I nodded slowly, trying to understand. Something was happening, something Jack couldn’t trust to the Families. Something ... “Do your parents know?”
Jon pursed his lips, shaking his head.
I remembered the funeral, how his mother wailed in anguish, the grief and despair on his father’s face. I whispered, “Good gods, Jon! Can you not tell them?”
Jon said, just as softly, “For the first time in a hundred years, Hart has threatened war against Diamond. Precisely because Jack told you the truth.” He relaxed into his chair, his eyes far away. “And there’s more. But he can no longer trust his Family. Not yet.”
So Jack had a plan. “And your other brothers?”
Jon shook his head, not meeting my eye.
His older brothers believe he’s dead. “Tony knows the truth. I told him the night of the funeral.”
An alarmed look crossed Jonathan’s face, and he leaned forward, resting his arm upon his armrest. “Then he must say nothing, by word or deed. All our lives depend on it.”
I quickly nodded, crossing over to grasp Jon’s hand. “Be at peace: I’ll persuade him.”
We sat quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I should even bring the matter up. “I’m sure you’ve heard.” I placed my right hand low on my belly.
Jon nodded, not looking at me.
“I was tricked, Jon. Mrs. Crawford switched my morning tea.”
“What?”
The butler opened the door and peered in. “Is all well, sir?”
Jon snapped, “I’m fine, Neuberg.” He sounded as if about to explode in rage, yet he gripped his armrest, speaking carefully. “I will call if I need you. Please do not intrude again.”
The man closed the door with a soft click.
I stared at Jon: I’d never seen him like this before.
Jon closed his eyes, his grip on our combined armrests leaving his knuckles white. He took several deep breaths, the vein on his neck pulsing. “With one word,” he panted, “I could have that man killed. Yet I do not, because he still sees me ... as a boy he must protect.” Jon opened his eyes and looked into mine. “Love has more force than steam, Jacqui. Remember that.” He lay back, eyes closed, panting.
I nodded, trying to understand. And I recalled what Blitz had said, before Jack captured me, about how Mrs. Crawford had sat alone, sighing, holding her back. He’d thought her to be old and tired, but there was yet another interpretation. “Don’t be angry at Mrs. Crawford, Jon. I believe she was coerced into doing this.”
He opened his eyes. “By Roy?”
“By Molly.” Melancholy went past, and anger. “Now I’ve been told I must do this whether I wish it or not.”
His face pinched in anguish, eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them, tears lay there. “I never wished this on you, Jacqui. Never! I only told you to go to Tony because I wanted your happiness and safety.” He wiped under one eye with his finger; his face hardened. “This is wrong. The Dealer’s Gift should be a blessing, not a curse.”
Would he do something rash? “I should have said nothing.” I crossed over to grasp Jon’s hand once more. “You must say nothing to him. He doesn’t know.”
“How can you ask me this? To stand by while you’re being forced to put your life in danger?” He stopped, but his intent lay between us: for a man you don’t love.
I bit my lip. I had to make this good. I gazed into his eyes. “I do love him, Jon. I bedded him. Not anyone else, not even in my mind.”
Jon let out a breath, relaxing. Yet he glanced away, let go of my hand. “That’s something, at any rate.”
I gripped the armrests which lay between us. “And you must allow Tony to visit. He’s been terribly worried for you.”
He cast about, eyes moist, as if considering one thing to say, then another. Finally, he set his hand upon mine. “I will do this, for you.”
Had I put a wedge between them? “He cares for you as a brother, Jon. He loves you. He was ready to do anything when he thought you were in danger. It ... it’s only me that’s the problem.”
“Don’t do this, Jacqui. You are not the problem here, and I won’t have you blame yourself. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that damnable Roy and that wretched man of his who sold you to him in the first place.”
I leaned back, my hands falling to my lap. The man I’d thought to be my father up until four months earlier: Peedro Sluff. “I actually think Molly has orchestrated this part. But Roy’s involvement wouldn’t surprise me.”
Secretly, though, I wondered. Roy would've been furious when he learned of my morning tea, yet he’d not once come to Spadros Manor, not even by way of an angry letter. It was distinctly unlike him.
Thinking of Molly made me consider something. “I have an idea.”
“On what topic?”
I put my hands low on my belly once more. “I believe I have a card that I might yet play.”