Chapter 13

Being outwitted by one’s wife was not a feeling Jack cared to ever repeat. It had never occurred to him that he could underestimate her tenacity so wholly, for he thought he had possessed a relatively good understanding of her skill and audacity. But one did not expect a tied up woman to quite soundlessly hurl herself from a rapidly moving conveyance in the middle of the night.

Did one?

No. One did not. After all, he wasn’t so hideous that such an action should be necessary? Or was he? It didn’t bear consideration that she found him so entirely unlikable that bouncing along a dirt road in the middle of the night was more appealing than his company.

Granted. . . He had tied her up, but she had flailed so and escape, whether she realized it or not, meant his grand mother, full of wrath at being foiled in her plans, would very possibly shred Cordelia’s name so thoroughly that no one would ever receive her again. And while he realized that Cordelia didn’t have much estimation for their class, she did need some support. If only for her work. His grand mother could see that she never, ever had assistance of any kind from anyone again in any corner of Europe.

Regardless of his hideousness or lack there of, he would once again have to rethink his appraisal of his wife and accept that he had been lacking in his esteem for her and his judgement of her sanity. Surely, only a half mad woman. . . or an Eversleigh woman. . . would do such a thing?

There was nothing for it. It was his duty as her husband, however temporary that state, to take her in hand and help her to understand that such activities only led to neck breakage.

Riding back in the direction from whence they had come at breakneck speed was a damned nuisance. Coaching horses did not the best seats make, and he refused to consider that the odd churning sensation in his stomach was anything more than indigestion.

Nothing had happened to her. He was not afraid.

After all, if a group of bandits had fallen upon her she, no doubt, would have them all singing and dancing her tune within moments, or at the worst, he’d locate them incapacitated murmuring about whirling dervish females and witch craft.

Yes. . . Witch craft. That had to be it. His wife had learned black arts in the East and this would explain her infuriating behavior and astounding abilities. Yet, he found himself thanking the dubious maker for these black arts. They would keep her safe.

As he road further and further without her in sight, the pit of his stomach tightened into such a ball he was sure that he was going to seize up. He refused to believe it was with concern for her safety. . . Absolutely refused. . . Said refusal didn’t stop him from swearing that he would wrap his fingers about her pretty neck and shake.

The sight that eventually befell him was not reassuring.

A woman, unmistakably his wife, in Gemma’s cream puff of a costume, sat astride a man in the dirt. He pulled his pistol from the back of his breeches and aimed it high in the air, ready to ride to her rescue.

All feelings of knightly chivalry deflated as irrational and blind rage tumbled through him. She didn’t seem to be struggling, in fact she was engaged in conversation with the man beneath her. Which nearly urged him to aim his pistol at the man sprawled on the dirt, writhing beneath his wife.

Writhing. Beneath. His wife.

A strangled sound strained from his throat. She appeared to have her hands in a rather compromising place. . . On the man’s cock.

He pulled the trigger on the primed pistol and the perfectly designed fire arm went off. A crack of smoke and embers pierced the cold night.

Cordelia’s gaze jerked away from the prone man beneath her and snapped up towards him.

Those dark blue eyes of hers, the color of black sapphires in the moonlight, widened to twin saucers of dismay then dawning recognition replaced any anxiety she might have been experiencing. “Blast!”

“Hello, Jack,” Charles called blithely. “Thank God you’ve come.”

“Charles,” he exclaimed. . . The full realization that his wife had been fondling his brother’s balls began to sink in as did a rage so intense he was uncertain he would be able to speak further let alone act with any sort of restraint.

“Could you call your wife off?” Charles appealed, his voice oddly strained through the cold air. “Her grip is reminiscent of Nelson.”

Cordelia blinked. “Lord Nelson fondled your. . . Erm. . .”

Pain pounded between Jack’s eyes, a pain resembling a nail being driven solidly into an unyielding knot of wood. He had heard that some women were veritable headaches, but he’d never believed the term could be taken literally. At this rate, he was going to have to murder someone. At this particular moment he wasn’t certain if it was his brother, or his wife, or perhaps both. He might even have to include himself. But there was one thing that he couldn’t escape. Cordelia was one of a kind. Still. . .

