If the Viscount Falls (31 page)

Placing her hand on the man's arm, Jane shot Dom an accusing look. “Yes, Uncle, that's precisely what he's suggesting. Dom insists on seeing Nancy as some sort of scheming villainess, no matter how much I argue with him over the matter.”

“Jane,” Dom said softly, “my theory makes the most sense.”

“Only because you've got it fixed in your head that it does!” She left her uncle's side to approach Dom. “Do you really think that Nancy would put up with having Samuel's babe by another woman foisted on her?”

“When a great deal of property and a title are at stake? Yes, I'm afraid I do.”

“But the scheme only really works if the child is a boy!” Jane said. “And only if Nancy wrests the babe from poor Meredith to raise as her own.”

“She would probably just
hire
‘poor Meredith' to take care of the infant.”

“Oh, for pity's sake,” Jane said. “Nancy may be dim-witted sometimes, but she's not so stupid as to hire back the one woman who might tempt her husband to cheat under her very nose.”

“Perhaps she doesn't know that Meredith's child is also Samuel's.”

Even before Jane gave an inelegant snort, he had to admit that it sounded unlikely. As she said, Nancy was not
that
stupid. Still . . . “If this isn't some scheme to steal my title and estate, then why did Meredith sud
denly claim she was no longer pregnant?”

“Perhaps because it's Samuel's and
Meredith's
scheme?” Jane snapped.

“I wouldn't put it past my brother to concoct such a thing,” Blakeborough put in.

Annoyed by the earl's interference, Dom narrowed his gaze on the man. “If Meredith was in on it from the beginning, why would she have asked you for money? Because she hadn't heard from your brother. Because he and Nancy were sure at that point that Nancy had a babe in
her
belly. It's only after they decided otherwise that they shifted tactics.”

Jane planted her hands on her hips. “So your theory is that Nancy plans to marry Samuel, pass off as her own the child he fathered on her maid, and then raise it, assuming it's a boy, to be heir to the title. That doesn't gain
Nancy
much, does it? It's not her son, and she's not Samuel's only lover. He and his mistress and the son get everything; she gets only the privilege of knowing she's married to a seducer.”

Dom ignored the fact that some of what she said made sense. “She gains an exalted rank as mother to the new viscount. She gains a husband she's always coveted. And she might not even care if Samuel was having an affair with her maid—you said yourself that Nancy wasn't fond of the intimate side of marriage.”

The moment Jane paled, he realized what he'd said. Something highly inappropriate. Something that revealed just how frank he and Jane had been in their conversations. God only knew what Blakeborough
would make of that.

Bloody hell. Whatever it was, it wouldn't help Dom's situation with Jane any. Not that any of this would. Damn Nancy for coming between them yet again.

Jane's gaze turned stormy as she poked him in the chest. “You've got it all figured out, don't you? But as usual, you ignore all the ways that your theory
doesn't
fit.”

He stared her down. “Such as what?”

Again she poked him in the chest. “Why did Samuel mention coming to London to see a doctor if they were sure that Nancy had lost the baby?” Another poke. “Why did she leave York in such strange circumstances that she roused our suspicions?” Poke. “Why did she not even pack bags for the journey?”

When she started to poke him once more, he grabbed her hand. “Perhaps she and Barlow worked up the scheme once she got to York.”

Jane snatched her hand free. “And she didn't try to return to Rathmoor Park to allay the servants' suspicions or pack or even take her dogs?”

“Nancy didn't take her dogs?” Sadler echoed. “That's not right, not right at all. That girl carries those deuced dogs everywhere. Many is the trip I've taken with her when I've had to endure the mutts in my lap.” Sadler approached to stand beside Jane. “I tell you, the only way she'd leave them behind is if Barlow abducted her and forced her to do his bidding. That's what has happened. I know it!”

With a smug lift of her eyebrow, Jane crossed her
arms over her chest and dared Dom to refute that.

He couldn't. Because until he could investigate more, he simply couldn't be sure of the truth, damn it.

“Think what you like,” he said. “But whether she's complicit or no, we have to stop them before Samuel takes Nancy somewhere we'll never track him. He's still got five months to wait out the birth. If he succeeds in hiding her until then and they reappear married, with a babe in arms that they claim is George's, we'll have a hard time proving them wrong.”

Jane swallowed. “That's true. And even if Nancy isn't complicit now, by then she's likely to be. A man can work any woman round to his way of thinking if he has her to himself for five months, I daresay.”

A chill ran down his spine. He fought to ignore it. Nancy was in on this. She had to be. “So I must go to Cheapside. Our best lead right now is Meredith. At least we have
her
address.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Tristan asked.

“Actually, you and I should head for Manton's Investigations to fetch Victor. Then the two of you can hunt Samuel down while I go after Meredith.” Dom glanced at Blakeborough. “I don't suppose you know a few of your brother's favorite haunts that my men can investigate.”

“I do,” Blakeborough said, “but they're places Samuel used to frequent when he lived here years ago. I don't know if he would return to them now.”

“People are creatures of habit,” Dom said. “And he has no idea that we're close on his heels. No doubt he
assumes that Nancy's spurious letter about going on a trip to Bath has fooled everyone. That should buy us a little time to search without spooking them.”

Blakeborough nodded. Going over to the writing desk, he drew out some paper and grimly began to jot down information.

“Blakeborough,” Dom said, “if I find your brother—”

“Do whatever needs to be done.” The earl shot him a hooded glance. “I long ago realized that Samuel could not be trusted. If he has committed a crime, prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law. I wash my hands of him.”

