by Kay Hooper
She folded her arms and continued to smile. “I feel sure that—as conscientious as you are—you have already searched the stables. Tell me, did you find a black stallion?”
The Runner’s eyes grew cold; he disliked the feeling that the young lady was toying with him. “No, ma’am, we found no stallion.”
“Then I suggest, officer, that I do not own one.”
He continued to stare coldly into her wild eyes. “Tell me, miss,” he said deliberately, “why is it that you often ride out late at night—alone and dressed like a man?”
Jenny’s face remained expressionless. “I have trouble sleeping,” she replied softly. “And as for my attire—if you were a woman, officer, you would know the answer to that. Breeches are far more comfortable than petticoats.”
“This has gone far enough,” Spencer said coldly. “You have only speculation on which to base your accusations. You have no proof—nothing that would stand up in court. And let me remind you, gentlemen, that even if you caught the Cat red-handed, you would be hard-put to raise support against her. The Cat has won the respect and admiration of many influential people. She has also assisted the War Office in its fight against traitors.”
The Runner’s voice was every bit as cold as the duke’s. “Happen that’s so, Your Grace—but even a heroine would hang for murder.”
Spencer stiffened, his eyes locked with the Runner’s. “Have a care what you say, officer,” he said gently. “This lady has promised to become my wife.” He heard Jenny catch her breath in surprise, but continued to stare at the Runner.
After a long moment, Simmons angrily stuffed his notebook back into his pocket. He was well aware of Spencer’s influence at Bow Street. He crammed his hat on his head and said coldly, “I’ll be watching.” A moment later, the Runners were gone.
Jenny went silently to the window and watched the two men stride away. She turned to face the duke, a faint frown on her face. “Black hair,” she murmured.
Spencer, who had been expecting a different comment, looked startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“He said that the Cat had black hair.”
“You do.”
“Yes,” she said impatiently, “but how did he know that? The Cat wears a black hood and mask—her hair is never seen.”
“Perhaps someone mistook the hood for your hair.” Jenny began to pace restlessly. “No, no, I don’t think so. Someone informed against me—someone who has a strong suspicion that I am the Cat.”
“Or someone who knows,” Spencer responded slowly.
Jenny stopped pacing to stare at the duke. “Only four people know who the Cat really is. Three of them I would trust with my life.”
“And the fourth?”
“The fourth is you.”
“You still don’t trust me.” He shook his head slowly. “Why, Jenny? Why don’t you trust me?”
She turned her back abruptly, staring into the fireplace. “I don’t know you. Why should I put my life in the hands of a stranger?”
“But I am not a stranger. Didn’t you hear what I said to the Runner?”
“Of course I heard. I am much obliged to you for what you said. It frightened them away—at least for the moment.”
Spencer wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her. But he knew that, for the moment at least, he must force himself to be patient. He must proceed carefully or she would withdraw from him as an animal retreats to its shell. Casually he said, “I meant it, you know. I do want you to be my wife.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“That is a very unflattering response to a proposal of marriage,” he said lightly.
“Will you be serious,” she snapped, her nerves on edge.
“I am serious, Jenny,” he said gently. “The first time we met, I fell in love with a pair of wild, restless eyes. I didn’t even know who you were—but I knew that I loved you. Now I do know who you are—and I love you even more.”
“Stop it!” she cried, turning suddenly to face him. She was as pale as death, her eyes even wilder than before. “You can’t love me. I’m a thief. I’ve spent the past year of my life riding all over the country dressed like a man and shooting at people. I can outride, outshoot, and outthink most men. Is that who you want for your duchess? Is that who you want to take home to your family?”
He stepped forward, one hand outstretched. “I want you, Jenny. Your past isn’t important except that it shaped you into the woman you are today. I’ve fallen in love with that woman. I love your courage, your spirit; I love your intelligence and your ability to remain cool and calm in the face of incredible danger.”
“You heard what the Runner said. He said I could hang for murder. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a murderess? Do you want to be forced to flee the country because of me?”
“Jenny.” His face was tense, his voice strained. “Foolish girl. My happiness doesn’t rest on this miserable little island. It rests on a stubborn, determined chit of a girl with the beauty of a queen and the courage of a Viking.”
The wild eyes went grave suddenly. “I—I can’t. I’m not fit to be any man’s wife. Least of all—least of all yours.”
He stepped closer, his gray eyes gentle. “If it’s only that you don’t love me—I can teach you. I can, Jenny.”
She managed a faint smile. “I don’t think I’m capable of love—not any longer. Too much has happened.”
He came to stand before her. “Perhaps you have forgotten, but I have not. There was a night, weeks ago, when I held a woman in my arms—a warm, responsive woman. That woman was capable of love. Have you changed so much in a few short weeks?”
She turned her back to him, afraid of what he might see in her face. “That night was a mistake. It should never have happened.”
“But it did happen.”
“It—it was only lust.”
Spencer’s face went grim suddenly. “There is one way to find out.”
Jenny turned in time to see the purpose in his expression as he reached for her. Another face rose in her imagination, and she flinched away from him, panic in her face.