“You’ve been fondling him?” Jack asked, his voice so low, one might have thought it had wrung deep in the primordial caverns of the earth.

“No!” she exclaimed, indignation lighting her pale cheeks.

“And Nelson was our intractable bull dog if you must know,” piped in Charles, still lying underneath her. As though having his balls in iron grip upon the road was a nightly occurrence, he folded his hands behind his head and lounged upon the earth with the same sort of comfort he did upon his Oriental rugs. “Your tenacity resembles him in the most singular of ways. You see, once he got his grip on something, he never let go.”

Cordelia blanched. Clearly recalling the location of her hands, she scrambled backwards in crab fashion, sliding along Charles legs. One of her elbows found Charles’ groin as she attempted to get to her feet.

Instantly, Charles let out a howl and then a groan of pain that sailed soprano like through the silent night. The moan was then replaced by a rather unmanly whimper. His limbs coiled slowly inward, pulling him into the fetal position.

“I say,” Cordelia muttered, brushing her hands furiously against her frock. “Is he quite alright?”

“Impotent,” Charles gasped. “Your wife has rendered me impotent.”

“A blessing for the human race,” she sniffed, without a hint of remorse.

“All the same, I’d still like to make attempts,” Charles wheezed.

Jack eyed his brother, then his wife, then the pistol. He could reload. It wouldn’t take much time. Instead he found himself asking, “What are you doing here, Charles?”

In slow degrees, Charles retracted from his childlike position and tentatively sat up. He winced and stared mournfully down at his cock then he sighed and lifted his attention away from his wounded southerlies. “If you must know, I was concerned.”

“Balls,” Cordelia huffed.

Charles’ eyes narrowed and he swung an accusatory stare up at Cordelia. “Must we talk about what pains me so greatly, madam? I have come all the way from town to the country, which I abhor. The place is riddled with animals for God’s sake and dirt, and” he shivered with blatant disgust, “fresh air.”

Jack’s gloved fingers tightened about the reins and it was all he could do not to grab Cordy and ride like mad into the night. “Leave off with the dissertation on the ills of the country. Why’d you follow?”

Charles gave him a lopsided grin. “Grandmama is sending riders after you.”

“Famous!” Cordelia’s beautiful eyes widened. “What kind of dowager is your grand mother?”

“The determined kind,” Charles said flatly.

Bugger it. Jack winced.

‘Twas no surprise, but he’d hoped his grand mother might act with a measure of restraint. She handled the estates and the political necessities with admirable aplomb but she did hate being defied. It was her one weak point. She’d have men chasing after them and then knowing their location, she would only be half days ride behind. Ready to reiterate why her plan was the only which made any sense and therefore must be obeyed.

“Charles,” He drew in a good dose of cold air through his nose, and swung down off the horse, landing so hard, his boots crunched the hard earth. “Did you think in following me you’d lead them off the scent? Hmmm?”

Charles smoothed his hands down the front of his waistcoat and in one quick move, sprang to his feet. “Please, no one can exceed my stealth.”

Cordelia smothered a snigger.

Charles eyed her with disdain. “Madam, I have more experience sneaking about at night, eluding discovery, than you could ever fathom.” “I don’t doubt it,” she drawled. But then a curious expression creased her brow and her gaze traveled first from Charles then over to him. And then she repeated the movement at least three times. Her gorgeously pert and stinging mouth opened slowly.

It seemed she was making a mental list of their physical similarities. Jack had to grant her it was a shocking sight. No one could tell them apart except for dress and manner of speech. Even their mother, mixed them up on more than one occasion.

“Tis a cursed and fair proof that if there is a God, he is not benign,” she whispered, completely astounded.

“I do believe your wife is daft.” Charles arched one of his black brows and strode forward crossing the short distance between himself and Cordelia, then waved a hand in front of her staring eyes. “What is she on about?”

She smacked his hand away. “A benevolent God never would have created two of you, you nincompoop.”

