The Promise (4 page)

The Duke and his brother were strong for their mother’s sake, but both men were burdened by her slow decline and frustrated by their own lack of power to do anything about it. Maura had been the glowing center of the family. When she left, a light had been snuffed out in all their lives.

Peckham assessed Jane Gray and wondered what part the young woman played in Maura’s unfolding history. She was vibrating with nervous tension. That was understandable, given that half the city was probably looking for her in the hope of collecting the Duke’s eye-popping reward.

She was an attractive young woman in a quiet way, fine boned and graceful. Delicate, but not fragile. Peckham guessed her to be in her middle twenties. She was thin, with fair skin and dark hair. The challenging look in her big brown eyes and the stubborn set to her jaw sent a message...
I am not leaving until I see the Duke
. That took guts, considering the circumstances.

The woman was no coward.

Peckham knew every last detail of what had transpired at the jewelry store the previous day. He recognized the locket, of course. He had known the people on the miniature portraits from visits during the old Duke’s lifetime.

He had also read the newspaper article and realized the woman standing in front of him was the “lovely lady larcenist” and that she was the key to discovering Lady Maura’s fate. He had no intention of letting her wait outside where she might lose courage and bolt.

She was right; His Grace would want to speak with her as soon as possible. If ever there was a time to break with protocol, this was it.

“Please enter, Miss Gray,” he ushered her in with a bow.

“THANK YOU,” JANE squared her shoulders and stepped into a cavernous entryway. The ceiling rose well over forty feet above the black and white checkered marble floor. Curving staircases rose on either side of the room and the wall between was filled with breathtaking watercolor landscapes. Beneath the paintings was a carved mahogany console table on which sat a giant cut crystal vase overflowing with crimson roses and asparagus ferns.

“Oh, Mama,” Pip said in an awed voice.

“Oh, Mama, indeed,” Jane repeated, similarly impressed.

The butler whispered something to a footman who took several unhurried steps to stand by the front door. After a brief, assessing glance at Pip, the old man disappeared down the hall. Jane suspected the footman had been instructed to prevent her from leaving. That was fine with her… she had no intention of going anywhere until she had explained everything to His Grace.

Everywhere she looked, beautiful works of art rested on marble pedestals and rosewood easels. There were granite busts, colorful Asian vessels, carved ivory tusks and jade sculptures. It looked more like a museum than a home, Jane thought. The space was spared from appearing cluttered by sheer volume alone.

Her eye was drawn to a large painting that hung on the opposite wall, centered in a place of prominence. Jane drew closer and stared at the image of a girl whose face she knew as well as her own. A face she knew as well as Pip’s, because they were essentially the same. Jane remembered in minute detail every feature of the beautiful young girl who was smiling down at her from the portrait. The sky blue eyes, the straight, wheat-colored hair, the pale, almost translucent skin. Only the smile was different… the girl Jane had know as Daphne had a face shadowed by sadness and regret. The girl in the painting looked happy and carefree.

“She’s so beautiful,” Pip whispered in awe. “Who is she, Mama?”

Jane looked at the small brass plaque at the bottom on the frame. It read “Maura Wallace, 1854.” Her instincts had been spot on… Daphne had given her a false name.

“That is your other Mama, Pip.”

“The one in heaven?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she said softly.

Chapter Four

“Who in the devil are you and how did you come to have this locket?” a harsh voice growled behind her.

Jane spun around and met the turbulent blue eyes of the most handsome man she had ever seen…
and the angriest
. He stood several feet away regarding her with undisguised hostility. The necklace lay open in his outstretched palm, the chain slipping between his long, elegant fingers. She caught a glimpse of two tiny portraits before they disappeared into his clenched fist. He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet wide, his posture belligerent and challenging. He looked for all the world like a pirate standing on the deck of his ship… waiting for his captive to walk the plank.

Could this possibly be the Duke?
Jane wondered. He looked the part. Cravat impeccably tied, shirt points rapier sharp, boots polished to a mirror finish. Dressed for riding, his lawn shirt, breeches, and waistcoat were marvels of fine tailoring, cut to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders, his narrow waist and lean, well-muscled thighs.

Although imperious, the man standing before her wasn’t at all what she had expected. No pasty, frail aristocrat, he was a clash of masculine angles and rough edges, more blacksmith than blue blood. Dark, tousled hair fell over his forehead. He had heavy brows and a strong chin with a hint of a cleft. A day or two of beard darkened his square jaw, accentuating a wide, sensual mouth that was compressed into a straight, unforgiving line.

She was struck dumb.

Her senses became acutely aware of him in minute detail and, for a fleeting moment, a strange sort of enchantment eclipsed everything but him. Jane could see his lips moving, but she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. She tried to speak, but her thoughts had exploded into splintered fragments of nonsense that refused to coalesce into anything coherent. She had the sensation of falling forward into his cobalt blue eyes.

