If the Viscount Falls (32 page)

“If you must go, then go,” Edwin said in his usual surly tone, to her immense relief. Then he added, “But I do wish to speak to you alone before you leave.”

She stifled a groan. No doubt he wanted to ask about her “friendship” with Dom. She'd hoped to put off any discussion of ending the engagement until later, but obviously that was unwise. And unfair to Edwin. He deserved to know where he stood with her.

“If you don't mind waiting for me a short while lon
ger,” she told Lisette and Max crisply, “I do need to have a word with Edwin first.”

Max nodded. “No problem at all. We'll be in the carriage.”

“I'll just go see to having my own equipage brought round, Jane,” Uncle Horace said. “That way you and I can follow the duke and duchess to their abode and fetch your bags together.”

Jane wanted to scream. There were times when propriety—­and overprotective men—were an annoyance beyond endurance.

But before she could think of a way to discourage Uncle Horace, Lisette said in that imperious duchess voice she'd learned to affect, “No need to trouble yourself, sir. I wish to introduce my little boy to Jane and show her some designs I have for a party I'll be throwing next week. We'd bore you to tears, I'm sure.”

Lisette smiled. “But I promise we'll take good care of her. Besides, her maid is at our house already, so she can return with Jane when Jane and I are done. We'll be happy to send them back together in our carriage.”

“Oh!” Uncle Horace exclaimed. “Well then, that's very kind of you, Your Grace. Very kind indeed.”

At his about-face, Jane fought a smile. A duke's carriage dropping off his niece? That would be quite a coup in their neighborhood. It would raise his credit with the neighbors. The news might even get round to his business and improve his connections.

Thank heaven for matchmaking duchesses.

“I won't be too long, Uncle,” Jane said, to prod him out the door.

“Right,” he said, taking the hint. “Best be getting home then.” He allowed Lisette to take his arm and help him out of the drawing room, with Max trailing behind them.

Once she and Edwin were alone, she shifted away from his curiously possessive hand. This would be hard. What could she say? How could she break it to him gently?

Then Edwin glanced at her with the accusing gray eyes that made her feel like a schoolgirl being taken to task by her papa, and she squirmed guiltily.

“I take it that you are not really heading to the duke and duchess's town house from here,” he said coolly.

Sweet Lord, but he was astute. “No.”

“And I suppose that means that you and Rathmoor have renewed your . . . er . . . friendship.”

Blunt, too. Not that she was surprised. Edwin had always been blunt. But he'd never taken that hard tone with
her,
and it rankled a bit.

“Yes.” She tipped up her chin. “I'm afraid we have.”

Edwin strolled over to the fireplace and stood with his back to her, rigid as the pokers next to him. “You and I had a deal.”

A long sigh escaped her. “I realize that. And I feel bad about reneging on it. I was looking forward to helping Yvette in society. She deserves a good marriage.” She squared her shoulders. “But I think I de
serve one, too. With a man who wants me to be more than just a companion to his sister.”

He muttered something under his breath. “I did intend our marriage to be a real one, you know.”

That was a shock. Edwin had always been cynical about the institution.

“Surely you're not serious.” She wished he would look at her again so she could better guess what he was thinking. “Don't tell me you're going to give me some nonsense about how you've fallen in love with me.”

“No.” As if realizing how sharply he'd answered, he shot her a rueful glance. “I suppose I could eventually come to love you. I'd at least make the attempt.”

Poor man. “There's no
attempting
with love. You either love someone or you don't. Trust me on that.”

He searched her face. “Are you in love with Rathmoor, then?”

“Yes.”

The answer came without her even thinking about it. Because she was. She probably always had been. She'd told Dom that he'd killed her love for him, but the truth was, it was unkillable. Though she'd thought to root him out of her heart, he'd merely lain dormant in the wintry ground, waiting until spring when he could grow over her heart like the pernicious honeysuckle in Uncle's arbor.

She should have told Dom last night how she felt, but she'd been too afraid that loving him might mean forgiving him for what he'd done. And she hadn't been quite ready for that. She wasn't sure she was now, either. All she knew was she loved him.

Whether she could live with him was another matter entirely.

“Does he mean to marry you?” Edwin asked.

“He proposed marriage, yes. I haven't answered him. I wanted to speak to you first.” That was a bit of a prevarication, but not too awful of one, was it?

Edwin faced her, looking mulish. “He doesn't deserve you.”

“And you do?” she teased.

He scowled at her. “That's beside the point. You deserve a man who will stand by you through thick and thin, and Rathmoor's record in that regard leaves much to be desired.”

“I agree. Which is why I haven't yet said I would marry him. I want to be sure before I do.”

“Ah.” Edwin cocked his head to one side. “So there's still a chance for me?”

Oh, dear. “I'm afraid not. If Dom has taught me anything, it's that given the choice between a marriage of convenience and no marriage at all, I would choose the latter.”

“But what you're really angling for is a marriage for love.” When she cast him a sad smile, Edwin rolled his eyes. “You and Yvette are both cloyingly romantic.”

“Which is probably why neither of us has managed to gain a husband.”

“True.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if you change your mind about that arse Rathmoor, look me up. I may not love you, whatever that ridiculous word even means, but I do respect and admire you. And
I'd still be willing to make a go of it if that's what you want.”

She pretended to swoon. “You really do know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Edwin.”

“Watch it, minx,” he said with one eyebrow raised. “Or I might actually
try
to steal you from Rathmoor.”

