“I’m not going to tell you that. You don’t need to know,” Jemima replied, unwilling to relent.
“I take it they are still gathering information for you?” He wasn’t surprised when Jemima merely nodded.
“Are they male or female?” he persisted, deliberately ignoring Peter’s objection.
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because I think it is a woman: in fact, I have it on good authority that one villager in particular has been a little too watchful.” Hugo’s voice hinted that he knew more than he was telling them.
Jemima outwardly kept her expression blank, and sat perfectly still as she continued to study Hugo, clearly determined not to tell him anything.
It was her rigid posture that told Hugo all he needed to know. She was trying a little bit too hard not to panic.
“She is as much at risk as you, Jemima,” Hugo added, flicking Peter a glance. “While you now have Peter to protect you, your very efficient and thorough informant doesn’t have anyone. Now that Scraggan can return all his attention to his smuggling operation, do you think he won’t notice someone watching just a little bit too closely. He will be intensely angry when he realises Rogan failed to capture and murder Eliza, and is now languishing in prison awaiting trial. He will be seeking vengeance, and will look to anyone and everything that poses a threat to him.”
Hugo’s voice was a silken menace, and he leaned forward in his chair, trying hard not to shake her for her sheer stubbornness. Inside he was hugely impressed with her bravery, and was a little envious of Peter. Clearly her strong will and determination had been a large part of the reason why Jemima had survived the past few months. He knew instinctively that Eliza had the same inner core of steel that had ensured her survival when faced with ruthless adversity. Obviously the Cavendish men were no idiots where women were concerned.
“For God’s sake, stop it!” Peter snapped, launching to his feet. “You are not going to scare her into telling you what you want. Neither Jemima or Eliza are in any danger while under our care.”
“No, but there is a woman who has been helping them, and us, undoubtedly with good intentions but, in doing so, has put herself in considerable danger. I don’t know about you, but I have no intention on bringing Jemima’s ordeal upon anyone else.”
Peter sighed and moved closer to the fire, resting one booted foot on the fender as he stared down into the flames. He didn’t like where this conversation was going, and wished Jemima was his wife so he had the authority to draw a halt to the conversation and demand she leave. But Jemima was still her own person and he had no authority to demand she go anywhere, whether they were married or not. Knowing Jemima, she would probably ignore him anyway. She had made no attempt to leave the room herself and, while she remained, so did he. But he still didn’t like it.
Once again he fought the urge to simply sweep her into his arms and carry her into the bedroom she now occupied, locking the door behind them to keep out the threat from the outside world.
“How do you know it is a woman?” Edward asked Hugo, studying Jemima closely.
“We have our ways,” Hugo replied mysteriously, unwilling to give details himself.
Jemima smiled, fully accepting his reluctance for what it was. The last time she had received word from her friend, her fear for her safety had been clear. Although she had continued to gather information, seemingly undetected, she had suspected that someone was watching her, and was becoming concerned for her safety. At the time, Jemima hadn’t been able to do anything to help.
“I know she is under threat from Scraggan, but is she well?” Jemima murmured, her steely gaze conveying her determination to help her friend.
“The last I heard, she was fine, but there are rumblings that someone local is poking their nose in. It is only a matter of time. She is all alone and clearly needs help, Jemima. You have to be the one to give it to her by helping me set plans in motion to ensure she survives Scraggan’s vengeance. Confirm her name to me and I can put men in place to protect her.”
“You cannot be expecting Jemima to become involved,” Peter snarled, whirling on his heel to stare in shock at Hugo. His gaze met and held Dominic’s briefly before he turned to Jemima, his stomach lurching at the look she was giving Hugo.
“Good God, Jemima, surely you cannot be considering helping him?”
“I don’t expect you to come to Padstow; I am on my way there next. I just need the name of your informant,” Hugo added, picking up the papers and waving them in the air. “These are fantastic; just what we need. But we also need any other information she has managed to collect since you last received word from her. Just tell me her name, and I will ensure her safety.” The promise in Hugo’s voice was clear, but did little to mollify Jemima, who remained silent.
“I need to think,” Jemima finally whispered, pushing out of her chair. She waved the men back down into their seats as they automatically stood.
She paused when Peter moved to follow her and held up a hand, cautioning him to stop. “I need time alone,” she murmured softly, a frown on her face. “I’ll just be next door.” She didn’t know which room it was, but needed to get away from Hugo’s scrutiny and Peter’s protectiveness for a moment, and decide what she was going to do.
She left the room quickly, and closed the door behind her in case Peter took it into his head to follow her. Once in the large hallway, she did as she had promised and moved to the room next door, in the opposite direction to the breakfast room she had been in earlier. Thankfully, it was empty, affording Jemima the time alone she needed to get her thoughts in order.