He froze, and a spark of pure rage in his eyes. “It was Stoven, wasn’t it? He put this fear into you.”
“I—you just startled me.”
“Did he hurt you, Jenny?”
Jenny fought down panic as he gently put his hands on her shoulders. Breathlessly, she replied, “No. He didn’t hurt me.”
Slowly, the duke drew her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair. “I love you, Jenny. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
For a long moment, she remained stiff. Then, slowly, the rigidity flowed from her body and her arms slipped shyly around his waist. “Oh, Nick.” Her voice was husky. “I don’t want to love you—please don’t make me love you.”
Spencer held her tightly. “You can’t fight love, kitten.”
She raised tear-bright eyes to his. “My father always called me that—kitten.”
“Because you’re so like a kitten.” He smiled. “Biting and scratching one moment, purring the next.”
Slowly he lowered his head until his lips found hers. The kiss, gentle at first, deepened as he felt her response.
Passion flared in both of them, racing through their bodies like molten fire. Jenny felt no fear in Spencer’s arms, only the need to be closer, to be part of him. His lips left hers to blaze a trail down her neck, lingering in the hollow of her shoulder. She caught her breath as his hand found the softness of her breast, which seemed to swell at his touch. His lips returned to hers, and she felt shattered as the kiss deepened beyond anything she had ever imagined. If he had not been holding her tightly, she would have collapsed in a heap at his feet.
But a moment later, he abruptly pulled away and turned his back to her. She swayed slightly, and watched him with eyes still dazed with passion.
Slowly, he turned to her, his face pale. “Jenny,” he said h
oarsely, “I love you—and I need you. I want you to be my wife.”
Jenny tried to calm her racing heart. “The—the problems—” she faltered.
“The problems can be resolved.”
She stared at him, her mind filled with the vision of him always by her side. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she loved him. She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him, but she had. Suddenly, she was tired of fighting against it.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, looking anxiously at her still face. “Jenny?”
Slowly, her lovely smile appeared. Her eyes were soft, bemused. “I love you,” she whispered. “And I want to marry you with all my heart.”
He hugged her fiercely. “Thank God,” he said unsteadily. “I’ll speak to your stepfather, and we can be married as soon as possible.” He smiled down at her. “The Cat will disappear, and everyone will think she has fled the country.”
Jenny abruptly pulled away from him, and his smile faded as he saw the torment in her face. “Jenny? What is it?”
“Nick, I—I can’t stop yet. It isn’t finished.”
A frown drew his brows together. “What do you mean? Of course you’ll stop. The Cat must disappear, Jenny—there’s no other way.”
“But not yet.”
“Jenny, you don’t seem to understand—you’ll be my wife. You won’t have time to ride all over the country.” Ignoring the gathering storm on her face, he added, “I won’t allow it. The danger is too great. Jenny, you’ve done enough; I don’t want my wife to end up on the gallows.”
“Stop it.” Her voice shook with rage. “Nick, will you listen to yourself? Do you hear what you’re saying? You’re condemning to death everything in me that you professed to love not ten minutes ago. You can’t change what I am—I won’t let you. The Cat will not disappear, because her job isn’t finished—not yet.”
He stared at her grimly, the tenderness of moments ago forgotten. “I won’t allow it.”
Suddenly, her face went deathly pale. “You don’t have any say in the matter, Nick,” she said quietly.
“I do. You’ll be my wife—”
“No. I will not be your wife. If you cannot accept me as I am, there will be no marriage.”
“Jenny, for God’s sake—”
“I mean it, Nick.”
He saw the determination on her face, and realized that she could not be swayed. “So be it, then.” A moment later, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a thundering crash.
Jenny stood stiffly, her eyes fixed on the door, but he did not return. She was still there, unmoving, when Meg came in a few moments later.
“Jenny? I saw the duke ride away; his face was so angry! What happened? Jenny?” Meg suddenly fell silent as she looked intently at her stepsister’s face. It was the face of a stranger—pale and still. Her normally wild golden eyes were utterly without life.
When she spoke, her voice was as dead as her eyes. “Why, Meg? Why can’t life be as simple as one of your fairy stories? Why must it be so complicated?”
“Jenny?”
“What have I done, Meg? Dear God—what have I done?”
Meg flew to embrace her, sensing a loss she didn’t understand. “It’s all right, Jenny. Everything will be all right.”
Feeling an overpowering need to be alone, Jenny gently disentangled herself from Meg’s arms and said in a low voice, “I need to be alone for a while, my dear. I need to think.”
She produced a rather twisted smile for Meg, then slowly left the room, heading for the library. That would be a good place to sort out her thoughts.
Chapter Sixteen
Jenny sat alone in the silent library and wondered wearily how much longer she could go on. For the first time in her life she felt totally alone. As a child, she had felt that her father was near and that he stood, silently supportive, at his daughter’s side. That comforting presence had been gone for many years now.
Now Jenny was frightened. Since her father’s death, she had scorned the idea that she would ever need to depend on someone other than herself, but now she felt a desperate need to share her burdens.
