CHAPTER TWELVE

Jason reread the odd little column in the Morning Chronicle that hinted at Society gossip, using the first initials of the people it spoke of, telling whatever juicy secrets the writer could unearth. In this case, his grace, the duke of C had been jilted by the fickle Lady V, who could not seem to make up her mind which of her multitude of suitors she wished to wed.

The last line read, “Or perhaps the competition was simply too keen for a mere duke of the realm when matched against the far more romantic figure of the highwayman who carried her away.”

Jason crumpled up the paper and tossed it across the bedchamber of Litchfield’s town house, where they were now in residence. It slapped against the gold flocked wall then rolled on the thick Turkish carpet. Dammit, he had hoped the gossipmongers would leave her alone. He didn’t want her name dragged through the mud and he had believed, as she had, that the amicable parting she had staged with Avery would take the edge off the wagging tongues.

Jason sighed, damning himself and the roll he’d been forced to play in her abduction, cursing himself for giving into his lust and bedding her. Bloody hell, the girl was a virgin! He had never stooped quite so low.

And yet in his heart, it was difficult to regret it. Making love to Velvet had been beyond his wildest imaginings. He couldn’t remember when bedding a woman had given him such intense pleasure. The worst part was, he had wanted her again even as she had left him to pull on her clothes.

Even now, the hungry ache remained. And Lucien’s suggestion of a visit to one of the private pleasure barges along the Thames somehow didn’t excite him. He wanted Velvet Moran in his bed and he could not have her.

Sooner or later he would simply have to accept that.

A knock at the door dragged his attention in that direction. His manservant, a thin man in his fifties named Holcomb, the same man who had served him at Castle Running, stepped in. “A gentleman has arrived, my lord. The marquess requests you join them in his study.”

“Thank you, Holcomb.” Following the smaller man downstairs, Jason walked past him into Litchfield’s book-lined, walnut-paneled study.

Coming around from behind his desk, Lucien looked at him and smiled. “Lord Hawkins, may I present to you Mr. William Barnstable?”

“Good afternoon, milord,” said the stout, bull-necked little Bow Street Runner.

“Mr. Barnstable.” Jason made a slight nod of his head.

“Lord Hawkins is the man I mentioned. He is equally eager to see the truth of this matter unearthed. With your help, we mean to see our friend Jason Sinclair’s name cleared of the blight that has darkened it these past eight years.”

Jason lifted the lid off a humidor and offered the little man one of Litchfield’s expensive cigars. “How is your investigation coming, Mr. Barnstable? Have you found any information that might be helpful in our endeavor?”

A stubby hand reached in and dragged out a fat black cigar. Instead of lighting it, he stuffed it into the pocket of his sturdy woolen coat. “Eight years has past since the murder. The search has not been easy.”

“I’m certain it has not,” Jason said.

“We are not questioning the extent of your efforts,” Lucien put in. “Though you must know we are eager for results.” He had told the Runner that the three men had been students together at Oxford, that over drinks at Almack’s one night, the two men still living had decided to join forces, to discover the true villain in the duke of Carlyle’s murder and restore their dead friend’s good name. “Your message implied that you had unearthed information that might be of value.”

“That is true, my lord.”

Jason’s impatient regard narrowed on the man’s pudgy face. “What is it, man? What have you found out?”

Lucien flashed him a dark look of warning. Take it easy, it said. You mustn’t appear too eager.

“Unfortunately, my efforts at the Peregrine’s Roost proved nearly worthless. Most of the servants who were there that night are gone. The ones who remain recall little of the actual shooting besides the sound of the gunshot and the echo of a woman’s scream.”

“But you have found something,” Lucien prodded.

“Aye, that I have.” The little man’s smile looked triumphant, like a dog who’d unearthed a juicy bone. “I believe I’ve found the man responsible for the murder of your friend in Newgate prison.”

Jason’s muscles went tense. The clock ticked for several heartbeats. “Go on.”

“It was a thief by the name of Elias Foote.”