Dom nodded. This smacked a bit of how George had felt about Tristan. Except that by all accounts, Blakeborough had tried to help his brother, tried to save his brother from himself until his brother had raped the young woman Ravenswood mentioned. Grudgingly, Dom admitted that the earl was showing himself to be a rather decent man. More decent than his brother, in any case.

“I want to go with you, Dom,” Jane said.

Her uncle put his arm about her shoulders. “Let the men do their work, my dear. You should stay here with your fiancé.”

The reminder of her still-standing betrothal made Dom want to smash something. But her uncle was right—she would only get in the way if she joined them. And there
was
the problem of her riding off unchaperoned with two gentlemen.

“Listen to your uncle,” Dom said. “It's best if you remain here with your . . . friends.” He couldn't bring himself to use the word
fiancé
.

Her eyes sparked fire. “So you mean to just go rushing off with your mind set? You'll almost certainly put Nancy in danger if you continue assuming she's part of the scheme.”

“You must trust me, Jane.” When the word
must
made her flinch, he cursed his quick tongue and deliberately softened his tone. “I know it's hard for you to believe sometimes, but I do know what I'm doing. No matter what my opinions, I'll let the facts stand for themselves. I promise I won't harm her or allow anyone else to harm her, sweeting.”

Only after a stunned silence fell on the room did he realize what he'd called Jane. She did, too, for her eyes went wide and a blush stained her cheeks again.

Blakeborough's eyes glittered like sleet on slate as he strode over to Dom and thrust the piece of paper at him. “Here's the list of Samuel's haunts. You'd best go if you mean to catch them.”

They stared each other down, silently acknowledging their status as rivals for Jane's hand. How Dom wished he could set everyone straight, tell them that he and Jane were going to be married, and to blazes with Sadler and Blakeborough and anyone who stood in their way.

But he'd tried to force the issue once and that had only muddied the waters. It was time to let Jane make
up her own mind.

So he forced himself to be cordial and thank the earl, forced himself to seize the sheet of paper, then walk out. But just before he and Tristan left the room, Dom saw Blakeborough take Jane by the arm and urge her to sit beside him on the settee.

Damn it all to blazes—Dom hated having to leave her just now, in the very house where he'd first torn them apart, with things so unsettled between them.

But even if Barlow succeeded in ripping away everything Dom owned and Dom had to return to grubbing around in the muck to catch criminals, he meant to get Jane back. No matter what claim the earl tried to place on her, Dom meant to convince her to be his once more.

And once he did, he would move heaven and earth to hold on to her.

18

A
FTER
D
OM AND
Tristan left, the servants brought in the refreshments. Right now Jane had no more desire to drink tea than she had to watch Dom ride off without her, but it would give her time to come up with a plan for joining him. Because if he thought she would just sit here and wait while he corralled Samuel without a care for Nancy's guilt or innocence, he was mad.

She was
not
waiting on Dominick Manton anymore. She was certainly not waiting to see if he ruined her cousin's life by blundering in, full of unfair assumptions, and provoking Samuel to do something awful to Nancy.

Unfortunately, she was still trying to figure out how to go after Dom when the duke exchanged a glance with his wife, then rose. “I suppose we should probably be going on.”

When everyone else rose, too, and Max held out his hand for Lisette, panic swelled in Jane's chest. Once they left, she would have no way of getting to wherever
Dom was. Uncle Horace certainly wasn't going to take her, and she began to doubt that Edwin would, either.

“If you don't mind,” she burst out, “I shall go with you.” She fumbled for some excuse that made sense. Ah, yes. “My bags are still in the carriage with your servants, the one that went on to your town house. So I'll just ride home with you to fetch them, if that's all right.”

She held her breath. They'd actually separated out her bags only this morning, but perhaps the duke and duchess wouldn't recall that.

No such luck. Max frowned. “Wait a minute. I thought that we—”

“No, my dear,” Lisette put in as she grabbed his hand, “don't you remember? Since we weren't expecting Jane's uncle to be here, we sent all her bags on to our town house.”

Judging from the momentary confusion in Max's face, he thought Jane and Lisette had both gone temporarily mad. But then his face cleared. “Right. Of course.” His voice turned a bit sarcastic. “It completely slipped my mind.” He smiled at Jane. “But we're always happy to take you wherever you need to go.”

“Oh, yes,” Lisette added. “Delighted to help.”

Edwin placed a proprietary hand on her back. It was the second time since she'd arrived that he'd touched her in such a fashion, and it perplexed her. He'd never behaved like a true fiancé to her.

When she cast him a quizzical look, he said smoothly, “The duke and duchess can just send your bags to your
uncle's once they reach home, Jane. That way you won't have to inconvenience them.”

She stared hard at him. And now he was trying to control her? Sweet Lord, what had gotten into him? Was it because of Dom? Were
all
men like dogs, snarling at each other the moment a woman they'd marked as their own came into the room?

But Edwin had never really marked her as his own. Not the way Dom had, anyway. So what was he up to?

Meanwhile, Uncle Horace mumbled, with a mouth full of tea cake, “Yes, yes, his lordship is right. Just let the duke and his wife take care of it at their leisure.”

“It's no inconvenience at all,” Lisette said brightly, her eyes meeting Jane's. She wasn't a fool. She could obviously guess what Jane wanted.

“And there are things in my bags that I need right away,” Jane persisted. “Personal items.”

Nothing was more certain to send a man fleeing than mention of a woman's “personal items.” The phrase covered a number of feminine ills, all of which men would rather eat nails than discuss.