Glass in hand, Gabriel stalked over to Jane. “Continue,” he snapped, impatient at her unfinished thoughts.
“Er, yes. Right. You see.” He didn’t really see anything this night. “I was given employment at Mrs. Belden’s. I served as one of her instructors.” Dragons as Chloe referred to those other women. “For nearly a year.” Jane ran the tip of her finger along the fabric of the sofa in a distracting manner and when she spoke, her words came fast and furious. “One of the ladies,” Bitterness laced that word. She slashed the air with a hand. “She spoke to the headmistress about me and I was turned out. I discovered your note.”
“My note?” By God, she hadn’t! Gabriel set his glass down hard on a nearby side table. Liquid splashed over the rim.
Jane’s color heightened. She peeked up at him. “I didn’t steal it,” she said defensively. “It was left on the edge of Mrs. Belden’s desk and I…” She let her words trail off. He studied her through narrowed eyes trying to make sense of that pink color on her cheeks. Was it guilt on the lady’s part? Regret? “And yet, I did steal it, didn’t I?” she whispered, more to herself. “That, and everything else.”
Impatient with that confession which really answered nothing, he tipped her chin up and forced her gaze to his. “I do not understand,” he bit out. “Explain yourself, madam.”
“I am a liar.” She flinched. “An impostor.”
He let his hand fall to his side, momentarily robbed of words and thoughts. An impostor? A chill stole through him. “What are you on about?” he prided himself on the steady deliverance of those coolly spoken words, while disjointed questions spun through his mind.
“I intended to tell you. And then your sis…” She colored. His sister. He narrowed his eyes. What secret did Chloe withhold from him about her mysterious companion? Jane cleared her throat. “That is, I resolved to wait until the right moment to tell you.” She furrowed her brow. “Though in hindsight there never would have been a right opportunity. Not truly.”
Her incessant prattling snapped his patience. “Jane?” he demanded in clipped tones.
“I was not sent by Mrs. Belden as your companion. I stole the missive and presented myself before you in the respective role.” The long column of her throat worked. “But I am not that woman, Gabriel. And you deserve to know that.”
Shock slammed into him; froze him immobile. Surely she jested? And yet by the agonized glimmer in her blue eyes and the sheen of tears she blinked back, these were the only true words she’d spoken. He took a step back, and then shook his head, as he desperately tried to make sense of her admission. “I do not understand.” Gabriel winced, knowing he must sound like the greatest lackwit, gaping at her.
Silence met his confusion.
Despite his intentions to turn her out on the day they’d met, she’d wheedled her way into his thoughts and household. With her deception, she’d involved his sister Chloe. Fury thrummed through him. He took in this interloper into his household, a mere stranger, a woman he’d not known at all. Jane must have seen something terrifying in his eyes, for she took a quick step back. He shot a hand around her wrist, halting her retreat. Gabriel raked an icy stare over her slender frame. “Explain yourself, madam,” he seethed.
Jane pulled free and held her palms up in an entreating manner. “I did,” she said quickly, “at one time work for Mrs. Belden, that is. But then she…” She blushed. “She let me go. I’m really rather deplorable at maintaining employment, which I understand reflects ill, and I could maintain that it was not my fault…” She captured her lower lip between her teeth and worried the plump flesh.
All the while, Gabriel tried to sort up from down. A dull humming filled his ears. This woman had entered his home, slipped into his employ and, despite his early misgivings about her suitability, had refused to leave. He captured her wrist in his hand once more, in a hard, relentless grip. By God, he’d put his sister’s care into this woman’s hands? “Who are you, Mrs. Munroe,” he hissed. Self-loathing filled him for risking his siblings’ well-being once more. “If that is even your name.”
“It is,” she said and flinched.
He lightened his hold but did not release her. How was he to believe the words of a stranger who’d lied her way into his home?
“My name is Jane Munroe,” she said quietly. “I have served as a companion and governess as I said.” He searched her face for the truth of her claims, wanting to believe her—to believe in her. “However, I lost my post at Mrs. Belden’s and discovered your letter.” Her cheeks blazed red. “You required a companion for your sister—” Jane’s words ended on a gasp as he stuck his face close to hers.
Gabriel relinquished her wrist and she hurried to put distance between them. “And you lied your way into my household?” For that, she’d robbed him of his freedom, the vow he’d taken long ago, and sealed his fate. A black curse escaped him.
Jane backed up a step, tripping over herself in her haste to be free of him. “It was just to be for two months.” Now it would be forever.
He stepped around the couch and stalked toward her. “And lied to me at every turn.”
“Not all lies,” she said futilely. She continued her retreat.
He was unrelenting, advancing forward. “And you risked my sister’s reputation?” That was by far the most egregious affront. For it was Chloe’s happiness and security he’d resolved to protect.
She compressed her lips into a flat line. There was no rebuttal to that accurate charge.
By God, how indignant she’d been when he’d questioned her suitability. Lies, all of it. Then the ugly truth slipped in. “Did you intend to trap me?” he asked, coming to a stop just a handbreadth away.
