by Maya Banks
Leaving the box on her dressing table, she hurried down the stairs and back to the earl’s study. She hoped Sebastian hadn’t taken up a position in it tonight. She expelled a quick breath of relief when she found it empty.
Not bothering to light a lamp, she groped around in the darkness. The bookcase offered the best hope of a hiding place, so she took out one of the heavy volumes and stuffed the papers within. Taking care to note which book she’d hidden the letters in, she replaced it on the shelf and hurried out.
On her way back to her room, she passed Quinn’s open door and paused. With a heavy sigh, she backed up and peered in to see him sitting at his desk a frown on his face. Knocking softly, she called out, “Can I come in?”
He turned, surprise lighting his face. “Yes, of course.” He pushed back from his desk and gestured at a chair to his left.
She sat down and glanced nervously at him. “Are you angry with me?”
“No, not angry.” A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Disappointed, a little hurt, but not angry. I’m used to you confiding in me. Us against Sebastian, that sort of thing. Now I feel like it’s you against me and Sebastian.”
“Oh Quinn, that’s not what I meant at all. I just couldn’t tell you. It was too...personal.”
“Yes, I understand that. I’m not angry, truly. Well, at least not very angry,” he said with a rueful smile. “I just don’t know how to make it better for you.”
“You can’t. No one can,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have to accept that. And I suppose the sooner I do, the less miserable I will be.”
“Do you really believe that?” he asked, a note of disbelief hanging in the air.
She sighed. “No, but it sounds good to say.”
Several times she tried to form the words to tell him about the letters, but they stuck in her throat. What was happening to her? Quinn was right. She wasn’t confiding in him anymore. In the past she wouldn’t have hesitated to go to him with such a problem, but now she felt further away from him than she ever had in her life. She felt truly alone.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Well, yes. But then we’ve already been over it,” she said in an attempt at humor. She rose from her seat. “I am retiring to bed.”
“So early?”
“It isn’t as if I am going anywhere so I may as well try and sleep.”
She reached over and squeezed Quinn’s hand. “I am truly sorry I hurt you, Quinn. You may not believe that based on the rashness of my actions, but I love you and Mamma and Papa and Sebastian very much. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Lady Jenna,” Thomas called from the door.
She released Quinn’s hand and swung around. “What is it, Thomas?”
He cleared his throat. “Mr. Eglin is here to see you. I told him you weren’t receiving any callers, but he was most insistent.”
She gulped nervously, her heart rising in her throat. Why was he here? The last person she wanted to see tonight was Stuart. Not after what she had found out. What could he possibly want anyway? Unless he wanted to rethink forgiveness and cry off the engagement. That thought cheered her, though the chances of it happening went out like Beau Brummell.
“Want me to send him away?” Quinn asked.
“No,” she said, rising. “I may as well see what he wants.”
She was nearly to the door when she collided with Sebastian. “There you are,” he said. “Stuart’s in the drawing room.”
“So I heard.”
“He came to ask you to attend Lady Hawthorne’s soiree tonight.” He paused. “And I think you should go.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses? I have no hope of preparing for such an event in such a short time, not to mention I have no desire to go anywhere with him or anyone else. Whatever happened to locking me in my room?” She couldn’t go out with Stuart...alone. What if he suspected she’d found him out?
He placed his hands out in front of him in a placating manner. “Hear me out, Jenna. You should go. Now is not the time to anger him. He could ruin you with just a few words in the right ears. We don’t need him shouting to London that you had an affair. And please,” he said as she opened her mouth to retort. “This isn’t about me or the family. I have no wish to see you hurt any more than you’ve already been. Whether you think so or not, your life will never be the same if you are found out.”
She promptly closed her mouth, swallowing the caustic reply. “You’re right, of course. Tell him I’ll be down as soon as humanly possible. Perhaps you can entertain him while he waits.”
Sebastian nodded and walked back out.
“Do you want me to come along?” Quinn asked softly.
She hesitated. She did want him to come, but how could she say she was afraid to be alone with Stuart? Cursing her overactive imagination, she shook her head. Tonight she would get to the bottom of this nonsense about Stuart being a spy. With Stuart’s family’s flare for dramatics, it was possible the viscountess had dreamed the entire thing up. But the voice in her head told her she was wrong. Dead wrong.
Casting a reassuring smile in Quinn’s direction, she turned and hurried to her room to begin preparing. She summoned Margaret, and the two of them began work on her coiffure.
In record time, Jenna descended the stairs and entered the drawing room to find Sebastian and Stuart sitting across from one another in silence. When they saw her, they quickly rose. Stuart smiled in her direction. “You look beautiful, my dear. Please pardon my unforgivably late invitation, but I decided at the last minute to go and immediately thought to ask you.”
“I am sure we will have a lovely time,” she said with false excitement. She licked her lips nervously as he offered his arm. She searched his face for some sign of menace, some hint that he meant to throw her out of the moving carriage. But all she saw reflected in his pale green eyes was sincerity.
