Johanna Lindsey - Savage Thunder

"Sorry, my friend."

"Don't be an ass, Chase," Jessie said matter-of-factly, earning an I'U-get-you-later-for-that-crack glance from her husband, which she typically ignored. "It's the only thing he'll have to be grateful for on this hellish day. Get it over with."

Chase did, drawing back his fist and letting fly with it toward Colt's jaw.

Cheshire, England, 1878

Vanessa Britten ignored the embroidery in her lap aid watched the duchess complete another circle of the room. She wouldn't exactly call it pacing the floorboards. She doubted the girl was even aware that she was wearing a path in the fine Eastern carpet.

Who would have thought the duchess would even care about the little tragedy taking place upstairs.

Vanessa certainly hadn't thought it was possible when she had accepted the position as companion to the nineteen-year-old duchess just last month. It was such a common thing, young girls wedding older lords for their wealth and titles. And Jocelyn Fleming had latched onto one of the best catches, Edward Flem-ing, sixth Duke of Eaton, in his late middle years and already ailing when they wed last year.

But it didn't take long for Vanessa to change her opinion of the young Duchess of Eaton. Oh, she had certainly been destitute when the duke had proposed to her. Her father had owned a stud farm in Devon-shire, one of the finest in England, if Jocelyn could be believed. But like a great many of his contemporaries, he was a man who had a detrimental fondness for gambling, and when he died, he was so in debt that Jocelyn was left without a farthing. Edward Fleming had literally saved the poor girl from what was considered the worst of the worst for a gently reared lady — seeking employment.

Vanessa could only have said "Good show" to such a feat. She loved success stories, wasn't the type to begrudge another a little good fortune or a lot, as in the duchess's case. But Jocelyn Fleming wasn't the fortune huntress she had first assumed her to be.

Vanessa had lived too many years in London, where her peers were a cold-blooded lot, out for anything and everything they could get. Jocelyn wouldn't know how to be cold-blooded if she tried. She was too na-ive by half, too open and trusting, too innocent to be believed. And yet she really was exactly what she seemed. The most amazing thing about her was that she really loved the man who was at this moment upstairs dying.

Vanessa had been hired for this very contingency. The duke had taken many unusual precautions over the past months, selling unentailed properties, trans-ferring money out of the country, buying the essen-tials needed for traveling. He had taken care of all the necessary details. The only thing Jocelyn and her rather large entourage needed to do was leave. Even the packing was already done.

Vanessa had been quite skeptical of the reasons for this foresight on the duke's part until she met his dis-tant relations, the "vultures," as he called them, who were waiting to descend on his estate and pick it apart.

If ever a fellow could be termed avaricious and on the hard side of ruthless, it was Maurice Fleming, present heir to the dukedom. Edward had no immediate family. Maurice was a mere cousin, once re-moved, whom the duke could not tolerate to be even in the same room with. But Maurice had a large family of in-laws to support, as well as a mother and four sisters, and to say he had been avidly awaiting Edward's demise would be putting it mildly. He also had spies in Fleming Hall keeping him apprised of Edward's condition, and the moment the duke was pro-nounced dead, the knocker would undoubtedly sound at the front door.

Poor Jocelyn was in the middle of what could only be termed a family feud of long standing. Edward's relations had done their best to convince him not to wed her. Failing that, they had made certain threats, not in Edward's hearing, but he had nonetheless learned of them. He was not just being overprotective in all the preparations he had made for his young wife's future.

Vanessa would be the first to agree now that it would be folly to remain in England to tempt the fates.

The new duke was not going to sit by idly while the bulk of the Fleming estate flew out of his reach. He would do everything within his power to get it back, and in his position as the new Duke of Eaton, his power was going to be immense. But Edward was bound and determined that Maurice and his greedy family should have nothing of his that was not en-tailed, that it should all belong to Jocelyn for her loy-alty and selfless devotion to him.

If anyone needed Vanessa's advice and guidance, this young girl with the teary eyes did. Jocelyn didn't want to leave England and all that was familiar to her. She had been arguing with her husband since he first suggested it, to no avail. She was like a child in that respect, fearing the unknown. She couldn't grasp the danger to herself if she stayed and fell under Mau-rice's control. Vanessa could. Good Lord, it didn't bear thinking of. Jocelyn might be the duchess, soon to be the duchess dowager, for Maurice had a wife who would be the new Duchess of Eaton, but Jocelyn's title would give her no protection at all if Mau-rice managed to get his hands on her.

"Your Grace?" The housekeeper appeared hesi-tantly in the doorway, the queen's own physician at her side. "Your Grace?"

It took one more "Your Grace" before Jocelyn could be called back from her gloomy thoughts to the present. Vanessa could see that she had still held hope, however small. But one look at the physician's expression and that hope died a final death.

"How long?" Jocelyn asked in a tiny voice.

"Tonight, Your Grace," the old physician re-plied. "I'm sorry. We knew it was only a matter of time…"

His voice trailed off.

"May I see him now?"

" Certainly. He is asking for you."

Jocelyn. nodded and squared her shoulders. If she had learned anything from her husband this past year, it was poise and a certain self-confidence that came from a position of importance. She wouldn't cry, not in front of the servants. But once alone.