Men shouldn’t have eyelashes like that.
The out of place thought entered her mind as she battled a strong urge to reach out and touch his face.

Jane felt a tug on her arm and she looked down to find Pip staring up at her.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes huge with fear.

The spell was broken.

Jane shook her head in confusion. Fear… that must explain why her heart was hammering inside her chest… why she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She focused all her senses on Pip and struggled to marshal her thoughts for the coming confrontation.

“I asked you a question,” Finn ground out antagonistically.

When Peckham handed him the locket in the library and explained that the woman who brought it was waiting in the entry hall, he had frozen in place. The ramifications of finding both the heirloom
and
the woman who stole it were too vast to comprehend.

In that moment he knew the mystery of Maura’s disappearance would be solved that day. All questions would be answered, all hopes and fears laid to rest. They would finally know the truth. He prayed his mother’s heart was strong enough to take it.

Peckham had come to him first simply because he was the only member of the family awake and dressed. Cameron had not retired until well after midnight and was still abed. His mother was sedated and likely to remain so until noon; she had been profoundly shaken by the previous morning’s events.

Finn instructed Peckham to awaken the Duke immediately and inform him of their unexpected guest. Although he had intended to hold his tongue until Cameron joined him, that plan went out the window as soon as he heard her speak to the child.

That is your other Mama, Pip.

The one in heaven?

Yes, sweetheart.

Those words filled him with rage. It was one thing to deceive an adult, but quite another thing entirely to toy with the emotions of a child. Apparently this woman, having lost her chance to profit from the stolen locket, had devised another scheme to defraud her victim’s loved ones… a scheme that would take advantage of a family’s grief and hope. He gleaned the essence of her plan quickly. She would try to persuade him that Maura had borne a child and then make an appeal for money. It was ingenious. It was also viciously cruel.

Finn was curious how she would construct her tall tale and how long it would take her to ask for recompense. Was it her own child she was attempting to sell? Or an orphan she had found in the streets?

Bile rose in his throat. Hatred boiled in his chest.

He would enjoy dissecting her story and proving it false. Oh yes, he would savor every moment of this greedy hoyden’s destruction. And if she had anything to do with Maura’s disappearance, anything at all, he would also enjoy watching her swing from the gallows. Fitful dreams had haunted him all night and chased him from his bed at dawn. He was exhausted and in the grip of a very black mood. The woman’s avaricious presence in his home made matters worse.

“I’m still waiting for an answer,” he rumbled.

“Please, Your Grace, I would prefer to discuss this matter in private,” Jane glanced nervously at a half dozen large footmen who now lined the hall.

She placed a protective arm around Pip who was hiding as much of her body as possible within the folds of Jane’s skirts. She stepped away from Pip so the man could see her.

Finn got his first good look at the child. A bittersweet sadness bloomed in his chest and for a fleeting moment he felt he recognized her. Just as quickly he shook off the distressing sense of
déjà vu
. Blonde, with fair skin and large blue eyes, the girl might have the same coloring as Maura, but so did a million others in London. He refused to read too much into it.

Jane dropped a curtsy and introduced herself. “I am Jane Gray, Your Grace, and this is Piper.” She was tempted to add, “my daughter” but wondered how much longer those words would be true. Jane gently nudged the child forward.

Pip imitated Jane, executing a flawless curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” she said before darting back to Jane’s side.

“Your Grace,” Jane corrected.

Finn controlled his anger for the sake of the child.

“I am Rutledge’s brother, Lord Fionnlagh Wallace,” he said irritably. His eyes were glued to Pip, as were Peckham’s. The men stared at her for what felt like a very long time then shifted their gazes to study the portrait.

“May I ask what your relationship was to that woman?” Jane turned and pointed to the painting.

Finn didn’t miss the past tense. His fists tightened. “She
is
my sister Lady Maura Wallace.”

“I see,” Jane said softly. “I knew her by the name Daphne Livingston. If she was your sister, then this is your niece. Pip, this is your uncle, Lord Wallace.”

The declaration was made calmly and without any of the little theatrical flourishes he might have expected from a charlatan. Just a calm, simple statement. She was good, he had to hand her that. Quite an actress. The schemer had perfected wide-eyed innocence and maidenly reserve. By dressing in a plain shirtwaist and brown pinafore she enabled the fetching child to easily hold center stage.

His scowl grew more menacing. He looked furious as he stepped nearer and bent to study Jane intently, as if he were trying to see into her very soul. “What are you playing at? How dare you involve this child in your cruel hoax?” he growled.

Pip made a distressed squeak and pressed her face into Jane’s leg.

“Mama, I want to go home!”

“Please, my lord, you are frightening the child. Do you have a servant who could entertain Pip while we converse? Perhaps one of your younger maids?” she suggested.

