CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It wasn’t yet sunrise, but stark lines of gray crept over the horizon. Velvet had slept for a while, her body sated from their powerful lovemaking, but her mind could not rest.

Thoughts of Jason haunted her, images of the scars she had seen on his back, visions of the torture he must have endured. Sadness filled her, a bruising ache for Jason that throbbed deep down inside and would not end.

Until last night, she hadn’t known how desperately she had come to love him. As the Haversham heiress, she had never really expected to fall in love. She believed she would know only the sort of feelings that came with an arranged marriage, had hoped at best to find a kind, indulgent husband with whom she could live a peaceful life.

She hadn’t known these burning emotions existed, this yearning, wrenching, all-consuming attachment for another human being. She would love this man forever. She knew it as surely as she knew he would leave her—or that he would be killed.

She thought of the lovemaking they had shared. He had taken her fiercely, then with such exquisite care tears had surfaced in her eyes. Yet each time they reached their peak, Jason had withdrawn, pulled away from her to spill his seed outside her body.

He didn’t want a child he would have to abandon. The message could not have been clearer. It left a hollow emptiness inside.

He cared for her, but not enough to stay. He would leave, even if his innocence was somehow proven, his title and estates restored to his name. And he would not take her with him.

A bitter lump rose in her throat, but Velvet forced it down. What they shared could not last. Sooner or later she would lose him. It hurt to think of it—dear God, it hurt so much. She wished she could bury the love she felt for him, but she could not.

Instead she wanted desperately to help him.

As the sun began to lighten the gray horizon, Velvet vowed as she had before, that she would find a way.

*   *   *

Lucien Montaine tossed the Morning Chronicle onto the seat of the carriage. News of Celia’s murder rose in big bold letters across the page. Lucien had known about it, of course. It was the talk of the ton, relayed with the speed of a Southwark fire. He had received a message from Jason as well, its tone dispirited, as his own spirits were at the news.

That, however, was yesterday. Today he had sent word to the Haversham town house requesting an audience with Lord and Lady Hawkins. Defeat was not his nature.

And he had come up with a plan.

“All right, Lucien, let’s hear it.” Closing the door to the drawing room, Jason eyed him through the clear glass spectacles he was now wearing. “Your step is far too jaunty. What are you up to, my friend?” He looked weary. Shadows shone like bruises below his deep blue eyes, but Velvet looked hopeful.

“Yes, my lord, please, if there is something you have learned, some news that might be useful—”

“I’m afraid I know nothing new. I truly wish I did. What I’ve come to propose is daring, and there is no small amount of danger, but at this point—”

Jason leaned forward, caught his shoulder. “If you’ve a plan that might clear my name, the danger is of little consequence.”

“I thought that would be your position.”

“What is it, my lord?” Velvet asked. “What can we possibly do?”

Lucien eyed his companions, took a deep breath and dove in. “The way I see it, we’ve gathered some very good evidence against your brother, but unfortunately not enough to convict him. Celia’s testimony could have done it, but she is dead. That leaves only one person.”

Jason pulled the spectacles from his nose. “Avery? You think we can force my brother to tell the truth?”

“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind. More likely we might be able to trick him into admitting the murder. If a magistrate happened to be present at the time, combined with the evidence we have already, it would surely be enough.”

The haunted look faded from Jason’s features. Even in his somber clothes and wearing the gray bagwig, he looked younger. Then he grinned. “You’re a genius, Lucien.”

“Yes, but we knew that all along.”

Jason laughed. It was a rich, husky sound Lucien hadn’t heard in far too long.

“How do we do it? When and where?”

“Easy, my impatient friend. It’s going to take some planning and some time. We’ll have to move carefully, make certain we think through every possible detail. A single wrong move and your life could be forfeit.”

Velvet went pale.

Jason merely nodded. “We’ll start today,” he said, “hammer out a plan then try to find the faults in it. As you said, we don’t want to move until we’re certain the plan will work. On the other hand, the ton is breathing down Velvet’s neck to meet her mysterious new husband. She’s been holding them off by telling him I’m busy with business and traveling often out of town. But if we don’t act soon, they’ll be arriving in droves at the door just to get a look at me.”