* * *

He was only fifty-five years old. His brown hair had been sparsely peppered with gray four years ago, when Jocelyn had first met him. He had come to Dev-onshire to purchase a hunter from her father. She had recommended a less showy mount, and Edward had taken her advice over her father's trainer's. The hunter she had favored had more heart, more stamina. Edward wasn't sorry.

He came back the next year for a pair of racers. Again he bought only on her recommendation. She was terribly flattered. She knew horses, had been raised with them, but no one would take her seriously because of her tender age. Edward Fleming, though, had been impressed with her knowledge and confi-dence. The Thoroughbreds she had sold him had since earned him a great deal of money. Again he wasn't sorry. And somehow, they became friends, despite the vast difference in their ages.

He came immediately when he learned of her father's death. He made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

It was not a salacious offer. He already knew he was dying. The physicians had given him only a few more months to live. What he wanted was a companion, a friend, someone who might care and shed a tear or two at his passing. He had friends, but no one close to him.

He was fond of saying she had given him a reason to live a bit longer. Jocelyn liked to think that was so.

She was so grateful for the extra months she had been granted with him; he was everything to her, father, brother, mentor, friend, hero, everything except lover, but that could not be helped. He had been incapable of making love to a woman for many years before he even met her. But being an innocent bride of eighteen, she didn't know what she was missing, and so had no re-grets that there was an area of their relationship she wasn't able to explore. She would have been more than willing, but didn't feel cheated.

She simply loved Edward for everything else he was to her.

She sometimes felt she had been born when she met him. Her mother had died before Jocelyn had any real memories of her. Her father spent most of his time in London. Occasionally when he came home he might notice her, but she never felt a closeness to him. Hers had been a lonely, isolated lifejn the country, her only true interest the horses her father bred. Edward had opened up a whole new world to her, of sports, and socials, and women friends, of fancy clothes, and luxuries she never dreamed of. Now she was about to embark on another new life, but without him to guide her. God, how was she going to face it without him?

Jocelyn adjusted her breathing to the smell of sick-ness as she entered the state bedroom. She would not use a scented kerchief to mask the unpleasant odors. She could not do that to him.

He was lying prone in the huge bed in the center of the enormous room, to make his own breathing easier. She saw him watching her as she approached, his gray eyes dull, nearly lifeless already, the skin sunken beneath them, and so deathly pale. It brought tears to her eyes to see him like this, when up until only a few weeks ago he had still been reasonably active, a few weeks before that, hale and hearty, or so he had made her believe — while all along he had been making plans and arrangements for her, know-ing his time was coming to an end.

"Don't look so sad, my dear."

Even his voice didn't sound the same anymore. God, how was she going to say good-bye to him without breaking down?

She reached for his hand lying on top of the velvet cover and brought it to her lips. When she took it away, a smile remained for his benefit, but it lasted only a second.

"That's cheating," she admonished herself and him. "I am sad. I can't help it, Eddie."

A little of the humor that was so much a part of him returned to his eyes at the name no one else had ever dared to call him, even in childhood. "You were always deplorably honest. It's one of the things I most admired about you."

"And I thought it was my excellent horse sense-about horses, that is."

"That too." His own attempt at a smile also failed.

"Are you in pain?" she asked hesitantly.

"Nothing I'm not used to by now."

"Didn't the physician give you—"

"For later, my dear. I wanted to remain lucid to say my good-byes."

"Oh, God!"

"Now, none of that." He tried to sound stern but had never been able to be stern with her. "Please, Jocelyn. I can't bear to see you cry."

She turned her head away to wipe at the tears, but when she looked back at him, they came rushing down her cheeks again. "I'm sorry, but it just hurts so much, Eddie. I wasn't supposed to love you, not like this," she said baldly.

A remark like that would have made him laugh even a few days ago. "I know."

"You told me two months, and I thought — I thought I wouldn't get that attached to you in such a short time. I wanted to make your last months comfortable, to make you happy if I could, because you were doing so much for me. But I wasn't going to get so close that it was going to hurt when… It didn't matter, did it?" A wry smile crossed her lips and then was gone. "Before those two months were up, I already cared too much. Oh, Eddie, can't you give us a little more time? You fooled the doctors before. You can do it again, can't you?"

How he longed to say yes. He didn't want to give up this life, not when happiness had come so late to it.

But he had never deceived her, and wouldn't now. He had been selfish to marry her when there were so many other ways he could have helped her instead. But it was done, and he couldn't really regret the time he had had with her, short as it was, even though it was causing her this grief now. He had wanted someone to care, and she did. He just hadn't realized his own heart would ache because of it, now that he must leave her.

He squeezed her hand in answer to her plea. Seeing her shoulders sag, he knew she understood. He sighed, closing his eyes, but only for a moment.

Looking at her had always given him so much plea-sure, and he needed that right now.

She was incredibly beautiful, though she would be the first to scoff if he said so, and rightly so, since her looks were not in the least fashionable. Her col-oring was too flamboyant for the ton, her red hair too bright, like a bursting flame, her lime-green eyes too unusual in their paleness, and much too expressive. If Jocelyn didn't like you, her eyes said so, for she was too honest for her own good and didn't know the first thing about duplicity. Nor did she conform with other redheads, as there wasn't a single freckle on her flawless ivory skin, skin so pale it was nearly trans-lucent.