“I doubt that.” She softened her tone. “But thank you for pretending that you would make the attempt.”

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “You'd think I would have learned a trick or two from my brother by now, about how to tell a woman what she wants to hear. But alas, I am not of his poetic bent.”

“Nor are you a liar,” she said gently. “That's a mark in your favor. In fact, you have a great many marks in your favor. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

His easy manner vanished, replaced by the mask of cool reserve he usually wore. “If you're starting to blather nonsense, you'd better go, before I lose all respect for your intelligence.”

With a strained laugh, she turned for the door.

“Oh, and Jane?” he called out.

“Yes?”

Edwin placed his hand casually on one of the fire pokers. “Tell Rathmoor that if he breaks your heart, I will find him and skewer him with one of these.”

She started to make some teasing remark but the cold glint in his eye made her think better of it. “I will. And thank you for understanding, Edwin.”

“I don't understand a damned thing,” he drawled. “You're tossing aside a wealthy earl to run after some
fellow you jilted twelve years ago. That makes no sense. And it means I am now once more in need of a wife who can tolerate my bad-tempered growls long enough to get my sister a husband.”

She hoped he found someone better, someone he could love. But there was no point in saying it. He would just mock her. “I do hope we can continue to be friends.”

He snorted. “I doubt Rathmoor will allow that.”

“He doesn't have a say in it,” she said, then turned on her heel and left.

When she reached the duke's coach, she was relieved to find that Uncle Horace had already headed home and only Max and Lisette were waiting for her.

“Where to?” Max asked as she climbed in. “I assume that you had some destination in mind when you cooked up that nonsense about needing your bags.”

“I want to join Dom.” She stared him down, daring him to gainsay her. She'd take a hackney if she had to. “He's probably still at Manton's Investigations, so let's start there.”

Though a smile tugged at the duke's lips, he merely gave the order to the coachman. As soon as they set off, however, he said, “You do realize that Dom is going to throttle me for helping you.”

“I don't see why,” she said lightly. “You
are
head of the Duke's Men, aren't you? Surely you can go wherever you please and involve yourself as much as you like.”

As Lisette burst into laughter, Max shook his head. “My brother-in-law doesn't exactly
like
having his
agency called ‘the Duke's Men.' I'd keep that appellation under your hat, if I were you.”

“Oh, that sounds so much like Dom,” Jane muttered, “not to appreciate a fellow who showed faith in him and was willing to use him to find his own cousin, not to mention invest in his business concern.”

Lisette laughed even harder now, which only made Max wince.

“What?” Jane asked. “What is it?”

A flush spread over Max's face. “Let's just say that my part in . . . er . . . ‘the Duke's Men' has been greatly exaggerated by the papers. Rather tangential, really.”

“In other words,” Lisette teased, “he pretty much did nothing. He didn't even come up with the name, and he certainly didn't hire Dom to find Victor. Tristan stumbled across Victor himself, and then . . .”

Lisette spun out the story of how she had met Max and how Dom had become involved. How Max had made a grand gesture for the press to protect Tristan from George.

“Oh, Lord,” Jane breathed. “That's why you were all at George's house that day.” The day she'd first seen Dom after nearly eleven years apart.

“Exactly. I mean, Max does what he can to recommend the agency, and certainly Dom benefits from the excellent press he received as a result of Tristan's finding Victor. But beyond that, Max has nothing to do with it. He has
tried
to invest in it, but Dom gets all hot under the collar every time he suggests it.”

“What a shock,” Jane said sarcastically.

She thought of Dom the Almighty, having his hard work and keen investigative sense attributed to some duke who'd simply taken up with his sister, and began to laugh. Then Lisette joined her, and eventually, Max.

They laughed until tears rolled down Jane's cheeks and Lisette was holding her sides.

“Poor Dom,” Jane gasped, when she'd finally gained control of herself. “No matter how carefully he plans, someone always comes along to muck things up. We must all be quite a trial to him.”

“Oh, indeed, we are,” Lisette said, sobering. “But honestly, he takes himself far too seriously, so it's good for him.” She smiled at Jane. “
You're
good for him. He needs a woman who stands firm when he tries to dictate how the world must be, a woman who will teach him that it's all right if plans go awry. He needs to learn that he can pick up the pieces and still be happy, as long as he does it with the right person.”

“I only hope he agrees with you,” Jane said. “I really do.”

Because if she could be that woman for Dom—if he could
let
her be that woman for him—then they might have a chance, after all.

19

D
OM SAT HUNCHED
atop the box of a dilapidated coach just a block away from where Meredith's family lived. He'd purchased the former hackney carriage a few months ago to use for investigations, and it had proved invaluable. A stranger lounging in a doorway might be seen as suspicious, but a hackney hoping for a fare? No one looked twice.

It enabled him and Tristan and Victor to be invisible. If they were all three required, one could sit on the seat as the driver, and the others could pretend to be fares, waiting for a friend in some nearby lodgings.

Today, however, it was just him, cursing the London drizzle that seeped through the box coat with shoulder capes that he wore as part of his disguise. He swigged from the brandy flask tucked inside his coat, seeking a bit of liquid comfort. After all, he was going to be here for some time.

No one had answered the door at Meredith's family home. Fortunately, a neighbor had told him that she
and her family worked at some coaching inn, returning home at seven o'clock every night. Not so fortunately, the man didn't know which one or even what part of town it was in.