The Mammoth Book Of Regency Romance Part 37

"What?" Francis had already closed her hands over a warm roll, but she stopped with it halfway to her mouth, giving him a startled look.

"No, that is not exactly right. I think Theodora suits you better." He waved the b.u.t.ter plate at her.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed the plate from him. "My name is Francis," she said crossly, slathering the roll with b.u.t.ter and practically stuffing it into her mouth. It had been almost a week since she had eaten freshly baked bread, and it was more delicious than she could have imagined. Jared chuckled, but Francis didn't mind, lost only to the blissful sensation of the hot, b.u.t.tered roll melting against her tongue.

"Mmmmm," she moaned, dispatching it in a matter of a few bites. Some of the b.u.t.ter had dripped on to her hand, and she swiped at it with her tongue, forgetting her surroundings.

Jared made a strangled noise in his throat. Francis looked up to see an expression of pure l.u.s.t in his eyes. So his seduction of her had not been feigned, after all. She was struck suddenly with an idea for getting the Panchamaabhuta back. Watching Jared, she slowly, deliberately, dabbed her tongue against the base of her wrist, as if there were still b.u.t.ter there.

Jared stiffened against the bench, and she noticed his face had flushed, the red sheen visible even beneath his tan. Francis straightened up, flexing her shoulders in a catlike gesture, and he shifted restlessly in his seat. She smiled to herself. She had found Jared's weakness, and she would use it to her advantage.

"I'm glad to see you're all right." Samuel appeared at her elbow, startling her.

Francis rose to her feet, feeling embarra.s.sed by all the trouble she had caused the kindly man. "I'm so sorry. The stable man told me you had gone in search of a doctor. I should have sent word to you right away."

Samuel beamed. "Doesn't look as if you're in need of one now."

Jared was studying Samuel from under furrowed brows. "Will you join us, Mr . . . er . . ." There was a sharp note in Jared's voice that startled Francis. She gave him a sideways look. He had moved to stand between her and the other man. Francis could almost have sworn he was jealous.

"Samuel." The two men stared at each other, as if they were taking each other's measure. "Thank you, but I'd best be getting along." Samuel tipped his hat to Francis and turned away.

"Thank you for everything. What do I owe you for the ride?" she asked.

He chuckled. "It wasn't nothing."

"Please, I insist."

But the kindly farmer had already reached the door. Francis sank reluctantly back on to the bench.

"A friend of yours?" Jared sat down across from her, and this time she was sure she had not mistaken the harsh timbre of his voice.

"We met on the stagecoach," she said.

The furrow on Jared's brow had grown more apparent. "You shouldn't be so trusting of strangers." He took a swig of ale.

Francis gave him an ironic look. "How true."

Jared choked on his drink. His dancing eyes met hers, and suddenly the two of them were shaking with laughter. Francis collapsed against the bench, wiping her streaming cheeks. The last thing she should be doing was laughing with the rogue who had stolen the Panchamaabhuta, but somehow she couldn't help it.

His white teeth flashed in a devastating grin. "When I stayed in Calcutta, an old woman told me a story about the hazards of meeting strangers on the road."

"Indeed?" Francis said, crossing her arms. So Jared had been living in India.

He leaned his broad shoulders back against the bench. "The story is that the beautiful Kamalakshi journeyed to Shimla, where she was to marry a wealthy merchant. But she was waylaid by a road bandit who plundered her dowry jewels."

Francis stiffened. There was a mischievous gleam in Jared's eyes that told her there was more to his story than a simple diversion.

"Harmendra stole the ruby comb Kamalakshi wore in her hair. It was a priceless heirloom, each of the rubies as large as a cashew fruit. Kamalakshi couldn't bear to part with the comb, and she resolved to steal it back." Jared pressed his knee against Francis' beneath the table and gave her a sly look. "But Kamalakshi's schemes led her into Harmendra's bed.

The story reminded Francis all too much of her encounter with Jared. She realized that her palms were sweating. "What happened then?" There was a husky note in her voice.