She opened and closed her mouth several times. “Trap you?” Jane shook her head hard. “Egads, no.” By the horrification etched in the delicate planes of her face, the lady appeared as eager to marry him as he did her. Then she widened her eyes. “You think that is why I am here?” He bristled at the horrified, mirthless laugh to escape her lips. Those lips he’d kissed not even thirty minutes ago, and longed to kiss, even despite her deception. What a weak fool he was. “Oh, no. No. No. Not at all, my lord.”
So, he was my lord again. Unknowing why her dismissive response should chafe, he folded his arms at his chest. “Madam?” he demanded pointedly.
“I am trying to assure you I have no designs upon your title.” She gave her head an emphatic shake. “I cannot wed you.”
There it was again. Cannot. An ugly, niggling of a possibility took root and grew in his imagination. “You are married,” he said, his voice garbled. Even as her marriage would have preserved his vow and freedom, the idea of her belonging to another twisted at his insides.
“Married?” she squawked. “Me? No!” She smoothed her palms over the front of her skirts. “I am…” She hugged her arms to herself. “That is to say, I am illegitimate.” There was a slight catch in her voice and she coughed into her hand.
He stared blankly at her. “Illegitimate?” he repeated, dumbly. That was the lady’s secret? The origins of her birth?
Jane nodded. “A bastard.”
Something in the matter-fact deliverance of that harsh term grated on his nerves. Gabriel scowled. “I know the meaning of the word illegitimate, Miss Munroe.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze to the Aubusson carpet and made a show of studying the pale threads interwoven upon the fabric. “Yes, of course.”
Gabriel took in the forlorn sight of her. Why, she’d taken his displeasure as a sign of disparagement. Annoyance built in his belly, coupled with some other odd tightening he didn’t care to evaluate, for it hinted at a weakness for this woman, a desire to erase the hurt that stemmed from years of likely rejection.
She clasped her hands before her. “So, as you see,” she said when the silence stretched on. “There really is no need for you to offer marriage.” To me. Those two unspoken words hung on that sentence. A viselike pressure squeezed at his heart. He tried to im
agine Jane Munroe going through life as an object of ridicule and rejection for circumstances that had nothing to do with her, a stigma that had followed her and forever would.
He detested the idea of her, not many years older than Chloe, and the same age as Philippa dependent upon herself, serving as a companion and governess to spoiled, unkind English ladies. “What will you do?” A resourceful woman like Jane Munroe who’d served as companion and governess, had likely put thought into what she’d do after she left. His gut tightened. At the prospect of her gone from his life. At the prospect of her alone.
An unfettered smile turned her lips. How could she smile? “Oh, you see.” Once again, he didn’t see anything in this murky world she’d thrust him into. “My father settled funds upon me. When I reach my majority, I will attain the money and then I will no longer be…” She pressed her lips into a tight line. Dependent upon others.
Her father had settled funds upon her. That handful of words far more telling than anything else she’d uttered to this point. “Who is your father?” he asked quietly.
Jane snapped her attention upward. “My father?” She eyed him with a sudden wariness. “It does not matter.”
And yet it did. It mattered because he wanted to know those details about the young woman before him with her thousands of secrets and unspoken truths. Her response set off the first stirring of warning bells. For the man to have settled funds upon her, he must be a member of polite Society. “Is he a nobleman?” Was it a man whose events he’d attended or spoken with at his clubs? He gripped his glass so hard, his knuckles turned white, as the need to know took on a lifelike force. “Jane?” he demanded with a touch of impatience.
Except, she’d proven herself incapable of being cowed. At his gruff command, she frowned and walked the perimeter of the sofa, ultimately putting distance between them. “It matters not, Gabriel. I will have my funds and you,” she gave a slight, nonchalant shrug. “And you are, of course, free of any obligations or sense of responsibility for me.”
Very well, she’d remain deliberately evasive. He relented. “And you’ll retire to the country and live a quiet,” unwedded, “life.” There was a crime in knowing that a woman of her beauty and spirit would remain forever alone, on the fringe of living.
Then, what was the alternative? Her married to a man who’d take her to his bed and give her children and—he growled.
Jane jumped. “I will establish a school,” she said quickly, likely interpreting that harsh sound as a show of his impatience. “A finishing school,” she clarified. “For young women.” She set her chin at a resolute angle. “A school different than Mrs. Belden’s and those others attended by young ladies. It will be for women such as—” She fell quiet.
Her. For women such as her.
Gabriel dragged a hand over his face. Her school would be a place for the young women who straddled the peerage and impolite Society. He hated that she hovered on the fringe of both. Despised it when she was worth more than most members of the peerage together. He let his hand fall to his side. “When do you attain your funds, Miss Munroe?”
“In two months,” she replied automatically. “One month three weeks and two days, to be precise,” she clarified, more to herself.
Two months. The length of time he’d required a companion for Chloe. He bit back a curse. And also one month three weeks and two days until she had access to those funds. Which posed the question—what would Jane do in the interim? “Who is your father?” he repeated. For the man would surely care for his daughter until then.
She hesitated and for a long moment he expected her to maintain that great secret. Then she squared her shoulders and met his stare with an unrepentant boldness. “The Duke of Ravenscourt.”
