Read Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack Online
Authors: Sally MacKenzie
Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack (6 page)
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“I understand, Nan. I’m frustrated, too.” Frustrated and furious. “But acting foolishly is not going to catch the villain. I—”
The baby whimpered again. He had to get him to his house for children in Bromley where Ursula, the woman who ran the place, could find him a wet nurse. “I’ve got to go, Nan, but I’m back in London for the foreseeable future. I’ll try to discover the Slasher’s identity, but you must send word if you or your girls hear anything.”
“Yes, of course I will.”
He opened the door and stepped into the foyer to find Francis sitting on the bench, trapped between two of Nan’s girls, face red, hands protecting his crotch as if he was afraid he was about to be castrated. Albert stood nearby, looking worried but doing nothing to help.
“I said I am
not
interested.” The boy sounded both angry and desperate.
not
interested.” The boy sounded both angry and desperate.
“Bessie, Alice, leave the poor lad alone.” Damn it, he should have realized this might happen.
“I told ye Lord Jack wouldn’t be ’appy,” Albert said.
Bessie dropped her arm over the boy’s shoulders. “We were just trying to entertain the lad while you were busy, Lord Jack,” she said, leaning over to kiss Francis on the cheek.
Francis wiggled his shoulders and shot his elbow into the girl’s stomach; then he snapped his hand back to shield his privates.
“Ouch!” Bessie glared at him.
He glared back. “Go
away
.”
away
.”
Jack opened his mouth to castigate Bessie, but Nan, who’d followed him into the foyer, spoke first.
“Stop that. Both of you, get up. Can’t you see the boy doesn’t like it?”
Alice stood at once, but Bessie stayed where she was, pouting. “He
should
like it. All men do.”
should
like it. All men do.”
“But he doesn’t,” Nan said. “He’s too young. He doesn’t even have a beard yet.”
Bessie lifted her hand to touch Francis’s cheek, but Francis shoved her away, scrambled off the bench, and strode to the door. “I’m leaving.”
“Not without me.” Jack collared him before he could escape and then looked back at Nan. “I’ll let you know when I learn anything—and don’t take any more risks like you did just now.”
Albert opened the door for them. There was the dog, still sitting in front of the building. He jumped up, barking and dancing, as soon as he saw them.
“Quiet, sir!”
The animal clearly recognized the voice of authority. He sat at once, tilted his head, and looked up at Jack hopefully.
“Albert, you must need a dog to help you keep away the riffraff.”
“No, milord.” Albert peered out at the mongrel. “I don’t like dogs. Besides, ’e looks like riffraff ’imself.”
“I’m sure he’ll improve with a bath, but very well.” He didn’t have time to argue. Perhaps if he was lucky, the dog would stay at Nan’s.
He wasn’t lucky.
“He’s following us,” Francis said as they set off down the street back to the Nag’s Head and his curricle. The boy’s voice was markedly subdued.
“I see that.” The poor lad must be worrying about what had happened at Nan’s. Damn Bessie. He shifted the baby to his other arm. Couldn’t she see Francis was hardly more than a child? “I’m sorry those women troubled you.”
The boy flushed and mumbled something.
Jack cleared his throat. This was awkward, but he couldn’t let Francis stew about his feelings. “You . . . well, has your brother talked to you about the, er, changes a boy goes through in becoming a man?”
“No!” The lad’s ears turned red and he started walking faster.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, though I know it can be confusing. When I—”
“Oh, there’s the curricle!”
Jack grabbed the boy’s arm before he could dart ahead. He remembered all too well the conflicting emotions of that age—desire, shame, confusion, worry, excitement. “Francis, it’s all right if you wanted Bessie to touch your cock—”
“Oh!” Francis shouted. “We’d better hurry. I’m sure you should be taking that baby wherever you’re taking him. I’ll just run ahead and climb into the curricle, shall I? So we’re ready to go at once?” He managed to twist free and took off as if all the hounds of hell were after him.
Jack sighed and looked down at the dog. “These are some of the toughest years, you know, when a boy is neither a child nor a man.”
The dog barked in apparent agreement and waved his tail.