"Three times the ornament was stolen back and forth between the lovers. Kamalakshi's nights of pa.s.sion with Harmendra led her to break her betrothal vows. She pledged herself to Harmendra instead, and gave him the ruby comb as her bridal gift." Jared entrapped Francis' hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing an ardent kiss into her palm.

Francis gave a panting breath. The ruddy tinge was back in Jared's face, and the pupils of his green eyes had darkened to the colour of coal. The morning light cast a golden glow over his chiselled face, and the sensuous movement of his lips on her fingers was reducing her to a quivering bundle of nerves. Was Jared making her an offer? The exotic syllables of the Indian names had spilled effortlessly from his tongue. India was his country, Francis was sure of it. Would Jared take her back with him as his consort, to share his life of banditry and adventure? Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Francis realized she would almost be willing to abandon her principles to be with him.

The server dropped a plate nearby, and the harsh clatter shattered her daydream. Francis shook her head. The truth was that Jared was nothing but a tavern thief, trading on his good looks and charm to prey on unsuspecting female travellers. Perhaps even his tales of India were a hoax, invented to cast an air of exoticism around him that women would find appealing. She pulled her hand away. "I'm afraid I'm not in a position to give the Panchamaabhuta to anyone. It was a gift from my husband."

Jared sat up. His face was suffused with crimson. "You're married?"

His outraged expression surprised the truth from Francis. "I was. Robert died at Waterloo, along with most of his friends."

Jared sank bank on to his seat. "He was a military man?" His face was still red, his voice not entirely steady.

Francis found it impossible to meet Jared's eyes. She might have shared his bed, but talking about Robert made her feel achingly vulnerable. "He was a rifleman with the 95th."

"The Light Division?"

She nodded, relaxing a little.

"I never heard of a Robert Taylor in the 95th."

"Not Taylor, Spencer."

Jared jerked his hand, almost upsetting his mug of ale. He gave her a perplexed look. "You gave your name as Taylor at the Horse and Hounds inn. Why?"

Francis was uncomfortably aware of Jared's curious eyes boring into her. She opened her lips to tell him it was none of his concern, but blurted out something else instead. "That was my family name. Robert's parents live nearby. I don't want them to know I am here."

"Why not?"

Francis looked down at her hands. "The Spencers threw us off after we married. My father was a small-time lawyer in London, with no connections." Francis' hands clenched. She had never been good enough for Robert's parents and, as a result, he had been forced to choose between her and his family. It had been a devil's bargain. Francis had never reproached Robert for his love of gaming in the years that followed, for she understood it was driven by his need to recapture the inheritance he had lost. In the end, Robert's debts of honour had swallowed up what was left of his military pay, leaving her with nothing but the ruby.

The server provided a welcome interruption by arriving with a tray of food. Francis busied herself with a piece of mutton pie, and the heavy food exercised a calming effect on her. By the time she had made short work of the pie, the rigid tension of her body had relaxed.

"Have some ham," Jared said, heaping her plate with thick slices of the roast pink flesh.

Francis sighed, inhaling the savoury aroma of the pork, and then she attacked her plate. Halfway through her second piece of meat, she looked up to see Jared frowning at her.

"When's the last time you had a decent meal?"

Francis shrugged. There was an angry look on Jared's face that warned her not to answer his question.

He crossed his arms. "Spencer seems to have done a poor job of providing for you."

Francis fired up. "Don't you dare criticize Robert! He left me the Panchamaabhuta."

"What about his arrears of pay?"

Francis toyed with a slice of ham, her appet.i.te suddenly deserting her. "He had a run of bad luck before he died. He would have come round again if it hadn't been for Brussels." Francis closed her eyes and leaned back against the bench, trying to block out the picture of the French troops cutting her husband to ribbons on the battlefield. It was an image she had pieced together in her mind from the stories of the survivors. Her breathing went shallow as she battled the disturbing vision, forcing herself to come back to the present.