Lucien chuckled. “Then perhaps they shall … or at least we will make them believe that they are about to.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Unconsciously, Velvet’s hand came to rest on Jason’s arm. Lucien noticed his friend did not pull away. “We can’t possibly let all those people see him. Even dressed as he is and looking somewhat different than he used to, someone is sure to recognize him, recall who he is.”

Lucien merely smiled. “You promised them a ball to introduce your shy, retiring new husband. We can’t do that—but we can send the invitations.” He cocked his head. “Let me see … the date will be set for … shall we say three weeks hence? That should hold them at bay for long enough to carry out our plans.”

Velvet smiled brightly. “You really are a genius, Lucien.” She looked radiant today, womanly in a way he hadn’t seen her. He knew that look, the softly feminine countenance of a woman well-loved.

Jason had broken his promise not to take her. If he had, it wasn’t something his friend had done lightly. That he desired her was obvious in every look he cast her way, but Lucien was sure there was more. Jason cared for Velvet. Lucien wondered just how strong his friend’s feelings were.

And how badly Velvet would be hurt if Jason left England without her, as he was determined to do.

*   *   *

The fire popped and sizzled. An ember pinged against the hot metal grate. Outside the window, night had set in with an icy chill. Resting her embroidery on her lap, Velvet fidgeted in front of the fire in the drawing room. The weather was damp and a stiff wind whipped the branches of the trees, but inside the house wasn’t cold anymore, not since Jason’s arrival.

There was coal enough to keep the fires burning. The candles that now lit the room were fine beeswax tapers instead of the tallow she had been using these last desperate years.

She wasn’t destitute anymore. Jason had returned her dowry, but even then he had not let her spend the money. He had provided well in the time he had been there, playing the part of husband, at least in that respect.

In other ways, he was still the same remote, stubbornly determined man he had been before. He hadn’t slept with her again. Last night she had been waiting upstairs when he finished his late-night meeting with Litchfield, hours spent working out more of the details of their plan.

Wearing a diaphanous pink silk gown that had been part of the trousseau meant for her marriage to Avery, she’d stood silently in the doorway, praying he would accept her blatant invitation.

Jason hadn’t approached her, had merely stood in the middle of his bedchamber and simply shook his head.

“I am trying my damnedest, Velvet. If we keep making love, sooner or later there is going to be a babe. Sooner or later—” He paused midsentence, his eyes suddenly hard, piercing her with accusation. “Or perhaps that is exactly your intention. You think that if you are with child, then I will not leave. If that is your game, Duchess, you are sorely mistaken. A child would hasten my departure not deter it. I want nothing to do with a babe—mine or anyone else’s. I made that clear from the start.”

Her heart beat painfully. Most men wanted a child of their loins, a son to carry on his father’s name. Why was it that Jason did not? Was it part of the dark secret he harbored? Velvet was sure that it was.

“’Twas not my intention to trap you, my lord. If your care of me is not enough to keep you here, then I would rather that you leave.”

Jason said nothing.

“’Twas simply that I desired you.” At least it was partly the truth. “You have taught me to enjoy the pleasure a man can give a woman. The last time we made love, you seemed to enjoy it as well. I thought perhaps…”

“You thought perhaps what, Duchess? That I would like to bed you again?” He crossed the room toward her, moving with his usual animal grace, stopping so close she could see the heavy pulse beating against the long muscles running down the side of his neck.

His eyes raked her, hunger evident in the dark glittering blue. “You are no fool, Velvet. You know how much I want you, that when I see you dressed as you are ’tis all I can do to keep from tearing off your flimsy garments and taking you right here.” His hand came up to her cheek but he didn’t touch her. Instead he let the hand fall away. “There is nothing I would rather do than bed you. I am asking you—as the friend you have become—to abide by the agreement we made.”

A soft knot of despair rose up. He didn’t love her but he had accepted her as his friend. And he trusted her, she knew. For a man like Jason, friendship and trust did not come easy, yet somehow she had earned both those things. The knowledge gave her an odd sort of comfort even as it forced an end to the desperate game she had been playing, the dangerous game of the heart that she had been hoping to win.

She cupped his cheek, felt the late-night bristles of beard along his jaw. “I will not trouble you again, my lord.” She smiled sadly. “Sleep well, Jason.” Then she turned and walked away.

Now as she sat alone by the fire, she couldn’t help remembering, wondering at his secrets, wishing he trusted her enough to tell her what they were. Her grandfather’s shuffling footfalls drew her attention to the door.

