“Well, there’s the library’s expenses, of course, but most of the funds we raise go to support ordinary members of Parliament when they’re seeking election. You see, the more members we help elect to the House of Commons, the more chance we have of having our views represented and legislation passed in our favor.”
“That sounds like bribery to me!”
“Well, it is, I suppose. But, apparently, that’s how the world works.”
Her smile did not coax an answering smile from him. He’d always adopted a patronizing attitude to Lady Olivia and her league of ladies, and was just beginning to realize how mistaken he’d been. This wasn’t a joke. These women weren’t looking for a hobby to take up to pass the time of day. They were in deadly earnest.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “What happens with Miss Drake now?”
She blew out a long breath. “I’ll have to let . . . my friends in town know how things turned out here, but there’s not much they can do, except plead with Emily’s brother to see reason. And I don’t suppose Emily will have another chance to slip away. Short of murdering Lord Reeve, I don’t see what else we can do.”
He looked at her closely, then looked away. She was joking, of course. No use asking who else was involved in the scheme, but he’d bet his last farthing that Sally Latham was part of it. Not Freddie, though. Freddie would never lend his support to anything that would undermine the stability of a man’s domestic life, and he didn’t have the imagination to see that not all women were happy with the status quo. When he thought about it, he wasn’t much different from Freddie.
He looked at her again. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, you say?”
“No, but I’m sure it will be the last for a long time to come.” She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “You might say that my cover has been blown away. Reeve knows my name now. He may tell others. It won’t be difficult to track me down, after all, you did. No one can hide away here and feel safe. They’ll have to go somewhere else.”
He suppressed the urge to ask her who “they” were. He supposed she was referring to the women in desperate straits who came to the library for help, runaway wives, runaway heiresses, and the Lord only knew who else. He didn’t want to know their names or anything about them in case his conscience pricked him to do something about it.
The very thought gave him the shudders. He didn’t believe in meddling in other people’s lives. Miss Drake was a different case. It wasn’t her youth that roused his sympathies or the fact that this was to be an arranged marriage and not a love match. It was the thought of Lord Reeve that turned his stomach. No innocent young girl should be paired with such a vile specimen of humanity.
He spoke suddenly, startling her. “Let me handle things with Mr. Drake. I think he will listen to reason when he hears it from me rather than—you’ll forgive my bluntness—from a woman.”
Her first impulse was to refuse. She was used to fixing her own problems. But he was right. His words would carry more weight than hers. He was an earl and she was a mere woman, a nobody in men’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, and managed a smile. “Just be careful that you don’t fill the empty slot that is left by Lord Reeve.”
He grinned. “I’m an expert at evading the parson’s mousetrap.”
She didn’t doubt it.
They’d both finished eating. Harmony reigned. It was an excellent time to get rid of him, for in spite of this cozy conversation, she still felt wary in his presence. He made her feel like a woman and that unsettled her.
“I’ll see to things down here,” she said, getting up. “You’ve done enough, more than enough. You should turn in for the night.”
“No. I’m bedding down here in front of the fire. I promised Mrs. Trent I would watch over Ben. Why don’t you leave Lance, to keep me company.”
On hearing his name, Lance got up from the hearth and trotted over to Case. “I’d swear,” said Case, “that dog understands king’s English.”
She laughed. “I’ve often wondered. But like most males, he can be obtuse when he wants to be. I will say that he’s an excellent guard dog, and as a sheepdog, he has no equal.”
She sounded like a mother extolling the virtues of her favorite son. Amused, Case said, “How did you get hold of him? I mean, why a sheepdog?”
As she spoke, she stacked the dishes and the remains of their meal on a wooden tray. “I was visiting Scotland, a small place called Aboyne not far from Aberdeen. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“Well, I know of Aberdeen. That’s where my sister is right now, to meet her husband’s parents. It’s on the coast, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but Aboyne is inland, nestled in the hills on the banks of the river Dee. It’s a beautiful spot. I was out walking and Lance appeared out of nowhere. He followed me home.” Her eyes were on Lance as she spoke and a shadow of a smile touched her lips. “He didn’t look anything like he looks now. He was emaciated and had obviously been beaten. A few days later, I heard that a valuable sheepdog had gone missing, and the description fitted Lance. Naturally, my first thought was to return him to his owner. However,” she made a face, “when I met the owner, I took an instant dislike to him. He thinks nothing of beating his dogs. In fact, that’s how he trains them. So all I told him was that I’d seen a dog fitting his dog’s description near the church at Crathie. I left Aboyne the next day, and Lance went with me.”
