She smiled, glad for him, but it wavered under a blanket of apprehension. Not because she doubted his legitimacy. No, after his attack, she was convinced that he was indeed legitimate. Her only uneasiness came from the fact that whoever was responsible for attacking him was still out there. “Do you think it is entirely safe to make a public appearance?”
“Aye.” His wounded arm twitched in a small shrug and he winced slightly, but without a single misstep. “I’m likely in less danger the more people know about me. I have a grandfather now, a name, and a family. And it’s all because of you. My only regret is not believing you sooner.”
“Raven, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said as that sense of disquiet prodded her conscience.
She’d made a promise, after all. And besides, she believed telling him about the letters would come to nothing.
“And there’s something I need to tell you, as well. Don’t look now, but I think that’s Baron Ruthersby.”
Jane startled and saw that horrid man from the brothel speaking with the marquess. “What if he remembers us?”
“Don’t worry. You were beneath the hood and wore a mask, and he was likely too drunk to recall much of the night, regardless. Just be sure he doesn’t hear you speak. That should be simple enough since you’ll be on my arm the whole night,” he said with a rakish wink. “Now, what is it you have to tell me, hmm?”
“Later,” she said, not wanting anything to spoil the evening.
Besides, there were too many eyes watching with speculation, too many whispers behind their fans. Too many people who would doubt him if there was the slightest speculation.
At the thought, a shiver of foreboding skated over her scalp and down her nape.
In the same instant, the music ended abruptly on a discordant screech of violin strings and everyone looked over to the orchestra.
Jane gasped. Standing there was none other than Lord Herrington.
She curled her hand protectively over Raven’s. “You should leave before he does something worse.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Whatever he has to say, let him say it.”
* * *
The ball at the marquess’s town house was a lavish affair, far surpassing anything Raven had ever experienced. But there was no accounting for Aversleigh’s taste in guests.
Why did Herrington have to be invited, tonight of all nights? And he looked three sheets gone, at least, wobbling on his feet. Then, hefting a goblet high, he tapped the crystal with the gold ring on his right hand in high, piercing clinks.
“I have a toast,” he began, words slurring together as he pointed his glass to Raven. The gesture caused the crowd to turn at once, shifting as if to make a path for whatever insults were about to be propelled his way. “To you, whoever you are, for duping my uncle and all these guests. But you’ll never fool me. You’re no son of my cousin. You’re no Northcott.”
“Stop this, nephew,” Warrister growled, struggling to rise from the settee where he’d been sitting and talking with the marchioness. “You’re only going to make a fool of yourself.”
“Oh, but I have proof that casts more than a shadow of doubt on this pretender’s legitimacy.”
“Let him speak,” Raven said, affecting a tone of boredom. “He can’t say anything I haven’t already heard.”
But beside him, he felt Jane grow still and heard the subtle intake of her breath. And it might have been his imagination or the shifting of candlelight, but her complexion appeared somewhat paler.
He curled his hand comfortingly over the one she had resting on his sleeve, trying to warm the gloved fingers that had gone unnaturally cold.
“Challenge accepted.” Herrington sketched a bow, sloshing his drink. Then he moved away from the orchestra and went down the steps to the ballroom floor, speaking to the crowd along the way. “What my uncle doesn’t know is that there was a maid who worked for my cousin, and she gave birth to a child that January, just days before the fire. So, you see, there were two infants in the house that night.” The crowd gasped and Herrington ate it up with a gloating grin. “Yes, indeed, two infants.”
Surprised by this news, Raven sought Jane’s gaze. But her stark attention was fixed on Herrington and her hand slipped out from beneath his.
A cold chill slithered into Raven’s stomach, turning it to stone. Could she have known about the other child?
No. It wasn’t possible. He trusted Jane and knew that she would never keep anything from him.
Herrington held up two fingers and waved them around as he started to amble toward Raven. “Some of you might ask why that could be important. Well, that is the most important part of all. And it has something to do with Miss Pickerington’s uncle.”
He paused to empty his glass before he continued. “It just so happens that Mr. John Pickerington worked as a tutor in my cousin’s house, teaching his French wife to speak English. During that time, a maid arrived in a delicate condition, having left her husband. She’d begged for a post and a home for herself and her unborn child. Yet, all the while, she was hoping to trap some man into taking her away, wanting him to claim her husband’s child as his own. She attempted this with me as well. Of course, I—as a gentleman—put her in her place,” he said smugly with his hand splayed over his chest. “Mr. Pickerington, however, was fully ensnared. He gave her money. Bought her baubles. Promised her the world. He would have done anything for her. Anything. Even, I dare say, try to pass off her son as the lost heir.”
Raven absorbed this information, and felt the click of damning puzzle pieces sliding together. It made sense, albeit in a strange, twisted way. But it accounted for the missing information.
“Nephew,” Warrister warned again, but his voice had gone weaker, hoarse.
Herrington ignored him, stopping behind Jane. He peered around to look at her as if playing a game of hide and seek. “Ah, Miss Pickerington, you don’t appear surprised by this tale. Perhaps it is some great family secret.”