“Nincompoop?” Charles drew up to his solid height of six foot four inches and peered down at Cordelia’s considerably shorter size. “Nincompoop. I’ve been insulted many a time in my life but never with a trivial word. If you’re going to insult someone, woman—”

“Fine,” she snapped then smiled up at him with a hint of deviltry that would have lured even Mephistopheles out to dance, “You’re the oozing fester upon an ass’s behind.”

“Ah.” Charles’ lips twitched. “Now that will do.”

She nodded tersely. “Thank you. Now, may I be released from the Eversleigh family’s scintillating presence? I was making quite a good escape before I ran upon your twin.”

“No,” he and his brother said in unison.

“Why?” she demanded. “And you needn’t shout.”

“We weren’t shouting,” Charles replied quickly. “Were we, old man?”

“We were speaking with authority,” Jack agreed, falling into the pattern of discussion Charles and he inevitably took when conversing.

She rolled her eyes.

“Besides it is not in your best interests for us to let you go,” Jack said, wishing he could get her out of Charles’ presence and back into the coach. The more time he spent with her, the more he found her to be infuriating and bullheaded. . . and absolutely breathtaking.

Even now, with all the trouble she caused, seeing her standing, unrepentant and bold as brass was damned invigorating. He’d never met any woman who could keep pace with himself or Charles and she was doing such an admirable job, she might leave him in the dust if he didn’t keep upon the polished toes of his boots.

“Why?” she repeated, this time folding her pale arms over her beautiful breasts. The gesture pressed the glorious mounds together, and he imagined how he might be able to suckle each nipple in turn till each was glistening and hard.

“For a supposedly intelligent woman, you sound about three years old,” put in Charles.

She glared at him, a glare so intense, what was left of Charles cock no doubt withered north.

“My God, old man,” Charles quipped, “You’ve married Medusa.”

“Better Medusa than a brainless sheep of a woman.” Her hands came down and she braced her fists on her hips, a passionately temperamental gesture. “I do not wish to stay in this damp, idiot infused country. So, why will you not free me at once?”

“Firstly,” Charles started, “Our ancient grandmama, dearest dowager, our matriarchal queen, our commander, our Nelson, our Emperor divine...

Her hands fell from her hips and she leaned forward studying him carefully before gasping, “Sir, you are drunk.”

“How kind of you to finally notice,” Charles lilted, a slightly loopy and audacious grin lifting his lips.

“He’s almost always drunk,” sighed Jack. “And he’s the most agreeable when drunk.”

Cordelia gaped with astonishment. “This is agreeable?”

“Tis a most pleasant state of being, drunkenness,” Charles drawled. “Almost the company of everyone one is inflicted with improves when one is drunk. However, yours, madam, may be without help.”

Cordelia weighed this then ignored it. Her fingers flew back up to a folded position over her ribs, an action which caused her breasts to plump even further. “Fascinating as your thought patterns are, my lord, I do believe you were to tell us what you do here.”

Jack stared. He knew she’d just spoken but concentration suddenly became damn difficult as did the realization that he was in a constant state of lust for his wife. Damn it all, he was about to wax poetic about her perfect breasts and how he longed to worship her at the fount of Venus.

He couldn’t ever recall being so fascinated with a pair of breasts. Nor the woman that went along with them. The fact that she was his wife only added a confusing element to the mix. According to the law, he could have her when, where, and as often as he liked. He’d never realized how amiable such a law could be.

It took Jack a moment before realizing Charles was also staring, his own dark eyes, transfixed on the pale globes. In fact, he seemed rather distracted by Cordelia’s perfectly formed charms.

Jack crossed the short distance and grabbed his brother’s lapel. “You only just got your balls back brother.”

Charles scowled and brushed at his hand. “Leave off. A lady gave me this waistcoat. ‘Tis my favorite. Besides, you’ve never been one to be stinting. Perhaps she’d enjoy it.”

“Enjoy what?” she asked.

A groan tore from Jack’s throat.

“We’ve always had splendid reviews.” Charles assured as he continued to dislodge Jack’s fingers from his embroidered waistcoat. “We can offer references.”

“We?” she repeated, color lighting her cheeks, even in the moonlight.

“Mmmm.” Charles grinned a devil’s grin, shoving at Jack’s grip. “What about it, my dear. Would you like to pressed between twins?”

