For a long moment, she looked as though her face might crumple, but she was obviously made of sterner stuff than that. Cole could see the thoughts flash through her mind, and he knew that she was weighing him, carefully measuring everything she knew, and everything she suspected. Cole prayed that she would trust him.
And he prayed, too, that she would not blame him for the near tragedy. Had he been wrong to disapprove of her vigilance? Was Jonet’s fear more rational than it had first appeared? But it was too late for recrimination. Cole shook his head. Surely it was just an accident, and it had occurred essentially as Robert said. Somehow, in his enthusiasm, the boy had merely stumbled over the dog. Cole looked at Jonet again pleadingly.
He did not know why he so desperately wanted this woman to have faith in him, but he did. It had been a long time since he had cared urgently about anything at all, save the safety of his soldiers in the field. But this—! Oh, this was a different level of desperation altogether.
He massaged her shoulder gently with his hand, feeling the tension deep in her muscles, and hardly caring who observed the intimacy of the gesture. “Jonet—?” he whispered.
Jonet leaned incrementally nearer, still visibly shaken. “Yes,” she whispered in a voice so low and unsteady that he could barely hear it. “Yes, but if any harm comes to my child while he is in your care, understand this: I will cut out your heart with my own knife. I swear it before God.” Abruptly, she swept Robert into her arms and came smoothly to her feet.
“Stiles!” Cole shouted over his shoulder, and the footman bounded toward him. “Take Lord Robert from Lady Mercer and carry him home, if you please. Miss Cameron will manage the dogs,” he said, glancing in her direction. White-faced, Ellen nodded quickly, and took the leashes from the footman’s outstretched hand.
“Lord Mercer will remain with me,” Cole explained. “I wish to look around.”
In a moment, the group was off, walking toward Park Lane at an anxious pace. Stuart remained beside Cole, watching them go. True to his word, Cole held the boy’s hand. He turned and stared down at him. “Now, tell me, Stuart. Just what did you see? You need not fear upsetting your mother now.”
Stuart looked up, his eyes narrowed against the sun. His face held Jonet’s keen intelligence and intense eyes. “I saw very little, sir,” he answered softly. “We were just throwing sticks. Mine went wide, and I followed Rogue after it.” The boy pointed to the path that skirted the Serpentine to the west.
Cole followed the route with his eyes. It would be difficult indeed to see the water’s edge from that portion of the lawn. The intermittent clumps of shrubbery prevented it. It also provided ample cover for someone who wished to circle the edge of the pond unseen. The ground there was damp, and footfalls would make no sound.
“And you saw no one?”
“No, sir. The shrubbery blocked my view. But I heard nothing, either,” he added, anticipating Cole’s next question. “Nothing but Robin splashing, that is. I ran back, and saw him struggling.”
“And then what happened?”
Stuart’s eyes skimmed the shoreline, but it was obvious he was looking inward, not outward. “I saw . . . I saw Scoundrel grab his coat collar. Yes! I remember now. He had it in his teeth, and when I screamed—why, I daresay I frightened him. He . . . he let go. And then you came, sir.”
Cole dropped to his haunches to look Stuart in the eyes. “Think hard, Stuart. When you ran back, was Scoundrel in the water, or out of the water?”
Dully, the boy shook his head. “I cannot say for sure, sir. I—I rather think
in
but I’m just not sure. It all happened so fast, and I was scared.”
Cole laid a steadying hand on his arm. “Yes, of course you were. I was, too. But the water is not too deep just there, and I daresay Robin was never in very much danger.”
Not unless he had struck his head on one of the protruding rocks, or been unable to gain his footing, or been alone
. . .
The awful thoughts ran through Cole’s head, but he did not lend voice to them. To do so would have frightened Stuart unnecessarily. He turned his attention back to Stuart, who was looking calmer now. “Tell me this, Stuart,” he said. “And think carefully. Do you think Scoundrel could have bumped Robin and pushed him in accidentally?”
Again, Stuart shook his head. “Not—not really, sir,” he whispered. “Rogue might have done such a silly thing. He’s still a little clumsy sometimes. But Rogue was with me, sir. I am sure of that.”
Silently, Cole nodded. “Come along. We’ll search the greenery around the water for footprints.”