“You
stole
him?”
“I rescued him!”
“I know about sheepdogs and I bet he was worth a lot of money.”
“I could hardly offer to pay for him without letting his owner know that I had him. And what if he’d said no? Then he’d have taken Lance away from me and beaten him for running away. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t suppose you would. You seem to have an affinity for runaways.”
A flicker of something came and went in her eyes. “True,” she said, “and I make no apology for it.”
He couldn’t put a foot right with this woman. She’d gone all prickly on him again. As she marched to the larder with the tray in her arms, he got up and went after her. She had to wait until he opened the door for her.
He was still holding the door as she tried to leave. Whatever he was about to say died unsaid. She was looking up at him, the light from the kitchen playing across her face, sculpting her cheekbones, casting shadows on her impossibly wide eyes. When his gaze moved to her lips, they parted. Her skirts brushed his legs; he could feel the warmth of her body, the soft catch of each breath.
His eyes jerked up to meet hers.
What is it about this
woman?
he wondered.
One hand cupped her chin. “This was inevitable, Jane,” he murmured. “You know it as well as I.”
He’d caught her off guard, and before she could brace herself, heat from his hand sent shock waves to every pulse point in her body. She was stunned. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. She should be immune. Why wasn’t she immune?
As his head descended, her whole body went rigid. “I want you to leave.” Her voice was hoarse. She jerked herself free, took a few steps into the kitchen, and turned to face him. “I want you to leave,” she repeated. She wished she could even her breathing.
He studied her for a moment, his head to one side, then he said slowly, “You’re overreacting, and I’m asking myself why.”
She felt a flash of alarm, but managed to inject ice into her voice. “I didn’t do anything to encourage you.”
“Didn’t you? Admit it, Jane. You’re as curious about me as I am about you.”
The lazy smile made her temper simmer. “I think,” she said, “that you are confusing me with Amelia Standhurst. Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few nights ago, she was the lady you were curious about?”
She sensed the quick surge of temper. Anger was useful and less to be feared than intimacy. She pressed home her point. “And not long before that, it was La Contessa, I believe.”
He arched one brow. “You’ve been prying into my private life. I’m flattered.”
“You don’t have a private life! You’re a celebrity!” She tried not to clench her teeth. “Everybody knows about you and your women.”
When he advanced toward her, she held her ground. His clever gray eyes scanned her face, weighing, assessing. “You’re a narrow-minded prude.”
She replied coolly, “I’m careful to avoid. . .”
“Temptation?”
Her voice was sharper than she intended. “Men I don’t know!”
Another lazy grin. “Like it or not, we’re going to get to know each other very well. As I told you, it’s inevitable.”
Her voice rose a notch. “You—”
He put a finger to his lips, silencing her. “Hush. Keep your voice down or you’ll waken Ben.”
She glanced at the bed and saw that Ben was moving restlessly. She looked back at the earl. In a low, driven tone, she said, “I want you to leave.”
“I know you do.” He smiled faintly. “But I’m afraid it’s impossible. What you don’t seem to realize is that it hasn’t stopped snowing since you went upstairs for your nap. It’s a blizzard out there. I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for the next little while. So you see, we’re bound to get to know each other better.”
She didn’t bother looking out the window. She believed him.
Before she could annihilate him with a few well-chosen words, he said pleasantly, “I suggest we treat each other civilly or Ben and Mrs. Trent will get the wrong idea about us. They might even think we’ve had a lovers’ tiff.”
When she left, she closed the door with a decided snap.
Case waited until her steps had receded before he lit a cheroot and wandered outside to smoke it. Lance went with him. It was still snowing, but the porch gave them some shelter. After blowing out a stream of smoke, Case said, “She did overreact, didn’t she? I’m right about that?”
No response from Lance.
“Most women are flattered by my attentions.”
Most women, of course, were too easily impressed by his title and wealth. That wouldn’t signify to a woman like Jane Mayberry. His eyes narrowed against the smoke he exhaled. After a moment, he smiled. She was direct to the point of rudeness, opinionated, contradictory, argumentative, and passionate about her beliefs. Principles, he supposed she would call them. And, in spite of all that, he was captivated.
What made her so different?
Life hadn’t been easy for Jane Mayberry since her father died. Who told him that? Lady Octavia? He might have agreed with her, except that he didn’t think Jane considered herself hard done to. She lived with the kind of courage and passion that he found himself envying. The trouble was, she assumed too many burdens for her thin shoulders, burdens he felt oddly compelled to take upon himself. And it seemed to him that she’d been glad to have him along today. A look came over her, anxious, searching, and he had the strongest urge to gather her in his arms and tell her he would take care of everything.
