CHAPTER TEN

Jason climbed the stairs to his bedchamber in the north tower of Castle Running. He was quartered there, away from the main house, where he could come and go as he wished without colliding with a bevy of servants.

Oddly, he felt comfortable here, in the simple, more primitive surroundings in this part of the ancient castle. Heavy Flemish tapestries hung from the thick stone walls, their intricate patterns depicting medieval hunting scenes. A Norman shield hung beside it, a lance, and two crossed swords. The bed was massive, carved of darkened oak with furs tossed upon it and more furs covering the rough oak-planked floors.

A fire crackled in the hearth, placed there by the trusted manservant Lucien had assigned him. He smiled when he saw the beckoning flames, enjoying the heat that pervaded the room, displacing the chill that seemed a constant part of the tower.

He swung his cloak off his shoulders and tossed it onto the wooden bench at the foot of the bed, then turned to discover he was not alone.

Lucien smiled and gracefully rose to his feet. “I suppose I should have stayed at Avery’s ghastly affair a bit longer, but once I saw you safely returned from your little sojourn into his study, I took my leave. Dressed as you were, I didn’t expect you would encounter any insurmountable problems. Apparently you did not.”

“Only one small problem but that one proved rather more entertaining than bothersome.”

A bold black brow ached up. “Yes … I believe I saw the small problem to which you refer dancing with that old lecher, Whitmore, being nearly accosted at the end of a minuet. I hope you extricated the lady before the old fool lost his senses completely.”

Jason smiled. “She was rather glad to see me. Now you tell me it was not my winning personality, but Whitmore’s leering advances that made her so eager.”

Lucien smiled. “At least he was good for something.” He moved closer, watched Jason pull a sheaf of folded papers from the pocket of his waistcoat. “From Avery’s study?” he asked.

“Exactly so. As I told you, I knew where the safe was located and how to open it. I wasn’t certain what I’d find, but as it turns out, I did rather well.” Unfolding the papers, he smoothed them out on the heavy oak table. “This document is dated three days after my father’s murder. It’s a contract between the duke of Carlyle and the countess of Brookhurst. Avery agrees to make her a lump sum payment of two hundred thousand pounds plus a large yearly stipend for life. There’s enough money involved to keep the countess in extremely high fashion for the rest of her days.”

“Let me see that.” Litchfield bent over, carefully examining the document in the flickering candlelight. “Good God, Avery would turn a bilious shade of green if he knew you had gotten your hands on this.”

“By itself, it isn’t enough to overturn the guilty verdict, but it’s a start, the first solid evidence we’ve uncovered that shows there might have been some sort of collusion on Avery’s part.”

Lucien clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Better than that, this document ties Celia and Avery together. Perhaps its existence will be threat enough to force her to admit her part in the deception and tell the truth of what happened that night.”

Jason shook his head. “We can’t risk it. Celia won’t bluff easily. We can’t afford for either of them to get suspicious. We mustn’t alert them to our movements until we’re certain the countess will agree to tell the truth. If she suspects for a moment that I’m still alive, she’ll tell Avery. He’ll do anything to stop me. My life wouldn’t be worth a damnable shilling.”

Lucien frowned. “We’ll have to be careful, but we’ve known that from the start.” He smiled slightly. “As you say, this document in itself isn’t enough, but at least we have a beginning. I’m more than pleased about that.”

Jason closed his eyes and tilted his head back against one of the tall oak bedposts. “It feels good, Lucien, I can tell you. It’s the first real hope I’ve had.”

“This is only the beginning, my friend.”

Jason wished he could be as optimistic. Every day he remained in England the odds of discovery worsened. Sooner or later someone, somewhere would recognize him. The authorities would come after him, haul him off to prison. He would hang for certain—this time there would be no escape. He had to move with the utmost care yet every second that passed decreased his odds of succeeding.

“You’ve done a good night’s work,” Lucien said, heading for the door. “Try to get some rest.”

Perhaps he would, Jason thought, moving again to the table, his fingers caressing the valuable documents. He thought of the risk he had taken in going to Carlyle Hall, then smiled to think of his encounter with Lady Velvet. Even if he hadn’t found the documents, the risk would have been worth it. He recalled the feel of her in his arms, the lilac fragrance of her hair, and his body quickened with desire. He remembered her soft lips parting under his, her full breasts crushed against his chest, and a dull ache pulsed in his groin.

Perhaps he would sleep, he thought. Or perhaps he would spend the night in an agony of hunger, reliving the heated moments he had shared with Velvet Moran.

*   *   *

Velvet tossed and turned in the deep feather mattress and didn’t fall asleep till just before dawn. When Tabitha finally awoke her, she felt muzzy and out of sorts. A slight headache pounded at her temple.

“’Is Grace ’as been askin’ for ye. ’E wants ye to join ’im and ’is guests.”

Velvet nodded. Avery was playing his part to the hilt, thank God. The gossip had dwindled to faint murmurings of consolation for the ordeal she had suffered. Their parting would pass with only the usual amount of speculation as to the cause. Velvet swung her single long braid back over her shoulder and swung her legs to the side of the bed.