Jared's breath against her cheek startled her. "You look unwell." He chafed her wrists. "Your pulse is rapid. Let me take you upstairs, so you can rest."

Francis opened her mouth to protest that she was fine, when it occurred to her that Jared was offering her the perfect opportunity. "If you think that's best." She gave Jared what she hoped was a sickly smile.

When he went to see the innkeeper, she thought through the details of her scheme and ate every remaining morsel of ham. When Jared returned to the dining room, Francis was ready. He led the way up the stairs to a chamber on the second floor, and she leaned heavily on his arm.

When the innkeeper unlocked the door for them, Jared startled her by taking her up in his arms. The innkeeper stumped away, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

Francis wriggled in his arms, trying to get down. "For heaven's sake, what will he think of us?"

He winked at her. "Nothing to concern yourself with, Mrs White." Giving her a teasing smile, he slung Francis on to the narrow bed. Then he strode to the door and closed it. "Can I get you a gla.s.s of wine?"

"No, thank you."

Jared leaned over her to unfasten the top clasps at the back of her gown, and then he loosened her hair. "Now you should be more comfortable." He straightened up. "I'll go now, and let you sleep a while."

Francis stiffened. Jared's plan must be to escape with the ruby while she was feeling weak, unable to summon any help. She caught his hand. "Oh, no, please stay with me."

He gave her a quizzical look. "You need to rest."

She mustered the most pitiful expression she could. "I'm scared." She gave a little shiver, and blinked at him. "Please stay."

Jared sank back down on to the bed. "Shhh," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

Francis sighed and nestled against his firm chest, flooded with a delicious sense of well-being. Scoundrel that he was, Jared's gentle touch had an immediate soothing effect on her. Cuddling closer, Francis felt her cheek brush against a lump in the pocket of his vest. It was time to put her plan into action. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling herself up so her face was level with his. Jared's sleepy eyes flickered. Encouraged, she brushed the tip of her finger across his lower lip. "Kiss me," she said.

He barely touched his mouth to hers, the movement so tender that Francis melted against him.

"I want you." Her words came out in a husky whisper.

Suddenly, they were tangled together on the bed, his hot kisses depriving her of breath. Francis gave in to the wild pleasure of tasting him, letting her senses swim. Jared drew away and gave her a long, serious look. Francis stiffened, remembering her purpose. Whatever it was that Jared seemed to want to say, it could wait.

"Come, darling," she murmured, drawing closer and toying with his cravat.

Jared's breath came in a hot burst against her cheek. She felt for the b.u.t.tons of his waistcoat and the top b.u.t.ton gave, and then the next. Francis slipped her hand inside, moving her palms in a slow circle against Jared's chest. He moaned. His nipples were highly sensitive, she had learned. When she continued the sensuous ma.s.sage of his chest, Jared arched his back. Fighting the impulse to plunder him in a different way, Francis claimed his attention with a kiss. At the same time, her fingers probed the inner pocket of his waistcoat. She moved her lips to his neck, and Jared closed his eyes. Quick as a flash, she curled her fingers around the Panchamaabhuta. Retracting it from his inner pocket, she sealed his mouth with a last, hot kiss, and slipped the ring into her decolletage. Then she levelled an a.s.sessing glance at him. Jared's eyes were still closed, his lashes fluttering against his cheek. A pang of longing shot through her at the sight of his golden beauty. His firm chin, full sensuous lips and dark tan were in stark relief to his tousled blond hair, giving him the look of a dark angel. Francis stared at him for a moment, as if she were memorizing him. Then she refastened the b.u.t.tons of his waistcoat and pulled away.

Jared blinked his eyes open.

"Good heavens, I left my wrap downstairs," Francis said, wringing her hands.

"What?" There was a gla.s.sy expression in Jared's wide green eyes as if she had pulled him from a pleasant dream.

"The woollen wrap, with red flowers on it."

Jared's brow was furrowed. "You don't have it now?"

