Jackal (Regency Refuge 2) (15 page)

"When this is over, Juliana…"

A knock interrupted him. He bit back his frustration and composed his features. Tucking the note into the pocket of his waistcoat, he strode toward the door. If Juliana noticed his cane tapping out a louder-than-usual beat of irritation, she said nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"The duke is here to see you, my lord. I showed him into your study." Barrows' words were clipped.

Before leaving, Rupert walked back over to Juliana. He traced his thumb down the side of her face and brought his fingers around to gently cup her chin. "We're not done here. I'll answer your questions another time. Will you be alright until then?"

She nodded, leaning in to his touch.

Rupert brushed his lips against her forehead before turning to walk away.

Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath before opening the door to the study.

Thomas gave him a smug look. "Is everything alright?"

Puzzled, Rupert questioned, "What makes you ask?"

The picture of feigned nonchalance, Thomas clasped his hands behind his back and roamed around the room.

"Thomas?"

Staring at the cornices in the room, the duke replied. "It's nothing, honest."

Rupert snorted, and Thomas whirled to look at him, his mouth open in surprise.

"Grace insisted I come, and now I see her assessment was accurate."

"How so?" Rupert knew Thomas well enough to know the man took his time to get to the point whenever he wished to avoid a conversation altogether.

The duke's heartfelt sigh proved his theory. "My wife insists there's something different about you. First you wanted to escape the public eye. Then you started going to every ball you could find." Thomas waved in Rupert's general direction and added, accusation in his voice, "And sometimes you even smile. What's happened to you?"

A smile chose that exact moment to slip past Rupert's defenses and shape his lips.

"Egads, man! Are you in love?"

"Is it such a terrible state then that you cannot recommend it?"

Thomas grimaced. "You know that's not what I mean. I wouldn't trade what I have with Grace for anything. The problem is that you were my valet, and then a steward, and now you're an earl. There's not a more deserving man out there, trust me, but I kind of miss the Rupert who used to stand there and react to nothing. I'd throw things across the room in a fit of fury, and you'd look on as if you hadn't seen a thing and ask if I wanted kippers with my eggs on the morrow. Or I'd rant about parliament, and you'd stare at me without a single muscle moving and ask if wished to have tea or chocolate with my tantrum."

Rupert's lips twitched. "We can't possibly be friends, then, if we're on equal footing."

Thomas sighed and threw himself into a chair. "See! That's what I miss. Frederick merely stares at me whenever I say or do something outlandish. And my new valet – don't get me started on him." Pausing not even a moment, the duke continued. "He thinks he has to agree with everything I say. Have you any idea how bothersome it is to be surrounded by such nonsense?"

"Things could be worse, I'm sure."

Thomas' spontaneous bark of laughter echoed in the study. "You've been a good friend to me, old chap, and even if Grace hadn't insisted I hurry over to check on you, I would have gotten around to it."

Taking a seat behind the desk, Rupert agreed. "Aye. As I would come to stare at you and check you for fever should you ever start behaving out of character. Running around as a madman ranting about feelings, or some such nonsense."

Thomas grinned, and he nodded. "Exactly. I'm glad you see my point."

After a moment of silence, the duke spoke. "The gazette reports the week ahead of us shall be properly balmy, almost spring-like. I mentioned it to Frederick, and do you know what he said?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing!"

Thomas ranted a bit longer about the perils of being surrounded by an agreeable staff before taking his leave. Rupert let him carry on and commented in all the appropriate places. Meanwhile, Juliana's note weighed heavy in his pocket.

****

Barrows had no sooner closed the door behind Thomas than a bustle coming from the direction of the kitchen heralded the arrival of a visitor via the servant's entrance. Rupert, who was at his desk reviewing the notes Juliana had jotted down, glanced up in time to see Owen close the study door behind him.

"I arrived in town this morning and was giving my report to Tobias when your man showed up with his message. I came as soon as Tobias gave me leave. I am at your disposal until this matter is resolved."