The room was just as lavishly furnished as the breakfast room and study. Large chairs were decoratively scattered around the huge room, which was lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. In fact, the more Jemima studied the room, the more she realised books were everywhere. There were piles of them haphazardly stacked on the desk nearest the large French doors, numerous piles stacked on the floor beneath the chairs, and even on the tables next to the hearth! Jemima wondered if the family were avid readers. If they were, they would certainly never run out of material to read.
Shaking her head she reluctantly turned her thoughts to Hugo’s revelations, and the decision she had to make.
Although the way in which Hugo and his men had saved her was still raw, she could understand why they had needed to carry out the subterfuge. Almost. But, setting that aside, she was no nearer to ridding herself from Scraggan’s menace. She wondered if she ever would be free of the man, who always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else.
Despite Hugo’s clear belief in the capabilities of his men, the Star Elite, Jemima had first-hand knowledge of just how devious and manipulative Scraggan could be. Just how he managed to get so many people to help him was beyond her; surely they all couldn’t be oblivious to the man’s evil character, could they? But if men didn’t join Scraggan voluntarily, they were conscripted.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Eliza, who poked her head around the door, spotted Jemima sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs and came in, shutting the door behind her.
Jemima fought the urge to sigh. Although she loved her sister, and it was lovely to see her again, the timing of her arrival couldn’t be worse. It appeared that being alone in this house was practically impossible. Still, she couldn’t find the heart to ask Eliza to leave her alone for a few minutes.
“What are you doing in here?” Eliza fussed, studying the dark shadows beneath her sister’s eyes and the slight droop to her shoulders that hinted at her inner exhaustion. “You should be tucked up in bed,” she muttered, waving her sister to the door. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”
“Eliza,” Jemima said, raising her voice louder than she needed to, “I am not tired, and I don’t need to go to bed.” She said the words through gritted teeth to keep herself from screaming. She wasn’t a toddler, and didn’t need to take to her bed to recover from a fit of the vapours like some simpering miss.
Jemima wondered if Eliza realised just how much she had changed over the last few months, and somehow doubted it.
“Sit down for a minute, I need to ask you something.” She motioned Eliza to a seat, her face softening slightly at the hurt on Eliza’s face. “I know you are only trying to help, but I am fine. Really. I need your advice.”
Eliza picked up on the sense of urgency in Jemima’s voice and lapsed into silence, clearly knowing her sister well enough to know when it was wise just to keep quiet and listen. She didn’t have to wait long before Jemima quickly sketched in Hugo’s involvement in her release from gaol, and the risks to their informant back in Padstow now that Scraggan was no longer interested in Eliza and herself.
“You cannot seriously be considering going back there, can you?” Eliza gasped, staring at her sister in horror. It had only been a few days ago that she had been filled with trepidation at the thought of returning to the house she had once considered her home, her haven.
“You know she won’t talk to Hugo, no matter how charming he is. If they attempt to kidnap her to take her to safety against her will, she would just create as much of a rumpus as she could and would end up herself at even more risk,” Jemima reasoned.
“But Scraggan hasn’t found her yet. What makes you think that he is going to bother with her now?” Eliza argued, knowing deep inside that Jemima had already made her mind up. She couldn’t believe it, and fought the urge to run and fetch Edward, or Peter, to talk some sense into her.
“Hugo has men undercover in Padstow. They have reported that Scraggan’s men know there is someone watching them, who poses a risk to their operation. Hugo thinks that now we are out of the way, Scraggan will turn his attentions to the new risk, and take steps to put them out of action too,” Jemima explained, seeing no reason why Eliza shouldn’t know all the details.
“Do you think he could kill her?” Eliza whispered, thinking of the woman they both considered their closest friend.
Jemima looked askance at her sister. “Look what they thought they were doing to us.”
Silence settled between them for several long moments, as both women contemplated the possibilities.
“What does Hugo want to do?”
Jemima sighed and shook her head. “He wants her name so he can send men to protect her. I think they would kidnap her if she didn’t go with them quietly.”
Eliza snorted inelegantly and raised a sceptical brow at Jemima, who screwed up her nose and nodded in understanding. Jemima sighed, knowing that really left only one possibility.
“Peter won’t let you go,” Eliza said softly, thinking of his grief only yesterday.
“Peter can’t stop me. I mean, we’re not married or anything. He isn’t in a position to forbid me.”
“You simply cannot do that to him, Jemima, it is too cruel.” Eliza didn’t try to keep the censure out of her voice as she stared at her sister, wondering what he would do if Jemima left.
