A very wicked christmas, p.42
A Very Wicked Christmas, page 42
He staggered to the seat and fell onto it. She slumped against him; still holding him tight.
“Sweet Jesus, Jemma.”
She didn’t answer, her head buried in his neck, breathing ragged.
“You knew it was me?”
“At the well, when you left, and I inhaled your scent.”
“For me, it was at the pond.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. Her fingers brushed his hair aside and then trailed down the plane of his cheek. The touch was so soft, yet he felt the contact through his entire body.
“I won’t let you marry him, Jemma. You belong to me.”
“I must.”
“No.” He reached for her as she climbed out of his lap, but she evaded his hands. He rose and straightened his clothes as Jemma did the same thing.
“You can not marry him when you love me.”
“I must marry him, and there is nothing you or anyone can do to stop that from happening.”
She did not deny that she loved him.
“Why? What hold does Crickley have over you?” Harry took her arm when he had finished dressing himself. “I am a powerful man, and I will see you freed from him so we can be together, Jemma.”
She cried then, soft silent tears that broke Harry’s heart. He felt the ground beneath his feet move as he looked at this beautiful woman.
“I love you, Jemma.”
“No!” She stumbled back from him. “Oh, please do not say that to me, not now, not when I cannot be with you again.”
“Yes, you can, and you will,” Harry said, hating the fear that was building inside him.
“I can’t, Harry. Please, you must understand, there is nothing that can be done to change this. I must marry Lord Crickley, and you must stay away from me.”
“You ask the impossible of me.” He stepped toward her, but she turned and fled once again.
“Jemma!” Harry followed, running too. He nearly had her, but she slipped into a room and slammed the door. His heart sank as he heard the key turn in the lock.
“Open the door!”
“No. Now please leave before someone hears you.”
“I will not; not until you tell me what hold Crickley has over you.”
Harry pressed his ear to the wood to hear Jemma’s reply.
“I cannot, and you will make trouble for me and my family if you do not leave at once.”
Frustrated, Harry banged a fist against the solid door, but it did not open.
“I will return, Jemma, and we will talk.”
“Please go, Harry.”
He heard the desperation even muffled through the door. Making himself walk away, he left the woman he now knew he loved with all that he was. There would be no other for him. No one could ever hope to take the place of Jemma in his heart.
Retracing his steps, he soon found the music room. Entering, he signaled to Phillip his intention to leave, and his brother followed him out to the carriage.
“I can’t say I’m sorry,” Phillip said as the carriage started down the driveway. “Miss Hewbert has a hideous high-pitched voice.”
“I am in love with Jemma Partridge, Phillip.”
For the first time in his life, Harry had silenced his brother completely. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide.
“You look like a simple fool; pray, shut your mouth.”
“I thought you loved this Hero woman?”
“They are one and the same, I have recently found out.”
“Good God, are they really? How perfectly wonderful.”
“It would be if she were not betrothed to another, and refusing to break that betrothal for reasons she will not tell me.”
“And you know this because you have recently conversed with her?”
Harry nodded, remembering the feel of Jemma in his arms as they made love, almost as if they were one person. Now that he’d admitted his love for her, it consumed him. It was all-encompassing, and he knew it would remain so for always.
“If I have to kidnap her I’ll do it, Phillip. I need you to understand that this could become ugly, and I care nothing for that, only that I will end up with Jemma Partridge as my wife, no matter what it takes.”
“Good God,” Phillip said once again, looking shocked. “For years the only thing that enflamed your emotions was tallying your accounts correctly, and suddenly this. You will allow me to take some time to adjust, brother.”
Time, unfortunately, is something I do not have, Harry thought, as four days from now his beloved would be marrying another. He needed to move fast, he was just unsure which direction to take, and what he was dealing with. But one thing he was certain of, and that was his belief Crickley held something over Jemma. Something that had forced her into marriage.
Chapter Nine
Harry and Phillip threw open the doors to Harrington House the following evening. Not literally of course, as it was bloody freezing, but they had invited in their tenants and the villagers as his family had done for generations. The few noblemen he had invited were happy to come to such an occasion, where they would rub shoulders with those not born into a title or wealth.
The house smelled of cinnamon and rosemary, and was decorated with huge boughs of greenery. Three long trestle tables were filled with food and drink. Every candle and chandelier was lit and fireplaces roared. Curtains were closed to ward off the evening air, and the musicians were tuning their instruments.
Baskets had been prepared for when the guests left, and Harry knew that his parents would be proud of what he and his brother had achieved. He wished that Jemma were at his side to greet the guests, and vowed she would be next year.
He did not usually invite Crickley, but had sent over an invitation that afternoon, deciding he would rather see Jemma with her betrothed than not see her at all. As yet they had not arrived.
“Jemma and Crickley should arrive soon,” Phillip said as if reading his thoughts. “Thomas, however, left early this morning for Smitherton’s house, and is not due to arrive back until tomorrow.”
“He should not have left her.”
