Marissa Day (18 page)

“Thank you, Georgie,” said Jane fervently.

Georgiana nodded, but her face was entirely sober. “Are you going to tell me who he is? Aside from a guest of Mrs. Beauchamp’s?”

Jane looked at her friend’s kind, clever, entirely trustworthy countenance and found she did not have it in her to lie, or even tell a partial truth. “Please, no questions, not yet. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can.”

Georgie squeezed her hand tightly. “Is he good to you?”

“Yes, Georgie. I promise he is.”

Georgie smiled and took the box of invitation from Jane’s hands. That smile was a little sad, but still genuine. “Then I’ll take you to him.”

The park around the corner was a small green space bordered by a low fence, flower beds and benches. As Georgie had said, its tidy lawn was filled with nurses pushing infants or sitting together for a gossip while boys chased balls and hoops across the lawn and girls compared dolls or pushed them in miniature prams.

Thomas stood at the gate.

Jane felt her veins fill with warm honey, which turned swiftly into pure fire. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. No, she wanted to devour him, here, in broad daylight, where all the world could see. She wanted his mouth on her, everywhere. She wanted to be next to him, skin to skin, to be laid down by him at once and have his cock inside her, immediately, without hesitation, games or ceremony.

All this filled her to bursting, and she had to content herself with a bland, polite smile.

“Good afternoon, Sir Thomas,” she said. “Georgiana, this is Sir Thomas Lynne. Sir Thomas, may I present my very good friend, Lady Hibbert-Jones.”

“Your servant, madame.” Thomas bowed over Georgie’s hand. Georgiana did not answer him at once. Instead, she treated him to one of her coolest, most penetrating stares. Jane had seen Georgie accurately size up the character of senior diplomats, experienced politicians and at least one popular Drury Lane leading man with that stare.

“How do you do, Sir Thomas?” she said with frosty politeness. Then she turned to Jane. “I’ll pick you up in the barouche in one half hour.”

Jane kissed her swiftly on the cheek. “Thank you, Georgie.”

Georgie nodded, and with a last appraising glance at Thomas, she strode down the street toward her house.

“I think I am glad to know you have such a friend,” said Thomas as he watched her go, a small, thoughtful smile on his lips. Then Thomas turned to Jane and looked into her eyes.

“Oh, Jane,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you more than I would have thought possible.” His hand lifted. He meant to touch her face, Jane was sure. It would be a swift, intimate, indecorous touch and she quivered in anticipation. But at the last moment, he seemed to remember where they were, and only held out his arm. “Shall we walk?”

Jane laid her hand on his sleeve. They moved beneath the trees and down the little park’s well-tended path. The warmth of their contact flowed into her body, redoubling all her longings. The world around them seemed filled with phantoms. Only Thomas was real.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Thomas.”

“Oh?” He arched his brows just a fraction, but Jane felt the undercurrent of tension through him.

Slowly, softly, she told him how she had kept his ribbon, and how it had been both given to her and taken from her that morning.

Thomas said nothing immediately. His arm had gone solid as a rock beneath her hand, and she suspected he longed to make a fist. Was he picturing Conroy’s face?

They reached the end of the little park and Thomas turned them as smoothly as if they were partners in a dance so they could walk the other way.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time lately thinking on your situation,” said Thomas. “Tell me, would you say Captain Conroy is an exact and cautious man?”

Jane thought of Conroy holding up her lists for scrutiny, and how he reworked all her figures, patiently writing out the numbers with his silver pencil on the notepad that was his constant companion. “Very.”

“Vain as well?”

“Quite.” Beau Brummel at the height of his powers would have gazed in envy on the captain’s spotless, perfectly tied cravat.

“I thought as much.” As he spoke those words, Thomas’s face changed utterly. He shed the polite gentleman like a swimmer shedding water. A new danger looked out of his eyes and traveled down to the set of his shoulders. This was not the danger of the wicked lover Jane knew, but something far more serious. It occurred to her that Thomas might have killed men. It occurred to her that he might be very good at killing men.

“I’ve met men like Conroy before,” said this new and profoundly dangerous Sir Thomas. “He’s the kind that keeps an exact account of how much he pays his spies.”

“That’s a terrible risk.”

“You’d think so and so would I, but not a man like Conroy. Firstly, because such a man is so fastidious he needs to know where each farthing is going. Secondly, because it suits his vanity to look over the lists of those in his power.”

Jane caught his gist at once. “If we could find his account book . . .”

“I presume he has an office in Kensington House?” Thomas smiled. “And a private apartment, of course?”

“Yes. It would be difficult to find a pretext to search them . . .” The picture of Conroy opening the door to discover her bent over his desk assailed her, and a shameful cowardice rippled through Jane.

“Difficult for you,” Thomas acknowledged. “Rather less so for me.”

“You?”

He nodded.

“But how do we get you into Kensington House—Oh, stupid of me. The drawing room. I make sure you have an invitation . . .”

“And once I am inside, I make the search.”

“But where would you even start?”