“I know, but I am not like you, Eliza. Things over the past few months have been different for me; harder.” Jemima smiled softly at her sister, knowing she didn’t understand, but was glad of her ignorance. “I have things I need to come to terms with before I can consider settling down into matrimony. I think that, while Scraggan is alive, there is still a threat from him, and I cannot put the family at risk. Besides, I don’t think I could ever settle down to a life of nothing more than reading and sewing.”
Eliza understood, she really did, but still felt she had to object to Jemima putting herself in such danger.
“What makes you think you can get in to Padstow and back out without crossing paths with him?” Eliza reasoned, thinking of her own plans to visit her old home under the cover of darkness.
“I am not saying I am going,” Jemima said hesitantly, only to pause when Eliza sighed and tutted at her.
“What?”
Eliza shook her head. Whatever she was about to say next was left unsaid, as the door opened and Peter entered.
“Is everything all right?” He had tried to stay away, but had found it impossible to be away from her for too long.
He needed to see for himself that Jemima was really all right, and not considering aiding Hugo in any way. Which, given the guilty look on her face, was something she clearly was. He hadn’t missed the knowing look that passed between the women as he entered.
He had the distinct feeling the next few moments were going to be difficult, and wasn’t surprised when Eliza quickly made her excuses and left them alone.
“Tell me you aren’t contemplating helping Hugo,” Peter demanded, perching on the edge of the chaise beside her chair, and resting his elbows on his knees in a seemingly casual pose. Staring down at his hands, he knew from her silence that she was considering something he wasn’t going to like and clearly expected an argument from him.
Jemima stood and knelt on the floor directly before him, taking his hands in hers for several long moments before raising her gaze to his.
“Please don’t think that I am considering this lightly, because I am not. If someone came in now and said Scraggan was dead and posed no further threat, nobody would be happier than me. But they won’t, and now another woman, someone I consider a dear, dear friend, is at serious risk because of her connection to me. I cannot in all conscience just sit back and do nothing to help.”
“So give Hugo her name and let him go and help her,” Peter argued, clasping Jemima’s thin fingers in his warm palms and holding them tightly.
“My friend is very shy, and somewhat eccentric. There is simply no possibility she will trust Hugo, whatever he tells her. She is different to most people,” Jemima added cautiously, wondering just how much she should tell Peter without risking his censure. “Lovely, but different.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Peter muttered, not liking the way the conversation was going. His gaze met and held hers. “Please tell me that you are -” He stared in horror at Jemima for several moments before dropping her hands and lunging to his feet. “Good God, you are!”
He didn’t know what angered him more; the fact that Jemima was prepared to put herself in danger to help her friend, or the fact that she clearly expected him to stand back and let her go.
He stalked over to the window and stared out over the immaculate lawn, unable to even look at her. After several minutes he was aware that she had moved to stand beside him, but refused to tear his gaze away from the turrets of the old Norman church nestled in the trees bordering the lawns.
“You were supposed to have been buried today in that church,” he nodded out of the window, his voice as neutral as he could make it. He had to work hard not to turn around, grab her shoulders and shake her to within an inch of her life.
Jemima stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and studied the old stonework of the building peeking out through the woods.
“I’m sorry for ever getting you involved in all of this, Peter,” Jemima began, choosing her words carefully. “If I had known back in Devon just how bad things would get, I would never have asked for your help. At least then you would have been able to get on with your life, instead of having it stolen by Scraggan just as effectively as he has stolen mine.”
“It’s too late now though, isn’t it? I am involved, up to my ears, and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it,” Peter snapped, for a brief moment wishing he wasn’t madly in love with her.
“The past few months have changed me considerably,” Jemima began, not certain if he would ever understand. “I am not sure I am even the same person you met down in Devon.”
“You haven’t changed that much,” Peter argued, knowing in his heart that she had changed a bit. There was wisdom in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A deep, all knowing wisdom that only came from life’s experiences, both good and bad, and was usually acquired with age.
“While Scraggan is still out there, I cannot settle. I won’t rest and allow myself to be caught out by him again. I cannot be lulled into a false sense of security thinking he is down in Padstow and busy with other things. It doesn’t matter how good the Star Elite are, or how much confidence this Hugo person has in them, Scraggan is dangerous and has many connections. There is a serious risk that someone will get word to him that I am still alive, and he could return to finish the job, especially when he learns that Rogan has failed to murder Eliza and is now behind bars. He could return for answers. I cannot just sit here and wait.”
“But you won’t be sitting here: if we marry, you will be sitting in Oxfordshire, at Willowbrook Hall with me and I won’t let anyone get to you.”