Together, they set off to circle the pond hand-in-hand. And they found footprints. Hundreds, if not thousands, of them. The moist earth around the pond apparently held the shoe prints of half of London, and all of the dogs and waterfowl. Absently, Cole let his eyes wander over the far shoreline and beyond, to Hyde Park Corner, where all manner of horses and carriages were beginning to drift in, as the
beau monde
prepared to strut their finery up Rotten Row in the late afternoon promenade. He sighed with resignation. There was nothing more to be learned here. Gathering Stuart closer, Cole turned around and headed for home.
Following Robert’s accident, an atmosphere of quiet restraint fell over Mercer House. Over the course of the next three weeks, Cole often noticed Jonet pacing the house with a restless energy. It appeared as though she ate and slept little. For his part, Cole’s anger toward Jonet had burned to a simmer, but his lust continued unabated—and despite all hope, it was a lust which did not lessen with familiarity.
The morning had dawned with the humid warmth of a summer’s day, a fact that bode ill for the evening. Already, Cole could feel the air growing heavy with a gathering storm. In anticipation of the heat, Nanna had wisely thrown open the schoolroom windows at first light, and now the thick breeze rolled in, lazily undulating beneath the under-drapes and carrying with it the morning rumble of carriages and the jingle of harnesses.
Shortly after nine, a coster’s cart rattled up to the servants’ entrance, and the cook came out into the stairwell to loudly quibble over the price of his parsnips. The boys snickered a bit as the costermonger took the razor’s edge of Cook’s thick brogue, but otherwise all was peaceful until half past ten, when the sound of a heavy carriage drawing up to the door could be heard. Someone hastily alit, and plied the knocker with an impassioned vigor.
The boys looked up from the table, curious. Cole was curious, too. He almost rose from his chair to peer down into the street, then quickly shut away the thought. It was not his place to wonder at who Jonet’s callers were.
The ensuing argument quickly changed his mind. In a few short minutes, the dialogue grew from a loud rumble to a veritable shouting match. Soon Jonet’s words were carrying distinctly up the stairwell, her husky voice rising to a wild rage. The lower tones that followed her were audibly arch and defensive, and could belong to only one man. Lord James Rowland.
At once, Stuart and Robert lifted their eyes from their work, their faces pale with concern. “It would seem that Uncle James has called,” said Cole dryly, shoving back his chair. The thump of a slamming door vibrated through the house. “Sir, are you going downstairs?” asked Stuart, his face strained. “I think perhaps you ought. Mama gets very upset when James comes.”
Just then, the sound of shattering glass rang through the house. “
Uh-oh
,” said Robert ominously. “Mama got hold of that vase on the hall table.”
“Right, then,” said Cole, coming swiftly to his feet. “I’d best go down. Stuart, you will continue conjugating your Latin. Robin, when I return, I want all of those arithmetic problems corrected. You can and shall get them right.”
The boys mumbled their agreement, and by the time Cole made his way down the two flights of stairs, a housemaid was already sweeping up glass in the hall, and Donaldson had somehow maneuvered the fray down the corridor and into the drawing room. The double doors were flung open wide, and the butler stood stoically upon the threshold, one protective eye on Jonet.
His hat still clutched loosely in his hand, James stood by the window, a shaft of muted sunlight illuminating the fleshy pallor of his face. A sheen of sweat was visible on his brow as James’s eyes flicked back and forth between Jonet and Donaldson as if measuring his opponents. Heedless of Cole’s presence, James’s implacable gaze settled on Jonet. “I tell you, madam, I have every right to see those boys!” he insisted, his empty hand fisting spasmodically. “You may not keep them from me! I shan’t stand for it any longer, and you may mark my word!”
Jonet threw back her head, her face a blazing mask of anger, her eyes dark and glittering. Cole had never known that a woman could look so utterly vicious. “Mark
my
word, Lord James!” she bit out, her light brogue thickening. “My children are at their lessons and they’ll not be disturbed.” Jonet took another threatening step toward James. “You, sir, may wait upon my solicitor, and make your appointments through him.”
“And you, madam, should be confined in Bedlam, if not someplace worse! Newgate springs most immediately to mind!” James made a jerking, dismissive gesture with his hand, and Jonet took another step nearer and drew back her arm.