“I say, my dear, where is that handsome rogue you have married?” He walked into the drawing room, a leather-bound book in his thin, veined hand. “Thought I might entice him into a game of chess.”

“He had a meeting with Litchfield,” Velvet reminded him, though he had asked that same question less than an hour ago. “He won’t be returning for some time yet.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right, Litchfield. Sorry, I seemed to have forgot.”

She smiled at him with tenderness. “That’s all right, Grandfather.”

He scratched the thinning white hair on his head. “Seems there was something else … something I was supposed to tell you.”

Unease trickled through her. “What was it, Grandfather?” Odds are he wouldn’t recall. She hoped it was nothing important.

He snapped his fingers. “A message! By jove, that’s it! Remember now. Put it on the desk in the study. I’ll just go and fetch it. Won’t be a moment. Back in a trice.”

Velvet waited impatiently, toying with the embroidery in her lap but unable to concentrate on the delicate work required to fill in the complicated pattern.

The aging earl stuck his head through the door. “Damned if I haven’t forgot what I went after.”

“A message, Grandfather. You said you left it in the study. Why don’t you wait here and—”

“Right! The message that came for your husband. Won’t be a moment.” He left mumbling under his breath. This time he returned with the note he had apparently received sometime that morning, a wax sealed message addressed to Lord Hawkins.

Velvet studied it only a moment, then tore it open with suddenly nervous hands. This wasn’t the time to stand on formality. The message might be urgent.

Which was exactly the way it appeared.

Scanning the neatly folded paper, Velvet read the note then read it again. The words on the page were scrolled with great care, as if the writer had ordered them penned, not written them himself. The sender wanted a meeting, the message said. He had heard of his lordship’s search for information regarding the murder of the duke of Carlyle eight years past. For a price, the information could be his.

Come to the alley beside the Swan and Crown. You will find it in the Strand, a block off Bury Lane. Ten o’clock—no later. Come alone.

Velvet bit her lip and her eyes strayed toward the tall polished ormalu clock that had barely escaped being sold with the rest of her family’s possessions. Sweet Jesu! Already it was a quarter past nine and Jason might not return home for hours. He was meeting with Litchfield but she wasn’t sure where. He was tired of being cooped up indoors and had mentioned that they might go out for a late-night supper.

“What is it, my dear?” Her grandfather’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You’re looking a little bit piqued.”

Velvet eyed the note in her hand. How had the sender discovered Lord Hawkins’s interest? How had he known where to send the note? Perhaps Mr. Barnstable’s investigation had alerted him. Or perhaps he was acquainted with someone at the Peregrine’s Roost.

Whatever the case, it was obvious the man knew something. It could be information that was vitally important. If Jason didn’t arrive to collect it, the man might disappear and they would never find him again.

“There is someone I must see, Grandfather. If Jason should come home before my return, give him the message. The note will tell him where I have gone.” She pressed the paper into his frail, wrinkled hands. “Can you remember that, Grandfather?”

“Course I can.”

But odds were he would forget. Perspiration dampened her temple. She thought about summoning the butler, but the fewer people who knew of this the safer for Jason. Besides, she would take along the man Barnstable had hired to watch the house and would probably be back long before Jason’s return.

She glanced at the clock, heard the seconds ticking like a countdown to a deadly race. Whirling toward the door, she called for a footman to summon her carriage, then grabbed her hooded cloak and went to find the Runner standing guard outside the house.

Ten minutes later they were careening along the crowded streets, passing beneath the big painted signs suspended above them, making their way toward their destination. The Swan and Crown wasn’t in the best part of town—far from it, but the man in the battered hat seated across from her was above average in height, sturdily built, and appeared as though he could defend them if trouble arose.

He stirred on the black leather seat. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, milady, but it’s a bit late for a woman to be travelin’ about, especially in this part o’ town. I don’t think your husband would approve.”

Now there was an understatement if ever there was one. “I’m afraid I have no choice, Mr. Ludington.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Besides, I am sure I am perfectly safe as long as I am with you.”

Even in the dim light of the carriage she could see his chest puff out. “Aye, well, right ye are, I suppose, now that ye put it that way.”

“And I shall only be a moment. As soon as I have concluded my business with the man I have come to meet then we can be on our way.”