“Is this Foote still alive?” Lucien asked.

“Aye, that he is … or at least he was the last I heard tell. He’s a bad one, I can tell you. A blackleg who spends most of his time in Southwark or down at the quay. I haven’t yet tried to find him. I thought it best to wait until I had spoken to you.”

“You did exactly right, Mr. Barnstable,” Lucien said. “Lord Hawkins and I will speak to Foote. Just give us a list of the places he might frequent and we shall do the rest.”

“In the meantime”—Jason came to his feet—“you just keep doing as you have been—asking questions and stirring up answers. Right now that is exactly what we need.”

The stout man took his cue and stood up as well. “I’ll send word if I find out anything else.” He grinned and patted the cigar that rode in his pocket. “Have a good evenin’, milords.”

Perhaps he would, Jason thought, relishing the notion that at last he could take some positive action. Except for an occasional foray into the less than fashionable East End where there was no chance he would be recognized, he had been cooped up inside the town house while his friend made the rounds of every fete Avery or Lady Brookhurst might attend.

Jason had yet to venture into Society, though he believed his appearance had changed enough that if he was careful, with a few alterations, he could perhaps move about unnoticed. He wondered what Velvet would think if she saw him, whether she would be glad of his reappearance, or if by now she realized her folly in allowing him the gift of her body.

He hoped to hell he hadn’t gotten her with child. He wasn’t exactly certain what he would do if he had.

Jason sighed and shoved the unpleasant notion away. Tonight he had something better to do than grow hard with lust for Velvet Moran. Tonight he would begin to search out his first real lead. He wasn’t sure where they would find him, only that sooner or later they would. Once they had him, they could discover if indeed Avery had been the man behind the attack Jason long suspected had been meant for him.

He glanced over at Lucien, who studied him from a few feet away. “I take it you are more than eager to go after this villain.”

Jason smiled grimly. “More than eager.”

A corner of Lucien’s mouth curved up. “At least it will take your mind off a certain lady of our mutual acquaintance.”

Jason grunted. “I hope so.” He hadn’t mentioned what had happened between them at the cottage. If he had, his friend would realize that the odds were good the only way he could purge the woman from his thoughts was to bed her until he got his fill. Considering his intentions were entirely dishonorable, odds were even less likely he would be able to do that.

*   *   *

Clasping his hands together behind his back, Avery stood before the window in the drawing room, looking out at the formal gardens off to the rear of the Carlyle town house on Grosvenor Square. Everything was going smoothly. He was free of Velvet Moran, and Mary Stanton was responding to his advances, had already tentatively acquiesced to his subtle overtures of marriage.

More, he admitted sourly, because her father obviously wished it than because she was enthralled with his charm, but it didn’t really matter. She would consent to the marriage and they would be wed.

Unfortunately, Mary had made it clear she expected to wait at least a year before the wedding. Avery had smiled and said he understood, all the while calculating how he would force the girl into marriage.

The knock sounded that he had been expecting. He crossed the room and pulled it open, allowing Baccy Willard to step in.

“Well, have you done as I’ve asked?”

“Aye, yer grace.” Baccy had removed his tricorn hat, leaving a wide, flat crease around his black hair.

“All right, then. For the next two weeks, Sir Wallace will be away from the city on business. He has left his daughter in company with her friend, Jennie Barclay. The Barclays and Miss Stanton are scheduled to attend Lord Briarwood’s soiree this Thursday next. That should well serve our purpose.”

“Aye, yer grace.”

“You remember what to do?”

“I’m to see the girl receives word that ’er father ’as fallen ill.”

“That is correct. The note is to say that she should tell no one. That she is to seek out the duke of Carlyle, that he will escort her safely to where her father has been taken.”

“Aye, I’ll take care of it meself.”

“Good. And the inn on the road to Windsor—you’ll be sure to arrange that as well?”

“Aye, yer grace.”

Avery clapped the huge man on the shoulder. “Our troubles are about to end, my friend.”

Baccy nodded and turned to leave. Watching the big hulking figure walk away, Avery smiled.