She looked up at Raven, eyes wide and the clear mark of guilt written in her unblinking stare. “Raven, I was going to tell . . .”
He looked away, sickened. Duped. And agonizingly tired of being used by nearly everyone he had ever known.
He’d thought she was different from the others. After all, what could she have to gain by any of this?
But he knew it had to be something. It always was.
For her, it likely started out with her study of scoundrels. A book. He’d been her research project. Then she found the mark and decided to make a gentleman out of him. Coincidentally, the bluestocking required a gentleman to marry, in order to have the life she wanted. Never mind the fact that she’d destroyed the life he’d wanted.
And he’d played perfectly into her hand. He’d forgotten all his rules.
“And what about you, Mr. Raven—whatever your name actually is? What secrets do you have?”
“I’m hiding nothing,” Raven said harshly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw tears roll down Jane’s cheeks. Disgusted by the sight, he jerked a handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it into her grasp. Then he looked to his grandfather.
Color was rising from Warrister’s neckcloth as he glared at Lord Herrington. Raven tried to go to him but Herrington blocked his path, arm extended to press that goblet-clenching fist to his chest.
Rage simmered in Raven’s blood. Instead of unleashing it, he drew in a breath, refusing to make a further spectacle that would injure the heart of a kind old man.
So he signaled the footman to help the earl back to the settee.
Herrington tsked. “Such concern. How sweet, indeed. You play your part well. But what do you think my uncle will do once he realizes he was manipulated from the start?”
“There was never any deception on my part.”
“Of course, you would say that,” Herrington continued, clucking his tongue. “You and the Pickerington family are thick as thieves. Here you are courting Miss Pickeringt
on so that one day she’ll become a countess. All the while you’re paying off her uncle’s debts so that he can be free of prison. It certainly seems that such a tremendous display of gratitude wouldn’t be necessary if you were, indeed, legitimate.” He scoffed, his voice rising to a bellow. “The truth is, you’re a complete fraud, trying to pass yourself off as the heir and take advantage of a senile old man.”
“That is enough.” Raven pushed aside the bracing hand and stepped toe to toe with Herrington, seething. “You’ve made your points perfectly clear, and have made it equally impossible to believe anything other than your truth. But leave the earl out of this.”
Before Raven left, he looked to Warrister one last time. “For what it is worth, I never wanted the title. I only wanted a name. A family.”
* * *
All eyes in the room watched Raven leave, including Jane’s. Then every eye descended on her.
She looked to her parents, who were—of course—already bowing to popular opinion. Ellie had tears in her eyes, but she was all the way across the ballroom. And Herrington was smiling.
He held the goblet out to her. “Your prize cup, madam.”
Furious and heartsick, she slapped it away, glad that it fell from his hand and shattered on the floor. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve tried to kill him several times? Did you have to murder his spirit as well?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just dashed out of the ballroom and after Raven.
He was already across the lamplit street, eating up the pavement toward Covent Garden with prowling, long-legged strides. There was no way she could catch him on foot.
She hailed a hackney and, once she was beside him, she called out, “Please get in. Let me explain.”
To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate. Leaping inside before the carriage had stopped, he sat across from her, his cold stare boring into hers, in the light of the carriage lanterns.
“I made a mistake in not telling you.”
“A mistake?” He arched a brow. “No, Jane. A mistake happens by accident. You chose not to tell me something monumental. You broke your word. You promised that you would tell me everything. You, who always needs to be prepared for every situation, left me in the dark. I can never forgive you. Not for this.”
The words were spoken with such glacial certainty, that Jane felt as if she’d fallen through the ice of a frozen lake and was left floundering. “I only just discovered the letters in the attic. I didn’t even know until the night you were attacked, and by then it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”
She hoped the recollection of their night together would bring him back. The tender confessions. The desperate joining of their bodies. The love they both felt. Even though he’d never said the words, she’d felt it spilling out of him and into her.
“All you had to do was tell me. That simple,” he said through clenched teeth and then looked out the hackney window as if dismissing her from his presence.
“Simple?” She swallowed down another jolt of panic. “If I had shared the contents of those letters, I know precisely what you would have done. You would have turned your back on your birthright. On your family. And you would have done it without thinking twice. You’ve spent your life keeping everyone at a distance. You even put conditions on your time with me, keeping a barrier between us, disappearing whenever I got too close.”
His gaze swerved back to her, a smile twisting his mouth as he drawled, “Oh, that’s not true, Jane. In fact, I’d say you and me have been quite close. Quite close, indeed.”
“It was different with us, from the very beginning,” she said quietly.
“You’d like to think so.”
“You’re doing it now. You’re trying to hurt me to keep me far away. You’ve lived most of your life without letting anyone in. You keep yourself locked up like your bedside table,” she said, trying to get him to see reason.
“You keep talking about my flaws and failings. Well, what about yours, hmm?” He growled. “You know how your parents don’t give a damn about you? Well, have you ever once thought that it might be your own fault? That you and your little quirks are nothing more than a constant headache? Who wants to deal with all the chaos that follows you?”