“She is with her parents, Harry,” Phillip said, shooting him a surprised look. “Surely no harm can come to her with him gone but a day?”
“I need his help to convince Jemma to tell us what hold Crickley has over her.”
“Oh, I see.” Phillip nodded. “I believe he returns tomorrow afternoon, and if all else fails, there is always your plan to abduct her.”
“Do you think I was not serious, brother?”
“No. I know you well enough to believe you will do exactly as you say. Of course, you would create a scandal, so it is my hope that you can convince Jemma to break her betrothal before you must resort to such drastic measures. You must attempt to smile, Harry, as this is meant to be a jolly occasion.”
“Sorry, but I am not feeling jolly.” Harry forced his lips upward as more guests arrived.
“We still have time, Harry. I promise that she will not wed that man, even if I must aid you in kidnapping her.” Phillip was talking out the side of his mouth.
“You mean a great deal to me, Phillip, I hope you know that, and that if I may seem hard on you, it is because it is my job to be so.”
“I know it, brother, and I feel the same for you. Now, enough of this, or my necktie will be needed to mop up my tears.”
Harry snorted and then turned to greet his guests.
He knew most, and admired children and babies, and congratulated those that had married in the year since he had seen them. He would be married next year, and introducing Jemma as his wife.
“Harry, if we cannot stop Jemma’s marriage, and—”
“Then I will attend the service and stop it. He will not have her, Phillip; Jemma Partridge belongs to me, as I do her.”
~ * ~
Jemma had spent the day following Lord Harrington’s revelations walking aimlessly around Lord Crickley’s house. She had told her fiancé she had no wish to attend the Harrington festive evening, when the invitation had arrived, and he had thankfully agreed. Telling her he could not understand why anyone would want to mix with those that were beneath them. Jemma’s reasons were vastly different. She had no wish to see Harry again so soon after his declaration of love. Especially not in his home, a home she would never share with him.
Her mother had taken to her bed with a sore throat, and her father had gone into the village of Cartleigh to no doubt find someone to gamble with, and as yet had not returned. She missed Thomas the most, and he had called on friends and would not return until tomorrow afternoon, so she was alone with her husband-to-be. She had managed to avoid him, and had sent word that she had a headache and would take a tray in her room before retiring for the evening.
Harry loved her, and his words kept tumbling around inside her head. As did the memory of them together and his declaration that Crickley could not have her as she belonged to him now. Their lovemaking had been so passionate, both desperate to be close to the other. It was only afterward, when she’d lain in his arms and her sanity had returned, that she realized how foolish she had been. There was no future for them, and never would be, therefore she had no right to do as she had. Lord Crickley was to be her husband so it was he and he only she should lie with.
Jemma had dismissed her maid when she’d dressed in her nightclothes. She could not live out her days in this maudlin state, so she would have to learn to live with the fact that she loved Harry but could not be with him.
Would he dare to try and stop the marriage? Jemma feared he would, and a small wicked part of her hoped he did. It was wrong of her, but she longed for it just the same.
A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Jemma watched the handle turn, and was surprised to see her mother appear.
“Is your throat worse, mother? You should have had a maid call for me.”
“My throat is fine.” Lady Partridge entered the room, also dressed in her nightclothes. She wore a heavy dressing gown of rose velvet, and slippers.
“Come and sit before the fire.” Jemma ushered her mother to one of the two chairs and took the other. “Shall I call for tea?”
“No, Jemma. Now please, sit and be quiet; I have something I wish to tell you.”
Surprised at her mother’s sharp tone, she did as she was asked.
“It is true I am not a strong woman, and do not often speak my mind, Jemma. But I fear that now I must be heard.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Tell me why you are marrying Lord Crickley, daughter.”
“Because I wish it,” Jemma said slowly, unsure which direction this conversation was heading in. They had not told her mother the details behind her marriage as she had no wish to upset her.
“I don’t believe you are telling me the truth, Jemma, and to my shame I should have insisted that you did.”
“Mother, there is no need—”
“There is every need, and I should have spoken up sooner. Now tell me the truth, child. Are you marrying Lord Crickley because of something your father did?”
Jemma couldn’t lie, so she nodded. “Yes. Lord Crickley caught father cheating at cards and threatened exposure if I did not marry him.”
Her mother fell back in her chair.
“I thought as much, and it will not do. I married a man I did not love or respect and was unhappy until you came into my life, Jemma. I will not allow that to happen to you.”
Shocked at those words, Jemma stared at her mother, trying to take in what she had said.
“I saw you talking with Lord Harrington here the other night. You both had the look of two people in love, and I will not have you marry another knowing that.”
“How can you know how I feel about Harry?” Jemma whispered.
“Because I know you, my love. Never have I seen such longing on your face before.”
“It matters not, as nothing can be done.” Jemma felt the bite of tears just thinking of Harry. “Crickley will ruin us.”
“No, he won’t. That man is just as bad as your father, but hides it well.”