When they reached the Nag’s Head, Francis was sitting ramrod straight in the passenger’s seat. He might as well have hung a sign around his neck—DO NOT DISCUSS BESSIE.
Dear God, this masquerade was hopelessly out of control. Lord Jack had almost . . . he’d almost told her . . . it had been kind of him to try to calm a boy’s fears, but she wasn’t a boy.
She gripped the side of the curricle. She couldn’t let him talk about . . . about something so private, but what would she do if he started back in on it when they were going wherever it was they were going?
She should not be going anywhere with the man. He was a despicable rake. He’d been all too familiar with that old whore and that dreadful Albert. And he’d walked right into the madam’s office, if that’s what the room indeed was, when the woman had been engaged in shocking behavior with that disgusting Lord Ruland. And those girls who’d been talking to her—he’d known their names without an introduction.
He was crossing the street now. He was so big, but he held the tiny baby so confidently . . .
Well, of course rakes would know all about babies.
And now he was coming around to her side of the curricle.
“Here, Francis,” he said, “take the infant from me.”
Oh God. She looked at the red bundle, her heart thudding in her chest. She’d never held a baby before, and this one was so small. “I can’t.”
“You have to.” His voice was sharp with impatience. “As you said, we need to hurry. The infant can’t wait much longer for a wet nurse.”
She didn’t know anything about wet nurses either. Viola had scoffed at any subject that touched on a feminine skill. But the poor child clearly needed something. She gingerly held out her arms.
“He doesn’t bite, at least not yet,” Jack said. “Hold him securely.”
“Securely?”
“Yes. Support his head—young babies have weak necks. Like this.” Jack adjusted the infant’s position so his head rested on the crook of her arm.
There was almost nothing to hold, the bundle was so light. She looked down into the tiny face, half hidden in the shawl. Was he even breathing? “Are babies always so small and still?”
“No. This poor fellow isn’t well, which is why we need to get him help quickly.”
“Oh.” The baby’s eyelids fluttered and his lips moved slightly; Frances felt a surprising spurt of pleasure. “I think he smiled at me.”
Jack grunted. “It was probably gas.” He went to retrieve the reins from Henry and give him his coins.
“Ack!” The moment Jack moved away, the dog scrambled up onto the seat next to her. Frances clutched the baby tighter. “Get down!”
Jack glanced back to see what the problem was. “Hey there, sir!”
The dog dropped his head and whined piteously. He looked at Jack and then Frances with big, beseeching eyes, his tail wagging slowly but hopefully.
His hair was matted, he smelled of wet dog and other, even less savory things, and he was likely harboring an entire colony of fleas, but his look of entreaty was so persuasive, Frances couldn’t bring herself to argue for his eviction.
“That’s Shakespeare, milord,” Henry said. “’E was Dick Dutton’s, who used to work at the theater, but Dick took off a bit ago. Shakespeare’s been living on the street ever since.”
“I see. I don’t suppose you’d like to be his new owner?”
Henry shook his head. “Nay. Me master’d whip me good if I tried to keep a dog.”
Jack sighed and nodded. “I’m not surprised.” He came around to vault into his seat and then regarded Shakespeare. The dog’s tail moved more rapidly. “Well, I suppose you’ve earned some reward for watching over the infant, haven’t you?”
The tail moved faster, beating against Frances’s leg.
“And I assume you have no particular attachment to this somewhat unlovely part of London?”
Shakespeare barked in such a way as to indicate he’d be happy to leave the neighborhood and put a paw on Jack’s breeches.
Jack raised his brows, and the dog snatched back the offending body part.
“That’s better. Stand clear, Henry; we are off.”
They took a narrow street to a wider one and were soon weaving between slower vehicles, heading out of Town.
Jack was traveling quite fast. In fact, the speed was rather alarming. Frances tightened her hold on the baby and the curricle as they hit a bump. “Slow down.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I can’t. We need to get to Bromley as quickly as possible.”
“It’s not going to help anyone if we end in a ditch.” She clenched her teeth and gripped the side of the curricle even more tightly, bracing her feet on the floor—and bit back an oath as they barely missed hitting a wagon that pulled out in front of them.
She spared a glance at Jack. He had their lives in his hands, but he looked completely at ease—and he clearly wasn’t going to slow his pace. Arguing would only distract him from his driving. She had a strong sense of self-preservation. She held her tongue.