Rupert stared at Owen for a minute before refolding Juliana's note and placing it back in his pocket. He was loath to admit it, but having the younger man there would serve him well. It was imperative he outsmart The Hunter, but that was easier said than done. How do you best a foe that already knows every one of your tricks? During his years with the War Department, Rupert had often tangled with The Hunter, but they'd never come face to face. They'd done nothing more than compete over information, trying to outmaneuver each other on a game board neither of them could fully see.

Until The Hunter killed the Duke of Sheffield.

The second he took the life of Thomas' father, Rupert's mandate had been made clear.
Bring him to justice at any cost.
Rupert had known he was supposed to kill The Hunter, but such an order couldn't be given openly. Nobody wanted to be remembered as the one who gave the order in case there was ever retaliation.

As for Rupert – he had always managed to manipulate circumstances and events in such a way he'd never had to take a life. It was a miracle, all things considered. He had believed he could do the same with The Hunter. Let him weave the web himself until it was too late and he was trapped by his own words. The Austrians would have locked him away in a dank dungeon somewhere, or chosen to execute him. If everything hadn't gone horribly wrong.

Dread snaked its way through Rupert's veins and colored his voice. "Tobias has been looking for the traitor."

"Hmm?"

Rupert's fingers drummed on the desktop. "The solicitor wasn't smart enough to track me down without help. He said he received an anonymous missive telling him of my location."

Owen nodded his understanding. "Not many people knew of your location. It would be a short list of agents to investigate."

The burning need for vengeance choked Rupert. "If he forced that information out of Uncle Fitz…"

"You don't know that for certain, and even if you did, you won't be any good in this fight unless you keep your emotions under control."

A derisive laugh slipped past Rupert's lips. Who would have ever thought the day would come when he would be lectured on self-control?

The tightening of his lips was the only indication that maintaining his objectivity was more of a strain than it had ever been before. "I have a plan, but I'd appreciate your input. Let's assume The Hunter has been studying me and knows what I'll do upon learning he killed Fitz. I need to be unpredictable to keep him off-balance but predictable enough to make him feel safe so he lets his guard down."

Owen, who had been sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap, smiled. It was a wolfish smile, predatory and cunning. It reminded Rupert of himself fifteen years younger.

"Splendid. We shall draw him in until he slits his own throat."

Rupert stared at Owen for a moment, contemplating the wisdom of allowing the younger man so close to Juliana and the girls. He had no doubt Owen would be ruthless when it was called for and knew a sense of satisfaction that such ruthlessness would be employed to keep his family safe. "There's something else I'd like you to look into."

"Of course."

"The duke and duchess had a guest by the name of Devin. I asked Tobias to investigate, but he could learn nothing. The man in question is no longer staying with them, but I'd still like to learn more about him. I don't want to leave it to chance that he may be involved in all of this somehow."

"Last name?"

Rupert shook his head. "I don't know."

"Wasn't the duke just here? Why didn't you ask him?"

"I'd rather not give him cause to worry if I can avoid it. It may be nothing."

"Your penchant for protecting others may well be your downfall."

Rupert was adamant. "The less the duke knows, the safer he will be."

"I think you underestimate the duke, but I'll do as you wish and quietly see what I can learn."

It would have to be enough. The ruthless glint in Owen's eyes would serve them both well. They were going to have to be unrelenting. If the younger man couldn't learn anything quietly, perhaps a more direct approach would be called for. There was a lot at risk this time. Rupert wouldn't hesitate to kill The Hunter if it came to that. He had more to protect now than he'd had in Austria.

Chapter Twenty-Six

February 28, 1817

Rupert sat in the study, staring into the fire. Despite their best efforts, they'd yet to draw The Hunter out into the open. He let his mind wander back to all those years ago when he'd first seen Juliana and her sisters, to the day he'd made The Promise.