She flinched at the attack, feeling it penetrate the vulnerable surface of her heart.
But she swallowed down the pain. Trying hard to believe that he didn’t mean it, she shifted to the edge of the bench and laid her hand on his knee. She needed to convince him that she hadn’t abandoned him.
“I understand your reasons for saying these cruel things,” she said. “You’ve been hurt so badly throughout your life that you expect it now, from everyone. But I’m telling you that I made a mistake. Please don’t let this consume you and ruin us. Raven, we belong together, no matter who you are.”
Desperation made her reach out for his hand. She had to pry his folded arms apart, so that she could lay his palm against her cheek.
“Stop it, Jane. Just stop it.” He pulled free, shrugging her off, voice rising as he continued. “You’re more cruel and cunning than any of them because you made me want this. You made me believe I had a family. Then you just stood there while it was being ripped away.”
She shook her head, frantic, tears clogging her throat. “I didn’t know what to say. I knew shortly after Herrington began that you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Pity, that.” He tsked. “So, tell me, Jane. Were you just amusing yourself for a bit of research, hmm? Will this be part of your book—a scoundrel’s lessons?”
“No. Please listen—”
“At least I got something out of it, too,” he sneered, deaf to her pleas. “Though, in hindsight, I think the manner of payment for your services is rather steep. You may want to go a bit easier on the next bloke who falls for your lies. But I’ll say one thing in your favor”—he reached across and set his hand on the carriage door—“you make it easy for everyone to walk away and never look back.”
Opening the door, he leapt down to the street without a backward glance.
Jane wanted to call out to him. But when she opened her mouth, only a deep wrenching sob came out, the agony so overwhelming that no sound accompanied it.
She doubled over, her mouth frozen open as if in a silent scream that no one would ever hear. And for the first time in a long while, she felt completely alone and utterly invisible.
Chapter 34
The first thing Jane did upon arriving home was to collapse into Mr. Miggins’s arms. The stoic butler did not seem at all surprised, but simply put his arms around her and let her have a good cry. When she’d managed to collect herself enough, he gave her a handkerchief and told her that he’d have the kitchens send up a nice tray to her rooms.
The tea did nothing to console her. It was simply a liquid with leaves, heated to a certain temperature, and she couldn’t even bring herself to care about the properties of steam. All she did was lie beneath the coverlet and cling to any part that still carried Raven’s scent.
It was impossible to believe how quickly it had ended.
In fact, she couldn’t believe it. Her mind refused to accept it.
There was no logic in their separation, not when her skin still recalled the sensations of his touch as if expecting him to stride in and brush the hair from her face and hold her close. Not when her lips still pulsed with the tender memories of their last night together and might forever be bruised from his sweetly frantic kiss. And not when her heart still belonged to him.
The artist on her portico had painted an entire series of imagined scenarios of their future together. Her inner scribe kept a catalogue of his language. It contained the meaning of every growl and grunt, along with every type of caress and kiss.
She was not a person given to nightmares, but she imagined this was what one felt like—the inability to escape, the racing panic to get away from the most painful moment of her life.
How did one move on from such devastation?
Th
e answer did not come. And likely never would.
Jane didn’t expect to see her parents that night. Nevertheless, they slowly strolled through the doorway and looked around her room, as if touring a museum or a shop, seeming to pay no attention to the young woman sobbing into her coverlet.
“Have you c-come to tell me s-something?” she asked when she was able, her voice breaking in hiccupped sobs.
“It is all out now, dearest,” Mother said. “Everyone is talking about how he was nothing more than a fraud, like the others before him.”
“He’s not a fraud. He just doesn’t know what to believe. There were two children in that house, true, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t Merrick Northcott.”
“That’s neither here nor there. With everything that has come out, Mr. Northcott—or whoever he is—has lost favor with the ton.”
“And no daughter of mine is going to be ruined with all of society watching.”
Jane went cold and still. “What do you mean?”
“I think it was in the way that Lord Herrington indicated that you were conspiring to marry that man,” Mother said with a nod as if agreeing with herself. “It was all very scandalous. And so many people noticed the way you had rushed off after him. It might have been forgiven when he was the heir, but now . . .”
“Then we heard a strange accounting from a certain Baron Ruthersby. As soon as you left, he came to me and declared that he’d met you in a brothel of all things. Even though it couldn’t be true, the damage has been done, nonetheless. The Marquess of Aversleigh overheard him,” Father added with a stern frown. “Therefore, I’ve no choice but to send you to America. Fear not, though, I’m sure everyone will eventually forget about this entire episode, much like they forgot my brother’s misdeeds. Or at least they had done . . . until tonight. Now who’s to say how long it will be before their memories are erased once more?”
Mother issued a sigh. “I’m only glad no one discovered that John had been at the Northcott estate on the night of that terrible fire. I shall never forget seeing him covered in all that soot and ash, stumbling in here and sobbing at your feet. Quite alarming, indeed.”
My Kind of Earl Page 31