Why should he not? By Friday next, he would be a man of wealth and position again. Pretty little Mary Stanton would be warming his bed. The duke of Carlyle would soon be a happily married man.

Avery waited for the sound of the closing door, but it never came. When he turned, Baccy still stood in the room.

Avery cocked a pale blond eyebrow. “Was there something else?”

“I almost forgot. ’Tis the girl, yer grace … Lady Velvet. She was askin’ questions at Carlyle Hall about yer brother. I ’eard her talkin’ to Cummings. Ye said that I should tell ye if anyone ever asked questions.”

“That’s right, I did.” He smiled. “But in this case, I’m sure Lady Velvet was simply curious about the man who would have been her brother-in-law.”

Baccy nodded. “She was real curious, yer grace. I know ’cause after that I followed ’er. I seen ’er talkin’ with the upstairs maid, Sylvie Winters. I made Sylvie tell me what they was sayin’. She said Lady Velvet wanted to know about your brother … and about what happened the night of the murder.”

Avery went still. His heart began thudding uncomfortably in his chest. “I don’t like this, Baccy. Why would Velvet Moran be interested in my father’s murder?”

“I don’t know, yer grace.”

“Neither do I but perhaps we ought to find out, eh?” He walked back across the room. “I want you to have one of your men keep an eye on her. If she continues asking questions, I want to know. If anything occurs that seems the least bit out of the ordinary, I want to know that as well.”

“Aye, yer grace.”

“That’s all, Baccy.” This time the big man left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Avery to contemplate this new twist of fate.

Velvet Moran had been a thorn in his side almost since the day he had decided to marry her. Why she was interested in his affairs, he hadn’t the foggiest notion, but he wasn’t really worried about it. By the end of the week, he would be married to a very wealthy woman. His world would be set right and he would be back in control.

If Velvet turned out to be a problem, he would simply eliminate that problem.

Avery smiled and returned to his peaceful view of the garden.

*   *   *

“You look stunning tonight, Lady Velvet.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Dressed in an emerald silk gown atop an underskirt of amber trimmed with gold, Velvet smiled up at Christian Sutherland, earl of Balfour, standing beside her at the edge of the dance floor. For the past two weeks, the earl had been paying her court, rather a surprise, considering the gossip about her. And the fact that, in the beginning, he had seemed more interested in Mary Stanton.

“You’ve been dancing all evening,” he said. “Could I get you a glass of punch?” The earl was tall and broad-shouldered with thick, dark golden-blond hair. His skin was swarthy instead of fair, his eyes a keen dark brown, his features not fine but deeply carved. All in all, the effect was virile and very definitely male, the kind of man she might have been attracted to—if it weren’t for Jason Sinclair.

Velvet smiled. “I’m not really thirsty. Actually, I should rather have a moment away from the crush, if you don’t mind. ’Tis highly unfashionable, I know, but in truth I grow weary of these nightly forays into Society.”

His dark eyes lit with amusement. “I believe I’ve discovered what it is I like about you, my lady.”

“And what might that be, my lord?”

“Your honesty. It seems to be a rare commodity among members of the ton.”

She arched a dark reddish brow and let him guide her toward the French doors leading out onto the terrace into the cool night air. “A bit cynical, aren’t you, my lord?”

“Perhaps, but not without good cause.”

Velvet sighed. “Actually, there are times I’m a bit too outspoken. With my grandfather’s illness, I’ve grown used to responsibility. Most men loathe such forthright behavior in a woman. If you do not, then you are a pleasant exception to the rule.”

He smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment, my lady.” They stopped above the garden, lit by torches above the rows of bright-colored flowers that had just begun to bloom. “All right, Lady Velvet, since we are both plainspoken, I will tell you what I have been thinking.”

“My lord?”

“’Tis hardly a secret that I have entered the marriage mart. I am sure you have heard the gossip.”

“I loathe gossip. Unfortunately, it is usually difficult not to succumb to the lure of it.”