He didn’t argue, just grunted and settled his thick body more solidly against the seat. Outside the carriage, a heavy mist had begun to drift over the muddy streets, but it was the odor that Velvet noticed, a sour, dead-fish smell rising up from the docks. The buildings along the dirt lane they traveled were soot-blackened, the windows often boarded up, and rubbish rose in piles against the crumbling brick walls.

Velvet shivered at the damp air seeping through her cloak, making her skin feel sticky and cold. She wasn’t afraid, not exactly. But she was decidedly uneasy.

The sign for the Swan and Crown rose out of the mist ahead. “There it is!” Velvet rapped on the roof of the carriage then instructed the driver to pull over in front of the building on the left.

“I don’t like this, milady. Your husband will be having me head if something should happen to ye.”

“Nothing is going to happen, Mr. Ludington, not with you standing right here beside the carriage. I will simply shout for help if I find myself in need of assistance.” She had told him nothing of the rendezvous, only that she had a bit of business in a rather disreputable part of town and needed him to accompany her.

“I’m not staying here,” he said, hefting himself up off the seat. “I’ll be comin’ right along with ye. I wouldn’t be doin’ me duty, if I didn’t.”

Hiding a look of frustration, she accepted the man’s rough hand and let him help her down from the carriage. “I understand you are trying to protect me, Mr. Ludington, but unfortunately, this is something I must do alone.”

He stubbornly shook his head. “Your husband hired me to protect ye.”

“That is correct, Mr. Ludington. My husband is paying your wages. If you wish to keep earning them, I suggest you follow his wife’s wishes.” That convoluted logic was undoubtedly the opposite of reality. Jason would be furious to discover she had gone—even with Ludington to accompany her. But what else could she do?

She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and picked up the small brass lantern she’d had the foresight to bring along. “I won’t be long, sir. And you will be able to see the light from here.”

He shifted uneasily, his eyes darting toward two drunken seamen staggering into the tavern. Velvet gave him a confident smile and no more time to argue, just turned and briskly made her way toward the alley beside the alehouse. Raucous singing, the music of a bawdy sea shanty, drifted out from inside the building, but the alley looked deserted. Except for a blind man, a beggar who sat in the shadows, a moth-eaten blanket pulled closely around him, she saw no sign of the man that she was supposed to meet.

Her unease built, stretched her nerves. She whirled at a noise in the darkness, saw the furry bodies of two big gray rats scurrying behind some empty boxes, and fought down a shiver of fear.

The crunch of gravel beneath a man’s heavy boots sent a second shiver through her. She glanced toward the carriage, saw the vague outline of the Runner, but the fog was closing in and he seemed a long ways away.

“I-is anyone here?” she called out, heart thumping now, her fear growing with each rapid pulse. “I’ve come in the stead of Lord Hawkins. Please … if anyone is here…” A shadow loomed above her, tall and heavy across the shoulders, dark and sinister in the swirling white mist.

Velvet cried out as a thick arm snaked around her shoulders and he dragged her hard against him. His hand came up, callused and blunt-fingered. She caught the glitter of a blade, felt the man’s muscles tighten, screamed and tried to twist free, but his grip was a solid band of iron clamped around her.

She tried to scream, but his muscled forearm choked off the sound. With a flash of clarity, she realized the man who held her was the man who had killed Celia Rollins and that she was about to die.

“Sorry, miss,” he mumbled with genuine regret, then the blade swept down, down in an arc toward her throat. Velvet closed her eyes against the moment of anticipated pain, but it never occurred. Instead, the arm was wrenched upward, away from her neck, as dear Mr. Ludington stepped into the fray.

With a grateful cry, Velvet twisted free of her huge attacker and slammed back against the wall, her feet going out from under her, tumbling her into the dirt of the alley. She scrambled to right herself, her heart pounding with fear for the stocky Bow Street Runner who was fighting so valiantly to save her.

“Run, milady! Save yourself while ye can!”

She wanted to, but she could not leave him to die. Instead she frantically searched the alley for a weapon, finally found a rusty curved length of iron that had once been part of a wheel and whirled it toward the huge man gripping poor Mr. Ludington by the neck.

The Runner was unconscious, she saw, already dead or very near to dying from lack of air. Saying a prayer for the strength she needed, she swung the heavy iron with all her might, catching their assailant hard across the ribs, and heard the satisfying crack of bone. A vicious curse erupted. Ludington’s unconscious body slumped to the ground and Velvet nearly fainted as the huge man whirled and started toward her.