There was something else that appealed to him. When he was with her, he felt the cynical part of his nature quietly fade away.
He gazed into space, lost in thought. He was remembering Jane as he’d seen her at the opera. That vision did not fit with the young woman he’d met at the library and now here. There was more, much more to this little prude than blue stockings and lost causes. And why had she buried herself out here?
He wanted to know all about her; he wanted to know all her secrets.
Then what? How far was he willing to go? With a woman like Jane Mayberry, it would have to be marriage or nothing.
Pity.
He flicked the end of his cheroot into the shrubbery and let out a low laugh. He was getting ahead of himself. Whatever was between Jane and him would have to wait. He had to focus all his energies on finding Gideon Piers and finishing the job he’d been given years ago in Spain.
No quarter asked or given.
He thought about Spain for a long time.
After a while, he looked at Lance. “Come on, boy. Let’s patrol the area and make sure that everything is right and tight for your mistress.”
The dog bounded forward, the man following in his wake.
Chapter 9
Though Case was a member of some of the most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in and around St. James, he and his friends preferred to meet in Bell’s Hotel. In the taproom, on the ground floor, they could rub shoulders with the theater crowd, and in the upper rooms, they could gamble a little or order a dinner of plain English fare in one of the hotel’s comfortable private parlors. It was here that they planned their annual reunion of former Etonians and friends, a reunion that Case’s father, the duke, always hosted at Twickenham House. This year, a problem had arisen. The reunion had to be postponed when the guest of honor became gravely ill. Now it was slated to take place the week before Christmas.
After consuming a splendid dinner of soft roes of mackerel baked in butter, Case’s group of friends began to break up. Most of them idled their way to the gaming rooms just across the hall, leaving a committee of three, comprising Case and two companions, to make all the arrangements for the reunion.
Case listened to his friends’ suggestions with one part of his mind, but another part was occupied with thoughts of Jane. He’d found a man to help out, but he could only spare a few hours every other day, and he was wondering how she had managed these last few days with Ben to care for and all the chores now falling on her. That last morning, he’d done as much as he could to lighten her load: he’d hauled in coal; taken care of the horses; retrieved the buggy; and seen to Ben’s most basic needs. He’d rolled up his sleeves and worked as hard as any common laborer—he, a duke’s son and heir! And was she impressed? Of course she wasn’t! He hadn’t done a damn thing she couldn’t do herself.
To be fair though, a look would come into her eyes that gave the lie to her prickly words. Jane’s eyes always told the truth, and they told him she was glad that he was there.
He wondered if she understood why she became prickly whenever he came into her orbit.
He looked up when someone tapped him on the arm.
“This isn’t funny, Case.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I’ve said.”
The speaker was Waldo Bowman, tall and sparse, whose harsh, angular features were softened by a half-smile. The smile was, in fact, the result of a bayonet wound he had sustained at Talavera. Most of Case’s friends had served in the Spanish Campaign.
Case stirred himself to respond. “I heard you, Waldo. Something about inviting Dr. Keate to be our next guest of honor.” He looked up with a smile. “As I remember, when I was at Eton, that old scoundrel terrified us boys.”
“Only the boys who broke the rules,” retorted Waldo, “and you seemed to think that rules were made to be broken.”
“Didn’t we all at that age?”
Robert Shay, the third man at the table, who was not only Case’s closest friend but also a distant cousin, handed round his snuff box. He was as fair as Case was dark, and though not as handsome as his cousin, arresting in his own way. His eyes were his best feature, dark blue, thick lashed, and with a keen intelligence lurking in their depths.
“Let’s be honest,” he said. “Flogging never hurt any of us. And poor old Keate has dedicated his whole life to the thankless task of educating generations of stupid, ignorant boys like us. He should have been made provost, but as far as I know, there has never been as much as a dinner to mark his long service. Let’s do it, and let’s throw in a purse as well.”
“That settles it, then,” said Waldo. “Dr. Keate it is. Case, you’ll ask your father if our arrangements will suit him?”
Case said, “I’m sure they will. There’s nothing much happening at Twickenham House these days, with Rosamund in Scotland and Justin in Italy. My father always looks forward to these reunions.”
“Yes,” said Robert, “I believe he does. Even when we were boys, he always gave us a warm welcome. I used to love going to Twickenham House. Speaking of the good old days, where is Freddie?”