“In my case, the gossip is true. I am searching for a wife, and the fact is, finding one has been devilish hard to do.”

“I cannot imagine a man like you having trouble attracting a woman.”

“A woman is one thing. A wife is quite another.”

She ran her hand along the stone balustrade, feeling the cool rough surface beneath her white-gloved fingers. “For a time, I thought you might be interested in Mary Stanton.”

His mouth curved up. “You are plainspoken, my lady.”

“I warned you, my lord.”

The earl sighed. “My family was opposed to the notion of a match between us. They prefer an alliance with a member of the nobility, but in truth I found myself taken with Mary.” Something flickered in his eyes, then it was gone. “For whatever reasons, Miss Stanton has made it clear that her interests lie in another direction.”

Surely he didn’t mean Avery. There was no comparison between the two men.

“Aside from Mary Stanton,” he continued, “there is only one other woman who interests me—and that, my lady, is you.”

Velvet laughed softly. Thank God she wasn’t in love with the rogue. It was hardly flattering to be the man’s second choice. “You are telling me, Lord Balfour, that you would prefer to wed Mary Stanton, but that I might possibly do instead?”

He cursed beneath his breath. “Dammit, that is not at all what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, my lord?”

“I meant, Lady Velvet, that I believe you and I would suit. It is purely as simple as that. You were betrothed to the duke of Carlyle, yet I do not for a moment believe it was a love match. I may not be a duke, but I am an earl and a wealthy man. I would like you to consider my offer. If you are interested, we can both put an end to these tedious rounds of parties and get on with our lives.”

Velvet said nothing. The earl of Balfour was indeed a plainspoken man. He was handsome and wealthy, he would serve her purpose better than any man she could think of. The earl was the answer to her prayers, and yet it was Jason’s image that appeared in her mind.

Jason with his blazing temper and fiery kisses. Jason with his fierce possession and gentle caresses. Jason with the pain in his eyes that never seemed to go away.

She thought of the last time she had seen him, the day that they had made love, and a soft ache rose inside her. Clasping her hands together in an effort to keep them from trembling, Velvet looked up at the earl.

“You have taken me rather by surprise, my lord. I hope you will allow me some time to consider.”

“I wouldn’t want a lengthy betrothal, Velvet. I need a wife and I want an heir. I find that I’m impatient, now that my mind is made up.”

Velvet shivered. Even the duke’s businesslike proposal had not seemed so frankly coldhearted. She turned away from the look in those assessing dark eyes, but he caught her chin and turned her to face him.

“I’ll be a good husband, Velvet. You’re a beautiful woman and I desire you. Later on, as the years roll past, I’ll be discreet in my affairs. I’ll never embarrass you as Carlyle surely would have. Think about it, Velvet. I believe we could make a good life together.”

Velvet wet her lips. This was exactly what she had wanted and yet … “Is … is my dowry important to you, my lord?” She wouldn’t have asked another man. She would have been afraid to take the risk. Lord Balfour wasn’t a man she would dare to deceive.

He looked at her a long assessing moment, then shook his head. “No. I would have wed Mary, a woman not of noble birth. If you were penniless, I would still choose you. I want a wife who suits me and a good mother for my sons. I believe you would serve well as both.”

She lowered her lashes, hoping to hide the turmoil swirling inside her. “I suppose that is some sort of compliment and yet I feel oddly disconcerted. Perhaps the truth is harder to swallow than I had believed. Perhaps, like most women, I would rather be wooed with falsehoods than confronted with the plainspoken truth.”

Something in those dark eyes softened. “If it makes you feel better, I would not have spoken this way to any other woman. It is only out of respect for you that I did so tonight.”

Velvet smiled faintly. “Perhaps you are right, my lord. Perhaps we would suit. I promise I shall give it some thought.”

He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth against the back of her wrist. “Thank you, my lady. Now … I believe we should go back in before the gossipmongers have another field day at our expense.”

“Yes … of course…” But as she walked inside the house, the knowing glances that swept over them said it was already too late.