Every raging instinct instructed Jack to belt his brother on the chin. Curiosity stayed his hand and he found himself desperately interested in Cordelia’s reply.

She stared blankly for several moments then her face contorted with horror. “Oh!” She lifted a hand to her face and shook her head, an image no doubt branding itself on her brain. “I would rather drink camel urine.”

Jack’s heart did a surprising leap in his usually unfeeling chest. The feeling was clearly relief mingled with pleasure. The very idea of sharing his wife or the idea that she might be interested in such activity curdled his stomach.

“Charles, attempt to pull yourself from the gutter,” he ground out, unrelentingly holding his twin.

“I don’t think that shall be possible, but I will limit myself to pertinent conversation.” Charles batted at Jack’s hand and managed to twist away. As he smoothed the wrinkled fabric, he blew out a irritated breath. “Now. Where was I?”

“Why. . . I. . . Must. . . Stay,” Cordy said with the same slowness one used with confused children.

“Ah. Yes.” Charles face brightened with amusement. “You must go with my brother, because grandmama sent for the Prime Minister this morning.”

“And that is pertinent how?” she echoed.

“Because, if grandmama wants your marriage to my dear brother here to be permanent that’s what she will get. Or if she wants you tossed out of the country, your name blackened in every court in Europe, that’s what she’ll get too. Given the glower upon her face this morning, it could go either way.”

Cordelia stared, for once, apparently speechless.

Jack cringed and finally let go of his brother’s clothing so he could lift his hands and rub them against his temples. He’d known his grandmother would be displeased by their mad capped escape, it was why he’d avoided a direct meeting. It had never occurred to him that the old girl would go to such extremes so quickly. “You’re certain?”

“Heard them myself,” Charles defended. “The old girl thinks I sleep a good deal more than I actually do. In any case, I thought I should warn you.”

“Why?” Cordelia asked, her voice considerably more concerned then it had been a few moments before.

Jack thrust a hand through his hair, his stance growing tense. “Because if you stay with me for a few days, she may cool and we can come up with a plan to appease her. If you go off on your own, she’ll do whatever seems right to her now.”

Charles nodded in agreement, his black hair flopping about his forehead. “And right now, she wants your guts for her garters.”

“But all I wanted was an annulment,” she protested. “She didn’t even want me until yesterday!”

Charles shrugged then pulled out a silver flask. “I don’t think Grandmama has truly given a single thought to what you want, only what she deems best for the family. So, you might want to get used to being called Your Grace, Your Grace. She wants you for his duchess, first and foremost and she’s seems to be certain that she can mold you.”

“I’m not suitable.” Her lips pursed in a delightfully infuriated moue. “I won’t stay married to him.”

Jack found her declaration to be surprisingly unpleasant. Granted, he’d shunted her off for a decade, but hearing her clear disdain for him wasn’t exactly reflective of his general ease with ladies. “Well, thank you for that resounding compliment.”

“You don’t wish it either,” she said evenly, an unreadable note in her intelligent eyes.

Untwisting the cap from his flask, Charles cleared his throat. “My suggestion—”

“You have a reasonable suggestion?” she queried, cocking her head to the side. “I have my doubts.”

“Faithless woman.” He lifted the flask in salute. “Of course I do.”

Jack plunged a hand through his hair and wished his brother would just disappear into the night. Still, the man did usually have excellent ideas. Especially in regards to the ability to elude their grandmother.

Still, the last thing he wanted was for Cordelia to be anywhere in Charles’ vicinity whilst he attempted to win her over.

After all, it was Charles who had declared that he act without morality with regards to his wife. God knew what Charles would tell Cordelia. . .

And he doubted seriously if Cordelia would allow him to whisk her off if she knew that he’d rescued her this morning with the sole intention of seducing her.

No. There was only one way to convince Cordelia to come with him, and that was for her own protection and the promise of eventual freedom. And he would do everything in his power to protect her from the will of his grandmother, even if it mean that in a weeks’ time, he had to let her go. . . A thought that caused him a strange amount of pain. A thought he wouldn’t let himself linger on.