When she opened them, Guignard and his black dots were gone.
Shaldon was still there, gripping her hand and watching her, that vein pulsing again in his temple. He was down on one knee. Not, she noted, the mangled one.
Heat rose in her. She’d been naked with him, she’d made love to him, slept with him. She’d given herself to him, fully. And all the while he’d been dallying with someone else.
It was happening again, damn it.
Heart pounding wildly, she yanked her hand away and gulped in more air, reaching for sanity.
It had been only one night, after so many years of being so good. Tears brimmed, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Only one night, one night that meant nothing to him. It must mean nothing to her.
And it didn’t. She wasn’t a raw young girl any more. She’d not given her heart, no matter that he’d asked for it.
Had she, in those intimate moments, revealed something, some piece of intelligence that had led him to Guignard?
“You visited my bedchamber last night to find the painting.”
“No.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “In any case, Kincaid made the connection between Guignard and La Fanelle.”
“Did you secure the painting before you dallied with me then?”
“I was not dallying. I am deadly serious about marrying—”
“You are dodging my question.”
He straightened.
“Oh, do get up, Shaldon, and for once, tell me the damned truth.”
He blinked. “It was after.”
Bile rising again, she pressed a hand to her mouth. Before or after, what did it matter?
She stood, drawing him up by the elbow. “Get up. And pray, tell me, what lady would want to marry a man like you, always planning, and plotting, and scheming? You would be up and off for…for South America, or…or India, tracking down someone who did you wrong decades ago, flying off with not so much as a note of goodbye.”
He opened his mouth and closed it, his expression inscrutable.
No denials then? Heat pounded into her head, anger sparking along every muscle.
“Or maybe your lady won’t care, because if you’re off swanning around other parts of the world she won’t be confronted with the three or four different women you’re tupping as you carry out your revenge.”
“Jane.”
“What lady wants a husband, much less a lover, who would escort her home from a musicale and be off to make love to another, all in the same night?” She shook her fist at him and squeezed her eyes shut blocking out his astonished look. “Not I, Shaldon. Not I. I’ll not marry you. I’ll not play second fiddle to your cronies and chums, and all the sneaking old enemies from twenty years in your past, or to the women you’re bedding for England. Take the blasted painting. Go and wave it under your Duque’s nose while you cuckold him.”
He took in a sharp breath. “Jane.”
Soft linen touched her cheek.
Blast it all. She was weeping.
“Look at me, Jane.” He pressed the handkerchief into her hand and secured her shaking shoulders, his hands infuriatingly gentle, his dark gaze locked on hers. “The painting is all yours. Do with it as you please. There is no other woman, most definitely not the Duquesa. I did not make love to her.” He pressed his lips together, looking almost nervous. “Marry me, Jane.”
“No.”
“Take some time. Think about—”
“No. There’s no need for time.” No need, no need, no need. She must be off, and soon. “The answer is no.”
Pain flashed in his eyes, quickly shuttered.
Had she seen that? Had that been real? Or was it another one of his deceptions and tricks?
Oh, how she wished it wasn’t.
She shook her head. “I’m leaving, Shaldon.” Perry would loan her the funds, or Sirena, or perhaps Graciela. “This is only a game for you…a challenge. You don’t truly want me.”
His steady gaze sent warmth rippling through her, stirring up echoes of the previous night’s pleasure.
“I want you,” he whispered. “You’ve lived in my home for months, tempting me. This is no game. I care for you. I would be true to my vows, to you, always. I can be as loyal as you, Jane. Please. Give my proposal twenty-four hours. We’ll talk tomorrow night. Will you agree to that much?”
True to his vows, and lying to her right now? She’d seen him with the Duquesa, with her own eyes.
And yet…and yet…
“Please, Jane. Please do not leave me yet.”
Hot tears rushed her eyes. That had been heartfelt. And what a pathetic watering pot she was becoming.
She nodded. “I couldn’t possibly put together an escape that quickly.”
