Chapter 6
“Fretting is not going to change the situation, my lamb,” Lady Gwendoline soothed as Jocey once again paced the confines of her bedchamber.
The two women had once again spent another evening eating dinner together in the family dining room. Jericho had not joined them. As he had not joined them for the past two evenings either.
The “situation,” as the elderly lady called it, was Jericho’s having shut himself away in his study for the past three days and two nights.
Whatever had been in the letter, delivered to him so urgently in the stable yard those same two days ago, Jericho had neither seen nor been seen by anyone since. The opposite: he had answered Taylor’s tentative knock on the study door yesterday morning by hurling something heavy and breakable against the other side of that door.
No one had dared to go near the marquis since.
Admittedly, Jocey had not wanted to see Jericho again after his harsh rejection of her at the copse, but she would not have wished for it to happen in this way. She would never forget how all the color had leeched from Jericho’s cheeks as he read his letter. Or how his eyes had suddenly appeared like black pits of hell he might never escape from as he looked across the stable yard at her before turning on his heel and striding back to the house. He had gone straight to his study, locking the door behind him, and had remained there ever since.
Jocey was beside herself with worry over him.
“Would you like me to talk to him?” Lady Gwendoline offered, with obvious reluctance for the reception she might receive for the attempt.
“The marquis will probably throw something at you too,” Jocey answered ruefully.
The elderly lady nodded. “Poor Taylor is at a loss as to know what to do.”
“We all are,” Jocey accepted heavily.
She had never seen Jericho look quite so…so devastated, so much in pain, as he had after reading his letter. He was usually a man so very much in control, so self-contained—
He had not appeared to be either of those things after kissing her so passionately that day.
Jocey pushed thoughts of that kiss firmly from her mind. It had no bearing on what had happened after. “Could his father have died, do you think?”
Lady Gwendoline gave a slow shake of her head. “I do not believe Cousin Jericho would be quite this struck down if that were the case. I am sure he has a filial affection for his father, but Cousin William’s behavior has been so strange since Cousin Caroline died that father and son have not been close for many years. Besides, Cousin Jericho would now be busy dealing with the arrangements for the funeral rather than shut away in his study.”
The other lady’s logic made perfect sense.
Then what had happened to cause Jericho so much heartache he had shut himself away to deal with it?
There were only seven people she knew of that Jericho was really close to.
The Sinners.
If something had happened to one of them—
No, Jocey could not even bear to contemplate that something untoward might have happened to any of those handsome gentlemen.
Besides, Jericho would have left for London immediately if one of them was ill.
Unless they were not ill but had died?
That was an even less acceptable explanation. Jericho would surely never recover from such a devastating blow as losing one of his closest friends.
Lady Gwendoline rose. “I cannot see any point in us fretting about this anymore tonight. No doubt Cousin Jericho will appear again when he is ready. In the meantime, I suggest you try to get some sleep,” she added kindly.
Sleep had eluded Jocey for the past two nights, not only because of worry over Jericho, but also because she did not know what to think regarding the passionate kiss they had shared. Or the manner in which it had ended so abruptly.
She placated her elderly companion. “I will try.”
Lady Gwendoline touched her cheek affectionately. “You are such a compassionate young lady. Do not worry,” she soothed. “When Cousin Jericho is ready, he will come back to us.”
Despite her feelings to the contrary, Jocey was eventually so exhausted by her pacing of the bedchamber, she lay down upon her bed to rest for a few minutes, still fully dressed. She quickly fell into a deep sleep without even being aware she had done so.
Only to be woken very suddenly, she had no idea how much later, and feeling totally disorientated as one of her wrists and behind her knees were grasped by firm hands. She was thrown over a muscular shoulder before being carried from the bedchamber and down the candlelit hallway toward the stairs.
“Jericho…?”
There was no answer from the man carrying her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. He continued to navigate down the wide staircase to the dimly lit hallway below.
And yet Jocey was sure it was Jericho who carried her. She recognized his muscular back in the fitted superfine, the trimness of his buttocks, and the long length of his legs in tailored gray pantaloons.
She just had no idea, none whatsoever, as to why he had removed her from her bedchamber in such a manner and was now refusing to answer her appeal for an explanation.
She tried a second time. “Jericho, please…?”
“Do not speak again unless you wish to take the consequences,” he warned between what sounded like gritted teeth.
Jocey’s unease deepened. Was it possible that whatever bad news Jericho had received three days ago had turned him as mad as his father became after the death of his wife?
The possibility that might be the case was enough to cause her to struggle in his hold.