Jemima reluctantly met his gaze, sadness lurking in the depths of her eyes. “I cannot consider a future until the past is laid to rest.”
Peter cursed and shook his head. “What if you are laid to rest? What then? Have you stopped to consider the devastation losing you would cause other people?”
He knew he was shouting, but was driven by a desperation that was driving him mad. He fought the urge to put his hands on her shoulders and shake her.
The image of Peter’s distress in those final moments in Mr Simpson’s office came flooding back, and she knew exactly how much distress she would cause him; had already caused him.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot enter into marriage to you not really knowing what I want. I have spent so much of the past few months living on edge, always looking over my shoulder, trying to blank out the horrible things going on around me, that I don’t know who I am anymore.” She longed to tell him she loved him, but couldn’t speak the words: they would place a further obligation on him.
If ignorance of her affection meant he was prepared to stand back and let her leave and, in doing so, get on with his own life, then so be it. However hard leaving him was going to be, she owed it to him to give him the opportunity to be free of her and her problems.
She knew he didn’t understand when he remained silent, and continued to stare moodily out of the window.
“Look at things a different way,” Jemima reasoned. “I have not been raised to be a lady. Neither Eliza nor I has ever had any formal schooling. We were taught to read and write on our father’s knee, and as soon as I was able to sit at the desk and see over the top of it, I was expected to help my father with his paperwork. Which I was happy to do,” she hastened to reassure him when Peter looked askance at her. “It gave me something to do. Eliza was always the more domesticated one and was happy to run the house, while I helped Father with his books and things. When we left Padstow, I knew things weren’t going to be easy and I was right. For the past few months I have worked from dawn to dusk, and the work has been long and tiring. But I have woken in the morning knowing what I was going to be doing that day. I have never had the luxury of waking up in the morning and having nothing more taxing to deal with than deciding whether I want to read or sew.”
Jemima scowled out over the lawns, considering just how boring a life like that must be. She realised then why so many aristocratic women looked so bored! They probably were. “Although I do not know what I want, I do know that I would not be happy living a life like that. I would be bored stupid within a month.” She turned to him, a frown still on her face. “But, on the other hand, I don’t know what I do want to do.”
She looked so lost, so confused that Peter’s anger evaporated. He tugged her into his arms, resting his head on the top of hers for several minutes as the silence settled around them.
“I can understand; really I can,” he whispered, wishing there was some other way to get help to her friend.
Jemima tipped her head back to stare up at him. “Can you really?” She wasn’t sure, but was glad he didn’t seem so angry with her.
Silence settled between them, as they stood before the window wrapped in each other’s arms. A sense of inevitability swept through her when Peter slowly lowered his head.
Tendrils of frustration still clung deep, driving Peter to lay siege to her senses. If he couldn’t persuade her to at least take some time to make her decisions on her future, then she was damned well going to feel his mark on her when she left.
Sliding his lips firmly against hers, he was rewarded when after a few brief moments she moaned and opened her mouth to accept the invasion of his tongue. Their lips slipped and slid as tongues tangled in a silent duel. Peter drew her tighter against him until there wasn’t a breath of air between them, but it wasn’t close enough. Driven by the need to protect her, to claim her as his before anything else happened to tear her away from him, he slid a hand into her hair to hold her head still. His tongue probed possessively into the moist recesses of her mouth as he poured all his pain, grief and worry into his kiss.
Jemima felt as though her very soul had been branded. His hot, almost searing, lips against hers laid claim to her senses and rendered her helpless to anything other than accepting his sensual onslaught. She couldn’t have broken away if her life had depended on it.
A soft cough broke the silence, and shattered the sensual web that had woven around them. Peter groaned and reluctantly broke the kiss. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he reluctantly turned toward the cause of their interruption, willing his wayward body not to embarrass him.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Sir Dunnicliffe needs to give instructions to his men. We need to know about Jemima’s friend,” Dominic explained, shooting his friend an apologetic look before he closed the door, leaving Jemima and Peter alone again.
Jemima eased away from his warm embrace, feeling slightly shaken by the intensity of what just happened.
“I’m not going to apologise for it,” Peter grumbled. “I want you, you know that.”
Jemima simply nodded, hoping her trembling knees would hold her upright long enough to get her out of the door.
“We had better go and give Hugo your friend’s name,” Peter said, making it clear he expected her to do nothing more.
Jemima shot him a quick look, wondering if she should object to his high-handedness, but wisely remained quiet. The journey to the room next door, and the waiting group, was made in a tense silence. Jemima was very aware of Peter dogging her every footstep and wondered if this was the way of the future.