He leaned in and his lips touched hers, warm and firm.
And then he was gone.
Jane staggered to the sideboard where Madame kept her sherry and poured a drink.
Monsieur Guignard entered on a cool draft of air that made the tapers flicker. He was carrying the gold-painted rolling pin, the one she had used as a case for the painting.
“My lady, my betrayal was unavoidable I’m afraid. But I believe, nevertheless, that we shall both receive better benefit from the new arrangement, and a certain level of sécurité far better than had we acted on our own. And should you still feel the need for funds to leave the country, I have something here that I hope will restore your trust in Monsieur Guignard.”
He pried the lid from the tube and slid out a rolled canvas.
Her breath caught as she unfurled it, her pulse accelerating.
The varnish was not as cracked as the original—but a buyer might think it was the original that had been restored. The row of numbers still ran along the crimped yellowed edge.
“It’s brilliant.” She glanced up at Guignard. “Or…is this the original? Did you give Shaldon a copy?”
He shook his head. “I would not presume to deceive that particular earl. I know of a dealer in Flanders who will be happy to look at this. We can sell it to him for a good price.”
“We?” Guignard obviously thought he was coming with her to the Continent. She supposed she would need someone’s help if she meant to sell off a copy as the original.
Unless she sold it here before leaving. She could give Guignard his commission, and give a portion to Quentin, though he wouldn’t need it if Shaldon had paid his debt and found him employment.
She smoothed the canvas again. Quentin had made his indifference clear—he didn’t need her help. What could she have expected after years of estrangement and neglect?
Staying in England, with Quentin ignoring her and Shaldon importuning her while he carried out his other affairs would be intolerable. But traveling to the Continent with Guignard? No…just…no.
“You may help me sell it here,” Jane said.
“But to whom?”
She straightened her spine and walked to the window. The sun was up, the shopkeepers were opening, and carts of goods rumbled in the street below.
It was only a copy. She would start with the obvious client.
* * *
“He is not in.”
The stuffy porter at Mivart’s Hotel had taken her name and examined her closely before allowing her and her two companions, Guignard and Ewan, across the establishment’s threshold.
She’d refused a new gown, but Barton had found her suitable undergarments for this mission and covered her tightly coiled plait in a fashionable bonnet. She was presentable for Mivart’s and its noble clientele.
“My lady.” Guignard tugged at her sleeve. “We should not bother the D—”
“When would be a good time to call?” Jane asked the porter. It was early of course for the aristocracy, but mid-morning was not too early for a matter so urgent. She couldn’t put together an escape in one day, perhaps, but she could make a good start on her plans once she had money.
Guignard had discouraged her attempting this negotiation, insisting he would
take care of everything. As if she would ever again fully trust him.
“If you would leave a note I shall see that he receives it.”
“Very well,” she said. “But the matter is urgent. You must see that he receives it immediately upon his arrival.”
A lady appeared on the staircase, her blonde hair peeking out from under a bonnet in a shade of blue that perfectly matched her dress.
Jane recognized the design from a similar one in Barton’s sketchbook. She recognized the lady as well. It was early for such a lady to be up and about.
She dipped into a curtsy worthy of Spanish nobility. “Duquesa,” she said. They had been introduced at the same diplomatic ball where her husband had insulted Graciela.
The Duquesa de San Sebastian inclined her head and extended her hand. “Lady Jane Montfort. It is a great pleasure.” Her gaze swept up the porter, Guignard, and Ewan. “Leave us.”
The porter hustled Guignard and Ewan outside. The dark-clad maid and the two men who had appeared behind the Duquesa stepped back out of earshot.
Jane fought for composure. The lady was exquisitely beautiful. It was no wonder Shaldon had hastened from her bed to the Duquesa’s, like a horseman changing from a cob to an Arabian stallion.
But she must go on. “I was hoping to speak with the Duque about a matter of business.”