“Cease that this instant!” The second warning was accompanied by a heavy slap to her gown-covered bottom.
Jocey was so shocked at being spanked at all, she could only squeak a protest.
She felt the blast of cold air as the front door was thrown open and Jericho carried her out of the house and down the steps to where his carriage waited.
“My lord—”
“Have Taylor inform Lady Gwendoline,” the marquis cut in on Poulter’s puzzled query, “that Lady Jocelyn and I will be away for several days and nights, and she is not to worry.” He lowered Jocey to her feet before pushing her inside the carriage. He closed the door behind her with a decisive slam before quickly stepping up onto the driver’s seat and taking the reins himself. “There is a blanket on the seat beside you if you are cold,” he bit out tersely as the carriage lurched forward with the crack of his whip over the heads of the two grays, succeeding in tumbling Jocey back onto the seat.
It took her several seconds to realize he was talking to her, her head still slightly foggy from being woken in such a manner. The carriage was already halfway down the long driveway, Wessex Manor but a blur in the darkness as Jocey glanced behind her.
She turned forward again. “Jericho, what—”
“I have no intention of the two of us talking until we reach our destination. At which time, you will be the one answering the questions, not I,” he added grimly.
He really had gone insane, Jocey decided as the fear rose up within her. Whether from grief or otherwise, this harsh and uncompromising man was not the Jericho she was used to. Most certainly not the man who had kissed her with such passion only days ago.
She could see little of him in the darkness, but knew from the rigidity of his back and the tense angle of his shoulders that Jericho was a man driven by some deep emotion. An emotion that did not bode well for her wherever they were going.
Her trepidation grew, and she was grateful for the warmth of the blanket as the carriage and horses ate up the miles and dawn began to break on the horizon, all without Jericho turning to look at her or speaking so much as another word. Cold anger came off him in waves, and, bearing in mind his warning, Jocey dared not even attempt to speak to him again.
Nor did she recognize anywhere they had been or where they were going as he turned the carriage off the main thoroughfare and they began to travel through denser and denser forest. The trees were so close together here, there was barely room for the carriage to pass through them, and it seemed to grow dark again within the thickness of that deep green foliage.
Just when she believed her nerves had reached the breaking point and she would have to say something, the trees parted and Jericho drove the carriage into a clearing. There was a small timber-built house to one side of it, much bigger than a cottage but nowhere near the size of a manor house. There was also what looked like a stable, with a lean-to beside it where wood was stored.
Jocey had her first glimpse of Jericho’s face as he jumped down from the driver’s seat. He looked gaunt, his skin so pale, he appeared almost ghostly, with dark circles beneath his eyes.
Eyes that were a cold and stormy blue. His frigid gaze raked over her mercilessly after she had tentatively opened the carriage door and stepped down onto the grassy ground.
She moistened lips that were dry from nerves and the hours she had spent in the carriage. “What is this place?”
His top lip curled. “I believe my mother always referred to it as Pomeroy Cottage.”
“Your mother?” Jocey rarely heard him speak about the mother who had died twenty years ago. Jericho did not look pleased to be talking about her now either. Nor did he answer her as he began to unfasten the harness on the horses. “What are we doing here, Jericho?” Her voice shook slightly from her nervous tension.
His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “You and I are going to talk.”
She frowned. “Could we not have done that at Wessex Manor?”
“Without interruption. Or interference,” he added harshly.
He meant Lady Gwendoline, of course, that lady long having been Jocey’s champion in most things. “I do not understand—”
“You will,” he assured ominously.
Jocey was exhausted in both body and mind, from nerves and too many nights without sleep. Jericho’s coldness toward her now made her regret that she had ever worried about him. Whatever news he had received in that letter three days ago, he had no right nor reason to treat her so abysmally.
She drew in a shaky breath. “We are to stay here?”
He nodded abruptly. “Until I am satisfied you have told me the truth.”
“The truth about what?” She eyed him anxiously. “What have I done? What is it you wish to talk to me about?”
Jericho had no intention of answering her as he left off the rest of unharnessing the horses until later, but instead turned on one booted heel and strode the short distance to use the key from his pocket to unlock and enter the house.
It had been closed up for many years now. The air smelled stale, and the dust sheets covering the furniture had done little to allay its neglected appearance. Not that Jericho cared a whit for his surroundings or the lack of comfort to be found here. He had a mission to complete. The house his mother had used for her adulterous trysts suited that purpose perfectly.