Hefting the heavy piece of iron, her hands trembling so badly she wasn’t sure she could hold on, she faced him, certain she and the Runner were both going to die in this filthy, rat-infested alley. Instead the big man took two lumbering steps and froze. Staring over her head, he clenched his fists, swore something foul, turned and raced off down the alley the opposite way.

For several long seconds, Velvet just stood there clutching the rusty length of iron, shaking with fear and the first sweet stirrings of hope. It took a moment for her to recognize the echo of long, pounding strides slamming against the ground behind her, approaching at nearly a flat-out run. An instant later she recognized whose they were and spun with overwhelming relief toward the sound.

“Jason!” The coachman ran along beside him, carrying one of the carriage lanterns into the gloom of the alley, lighting the harsh set of Lord Hawkins’s face. Jason raced past in pursuit of her attacker, halting some distance away, his dark gaze searching the thick, swirling mist that had swallowed the man as if he had never been there. Turning, he retraced his steps, stopping in front of her, his tall hard body just inches away.

In the glow of the lantern, the coachman knelt beside the Runner still sprawled on the ground, and Velvet heard Ludington groan.

“Is he all right?” Jason called out to the driver, never taking his eyes off Velvet’s face.

“He’ll be fine, your lordship. Just some nasty bumps and bruises. I’ll help him back to her ladyship’s carriage.”

Jason merely nodded. In silence, he reached for the heavy piece of iron still clutched in Velvet’s hand, pried it loose from her stiff, aching fingers. His eyes roamed her face, worry gouging lines across his forehead. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“What in the name of God did you think you were doing?”

Velvet didn’t answer, couldn’t force the words past her lips.

“You could have been killed, dammit! How could you do such a crazy thing?”

Tears collected. She still didn’t speak.

“God, Duchess…” Jason’s hand came up to her cheek. She noticed that it trembled “What am I going to do with you?”

Hold me, she wanted to say. Please, Jason, I’m so frightened. Won’t you please just hold me?

But she didn’t say the words. She didn’t have to. With a low groan, Jason hauled her into his arms, cradling her tightly against him. “How could you be so reckless? How could you risk yourself that way?”

She sniffed to hold back her tears and sucked in a shaky breath. “There wasn’t time to wait for you. I hoped the man would know something that could help you. I had to take the chance.”

“You little fool,” he said, but there was no harshness in the words and mixed with them was a thread of fear and something else she could not name. He held her a few minutes more, his heart beating nearly as hard as her own, then he eased her away and together they walked back toward his carriage.

She paused outside the door. “I guess Grandfather remembered to give you the message.”

His hands came up to her shoulders, gripped them so hard she winced. “What if he hadn’t, Velvet? Or if I had arrived a few minutes later? Do you realize you would probably be dead?” A sliver of moon slid out from behind a cloud. In the watery light Jason’s face looked drawn and pale.

His words brought the ugly scene rushing back in and Velvet started trembling, her muscles turning rubbery and weak. Limp from the remnants of exhaustion and fear, she reached out to him, caught his arm to keep from falling, and heard his softly muttered curse.

Hard arms went around her, swept her deeper into the folds of her cloak and high against his chest. “God’s blood, Duchess.” Carrying her into the safety of his carriage, he settled her on his lap and held her protectively against him all the way home.

Velvet could feel the tension still running through him, the remnants of anger and fear he fought to control.

“I suppose it was a trap,” she finally said, breaking into the silence.

His hold tightened nearly imperceptibly. “I suppose it was. I’m still not certain if it was meant for you or for me.”

Velvet shifted, turned to look into his face. “It was the man who killed Celia so he must have been after me.”

Jason shook his head. “The note was sent to me. If your grandfather had remembered to give it to me, I would have gone to the Swan and Crown instead of you. My brother must have sent the message. He probably discovered I’m still alive and set a trap for me.”

“But it was the man who killed Lady Brookhurst—I’m sure of it.”

“That’s right. Undoubtedly my brother’s henchman. It would appear he intends to see both of us dead.”

Velvet said nothing, but an icy shiver ran through her. Turning her face into Jason’s heavily muscled shoulder, she snuggled deeper into his arms, but this time even Lord Hawkins’s powerful presence could not make her feel safe.