For a lady to visit a nobleman on business was impertinent, brazen, and not done, but she didn’t care.
Could she share the nature of the business with Shaldon’s paramour? No doubt the Duquesa’s relationship with Shaldon was as mercenary as her own.
She had come to sell the Duque the copy Guignard had provided, but perhaps she should offer it to the Duquesa.
The lady’s blue gaze rested on her and it was not unkind.
She squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t swindle the Duquesa. She wouldn’t negotiate the sale of the forgery Guignard carried in the small satchel he was clutching. She would hold Shaldon to his word and act as his agent to sell the authentic painting he held.
The Duquesa raised an eyebrow. “You are here regarding this painting the Duque covets?”
Jane let out a breath. “Yes.”
“Lord Shaldon’s? Yes, of course.” The lady paused, opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
Choosing her words carefully, Jane thought.
“I have no interest in the painting. My husband, he is off this morning to attend an affair of honor.”
“An affair of…”
Her chest tightened. An affair of honor—a duel.
Under the lady’s gaze, her scalp began to warm and prickle.
“Whose?” Jane blurted the question.
The Duquesa inclined her head and reached for Jane’s hand, squeezing it and letting go. “That is all I may say.” She whisked out the door, her maid and guards following her.
After she’d left, Guignard, Ewan, and the porter pushed in.
Heart throbbing, Jane let herself be led out to the street. She turned on Ewan. “What do you know of a duel this morning?”
The boy blinked, and he shook his head. “Naught, my lady.”
“Guignard?” she asked.
“I also know nothing.”
Penderbrook’s debt had left him in danger of a challenge, but Shaldon had paid his debt, he’d said. Had the foolish young man concealed other debts? Or incurred more?
She signaled the hackney they’d left waiting and gave an address near Berkeley Square.
“Where are we going?” Guignard asked.
“Shaldon House.” Ewan said, and she heard the relief in his voice.
Chapter 18
“I hope this plan works.” Bakeley looked up from the legal document he was perusing. Perspiration still burnished his brow from his practice session with Penderbrook, but his neckcloth was perfectly knotted, and he looked as though he’d had a few moments of sleep, unlike the rest of them.
“Father is a dab hand with plans,” Charley said. “It will work.”
Or it had better. Charley set a fresh bottle of brandy next to Penderbrook’s Last Will and Testament, the document hastily prepared earlier by one of Shaldon’s solicitors.
“He’s leaving half of everything to Lady Jane, and the other half to a Mr. Walker.”
“The clergyman who raised him. Where’s Father?”
“Off with Kincaid sharpening the swords,” Bakeley said. “He trundled in late last night.”
“In the wee hours?” Had he been sharpening his other sword at Lady Jane’s?
He laughed and pressed a hand over his face, trying to blot out that awful image.
Bakeley laughed also and shook his head. “I find I don’t mind the idea of Lady Jane.”
“If she bolts now and then, he’ll stay out of our hair.”
“Exactly.” Bakeley’s gaze sobered. “If our people at Payne-Elsdon’s lodging fail us, is he better than the Major?”
“I don’t know. I imagine Father knows a trick or two, and is willing to use them, damn the rules. And if all else fails, you’ll step in as his second to enforce honor with your trusty pistol, and Kincaid will have his throwing knives. And we could call in Bink with his deadly left hook. I, of course, will be in the bushes with Pender, spewing my morning breakfast, all in the name of preserving our cover.” Charley cracked his knuckles. “I suppose I’ll understand better what Gracie’s going through.”
Bakeley’s gaze held his for a very long pause. “You broke Father’s rule and told your wife.”
Charley grinned. How astute Bakeley was becoming. Almost a mind-reader. His wife was able to keep secrets. On the other hand…
“You told Sirena.”
Bakeley’s mouth firmed, and Charley laughed. “We are both disobedient churls. I hope you locked your lady in her room, else she’ll be dashing out the door looking for Lady Jane. And why am I laughing? Gracie will be right by her side, more than likely.”