“What?” Jemma got out of her seat.
“There are rumors about Lord Crickley that have not been substantiated, but there is always a thread of truth behind something like that.”
Jemma shook her head, trying to take what her mother was saying in. “Surely it is too late, Mother?” A small kernel of hope was beginning to rise inside her chest. “I will not have you hurt by father’s perfidy.”
“He can hurt me no more, Jemma.”
She had never believed her mother strong until today. Right then, looking into her eyes, she saw a determination that had been lacking most of her life.
“Tell me what lies between you and Lord Harrington, Jemma?”
“We love each other very much.”
“Then you will not marry Crickley, and in this I am determined no matter the cost. Harrington is a marquess and a powerful man. I doubt either your father or betrothed would wish to cross him. There will be a way to fix this, Jemma. I have not always been strong for you or Thomas, but I will be now, over this.”
“There will be a scandal, Mother. That cannot be helped,” Jemma cautioned.
“I care nothing for a scandal, and wish only for your happiness.”
Jemma dropped to her knees before her mother. “But what of your happiness?”
Her smile was sad.
“I have lived with your father for long enough now that we are comfortable with each other, even though neither of us cares overly for the other.”
“You will live with us when I marry Harry.”
“I cannot leave your father, Jemma.”
“You will visit for long periods then, and I will not take no for an answer.”
Another knock sounded on her door, and this time, when it opened it was her fiancé who walked through, closing it behind him, also dressed in a dressing gown. Jemma regained her feet.
“My Lord, why are you here dressed that way?”
His eyes ran over her body before going to her mother, who had also risen from her chair.
“What a lovely sight, two beautiful women to greet me.”
“I asked you a question, my Lord, and I would like an answer,” Jemma said, moving to her mother’s side. She did not like the look in his eyes.
“Can a fiancé not wish for the company of his sweet young lady?”
“He can seek that company when the sun is up, Lord Crickley, not at such an hour, when we are dressed in our night attire.”
His face transformed into an angry mask at her words.
“Do not speak to me in such an insolent manner, Jemma. I am to be your master, and will not tolerate it from you.”
“She will not be your wife.”
“Mother.” Jemma squeezed her mother’s fingers to silence her, but she would not be quiet.
“I know you forced her into marriage, Lord Crickley, and it will not do. Therefore, tomorrow I am breaking the betrothal.”
He laughed at Lady Partridge’s words. “Don’t be a fool. I could destroy your family’s reputation, and will do so if she does not marry me.”
“I care nothing for that, only my daughter’s happiness.”
Jemma couldn’t believe what was happening. Was it really possible that one day she could marry Harry? Could she allow herself to hope?
“You will do nothing to stop this.” Lord Crickley moved closer to them. “And if I must, then tonight I will ensure she becomes mine.”
He grabbed Jemma, dragging her toward the bed. She fought him, but he was stronger than he appeared, especially for a man of his years.
“Release her!”
Ignoring her mother’s cries, he wrestled Jemma onto the bed.
“I will not let you do this!” Jemma scratched his face, and he slapped her hard.
“You can do nothing to stop me and your mother will witness this act.” He fell on top of her and she felt the hardness between her legs, pushing against her stomach. She could not let this happen, would not. Harry was the only man who would touch her intimately, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
“Get off my daughter!”
“Go away or join us, Lady Partridge, the choice is yours. In fact, I have yet to lie with a mother and daughter; the thought is a pleasing one.”
His hands tore at her clothes. Jemma heard the ripping of fabric and suddenly her breasts were bare. She felt a hand grab her flesh, fingers digging into the soft skin. Redoubling her efforts, she fought him with everything she had, and then suddenly he slumped on top of her. Jemma’s eyes went to her mother, who stood above them holding a lamp that she had hit him over the head with.
“Quick, Jemma, help me roll him off you.”
She did as her mother asked and then scrambled off the bed and into her arms. Her body shook with the shock of what had just happened.
“You must gather yourself, Jemma. We must move quickly as I have no idea how long he will be unconscious. Collect up warm clothes and we will go to my rooms.”
“But what are we to do?” Jemma’s mind did not seem to be working properly.
“We are leaving before he wakes.”
She did as her mother asked, and minutes later with an armful of clothes she was following her from the room. Lady Partridge took the key and locked the door behind them, then with Jemma’s hand in hers, they hurried to her rooms. Once there, she rang the bell and when a maid appeared she called for a carriage, stating that there was an emergency, and she and her daughter must leave at once.
“Get dressed now, Jemma,” she said when the maid had gone.
“But where are we going, Mother?”
“We cannot stay here because when Lord Crickley wakes he will be in a towering rage, and there is no knowing what he will do. So we must go to Lord Harrington, and if what you say is true and he loves you, he will protect us.”
“But Father—”
“Is probably lying between the thighs of some woman, and I care nothing for what happens to him when he returns here and finds us gone. He brought this mess upon his only child and I will never forgive him for that. Now dress, daughter.”