“He said he’d be late,” Waldo replied. “And Case, if Keate can’t make it, find someone to take his place.”
“Why me?” asked Case. “Why not you or Robert?”
“Because,” said Waldo, “we all have our jobs to do. I’m looking after the invitations, and Robert is looking after the wine list and menu.” He looked at Robert.
Robert, who was the dandy of the group and considered a connoisseur, gave an exaggerated bow. “I wouldn’t trust that task to anyone else. You Philistines—”
“Yes, yes, we know,” said Waldo pleasantly. “We Philistines don’t know the difference between piss and port. I had a sergeant who used to say much the same thing, only with him it was that we greenhorn officers couldn’t tell the difference between our elbows and our arses.”
“Your sergeant,” said Robert, “sounds like my valet. Everything worth knowing, I learned from Dobbs.”
Case shook his head and Waldo laughed. Robert Shay was one of their few close friends who had not served with them in Spain. No one held it against him because he was the only surviving son, and if he died, the title would die with him, a catastrophe that no blue-blooded family could possibly accept. Duty to family came before everything,
It wasn’t Robert’s way, however, to brood over things or chafe at the bit, or even to explain himself to friends or strangers. If anyone asked him pointedly why he, a young man, had not done his duty to king and country by serving with Wellington, he invariably replied that he would have done so gladly if he could have taken his valet along with him. He simply did not know how to dress himself.
It was all posturing, this pretense of being a dandy. It always amused him, Robert said, when people took him seriously when he didn’t take himself seriously. In the real world, however, Robert took himself very seriously. He was a highly successful barrister, and in a court of law, he became a different man entirely.
Waldo got up. “If we’re finished here, I think I’ll try my luck at the gaming tables.”
As Waldo limped awkwardly to the door, Robert called out, “And stay out of trouble, especially the kind that comes in petticoats!”
Waldo laughed. “Can I help it if the ladies adore me?”
After Waldo left, Robert said, “It must be hard for him. There wasn’t an athlete like him at Eton or Oxford.”
Case shrugged. “I can’t see that a lame leg has made much difference to Waldo except that he doesn’t cut a fine figure on the dance floor now.”
“That’s not what I mean. The war has changed him. He disappears for a month at a time, drinking himself into oblivion, then suddenly turns up as though he’s still the same old Waldo.”
“That’s the thing about war,” said Case. “It changes people. No. I don’t want to talk about it, except to say that it was a brutal, vicious business and I’m glad to be out of it.”
When Case said nothing more, Robert reached for the brandy decanter and topped up their glasses. After a moment or two, he said, “Yet feeling like that, you stayed on for the duration of the war when you might have sold out and come home.”
“True, but I became attached to my men and that would have been tantamount to deserting them. Besides, I was a good soldier.”
“You liked the discipline?”
“Good Lord no! I liked winning.”
Robert laughed and relaxed into his chair. “That sounds like you. I suppose that’s why you’re so determined to pursue your investigation of the Hyde Park murder. How are things progressing, by the way?”
The progress was all in his mind. He was, however, beginning to develop a theory. Planning the reunion tonight had given him something to think about. They’d postponed the reunion when their guest speaker fell ill. He wondered if that had made a difference to Piers’s plans. He hadn’t understood why Piers had taken so long after killing Collier to come after him. The attack on Harper proved the game was on again. Was it changing the date of the reunion that made the difference? Is that why Piers had held off? Because he’d started the game too soon? How long could he sustain a game of cat-and-mouse?
If his theory was right, then he knew the day and the hour Piers would strike.
It was only a theory, unsubstantiated, and too far-fetched to share with a skeptic like Robert. Robert, like Freddie, was of the opinion that the murder of John Collier was an isolated act of revenge by someone who knew Piers’s methods. He hadn’t told them about the attack on Harper. And he wouldn’t until he had more to go on. Waldo was different. He’d taken him into his confidence because Waldo had been a member of the crack unit that had tracked Piers to his lair in St. Michel. At least Waldo kept an open mind on whether or not Piers was alive and bent on revenge.
“We’re still at the stage of gathering information.”
Robert snorted. “Spoken like a typical Special Branch agent. In other words, it’s none of my business. I’m not offended. As an officer of the court, I’ve used those words, or words very like them, on more occasions than I care to remember. So, there’s no progress. That doesn’t surprise me.”
Case was saved the trouble of a reply, when a burst of laughter from across the hall had both men turning to look at the open door.
“Waldo seems to be enjoying himself,” Case observed.