They rode to the Hawthorne’s in awkward silence. Jenna’s heart was in her throat. Several times she tried to form a question, something to find out what she needed to know, but what? She couldn’t very well just come out and ask him if he was a spy or if he had killed his mother. Think, Jenna, think.
She turned to him and finally asked, “Have you ever been to France?”
He looked at her strangely. “Yes, many times. Why do you ask?”
Her breathing accelerated. “I see. When did you go last? And why did you go? I have a fascination with France. I’d love to visit someday.” Lud, but she was babbling.
“Perhaps we can go for our wedding trip,” he said with a smile.
Ha! He hadn’t answered her. But which question. She’d asked a dozen. “Will you remain in town to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Wellington’s victory?” Let him get out of that one, she thought with triumph.
“I suppose it will depend on whether your parents decide to stay on.”
Another non-answer! Her suspicion was growing with each vague response he generated. “Have there been many French spies discovered in England since the war?” She stared hard at him, gauging his response.
“Why the sudden interest in the war?”
Anxiety had her stomach in turmoil. “Oh, no reason,” she said airily. “I’ve been reading an account of our war with France. My curiosity was piqued.”
“We will have to make a point to visit then.” He beamed at her across the carriage.
Not if I can bloody help it.
###
Jenna fidgeted through dinner, forced to keep up polite conversation with the two gentlemen she was seated between. She picked at her food, grateful that ladies weren’t expected to eat much anyway.
Her gaze was repeatedly drawn to where Stuart sat several seats away. He kept up animated conversation with the ladies at his side, waving his hands theatrically as he gasped and exclaimed. But then he caught her eye and the act stopped. His gaze seemed to pierce her and a chill snaked down her spine.
She dropped her eyes and took another bite of her entrée. What was she going to do? It mattered not at this point whether she had proof. The seed of doubt had been planted, and she’d never be able to trust him.
When the last course had been served, the guests filtered back to the parlor where tables were set up for gaming. Stuart asked her to partner him in a game of whist, but she hadn’t the concentration for cards tonight. She agreed to watch as he partnered with Madame Devere against Lord and Lady Alban.
“Tu jous tres bien, monsieur,” Madame Devere said to Stuart.
“Merci bien, madame. Vous etes un joueur accompli vous-meme.”
He spoke French! But then so did she, and so did most of the ton. But he spoke it well. His accent was perfect. Not a butchery like most of the English’s attempt.
She’d never really studied him. Most of her time was spent avoiding anything to do with him. But she took the opportunity to do so now. His movements looked too practiced, not at all natural. Blast her wretched wayward thoughts. She was making far too much of Lady Dudley’s ramblings. Or was she?
No, she was not imagining this. Far too many coincidences had piled up for her liking. Lady Dudley must have known something. And evidently, someone else knew she did and now suspected Jenna did. What else could explain two attacks in such a short time?
Fear began to eat at her as she acknowledged the full force of Lady Dudley’s allegations. She wasn’t equipped to deal with a murderer.
There was something about Stuart that wasn’t quite right. She’d felt it all along, but had been too absorbed in her own misery to consider his oddities.
And now it was up to her to figure a way out of the mess she’d gotten herself into.
Finally the game was over and Stuart excused himself from the table. He took her elbow and escorted her to the refreshment table. “I thought you might like some punch.”
She nodded and took the cup he offered. Her hands shook slightly as she sipped the watered down concoction.
“Is there something wrong, Jenna? You seem distracted tonight.”
She managed a weak smile. “No, of course not.” Her heart beat thunderously in her chest as her nervousness increased.
“Perhaps we should take our leave.”
Relief washed over her, and she nodded her agreement.
Stuart left her long enough to give Lady Hawthorne their regrets and summon the carriage. A few minutes later they were on their way.
The ride home seemed interminable. She was fully prepared to launch herself out the door if he made an untoward advance. Several times, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, gauging his mood, watching his eyes for any sign of ill intent.
When he spoke, she nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Jenna, I hope our conversation of the other night hasn’t affected our rapport.”
What rapport? Unless you counted her strict avoidance of having a rapport. How did one maintain a rapport with a suspected murderer anyway? So she lied. “No, not at all. I’m glad we got it out in the open.”
“And the man you are...the person you are...” He broke off apparently flustered.
“There is no longer any man,” she said quietly, trying to calm her raging nerves. She had no wish to anger him. “I broke it off. I have no intention of carrying on an affair once we are married and certainly not under Mamma’s and Papa’s noses. They are returning any time from their trip.”
He looked relieved by her announcement, and oddly enough she detected a fleeting moment of regret in his eyes. “I am sorry if it made you unhappy to do so, but it’s good that no one discovered what you were about. I have no wish for you to be flayed by vicious tongues.”
She could almost forget that he might be a spy or a murderer. For the space of a few moments he was the Stuart she’d grown up with, always looking out for her. Another brother like Sebastian and Quinn. What had happened to him?