He considered Pip and his expression softened slightly. He nodded to a footman then turned on his heel. “Follow me.”

Jane took Pip’s hand and followed Lord Wallace down the hall to a large set of double doors. He pushed one open and stalked ahead of her into a library. Unsure what to do next, Jane and Pip stood just inside the room.

“Come, come! Sit anywhere,” Finn gestured impatiently at a group of chairs then raked agitated fingers through his hair.

A minute later, a young maid dressed in a dark blue uniform and white mobcap walked in behind Peckham. Jane thought she looked about fourteen.

“Jenny, this young lady’s name is Pip. I would like you to show her the garden and keep her occupied for a short while. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes, milord,” the girl stammered. Like all the maids, she received her daily instructions from the housekeeper. It was the first time Lord Wallace had ever addressed her directly.

He opened a pair of French doors at the back of the room, revealing a wide terrace and an unstructured garden. Fat clumps of daffodils, snowdrops, and phlox erupted randomly beneath a cherry tree in full bloom that shaded a burbling stone fountain.

Jane tried to pry Pip from her leg with little success. The child was looking at Lord Wallace as if he might attack at any moment. With an exasperated sigh, Jane scooped Pip up and carried her across the room. At the window she redirected Pip’s attention to the garden. “Look at all the beautiful daffodils, Poppet. I’ve never seen so many! And there’s a pretty fountain. How perfect! I’ll wager there are butterflies and grasshoppers and tadpoles, too.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “It might be a
magic
fountain, Pip. Throw this in and make a wish,” she fished a penny from her pocket.

Talk of wishes and magic did the trick. Pip squirmed out of her arms then lifted her face. Jane bent down and they rubbed noses.

“Good girl. If you need me, I’ll be right inside. You can see us through the glass.”

Pip reached out for Jenny’s hand. “Is the fountain truly enchanted?” she asked the maid.

“Aye, I believe ’tis,” Jenny smiled.

“Have you ever caught fairies splashing about?”

Finn closed the doors on Jenny’s response and turned toward Jane. He indicated a chair in front of a large oak desk. “Take a seat, Miss Gray,” he ordered.

JANE WOBBLED OVER TO the chair on shaky legs. As she sat her knees gave way and she collapsed with a marked lack of grace. She clasped her hands together to still the tremors.

From across the room, Lord Wallace subjected her to an insultingly thorough appraisal, his critical gaze taking in every detail of her appearance. She bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, lifted her chin, and endured his hostile scrutiny in silence.

With a mocking smile, he walked slowly toward her, his body taut with menace. Jane eased back as he slipped between her chair and the desk to rest his hips on the edge. The move brought his body disrespectfully close to her own, but she dared not protest. His legs pressed against hers. She wondered if he did it to discompose her. He needn’t have bothered; she was completely befuddled already.

He bent over until his face was just inches from hers, so close his breath caressed her skin. She lowered her lids to avoid being mesmerized again by his beautiful eyes only to find herself captivated by his scent instead. He smelled of sandalwood cologne and starched linen mingled with something mysterious and male; the heat from his body enveloped her. She tried to wait him out, but after a minute curiosity got the better of her; she opened her eyes to find him watching her keenly. Her stomach somersaulted.

“What’s your game?” he asked in a near whisper.

Jane blinked nervously. “My game?”

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and angled her face toward the window to study her in the light. With his other hand he lifted a lock of her hair and let it slide between his fingers. His gaze drifted over her features, down her neck and shoulders, lingered on her breasts then dropped to her hands before returning to her face.

“Things are seldom what they seem, Miss Gray,” he said, almost absently.

She was too shocked to protest. Jane rarely got closer to a man than the width of Sugarmann’s display counter. Occasionally a customer flirted with her, but she had never been tempted to flirt back. The years she might have spent courting had been spent instead working hard and raising another woman’s child. Nothing in her experience had equipped her to deal with the confusing, tumultuous feelings that were racing through her.

He ran the back of his hand down her cheek.

“Where have I seen you perform, kitten? King’s Theater? Covent Garden? You certainly dressed the part, didn’t you?” He slipped a finger under her collar and gave it an insolent flick. “Virginal white and drab brown, purity and drudgery. I’ve tupped my fair share of actresses,” he said with intent to offend. “They taught me some trade secrets.”

Jane sucked in a breath at the vulgarity and turned her face away. No one had ever spoken to her so crudely. “You are no gentleman. Stand back, sir,” she planted her palm in the middle of his chest and pushed with all her might, but he didn’t budge.

He laughed, but the sound was derisive, cruel.

“You aren’t going to ask what your sisters taught me? People form an opinion about who and what you are before a single word is ever spoken. That’s why costumes are so important, but of course you already know that. Dress a whore in a habit and no one will bother to examine what’s hidden beneath.”