“There’s a new girl at the Hazard table and he’s taken a fancy to her.” Robert shrugged. “You know Waldo. He becomes the life and soul of the party when there’s a pretty girl to be won. Which reminds me—” A smile played about his lips. “What’s this my grandmother has been telling me, that she and your aunt are to sponsor a young woman in society? Who is Emily Drake, and what is she to you, Case?”
The question surprised Case. He’d talked to his aunt about Miss Drake only that morning, giving her the essential facts of the girl’s predicament, and inveigling her help in enlarging the circle of Miss Drake’s friends. This was the strategy that he and Jane had agreed to before he left Highgate, supposing his aunt was willing to take the girl up. The idea was to persuade Mr. Drake that his sister would meet eligible young men who would be more to her taste than Lord Reeve. Case hadn’t anticipated that he might be counted as a possible suitor.
No wonder the girl’s brother had accepted his offer with alacrity.
“You can take that smile off your face,” he told Robert. “I’ve never met the girl, nor do I wish to,” and he went on to explain the situation as he’d explained it to his aunt.
When there was a silence, Robert said, “I don’t see how a Season in town will help Miss Drake’s situation, not if her brother is determined to marry her off to Lord Reeve.”
“Her brother,” said Case, “has had a change of heart. A very reasonable fellow is Mr. Drake. I saw him yesterday, and when I explained the situation, he grasped my point at once.”
“Mmm. What threats did you use to get him to turn his back on a title?”
“I’m not so uncouth as that. And quite honestly, I think Mr. Drake’s motives have been misunderstood. As I said, he seems a reasonable fellow.”
Robert picked up his snuff box, looked at it, and put it down again. “Filthy habit, snuff taking,” he said. “Can’t think why I indulge in it.”
“Keeping up appearances?”
“Quite. Every self-respecting dandy knows his snuff. Can you spare one of your thin cigars?”
When they were smoking companionably, Robert said, “I hope Mr. Drake isn’t superstitious.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I would think that would be obvious. First La Contessa, then your latest conquest, Mrs. Standhurst.” Robert’s eyes brightened with laughter. “Don’t look so surprised. You didn’t think you could keep Mrs. Standhurst a secret for long? Too many people saw you leave the opera with the beautiful Amelia on your arm. And now Miss Drake. As I said, I hope her brother isn’t superstitious.”
Case wasn’t interested in bandying words with Robert. A shadow had touched him and he frowned. “First La Contessa, then Mrs. Standhurst—what are you talking about, Robert?”
“You mean, you haven’t heard? Where have you been these last few days?”
“Highgate. The Horse Guards. What haven’t I heard?”
Observing the change in his friend, Robert said seriously, “I thought you knew. La Contessa’s house was broken into. Nothing was taken, but the thieves terrorized her and tortured her cat in front of her eyes. Then last night, thieves broke into Mrs. Standhurst’s place. She wasn’t there, and the only thing they stole was her lap dog. It hasn’t been recovered yet. I’m sorry I spoke. My joke was in bad taste.”
Case was on his feet. “Excuse me,” he said. “There is something I must do.”
When he got over his shock, Robert jumped up and went after him. “Hold on, I’m coming with you.”
They met Waldo in the corridor. “What is it?” he asked.
“All I know is we’re going to Highgate,” said Robert.
Waldo turned around and went after his friends.
Something jerked Jane awake. She lay for a long time, ears straining, listening. “Lance,” she whispered.
The cold night air came through the open window and ruffled the muslin drapes. Outside, the wind sighed through the branches of the fir trees close by the house. Other than that, nothing.
Something had wakened her. And why had her first thought been of Lance?
Alarmed now, she got out of bed and crossed to the window. Lance had the freedom of the house and yard. He could come and go as he pleased by means of the old coal shaft in the disused cellar under the kitchen. Tonight, he’d been restless. He hadn’t wanted to come inside. She’d thought he’d caught the scent of a fox or badger, and once he’d chased it off, he would return to the house. If that was the case, he’d be in her room, or scratching to get in.
What had she heard that alarmed her? A howl? A moan? Where was Lance?
On that thought, she opened the window wide, meaning to call him, but a door banged off to her right, the stable door, and she was distracted. She’d shut that door herself before retiring for the night. Then who had opened it, and why wasn’t Lance barking an alarm? Then she smelled smoke, and her fear turned to dread.
“Ben!” she yelled. “Ben!”
She got her pistol from the dresser, checked it, then raced into the corridor. Ben’s room was at the top of the stairs. His voice came to her out of the darkness. “What is it?” He sounded groggy.