“I’ll wear the saffron-striped taffeta,” she told Tabby, already dreading the day, but even before the sentence had escaped her lips, her thoughts returned to where they had been before. Through the long, sleepless hours of the night, she had thought of only one thing: Jason Sinclair.

Was he truly a murderer? Or was there some mistake that only made him appear the culprit?

Was he guilty? Or was he innocent?

As she completed her toilette, sat on the stool in front of the ornate Sheraton bureau and let Tabby dress her hair, sweeping it up and leaving several fat curls at her shoulder, she tried to convince herself it was possible, that Jason was indeed capable of murder.

Strangely, she didn’t really doubt that he was, under the right set of circumstances. It was certain he could be ruthless in accomplishing his ends. He was a hard man, fiercely determined when anyone tried to oppose him.

Jason Sinclair was a dangerous, volatile man. Every sinew in his body spoke of the hardships that had honed him into the driven man he had become. She tried to tell herself he could have callously murdered his father, but nothing inside her agreed. In her mind’s eye, she replayed the days they had spent at the small hunting lodge. She had fought him from the first moment of their meeting, yet he had never really hurt her, not even when she had given him cause.

She thought of their encounter in the stable. He had been so gentle with the puppy. And when he had spoken of his father, his words and the look on his face held nothing less than love and respect for the man who had sired him. The butler had said the same thing, that Jason had loved the duke, that he would never have harmed him.

He is innocent, Velvet thought with growing conviction while Tabby closed the fastenings on her wide panniers then helped her into the saffron-striped day dress, growing more and more certain with every breath she took.

A small voice warned that it was wishful thinking, that the man was supposed to have hung, but she could not shake the notion. Jason Sinclair was not a man who could commit such a crime against someone he loved.

Perhaps it was the reason he had finally come out of hiding. Perhaps after all these years, he meant to prove his innocence. She didn’t know why he had waited so long, but if he intended to clear his name, he must have found someone to help him, someone he could trust.

Someone like his longtime friend, the marquess of Litchfield.

Her heartbeat quickened, speeding the blood to her throbbing head and making the pounding grow worse. Litchfield had believed in Jason’s innocence, had testified in his behalf at the trial. The man who had come to visit him at the hunting lodge was tall and dark. She had glimpsed a portion of his face, and now that she thought about it, she was certain those lean hard features belonged to Lucien Montaine.

Litchfield was a man of substance, a man respected and admired among members of the ton. If the marquess was willing to help him, Velvet was even more convinced that Jason was innocent of the crime.

And Litchfield would know where he was.

“Tabitha! Tabby!” she cried, seeking the woman’s return. “I’ve changed my mind. Come back and help me change.” Racing to the ornate armoire, she opened the mirrored doors and pulled out a carriage dress of russet silk faile and a matching silk pelisse.

“Well now,” said Tabitha, sauntering back into the room, “just where are ye headed? I thought ye meant to spend the morning with the duke.”

“I told you I changed my mind. I’ve an errand to run and I need something less ornate, more businesslike. Help me put this on, then get dressed yourself. You can make my excuses to the duke while I go and summon the carriage.”

Tabby knew better than to argue. She helped Velvet dress, then set off to change into her traveling clothes. In minutes, they were seated in the Haversham carriage, Tabby across from Velvet to serve as chaperone. Up on the driver’s seat, John Wilton cracked his whip, and the carriage rolled away, bowling down the lane to Castle Running, the marquess’s country estate.

She would go to Litchfield, force him to admit he was helping Jason, and then demand a meeting. For whatever reasons, however inadvertently, Jason Sinclair had helped her. Now it was her turn to help him. She would find a way, she vowed. Litchfield would be the start.

She knew enough about Jason to force his assistance. In this she was certain to get her way.

*   *   *

Lucien pulled open the doors to the Red Salon, stepped inside, and closed them silently behind him. Seated on a plush red brocade sofa, Velvet Moran sat waiting, her russet skirts fanned out around her, her back straight, small shoulders squared. He couldn’t miss the air of determination that surrounded her like strong perfume.

She came to her feet as he walked in, crossed the room partway to greet him.

“I apologize, my lord, for coming to you without invitation. I have something of importance to discuss with you and I am afraid it will not wait.”

Arching a brow, he took her hand and bowed slightly over it. “There is no need for apology, my lady. It is always a pleasure to be visited by a beautiful woman.” Her cheeks bloomed at his words. She thought it was flattery, but he had not lied. There was a lovely, vibrant beauty to Velvet Moran, a robust exuberance that made her golden brown eyes come alive, made her oval face and soft peach lips seem almost irresistible. Even her hair, a rich mahogany hue, crackled with life and fire.

“What I have to say is of an extremely private nature,” she said, taking the chair he indicated while he moved toward the sideboard.

“We are private here. You may speak whatever is on your mind.” He unstoppered a crystal decanter. “May I offer you a sherry? Or is there something else you might prefer?”

“Sherry is fine, thank you.”

He returned, handed her the stemmed crystal glass, and sat down in a chair across from her. “All right, Lady Velvet, what is it you wish to discuss.”

Two simple words. “Jason Sinclair.”