“Sirena is sworn to secrecy,” Bakeley’s eyes flashed a warning.
He held up his hands. “Don’t call me out, brother. I know your lady can keep secrets too.” His sister-in-law had almost been killed in this library because of a secret. “With another lady’s heart at stake, we’ve led our wives into terrible temptation. How long will they hold out?”
“Long enough I hope,” Bakeley said.
The library door opened, and Penderbrook stepped in, scanning the room as if it was the last time he’d ever see it.
“Come and sign, Penderbrook,” Bakeley called. Ever the man to get down to business, was his brother.
Bakeley explained the hastily prepared document while Charley found a corkscrew and opened the bottle of brandy.
“You’re as white as your neck cloth, Pender,” he said. “That won’t do.”
Penderbrook ignored him as he scrawled his name, and Charley went to fetch three glasses.
“None for me,” Bakeley said. He blotted the document and set it aside. “Your letters?”
Penderbrook pulled a stack of missives from an inner pocket and Bakeley stacked them atop the will.
“What the devil, Pender?” Charley said. “Did you write to every man at the club? Or are those just your former creditors?”
Color rose in his friend’s cheeks, just as he’d hoped it would.
“We need to leave in minutes. I’m going to find Father,” Bakeley said, and walked out.
Charley poked his friend’s shoulder. “I’m a scoundrel, I know, but I’m a true friend. A little angry spirit will serve you well, just don’t unleash it on me. Now.” He filled two glasses with generous pours. “Bakeley has shared a bottle of his spirits from his best hidden cache. As that happens very seldom, you must partake, and I, as your friend, will join you.”
Penderbrook reached for the glass, then hesitated. “Perhaps I’d better not.”
“You’re shaking Pender. Take the glass.”
Penderbrook looked at his hand, sighed, and obeyed. Charley clinked glasses. “To your first ou
ting.” They tossed back their drinks.
“Hmm,” Charley mused, refilling their glasses. “I do believe I’ll need to filch the butler’s key and help myself to more of this.”
Penderbrook took the new glass and studied the amber liquid. “It has a different flavor.”
“Aged,” Charley said, sipping. “Smooth, though.” Smooth with just a hint of the herbs that were added.
“Yes.” Penderbrook drank down the whole glass. “Thank you, Charley.”
Footsteps clacked in the hallway. “One more,” Charley said, pouring.
The door opened, and Kincaid poked his head in. “Almost ready?”
Charley held up a finger and they both drained their glasses. He clapped Penderbrook on the back and smiled. “Now we’re ready.”
* * *
As they pulled up to Shaldon House, Jane bolted from the carriage behind Ewan and handed her coins to the boy. “Have the driver wait.”
Guignard was climbing down, and she tugged the bag from him, passing it to Ewan. “You’ll hold this. Don’t let it out of your sight.”
At the front door of Shaldon House, the porter bowed and greeted her.
“Lady Sirena,” she said. “Where is she?”
He blinked—the only evidence of surprise—and stepped back. “In the morning room, my lady,” he said.
Jane ran up the stairs to the back parlor and burst in, panting.
“My lady.” Jenny rushed over. “Thank God. You left without waking me. I was looking for you.”
Sirena and Graciela came and each took one of her hands. “They left not five minutes ago carrying their swords,” Sirena said. “We didn’t know what to do.”
“We were sworn to secrecy,” Graciela said. “And we didn’t truly know what it was about.”
“But I heard all about it from one of the shop boys, who heard it from one of the kitchen boys at White’s,” Jenny said. “I didn’t know where to find you.”
“The duel,” Jane squeezed both ladies’ hands. “Who is fighting?”
“That villainous major,” Sirena said. “And Penderbrook.”
Her heart pounded fiercely, the noise of it filling her head. After all her care, all of her sacrifices, it had come to this.
Avenging the Earl’s Lady: Book Five, Sons of the Spy Lord Page 15