If the Viscount Falls (20 page)

The color drained from Jane's face as her gaze shot to his. “Hanged! You never said anything about hanging.”

He gaped at her a moment before the past came flooding back. “God, I'm an idiot. I forgot that I never
told you about the horse theft.”

“You certainly didn't.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You told me that after your father died and George burned the codicil, George added insult to injury by kicking the Bonnauds out of the cottage your father had given to them. You said you helped them leave England, which so infuriated George that he wouldn't give you a penny of the inheritance you ought to have received. There was no mention of any hanging.”

“I . . . er . . . well . . .” Dom dragged one hand through his hair. “I suppose there's no point in keeping it secret now, with George dead.” He released a heavy breath. “Tristan stole the horse Father bequeathed to him, then sold it to gain funds to support his mother and Lisette. He thought George wouldn't be able to prove the theft, but George found someone who'd seen Tristan do it. So George was bent on having Tristan hanged.”

Her eyes got huge.

“George came to the cottage looking for Tristan. I happened to be there, but I refused to reveal where Tristan was hiding, so George essentially disinherited me. That's why the Bonnauds fled to France, and why I helped them. Because I saw no other way out.”

“Of course not!” Jane said. “You couldn't let him hang your brother.”

“Exactly.”

A frown knit her brow. “Still, you could have told me. If I'd had any idea that your rift with George was over something so . . . so . . .”

“Illegal?” Dom said dryly. “I didn't dare tell anyone,
even you. One word to the wrong person about my helping a fugitive would have meant an end to my new position as a runner. I couldn't risk it.”

“But if I'd known, I would never have brought George into the library. I wouldn't have gone near him.”

He blinked. “Don't be silly—that wasn't
your
fault. Barlow talked you into that at Nancy's instigation, so she'd have a titled knight errant who'd feel sorry enough for her to marry her.”

Jane's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Nancy had nothing to do with George's presence.”

A sudden unease rose in his belly that he instantly squelched. Nancy had to have been responsible somehow. Jane simply didn't understand. “I take it that Nancy told you it was all Barlow's idea.”

“No.” Jane looked thoroughly bewildered. “She never said a word about that. Because I was the one to decide that he should accompany me.”

His unease grew to a churning in his stomach. “That can't be. Barlow had to have . . . manipulated you somehow. Why on earth would you have brought George in there when you knew about me and him?”

“I didn't know everything, did I?” she said irritably. “I thought I could mend the rift by getting you two to discuss things.” Eyes alight, she planted her hands on her hips. “If I'd had any idea that George had tried to get your brother
killed,
I certainly wouldn't have pursued such a foolish plan.”

Dom could hardly breathe. All this time he'd been sure that Nancy had somehow convinced Barlow to
involve George, that she'd done it to further her own future as she helped him alter his. “So it was
your
idea to bring George in,” he said inanely.

“Yes.
Entirely
my idea. I can't believe you ever thought otherwise.” Jane shook her head at him as if he were a child. “She was risking her reputation to help you. Why would she do that in front of someone as dangerous and unpredictable as George?”

“She didn't know he was dangerous,” Dom said hollowly.

He didn't need Jane's snort to tell him how idiotic that sounded. Because it finally hit him why he'd deliberately misconstrued the situation. It was easier to believe that Nancy had ended up with George through her own machinations than to admit his own part in bringing it about.

“Samuel tried to stop me,” Jane went on, “but I didn't listen. I got rid of him and took George in there instead.”

“Oh, God, Jane. I never thought . . . I always assumed . . .”

“That's what happens, Dom, when you play the puppet master. People aren't puppets.
People
make decisions on their own and behave as they will.” Her voice was cold, accusing. “You can set a plan in motion, but as soon as it involves
people,
it will rarely commence exactly as you wish.”

The taunt sank deep inside his soul. He remembered a far more disastrous case of a plan going awry. It hadn't been his plan, thank God, but he still hadn't been able
to alter its deadly outcome.

Men had died. Women and
children
had died, and all because some fool had thought to control an unruly crowd with violence
.
All because Dom's hands had been tied. That was when Dom had learned the lesson that plans must be carefully laid whenever they involved
people
.

“It works far better,” Jane went on, apparently still intent on berating him, “when you trust those people with the truth. When you give them all the facts.”

Her tone put him on the defensive. “You mean, the way you did when you told me about Nancy's disappearance?”

Jane paled. “Well . . . that was different.”

“How so?” He approached her with a scowl. “You left out the important fact that she might be pregnant. If I'd known, we would all have left for York as soon as Tristan could join us, and we wouldn't have wasted so much time.”

Her throat moved convulsively. “You can't blame me for that. I was protecting Nancy.”

“And all those years ago, I was protecting
you,
” he said fiercely. He took another step toward her. “I know you resent how I manipulated you into jilting me, but my damned brother had just torn my family apart, and I wasn't sure what lay ahead of me. I couldn't bear to watch your love for me die in the slums of London.”

“So you killed it instead?” she choked out.

His heart faltered. “
Did
I?”

Alarm spread over her face. Then she turned, as if
to flee.

He grabbed her arm to tug her up close to him. She wouldn't look at him, which only inflamed him more. “I answered your questions,” he rasped. “Now answer mine.”