The wind was harsh, and the rain fell in icy rivulets against which no umbrella could protect. Rupert stood at the back of the small gathering, which left him partially concealed next to an overgrown shrub. He wore a heavy trench coat and kept his hat pulled low. Any curious onlooker would find him indistinguishable from the other guests – of little notice.

Uncle Fitz's haggard face was drawn into a deep frown. He'd lost his wife a few years prior, and now his sister and brother-in-law. Rupert had ridden night and day to be there. Uncle Fitz and Cousin William were all the family he had left, and their pain was his pain. There were other distant cousins, sure, but none he'd ever met. Nobody understood him, or the life he'd chosen, quite like Fitz.

There was a young woman standing between William and Fitz. She was tall and graceful. Not even her palpable grief could hide her beauty. She held the hands of two young girls – maybe five and six – who clung to her as if she were their whole world.

The graveside service ended, and people began to hurry away. The heavens opened even further and poured forth enough rain to quench a desert nation. Here at Chakal Manor, where the ground was already soaked with far too many tears, the rain had nowhere to go. It pooled on the ground, ran down the hills, and ate at the greenery that was supposed to make the small private cemetery look less like death.

Fitz spoke to William and the girls, shook the hands of people who demanded the attention, and then slowly made his way to where Rupert stood, still partially concealed by the shrub. The two embraced. "I'm sorry." The words were inadequate, but they were all Rupert had to offer.

With a nod, Fitz said, "I love you like a son, but you can't ever come back here."

The words were a blow for which Rupert hadn't been prepared. "I don't understand."

"You know I retired when William was born."

Rupert nodded.

"I have a house full of wounded people. They've suffered too much death. Poor Juliana – she's now twice lost a mother – and those little girls… I can't risk it. You're a man of honor, Rupert, and I'm proud to call you family."

Fitz broke off, took out his kerchief, and wiped at his face despite the futility of the action in the downpour. "I can't take the chance that death will follow you. You've chosen a dangerous life, and I have to protect these girls and William. You can't ever come back here. Write me anytime you like, and if you need to meet, let me know, and I'll come to you, but stay away from Chakal Manor."

Rupert almost argued. Grief was controlling Fitz's words, though, and once that grief abated, surely the moratorium on his presence at the manor would be lifted. He could bide his time until Fitz changed his mind. "If that's what you believe is best."

"It's not you, Rupert. You know that, right?"

Rupert nodded. "I understand."

"I have to protect this family from suffering any more loss, and I need your word that if anything should ever happen to me, you'll step in and do the same, even if that means walking away from the life you now have."

The weight of the words rested on Rupert's shoulders, but he was confident he could handle it. "I promise."

The fire came back into focus, but the tranquility it offered taunted Rupert. He stood and began pacing. He had failed Fitz. From the moment he'd recognized Juliana on his doorstep, he'd known. Even though he'd stayed away all those years – because Fitz had never changed his mind – Rupert's work with the War Department had brought more death and sadness to the Clairmont sisters. Now here he was, trying to bring an end to it all, and The Hunter remained hidden. He'd failed Fitz in the worst way, and he continued to fail the sisters he'd promise to protect.

The credenza stood before him with a variety of beverages left by the previous residents. Rupert reached out and grabbed one, blindly hurtling it toward the fire.

****

"Saints alive!" A crash echoed in the hall outside the study.

Juliana, who had been about to raise her hand to knock, hesitated. Barrows approached from her left and asked, "May I be of assistance, m'lady?"

She looked at him. Another crash came from inside the room, but the stalwart Barrows gave no indication of having heard it.

"Would you fancy tea in the salon?"

She frowned at Barrows, whom she'd finally accepted was no mere butler. "I'm worried about him."

Still no flicker of emotion. "I'm sure his lordship is quite well."

The study door was yanked open. "Barrows!" Rupert stood there, disheveled and…

"You smell worse than the taverns we stayed at on our journey to London. What on earth have you been doing?"