Cole had not realized until that moment that she had managed to lay hands on a thin black riding crop. His own, by the look of it. Urgently, Donaldson turned toward Cole, with
For God’s sake, do something!
plainly writ across his face.
Cole cleared his throat and stepped into the room. “Why, it is Uncle James!” he said evenly, crossing the room to take a strategic position near them. “To what do we owe this unanticipated pleasure?”
Cole watched as Jonet and James turned to stare at him, both faces darkening to a shade near blood red. Together, they erupted into an angry tirade. “He has come to harass me!” insisted Jonet. “Is that not obvious?”
“I have come to see my wards! My nephews!” demanded James. “Do you not see, Cole? Is it not just as I said? She is an unnatural mother!”
“Out! Get out! Get out of my house, sir!” screamed Jonet, drawing back her hand again.
“This is
not
your house, madam!” countered James, pulling back just far enough to avoid the crop. “
Your
house is a rock pile hanging off the side of some godforsaken Scottish cliff, and I wish you would take yourself off and stay there! Mercer House belongs to Stuart, and I am the trustee! Now, I will see him, if you please!”
“Or what?” snarled Jonet, her chin jutting out, her stance aggressive.
“Or I shall bring my solicitors!” fumed James. “And then you will bring those children down here or I shall know the reason why!”
“It strikes me that we have more than enough children down here already,” said Cole, calmly stepping between them. James scowled at him, but Cole turned his back to face Jonet, thrusting out his left hand, palm expectantly up. “Lady Mercer,” he said softly. “I see I carelessly left my crop in the back hall again. How thoughtful of you to retrieve it.”
In response, Jonet nailed him with her black gaze, her dark, arching brows drawn fully together. Her lovely lips drew into a stubborn line, but after a long moment, a shadow of angry acquiescence passed over her eyes, and she laid the crop smartly across his hand with a
thwack
.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Cole glibly responded, suppressing a wince. “You are too kind.” Palm stinging, he turned to his uncle. “Now, James, if you would kindly excuse us, I should like to speak with Lady Mercer privately, and then perhaps we might all have a little coffee?”
“
Coffee
—?” Jonet’s voice was shrill.
“By all means, talk, if you think you can reason with her,” growled his uncle, cutting Jonet a nasty, nervous glance. The whites of his eyes were bold and a little tremulous, like those of an uneasy stallion.
“No!” she protested sharply, even as Cole slid one hand gently beneath her arm. “I shan’t leave him alone in my house. I shan’t do it!” She moved as if to drag away from him.
“Jonet, he is not alone,” Cole gently reminded her. “Donaldson is with him.” Then, a little roughly, Cole gripped her elbow and propelled her from the room. With his eyes, he commanded the butler to stay put.
Donaldson discreetly pushed the doors shut behind them as Cole drew Jonet across the hall into the empty breakfast parlor. Cole tossed the crop into a chair and turned to face her. Obviously seething, she rounded on him, her black hems swinging wildly, her color high. Jonet’s hands fisted angrily at her sides, and she looked dangerously beautiful in her fury. “You must be mad, sir! Perhaps you are on his side!” Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “Perhaps I was foolish to hope otherwise.”
“Jonet, for God’s sake, listen to me!” he said, sliding both his hands up her arms to lightly grip her shoulders.“I am on no one’s
side
. But James is correct.” He gave her a gentle shake and held her eyes with the calmest gaze he could muster. “Regrettably, he has every right to see the boys. It is very imprudent of you to play these games with him.”
Jonet spat out an unladylike oath. “Do you think I care one whit for what is
prudent?
”
Cole held her firmly, realizing how deeply she trembled. “Jonet,” he gently explained, “you may share guardianship, but James is the undisputed trustee of the Mercer estate. He can make your life difficult. Moreover, with just the right amount of maneuvering, he can probably take those children from you.”
Angrily, she tried to jerk from his grasp. “Oh—! And I daresay you would like nothing better!”
Roughly, he dragged her a little nearer. “No, Jonet! That is precisely what I do
not
want.” Cole stared intently down at her, but Jonet refused to meet his gaze. He gave her another shake, more firmly this time. “Listen to me, for pity’s sake! James raised
me
. It is not a fate I would lightly wish on anyone.”
“I do not believe you,” she insisted wildly.
“Then you wound me,” Cole softly returned. “Most deeply.”