Christ. She was one of the Duke of Ravenscourt’s illegitimate issues. He swiped his glass from the table and stalked over to the window.
“My father’s identity changes nothing,” she said, hurrying over to him. “I will not wed you simply because my father is a duke.” She paused. “He is not truly a father,” she said softly. “Nor will he expect anything of you where I am concerned. None of Society will.”
No, the man was no father. A callous, heartless, self-indulgent nobleman who’d allow his offspring to take post after post in the households of other callous, self-indulgent noblemen was no different than the Marquess of Waverlys of the world. Jane, through the years, had been without protection and care. Just as Chloe and Philippa. He clenched his eyes tightly closed.
And yet, if he did not wed her, he’d be no different than any of them. “There is no choice but marriage, Jane,” he said tiredly. The decision had been made long before her admissions. Rather, it had been settled in a small alcove at the London Opera House.
A soft cry escaped her. “What you are proposing is madness, Gabriel.” And just like that, he was Gabriel again to her. “I will not wed you so you might be assuaged of unnecessary guilt. You’ve nothing to be guilty of.”
He spun around so quickly, she stumbled back. “I have everything to be guilty of,” he barked. “In my advances, I am no different than Montclair. No,” he gave his head a sad shake. “There is no recourse but marriage.”
The sadness and unease lifted from her eyes and a familiar spirit and fury ignited within their blue depths. “You would be high-handed with your sister and you think to be high-handed with me. I am not yours to look after or care for.” Did he imagine the trace of regret in those words? “You would wed me to do the honorable thing.” She planted her arms akimbo. “I do not want you to do the honorable thing. I want my freedom. I want my school.” Her chest moved with the force of her emotion.
Jane’s message could not be clearer—she did not want him. Where was the sense of relief in avoiding that institution he’d sworn to never enter into? Surely, it would come later but for now, only regret churned in his belly. He managed a stiff nod. “Very well, madam. It is not my place to force your hand. I will speak to your father in the morn.” He made to step around her.
She stepped into his path. “My father?” She flattened her mouth into a hard line and gave her head a brusque shake. “You do not need to speak to my father.”
“Don’t I?” he arched an eyebrow. “You’ll not wed me.” Her stony silence stood as testament to that. “And if you’ll not remain here as my wife, then you cannot remain here. Where will you go for the next two,” one month, three weeks, and two days, “months’ time?”
She jutted her chin up, but by the flash of unease in her eyes, the young woman knew she was without options.
He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. “Now if you will excuse me, Miss Munroe, I bid you goodnight.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left.
Chapter 18
The following morning, with a meeting scheduled with the Duke of Ravenscourt, Gabriel sat in his office. He glanced across the room at the long-case clock and frowned. Where in blazes was he? He’d sent a missive around last evening and had been quite clear in—
A knock sounded at his office door. At last. “Enter,” he barked and tossed his useless pen down.
Joseph opened the door.
His brother, Lord Alex Edgerton, once rogue, now notoriously infatuated, thoroughly besotted, and hopelessly in love husband, stood at the entrance.
“I sent around a note late last evening,” Gabriel said without preamble, as he shoved back his chair and stood.
Alex, consummately unaffected, raised a dark eyebrow. “Do you mean a summons? You sent ’round a summons.” Those eerily reminiscent words flung at him not even two months ago, when Gabriel had worked at putting Alex’s disordered life to rights, raised a dull flush on his face.
The butler’s lips twitched as he pulled the door closed behind him and left the two Edgerton brothers alone.
A groan of impatience climbed up Gabriel’s throat as he reclaimed his seat. “I do not have time for games,” he said tersely, adopting his most coolly, distant tone.
“Isn’t it a bit early for a brandy?” he asked with an automaticity that came from years of scolding and lecturing his brother, and then from the corner of his eye registered the nearly empty glass upon the corner of his desk. With a silent curse, he placed himself in front of the snifter and hid it from his brother’s line of focus. Then, with the time he’d had of it since Jane’s appearance in his life, he’d taken to drinking a good deal more brandy, at all godforsaken hours of the day.
Alex paused mid-stride and wheeled around. A half-grin formed on his lips. “I daresay with the time you had of it last evening you could benefit from a strong glass of spirits as well.” He resumed his march to the sideboard. “And I recommend beginning with the consumption of that snifter at the edge of the desk before you move on to your finer spirits,” he drawled without so much as a glance back.
His neck heated and with his brother’s attention on the crystal decanters before him, Gabriel removed the snifter from the mahogany surface and carried it around the desk. In a bid to reassert the order and logic he’d perfected over the years, he claimed the familiar chair behind the mahogany piece that had once belonged to their father.
You are a weak, fool… The sneering, snarling visage slipped in, as it often did, and he thrust back the memory of his father. When he looked up, he blinked several times and registered Alex in the seat opposite him, staring expectantly back at him. “Er, yes, right,” he began and took a long sip of brandy.
“I didn’t yet speak,” Alex said with the same droll humor he’d always adopted.
He set his drink down hard and launched into the reason for his brother’s presence. “I expect you know why you’re here. I had also expected you earlier this morn.” There was, after all, his meeting with the duke.
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