He nearly choked on his brandy. “Beg pardon, what did you say?”

“I believe you heard me, my lord. I wish to discuss your good friend, Jason Sinclair, the legitimate fourth duke of Carlyle.”

He leaned forward, his eyes hooded now but assessing her with a new respect. “My friend was murdered in Newgate prison, Lady Velvet. His passing was extremely painful. The subject is one I seldom discuss.”

She was watching him as closely as he was watching her. “But you were his friend?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe he killed his father?”

“What I believe is of rather little consequence, considering—”

“Do you believe he was guilty?”

“No.”

She leaned forward, the sherry glass gripped tightly in her hand. “Neither do I, my lord. I believe in his innocence, just as you do.”

“That’s comforting, my lady, but I don’t see what bearing it has—”

“Oh, I think you do. I think that if Jason were alive today, he could still count you among his friends. Is that not so, my lord?”

She was trapping him neatly. He saw it coming, but there was little he could do to stop it. “Yes, it is.”

“And we both know that Jason is alive, don’t we?”

He thought of continuing the lie, but the look on her face said that she would not believe him. “Why have you come here, Lady Velvet?”

She straightened, her gaze steady on his face. “I want to see him. I believe you can arrange a meeting between us. That is why I am here, my lord.”

He mulled that over, noting the determined glint in her eyes that he had seen before. “It would be dangerous … for both of you. Why do you wish to see him?”

“If I tell you the reason, you will tell him and then he might not come. Suffice it to say, I wish to meet with him on the morrow. Tell him if he does not appear, I shall be forced to reveal his identity.”

He smiled thinly. “I don’t believe you would do that, my lady.”

A dark reddish brow cocked up. “But you cannot be certain, and you cannot afford to take the risk.”

He couldn’t help admiring her bravado. Courage and intelligence were intriguing qualities in a woman. No wonder his friend was so taken. “Jason won’t like being blackmailed.”

“That is my problem. In the meanwhile, perhaps you can suggest a suitable place for the meeting.”

He swirled the brandy in the bottom of his snifter, raised the glass and inhaled the rich aroma, but did not take a sip. “There is a lady who lives at the outskirts of the village, a widow of my acquaintance. She is away at present, visiting family in Northumberland.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “It so happens that I have a key to the residence. As we are such good friends, I am certain she will not mind if you use the house for your meeting.”

“Splendid.” She flashed a smile that was a bit too knowing for a lady of her tender years. “Be certain to convey my appreciation to your … friend … when she returns.”

He simply smiled. “Remember that I warned you. Jason will not appreciate your interference in his affairs.”

“And I did not appreciate his interference in mine. As it turned out, I am grateful. Perhaps Jason will be thankful as well.”

He rose from his chair and so did she. He stood a full head taller than she, the top of her head well below his chin, yet there was something about her, a measure of assurance, a strength of will that captured one’s notice of her.

“Will two o’clock suit, my lady?”

“Perfectly,” she said. “I thank you for your help, my lord.”

His smile was slightly mocking. “Save your thanks, Lady Velvet, until after you have dealt with my friend.”

She said nothing more, just lifted the russet silk day dress and swept from the room. Lucien watched her go and his smile turned to one of amusement. Jason had met his match in Velvet Moran. Under different circumstances, it would have been entertaining to watch their clash of wills. As it was, Velvet’s interference only increased the danger for Jason.

He wondered what his friend would have to say when he learned about tomorrow’s meeting.

*   *   *

“God’s blood! You are telling me the woman marched into your home, told you she knew I was Jason Sinclair, then demanded a meeting or she would serve me up to the bloody hangman?” Standing in the small sitting area of his tower bedchamber, Jason fought to control his temper.

Litchfield simply smiled. “Something like that.”

Jason slammed his hand down on the mantel. “Well, she can damn well forget it. I’m not about to dance her jig—tell the little vixen she can go straight to hell!” He paced toward Lucien, stopped and turned, then paced back. “How the bloody deuce did she figure it out?”

“I haven’t the vaguest notion.”

“She’s a smart little wench. I should have known she would be curious. I should have guessed she wouldn’t be satisfied just to let the matter end.”

“You’ll have to meet her,” Lucien said. “You can’t be certain what she’ll do to you if you don’t.”

“And I can’t be certain what I’ll do to her if I do.”

Litchfield chuckled softly. “She’s a handful. Beautiful and full of fire. Makes a man itch to take her in hand.”

“Makes a man itch to take her to bed,” Jason growled.

“Exactly so,” Lucien agreed, and Jason’s head snapped up. “Relax, my friend, the girl is all yours. I’m happy with my current mistress and an occasional tumble with the delightful widow Carter when I am in residence here.”

Jason turned and stared out the window. “I don’t believe she would tell them, but after Celia, I’m not certain of anything where a woman is concerned.”

“The meeting might prove interesting. I wonder what she wants.”

“God only knows.”

“God and you, Jason, at two o’clock on the morrow.”

Jason said nothing more, just stared at the green rolling hills between the castle and the village. He was angry—furious—at Velvet’s interference. Yet it was hard to deny that deep down inside, part of him was eager for the meeting.