"No. When I was feeling dizzy before, I must have left it on the bench. Do please go down and get it for me." Francis took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

"Later." Jared lunged forwards, claiming her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss.

She pulled away from him, breaking the kiss. "Someone might steal it. First my ring, and then my wrap. I couldn't bear it."

Her words seemed to have p.r.i.c.ked Jared's guilty conscience, for he let go of her and rose to his feet. "Very well. But I'll expect a reward for it when I get back." His roguish grin flashed at her, then he slipped out of the room. The door closed shut behind him.

Francis waited for a moment, her heart pounding, and then she cracked the door open and looked out cautiously. The hall was empty. Gathering her courage, she darted to the stairs. She took the stairs two at a time on her way down. It would take Jared time to find the shawl she had hidden beneath the bench in the dining room, but there was always the possibility that he would catch her on the stairs. The thought made her pulse race. Francis breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the foot of the stairs and saw no one at the bottom save a maid carrying a stack of linens. Jared must still be in the dining room. The server had revealed there was a back entrance out of the inn, and Francis scurried towards the back pa.s.sage of the hostelry. She gave a silent cry of thanks when she reached the wooden door at the end of the hall. It pushed open and she darted through it.

She took one wild look around her to get her bearings, and then she plunged into the street. It wasn't until she reached an intersection that she paused to catch her breath. Francis knew Bath fairly well; for it was there that she had met Robert. She had a fair idea of where she was and, looking up, she used the distant clerestory of the Bath Abbey Church as her guide. Anxious to put as much distance between herself and Jared as possible, she plunged down the cobblestone street in the direction of the abbey. The office of Mr Davis was located on York Street, not far from the ancient cloister. Every footfall and call behind Francis seemed to be Jared running after her in hot pursuit, and she pounded down the web of narrow cobbled paths as if her life depended on it.

A small building on York Street had Mr Davis' name on the door in gold lettering. Francis burst through the door, panting. A severe-looking man with greying hair rose from his desk, giving her a startled look. Francis knew she must look a sight with her hair half undone and a gap in the back of her dress where Jared had unfastened it. She took a gasping breath. "I read the advertis.e.m.e.nt in The Times. I am here to sell the Panchamaabhuta."

The gentleman gave a curt nod. "Then you have come to the right place."

"Thank heavens for that. Are you Mr Davis?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Mrs Spencer."

A slow smile spread over Mr Davis' face. "Where is the ring?"

Francis looked down at her hand, but there was nothing there. She remembered that the ring was still in her decolletage.

Mr Davis was looking at her expectantly.

Francis shifted from one foot to the other. "It is hidden on my person. Please avert your eyes while I retrieve it."

Mr Davis raised his eyebrows but obligingly turned his back.

Her cheeks burning, Francis extracted the ruby from her undergarments. Then she straightened her dress. "Here it is." Mr Davis had turned round to face her, and she held the Panchamaabhuta out to him. "Is it the ring you were looking for?"

Mr Davis lifted the star ruby up to the light. He examined it for a long time as Francis watched, her heart in her throat. At length, he handed it back to her. "I believe this is the one. The inscription and the gem are just as my client described. But he will have to judge for himself."

"Your client?" Francis gave Mr Davis a bewildered look.

"I am a solicitor, Mrs Spencer. My client commissioned me to find the ring for him."

"Who is this gentleman?"

Before Mr Davis could answer her question, the door of his office opened, and Jared burst into the room.

Francis gave a frightened squeak. Jared's hair was dishevelled, and he was panting. There was a wild look in his eyes. When he caught sight of her, he gave a little cry of triumph. "There you are. What the devil happened to you?"

Francis backed away from him, trembling.

Jared strode forwards. "Why did you run away? I've been looking for you everywhere." He sounded furious.

Francis darted an appealing look at Mr Davis, but he stood pa.s.sively watching her and Jared, a bemused expression on his face.

Francis gathered her courage and turned to look Jared squarely in the face. "I couldn't let you keep my ring. I came to Bath to sell it to Mr Davis."