He had crossed the room and was lighting a fire in the hope of dispelling the worst of the cold and damp when he heard Jocelyn slowly enter the house behind him. A glance toward her as he straightened showed she was shivering, her arms wrapped about her to garner some vestige of warmth.
A pity. He would have enjoyed hunting her down if she had tried to run away.
Jericho felt suddenly weary beyond description. An exhaustion that went bone deep and caused him to drop heavily into one of the two chairs placed either side of the fireplace as the flames took hold and a slight warmth began to permeate the neglect and cold.
It was the first bit of cheer Jericho had seen or recognized for three days and three sleepless nights. Although he knew the warmth of the flames would not succeed in dispelling the lump in his chest where his heart should be.
The news from Stonewell was so dire, so terrible, Jericho feared none of The Sinners would ever recover from it.
He rose restlessly to his feet. “I suggest you consider trying to sleep in my absence,” he instructed harshly.
Jocelyn looked startled. “Where are you going?”
“To finish unharnessing the horses and then to hunt rabbits for a stew,” he bit out tersely. “Your gown, if you please.” He held out his hand.
There was an expression of shock on her face, her eyes wide. “My gown…?”
His mouth twisted. “If you have no gown to wear, then you might be less inclined to try to leave whilst I am gone.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, her face pale. “I am to be your prisoner, then?”
“My captive,” he corrected.
“It is one and the same thing.”
“Not at all. As my prisoner, you might have expected certain…rules and concessions to apply. As my captive, you will be given none.”
“But I… Why?” She looked at him in appeal. “What have I done to warrant such harsh treatment from you?”
Jericho remained unmoved, both by the entreaty in her voice and the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “Your gown,” he repeated, his tone uncompromising.
Jocey was reluctant to comply. To give up her gown would leave her completely vulnerable and exposed. Not only was it cold inside the house, but Jericho was right to point out that she would also be less inclined to try to escape from here while dressed only in her chemise and drawers.
“I shall have no compunction in ripping it off you if you do not hand it over voluntarily in the next few seconds,” the marquis warned in a harsh voice.
She gave a slow shake of her head. “I do not understand what has happened to make you like this.”
“No?” His nostrils flared.
“No!”
“We will discuss exactly that, and what is to be done with you, upon my return,” he assured her. “Do not make me ask a third time,” he said softly.
Jocey winced, knowing he was referring to the removal of her gown.
“Unless you would prefer I tie you to one of the beds upstairs to ensure you do not leave in my absence?” he challenged mildly.
Her eyes widened. “Tie me to the bed?”
Jericho nodded. “I believe my mother had metal rings attached to the top and bottom of the beds upstairs for just that purpose.”
Jocey had no idea under what circumstances Caroline Black would need to have metal rings attached to the beds. It sounded distinctly—
“She enjoyed tying up her lovers or having them do the same to her during sexual play,” Jericho supplied with obvious distaste.
“Oh.” Jocey had never heard of such sexual practices as that. The subject had certainly never come up in her embarrassing conversations with Lady Gwendoline on the subject of the marriage bed.
His top lip curled back with disgust. “I am unsure whether the thought of that alarms or arouses you.”
Jocey was unsure of that too.
On the one hand, to be tied up and unable to escape was totally unacceptable.
On the other, she could not deny the heat that suffused her body, her nipples having hardened and between her legs feeling damp, at the thought of having Jericho tie her to the bed and pleasure her until she screamed for mercy.
A chill ran the length of her spine at the realization the only mercy she would be begging Jericho for in future appeared to be that of lenience in whatever punishment he chose to inflict upon her, for whatever crime he believed her to be guilty of.
She turned her back toward him. “My gown unfastens at the back,” she explained as Jericho made no move to assist her. Whether Jocey left this house today or another day, she would need her gown, undamaged, in which to do so.
Jericho’s fingers were cold against her skin as he unfastened the tiny buttons. “There,” he finally murmured before stepping back.
Jocey allowed the gown to slide down her arms and to the floor before bending to pick it up. Her cheeks were warm with embarrassed color as she straightened, her gaze avoiding his as she handed it to him. She felt very self-conscious at how brazen she must look dressed only in her chemise, drawers, and stockings.
“If you are cold, there are blankets upstairs, or the one still inside the carriage,” the marquis dismissed. He rolled her gown up into a haphazard bundle and thrust it beneath his arm. “In either case, do not attempt to leave the house. I will be forced to take further action if you do.”
Jocey felt a shiver down the length of her spine that owed nothing to the chill of the room and everything to the apprehension engendered by Jericho’s uncompromising words and demeanor.