The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“Don’t you try t

o make sport of me, missie!”

“All right. Won’t you come in and tell me why you’ve taken your valuable time to come to Candlethorpe.”

“I wanted Laura to see what supplanted my Alicia.”

The baron looked for the world like her father’s thoroughbred Gallen, who got blood in his eyes whenever another racehorse got within six feet of him.

So she was a what, not a who. So be it.

She smiled and held out her hand to Laura Frothingill, who stared at her hand, which was admittedly tanned, as if she were diseased.

She withdrew her hand and said mildly, “You’re very lovely, Miss Frothingill.”

“If only James had met her, she would now be his wife.”

“I doubt that,” Jessie said in that same mild voice, “not if he saw the look on her face right now.”

“What do you mean the look on my face? I am beautiful!”

“Not now, you’re not. You look like a vicious mare I once saw who kicked in a fence, broke her own leg, and had to be put down.”

“Be quiet, you damned trollop!”

“It just occurred to me,” Jessie said in that same mild, easy voice, “that this is my house. You are both incredibly rude. I would like both of you to leave.”

“Not until James meets dear Laura.”

“Ah, I see it all now. You want to make him feel sorry that he married me?”

“He will feel sorry, damn you! Then he just might take care of you.”

“Well, let’s say you’re right, sir. What will he do about it? Divorce me? Perhaps even strangle me?”

The baron literally gnashed his teeth. Laura Frothingill suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Uncle Lyndon,” she said, tugging on his sleeve, “let us leave now. She’s right. There’s nothing to be done.”

“Dammit, you can’t have him, you miserable slut! I won’t let you have him, do you hear me? I’ll kill you myself!”

He leaped at her, his hands outstretched. Laura screamed. Jessie jerked away, but she wasn’t fast enough. In her own drawing room, she thought, as his hands came around her throat, she was being strangled in her own drawing room. But Jessie wasn’t helpless. He was old, but damn he was strong. Laura continued screaming.

Jessie went limp. The terrible pressure around her throat lessened just a bit. She brought up her hands and slammed them against his ears. He shrieked, pressing his palms against his ears. He stumbled backward, but not before he swung his right fist at Jessie, catching the side of her head and throwing her against the fireplace. Her head struck the edge of the mantelpiece.

James heard three horrible screams, each one louder than the one before. His blood curdled. Then he heard Mrs. Catsdoor yell from the drawing room doorway, “Be quiet, you silly girl! What have you done to my baby mistress?”

What baby mistress? Oh God, Jessie!

24

JAMES BURST INTO the drawing room to see Mrs. Catsdoor slap a young lady he’d never seen before. Then she turned on the baron. What the hell was his father-in-law doing here? Who was that young lady who was shrieking her head off?

“You, sir,” Mrs. Catsdoor was yelling, shaking her fist in front of his face, “you’re responsible for this. I never should have admitted either of you to the house. You’re wicked, sir, just plain wicked. It’s not my mistress’s fault that your daughter died, not her fault at all, and yet you blame her and try to hurt her. Oh, dear Jesus, just look at her. Have you killed my little mistress?”

The baron’s voice shook with rage and the pain in his ears. “The damned bitch! She struck my head, a crude trick I should have expected since she’s not a lady. Why, I’ll—”

James saw Jessie lying huddled by the fireplace. He was on his knees beside her in an instant, feeling the growing lump at the back of her head. He laid two fingers flat against the pulse in her neck. Strong and steady, thank the good Lord. He quickly felt her arms, her legs. Nothing broken.

He closed his eyes a moment, gaining control, trying to come to grips with this show of hatred from his former father-in-law, with his unconscious wife lying by the fireplace. He rose slowly. Mrs. Catsdoor, bless her loyal heart, was standing toe-to-toe to Baron Hughes; all that was between them was the exquisite silver tea tray the baron had given to his daughter for a wedding present, one of many, including Candlethorpe itself.