She was tired of playing games with her life. She was tired of distrusting everyone she met, of guarding her every word and gesture. She was tired of pointing guns at people, and breaking laws she had been raised to obey. But most of all, she was tired of being alone.
And she had just rejected the man she loved. Why had she not told him the truth? Why had she not confided in him? She could find no answer within herself. Pride, perhaps, had prevented her. Or perhaps simply a stubborn desire to be accepted and understood without the need to explain her motives.
Whatever her reasons, she had effectively shut the duke out of her life. He would not chance another rejection.
Jenny sighed and dropped her head into her hands. Her question to Meg had come straight from her heart. Why did life have to be so complicated? If this were a fairy story, she could be certain of a happy ending, no matter how painful the interval might become. But this was reality, and reality did not supply happiness on a silver platter. Reality required that happiness be earned.
Which happiness was she to earn? The happiness of avenging her father’s murder? Or the happiness of loving the man of her dreams and being loved by him? Which did she most desire?
Jenny felt a leaden sensation somewhere deep within her. The choice had been made long ago. She could do no less than honor that choice. She would avenge her father’s murder—or die.
Having made her decision, Jenny felt at peace. She would finish what she had begun.
She became aware of a presence in the room. Looking up, she saw that Somers waited for her to acknowledge him. “Yes, Somers?”
“Sir George Ross to see you, Miss Jenny.” The butler’s face was expressionless. “In the Blue Room.”
Jenny’s limbs, which had been weakened by fear and loneliness a short time before, now stiffened with determination. She nodded. “Thank you, Somers.”
The young lady who faced Sir George a few moments later was as calm and collected as he had ever seen her. “Sir George. How good of you to pay us a visit.” Her voice was touched with irony.
Sir George bowed mockingly, appearing for once none the worse for drink. “You are in excellent looks today, my dear stepdaughter. I sincerely hope that no ill fortune has befallen you since last I saw you. You have not, for instance, received disturbing news from Bow Street, I hope?”
Jenny stiffened slightly, her golden eyes darkening as she considered her stepfather’s triumphant expression. Softly, she said, “Yes, of course. It would have to be you. You informed against me.”
He bowed again, a bland smile on his face. “I did. May I dare hope that you have been exposed for what you are? Does the hangman know your name, my dear Jenny?” His voice was full of satisfied certainty.
Jenny smiled very gently and moved a step closer to him. “I am afraid not,” she replied.
His smile faded. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” he asked hoarsely.
“The Runners did come. However, I answered all their questions satisfactorily, in addition to which I was also vouched for by a very influential man.”
“Who? Who was the man?” The hoarseness had not left his voice.
Nor had the smile left Jenny’s face. “The Duke of Spencer. He was here when the Runners came and defended me quite admirably.”
Violent rage flashed in Sir George’s small eyes. “Spencer? Perhaps His Grace would like to know just how true the accusation is.” His smile was not pleasant. “I’ve heard the rumors, Jenny. The talk of London is that His Grace seems quite taken with you. I wonder if his feelings would change if he were told the truth.”
Jenny wandered to the settee and sank down gracefully. Her voice was casually unconcerned when she replied, “You may tell him what you choose. I assure you the duke knows all there is to know about me.” She forgave herself the lie.
Sir George frowne
d. “He knows you’re the Cat? I find that hard to believe.”
Jenny lifted one eyebrow, a faintly puzzled look on her face. “The Cat? I’m sure I haven’t the vaguest idea what you mean.”
He smiled tightly. “I didn’t expect you to admit it, Jenny. Nevertheless, we both know the truth. I’ve known for months. You think I didn’t see you sneaking out of your bedroom window late at night?”
“I have always preferred to ride at night. Ask my mother.”
“And the horse? Have you always hidden him?” Sir George asked sarcastically.
“Only since my mother married you,” she replied calmly. “The horse is valuable, and I had no desire to see you sell him.”
Sir George flushed angrily. “A pretty opinion you have of me,” he said shortly.
Jenny looked at him steadily. “Any man who would to go Bow Street and accuse his own stepdaughter of being a notorious thief couldn’t be considered a gentleman, now could he?”
“Only if the accusation were untrue. But it isn’t, is it, Jenny?”
She had no intention of helping him put a noose round her neck. “Don’t be ridiculous. What possible reason would I have for becoming a thief?”
He folded his arms and stared at her grimly. “That has me baffled. You certainly don’t need the money, so it must be the excitement.”
She sighed wearily. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Sir George. I have all the excitement I can handle at the moment.”
“Trying to catch a duke?” he asked nastily.
Jenny stared at him for a moment before saying deliberately, “That’s right. If you want to dispose of me, you’re going about it the wrong way. Leave me alone for the Season in London, and I can safely promise you won’t be bothered by me again.”
She watched her stepfather’s changing expression with satisfaction. Visions of marriage settlements seemed to dance in his eyes. He fully intended to make some man pay through the nose to become Jenny’s husband and, for once, she was grateful for his greed.
Slowly, he said, “So you mean to marry Spencer. You didn’t want to be a countess, you wanted to be a duchess. That’s why you rejected Stoven.” He stared at her.