He could feel her tremble, see uncertainty flash over her face in profile. Utter silence reigned in the room. Even the servants had apparently finished in the dining room across the hall, for no sound penetrated their private little sanctuary.

“I can't,” she whispered at last. “I don't know the answer.”

11

J
ANE KNEW FROM
Dom's flinch that he'd been hoping for a different response, but she couldn't help it—she spoke the truth.

When he acted like a gentleman, as he had at dinner, she remembered exactly why she'd fallen in love with him. But when he reminded her of how he'd made assumptions and, worse yet, used those assumptions to decide her future for her, she couldn't bear it. Because he was still doing it, still demanding his way and dictating terms and ignoring her concerns.

She understood the courtly gentleman. It was the autocratic devil she had trouble understanding.

And she might as well admit it. She twisted her head to look up at him. “I don't know
how
I feel about you anymore.”

The pain that slashed over his features only confused her further. Was he genuinely hurt by the thought that he'd killed her love? Or was his pride merely bruised
because he hadn't been able to step right back into her life as if the past meant nothing?

“At least tell me the truth about Blakeborough,” he said hoarsely. “Do you love
him
?”

“Why does it matter?”

His eyes ate her up. “If you do, I'll keep my distance. I'll stay out of your life from now on.”

“You've been doing that easily enough for the past twelve years,” she snapped. “I don't see why my feelings for Edwin should change anything.”

“Easily? It was never easy, I assure you.” His expression was stony. “And you're avoiding the question.
Are you in love with Blakeborough?
”

How she wished she could lie about it. Dom would take himself off, and she wouldn't be tempted by him anymore. Unfortunately, he could always tell when she was lying. “And if I say I'm not?”

“Then I won't rest until you're mine again.”

The determination in his voice rocked her. Unsettled her.

Thrilled her.

No! “I don't want that.”

His fingers dug into her arm. “Because you love Blakeborough?”

“Because love is a lie designed to make a woman desire what is only a figure of smoke in the wind. Love is too dangerous.”

He released a heavy breath. “So you
don't
love him.”

His persistence sparked her temper, and she pushed free of him. “Oh, for pity's sake, if you must know, I
don't.” She faced him down. “Not that it matters one whit. I don't need love to have a good marriage, an amiable marriage. I don't even
want
love.”

It hurt too much when her heart was trampled upon. Dom had done that once before. How could she be sure he wouldn't do it again?

Eyes gleaming in the firelight, he said in a low voice, “You used to want love.”

“I was practically a child. I didn't know any better. But I do now.”

“Do you? I wonder.” He circled her like a wolf assessing its prey's weaknesses. “Very well, let's forget about love for the moment. What about passion?”

“What about it?” she asked unsteadily as he slipped behind her. Nervous, she edged nearer the impressively massive pianoforte that sat in the center of the room.

“What part does passion play in your plan for a safe and loveless marriage?”

She pivoted to face him, startled to find that he'd stepped to within a breath of her. “None at all.”

He chuckled. “Does Blakeborough know that?”

“Not that it's any of your concern, but Edwin and I have an arrangement. He'll give me children; I'll help him make sure Yvette finds a good husband. We both agree that passion is . . . unimportant to our plans.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “It certainly aids in the production of those children you're hoping for. To quote a certain lady, ‘You can set a plan in motion, but as soon as it involves
people,
it will rarely commence
exactly as you wish.' You may not want passion to be important, sweeting, but it always is.”

“Not to us,” she said, though with him standing so close her legs felt like rubber and her blood raced wildly through her veins. “Not to
me
.”

With his gaze darkening, he lifted his hand to run his thumb over the pounding pulse at her throat. “Yes, I can tell how unimportant it is to you.”

“That doesn't mean . . . anything.”

“Doesn't it?” He backed her against the pianoforte. “So the way you trembled in my arms this morning means nothing.”

It meant far too much. It meant her body was susceptible to him, even when her mind had the good sense to resist.

And curse him to the devil, he knew it. He slipped his hand about her waist to pull her against him. “It means nothing that every time we're together, we ignite.”

“People do not . . . ignite,” she said shakily, though her entire body was on fire. “What an absurd idea.”

She held her breath and waited for his attempt to kiss her, determined to refuse it this time.

But he didn't kiss her. Instead he fondled her breast through her gown, catching her so by surprise that she gasped, then moaned as the feel of his hand caressing her made liquid heat swirl in her belly.

Devil take the man.

“I don't know,” he rasped, “you certainly feel warm to
me.
” He kissed her flaming cheek, then dragged his
mouth down her jaw to her throat. “God knows
I'm
on fire. You've set me aflame.”

She curled her fingers into his coat sleeves, meaning to pull him away. But he was tonguing her throat and kneading her breast, and her mind was all a muddle. It felt so . . . so
good.
Which meant it had to be wrong.

“Dom . . . we mustn't . . .”

“No?” His thumb stroked the edge of her bodice. “Why did you wear this provocative bit of scarlet silk to dinner, then, if not to entice me? You can't tell me you had no other gowns in your trunk.”

She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to steel herself against his words. “Perhaps I simply wanted to torture you for not choosing me when you had the chance.”

“Then it's working.” His voice turned ragged, rough. “I spent the entire dinner desiring you, yearning to touch you like this.”