And she prayed.
Once they were free of the London traffic, they went even faster. The wind blew Shakespeare’s ears straight behind him and his tongue lolled out so he looked as if he was grinning.
And then it took Frances’s hat—she couldn’t spare a hand to hold it on her head.
“Don’t worry,” Jack said, laughing. “We’ll get you another.”
Frederick’s old hat was hardly nice enough to provide a nest for a mouse. “How do you keep yours on?”
“It fits me better.” He sent her a sidelong glance. “Frankly, I’m surprised at how poor the quality of country-made clothing is, if yours is any example. While you’re in London, we should get you some new things.”
Ah yes, she’d visit a tailor with Lord Jack.
Not likely.
It would be nice if she could see some of the London sights while she was here, however, especially since this was sure to be her only trip to Town. If only she could approach her mother’s family—
No. She had far too much pride to come crawling to them after they had ignored her so completely her entire life. Her grandparents were quite old and probably not in London, and her uncles . . . well, they’d washed their hands of her, too. And even if they would have recognized her at one time, they’d slam the door in her face now. She was rather a walking scandal.
She glanced down at the baby. Oh dear. The poor infant’s face was so white. Her heart started to pound, and she felt a little light-headed. Was it already too late? She couldn’t let go of the curricle long enough to touch him and see if he was still breathing.
Why did she care? His mother was only a whore, after all; his father, at best, some irresponsible rake. If this baby lived, he’d grow up to be a pickpocket or worse.
His face—his nose and mouth—were so tiny and perfect. He was just a baby, a poor infant whom no one cared about. She glanced at Jack. Except Jack. For some reason, Jack cared.
She heard a faint noise and looked down again.
Had the baby’s eyelids fluttered? She stared, trying not to blink so she wouldn’t miss any movement, no matter how slight. Yes! She’d swear his lashes stirred and his mouth moved in a weak little sucking motion.
She let out a long breath. “The baby’s still alive, my lord!”
Jack grinned, his eyes on the road. “Excellent. We are almost in Bromley.”
“What exactly is in Bromley?”
He shot her a quick glance before looking back at the road. “I’ll tell you, but you must swear you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”
How odd. “I promise.”
“I’ve got two houses there, actually. One for women who want to”—he paused and glanced at her—“er, change their professions and another—the one we’re going to now—for abandoned children. It’s not large, which is one reason I must keep it secret. I couldn’t begin to take in all the poor infants who would be deposited on my doorstep if everyone knew about it.”
“I see.” Though she didn’t really. Why would the youngest son of a duke care about helping whores and bastards? There must be something more to it . . . of course. The house must be a way for Lord Jack to hide his by-blows. Though this baby couldn’t be his . . .
She shook her head. It was impossible to understand the male mind. Men, as Viola said, let themselves be led around by their cocks. Look at her father, cavorting in the South Pacific. Or worse, Frederick. He’d actually married his theater trollop, who he’d likely dump at Landsford.
Well, if he did leave his wife at Landsford, it was no business of hers. She would not be around to clean up the mess. From now on Frederick could manage the estate and deal with Aunt Viola, who would not be at all happy about the trollop.
Jack slowed the horses, turning them into a long, gravel drive that led to a sprawling country house of redbrick and stone. “Baby still all right?”
She could finally loosen her death grip on the curricle. She stroked the infant’s soft cheek. The baby turned—
“Oh!” She jerked her hand back. “He started sucking on my finger.”
“An excellent sign. Ah, and here is our welcoming committee.”
A stout man with silver hair and an enormous nose came out the front door accompanied by a crowd of little girls and a brown-haired young woman in a severe gray frock. The little girls, dressed in a bright rainbow of colors, ran ahead laughing toward the curricle. If it wasn’t February with snow still on the ground, they could pass for a human flower garden.
Not all these children could be Jack’s. He might be London’s premier rake, but even so, he couldn’t have
this
many daughters, could he? Yet each little girl looked as delighted to see him as if she were indeed greeting her own father.
this
many daughters, could he? Yet each little girl looked as delighted to see him as if she were indeed greeting her own father.
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