“I appreciate your concern,” she said quietly. “I have no desire to embarrass you, Stuart. No matter how it may appear.”
He patted her hand. “I know, Sprite, I know.”
She looked at him surprise. He hadn’t called her Sprite in years. Not since the last summer they’d all spent together, her, Sebastian, Quinn, and Stuart. Even when her brothers had adopted the name into adulthood, he had ceased to use it. She had the sudden urge to throw herself in his arms, just as she had done as a small girl. Only her newfound fear of him prevented it.
Countless times he had consoled her when Sebastian or Quinn had tormented her endlessly. Stroked her tussled hair, flicked her nose and told her to kick them in the shin if they got too overbearing.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what happened, but she didn’t want to make him feel awkward. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.
“Jenna, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he began.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Y-yes, Stuart?”
“The locket my mother gave to you...did she tell you of any significance it had? Some meaning perhaps?”
He was looking intently at her, and her blood was racing. What should she say? She shook her head. “N-no, I mean, she said it was special to her and that is why she gave it to me on the occasion of my birthday. Why do you ask?”
She twisted her hands nervously in front of her, sure he could see the sweat running down her neck.
“No reason,” he murmured. He turned back to look out the window.
As they pulled up to her house, her mind was whirling. She opened her mouth to ask the one question she wanted to ask above all, but closed it just as quickly. But she had to know. She turned so that she was looking directly into his eyes. “Stuart, exactly how did your mother die?”
Something flickered in his eyes, something cold and formidable. She shivered even before he replied. “She had a rather unfortunate fall down the stairs.”
She bolted from the carriage, only too anxious to be away from him and safely within the house. His promise to call on her again rang like a threat in her ears. She was breathing heavily when she slammed the door behind her. A quick glance around told her Sebastian and Quinn were likely out or upstairs.
Drawn to her father’s study and to the letters she’d hidden earlier, she hurried to the back of the house, making sure the study was empty before she entered. She took the volume from the shelf and retrieved the missives. She read through them again, making sure she’d not made a mistake. But no, it was as before. No mistake.
She crammed the letters back into the book, replaced it on the shelf then hurried up to her room. A prickling sensation tickled the back of her neck as she entered. A nagging worry assailed her as she looked around the room.
Someone had been in here.
She searched frantically for the locket she’d left on the dressing table. Both it and the box she’d put it in were gone. Thank God she’d hidden the letters. But who would have taken them? Surely not Sebastian or Quinn. What point would it have served?
Maybe Sebastian had taken it to be repaired as he’d mentioned. But why take the box, and why not just ask her for it? A chill descended on her. The coincidences continued to mount. The fact that she’d been invited out so unexpectedly. Then her locket disappearing from her room.
She turned and left her room, walking across the hall to Sebastian’s door. Before her fears spiraled out of control, she wanted to make sure she wasn’t wrong. She knocked and heard his call to come in.
“Ahh, you’re home,” he said as she walked in.
“Sebastian, did you take my locket to be repaired?”
He frowned. “No, I hadn’t the opportunity yet. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, it wasn’t on my dressing table, but I am sure Margaret picked it up for me.”
“Is it missing?” he asked in a concerned voice.
“No, no, I told Margaret to make sure it was safe. I just thought you might h
ave taken it to the jeweler.”
“Very well then. I’ll take it tomorrow if you like.”
“No hurry. Stuart knows it was broken,” she lied. She turned to leave. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Jenna.”
She returned to her room, her nerves a jumbled mess. Was she being overly dramatic? She walked to the window and looked out then down. Her window was open a crack. Throwing it open she looked down at the trellis leading up to her window. A piece was broken from the top. Someone had been here.
Fear gripped her insides. Had Stuart purposely invited her on an evening out so that someone could rifle through her room? Had he hired the man at the opera to rob her? Had he hired the two men that Gray had rescued her from? Why else would he suddenly ask her about the locket’s significance?
Bile rose in her throat burning a trail back down to her stomach as she fought to keep control. Did he plan to kill her as well? God, if he had killed his mother because she knew then the viscountess had consigned her to death as well by telling her the truth.
She couldn’t marry him.
For one thing she loved another, and secondly she would not go meekly to her death. Honor be damned. Nothing would persuade her to go through with this marriage.
It was time she stopped being so meek, and take an active stance in her future. No more would she depend on someone else for her happiness.
Her parents loved her, and she could not believe they would consign her to a life with a murderer. Furthermore, she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.
She felt free, truly free, for the first time since her engagement had been announced. The decision not to marry Stuart, no matter the consequences, released the heavy burden she’d borne for far too long.
And in the back of her mind, she was already plotting her future with Gray.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After a restless night, Jenna woke with new resolve. She intended to take the reins of her future and wasn’t about to relinquish them to anyone.
She hummed a melody as Margaret styled her hair. After Margaret helped her into the cream silk gown and fastened the back, Jenna waved her away and finished her toilette.