“I’ll know when I see the study.” Jane opened her mouth, and Thomas brushed his fingertips against her hand. “You’re about to ask me how I can be so sure. That is because it wasn’t service to the crown that makes me discreet about my voyages, at least not entirely. Do you understand?”

She hadn’t a moment before, but now she did. Her mind added up the sailor’s queue in which Thomas wore his hair, his facility with languages, the deadly competence in his manner as he contemplated robbing Captain Conroy.

“You’re a smuggler.”

“Among other things. I came up on my father’s ship, but have since retired from sea. Those days did, however, give me experience in discovering where men hide their important possessions or papers.”

Jane bit her lip. It was risky. But was it as risky as not knowing which of the people around her were Conroy’s spies?

Would it even do any good?
asked a miserable little voice in the back of Jane’s mind.
What would another intrigue, even the beginning of a whole new game, accomplish?

“You’ll see. Men like Conroy are ultimately bloodless. They do not take real risks. He has fastened onto you because he thinks you are powerless. Once you have something of his, he will back down quickly.”

They had circled the park again. None of the nurses or children paid them the least attention. Thomas turned her to face him, and took her hand. “Trust me, Jane.”

“I want to.”

“Then do.”

But I will be putting you in danger, and myself as well. For my salary. For appearances.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. It was too much when she couldn’t touch him, not properly, not in any of the ways in which her desire drove her. He offered to run a grave risk for her sake. Conroy wouldn’t hesitate to have him arrested if he were caught. He might even be hanged for the crime of robbing the Duke of Kent’s house.

All for the sake of appearances.

“Jane.” His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. The tiniest of gestures, nothing that could be seen. “I swear by all that’s holy, whatever else happens, I will not let this man keep power over you. Nor will I let him stand between us anymore. Do you understand that?”

“Thank you,” she said. “But, Thomas . . .”

“Hush,” he squeezed her hand. “No more. I will see you at the drawing room, and we will put Captain Conroy into his proper place.”

He meant to reassure her. Jane closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She caught the faintest scent of sandalwood and spices on the spring breeze. She imagined Thomas in her arms, his hard body pressed against hers, his arms supporting her entirely. He would do as he said. She knew it like she knew the beating of her own heart.

But she also knew what he said wouldn’t be enough.

I
t had been a long time since Thomas had hated anyone. But watching Jane turn so pale and timid as she related the story of how Conroy and his creature had pilfered Thomas’s love token . . . it carried Thomas straight past fiery rage into ice-cold determination without pause for breath. He wanted to destroy this man. He would deliver Conroy to Jane and Conroy would kneel at her feet to await her judgment.

More than even that, though, he wanted to give Conroy cause to pray that Jane’s judgment did not leave him in the hands of Thomas Lynne. It had also been a long time since he’d held a knife or cutlass, let alone used them against an enemy. Surely, even in this so very civilized age, there were still places a man could get his good right hand on a cutlass. He’d seen the slender sabers that were currently in favor among the sporting gentlemen of London. They would not answer. To make Conroy understand in detail what a mistake it was to threaten Jane, he required a keen edge.

Thomas found his thoughts of violence served a purpose beyond clarifying his determination. They took at least some of his mind off desire.

Since his last tryst with Jane, he’d lain awake night after night, his cock standing at painful and unstinting attention. His entire body waited for Jane. His skin anticipated her touch, her breath, her heat, and it would not be calmed. He’d considered visiting one of the plentiful whores that haunted the streets, but had tossed that idea aside. Probably he was protected from whatever pox such women carried with them, but Jane was not. And anyway, an East End drab could never take her place, not even for an hour. Not even for a minute. It was Jane he wanted, and Jane he must have.

He thought of attempting to dream with her again. Thanks to their repeated needle-pricking, the wards of Kensington House were just about weak enough to admit his thoughts now. But any such dream would offer only the palest echo of the delights they’d shared skin to skin. Another aimless walk in the public park would provide as much satisfaction.

No. He was a man, not a boy. He could see the thing done properly. Conroy’s interference must end. Only then could Jane be truly at ease in his arms, and Thomas would accept nothing less. Then, he’d take all night with her. He’d fuck her for hours, driving her to ecstasy with every toy and tool at his disposal. He’d make her scream his name a hundred times. He’d show her heights that no mortal woman had ever witnessed and he would not let her descend until they were both utterly spent.

And he would not under any circumstances think of how soon he must leave her.

“A
h! Sir Thomas!” The Duchess of Kent clapped her round A hands delightedly as he stepped into the white pavilion that had been erected for her “drawing room.” Any reception given by a royal duchess was, by definition, a grand affair, which meant it was a large one. Far too large to be held in any one of the actual drawing rooms inside Kensington House. The duchess had declared that it would instead be held in Kensington House’s celebrated gardens.

“How kind of you to come!” The duchess held out her hand for him to take. “And does not my English improve?”

Thomas bowed over Her Grace’s hand. “Another accomplishment to add to Your Grace’s many perfections.”

“You flatter!” cried the duchess. But of course she was pleased. Even though he’d only met her once before, Thomas already had her measure as a woman who enjoyed flattery as well as finding it useful.