fire on the desk. She moved to it and lifted her lantern to see it better. It was a woman and judging from the dark eyes that she knew so well, she thought it was Ripley’s mother. One of the paintings by her former protector, it seemed, and a beautiful one. Jane smiled. Regina Ripley had been so very pretty and she had a kind expression. Sad, perhaps, but very kind. Sometimes she saw that same look on her son’s face. The same little wrinkle to his forehead.

Once again, it was too easy to think about being comfortable here. Perhaps she would help him organize his paperwork better. She’d sit at the window while he worked, talking to him about his day. He’d pour her tea…or whisky. Or both. She smiled at the thought before she once again shoved it away. This look into his life was too dangerous, it seemed.

She stepped from that room and went to the end of the hallway. There was a short staircase there and it led up to a third floor that had two doors. She opened the first, a small bedchamber, though the furniture was all covered with sheets.

The last door she hesitated at. This was his bedroom. She knew it, and though she had made full use of her freedom to explore, going into this chamber felt different. Her hand shook as she turned the knob and stepped inside.

It was a big chamber, though simply appointed. A door to one side likely led to his dressing room. Beside it was a small table adorned with some writing implements. There were two chairs before the fire with another table between them where a few books were stacked.

And then there was the bed. Their encounters before this had been in smaller beds in inns. But this bed was different, bigger, laid with a soft coverlet that she traced her fingers along until she reached the pillow where the man she loved placed his head each night.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, and then turned to the cold fireplace. She set her lamp aside and set a fire, tending it until it came to life to warm the room for him later. That was the least she could do after everything he’d done for her in these last weeks.

She was just finishing up when she heard Ripley clear his throat from the door behind her. She faced him and found him staring at her and then at the flames.

“You set a fire?”

She nodded, even though her cheeks burned. To do that was a simple act, but one of love. Now it felt like she was under scrutiny.

He stared for a second more and then shook his head. “Supper is ready, though it isn’t much.”

“I’m sure it will be perfect,” she assured him.

Together they returned to the kitchen and the simple table there that he’d set for them. He’d roasted some vegetables that smelled like heaven and there was bread and cheese.

“As I said, not much since I haven’t been home,” he said as he pulled back her chair and helped her in.

“I cannot wait,” she assured him, and smiled up at him as he filled her plate.

He sat across from her and did the same for himself. But when she started eating, he didn’t. He moved his food around, but he was quiet and hardly raised the fork to his lips.

After a few moments like that, she covered his hand and squeezed gently. “You must be worried about meeting with your father tomorrow.”

He lifted his gaze to her. “That wasn’t what I was thinking about.” His voice was rough, low.

She wrinkled her brow. “No?”

“Jane…Jane, I love you.”