It also explained why he’d hated Tristan so. And why he’d found it so hard to love Dom unreservedly, the way Tristan did.
“You need to stop tormenting Dom over Jane,” Tristan told Zoe. “He has a great deal to handle right now.”
“Well, so does Jane,” Zoe said with a sniff, having instantly taken up Lisette’s cause once she’d met Dom’s former fiancée. “George’s widow, for one.”
“Yes, I heard that she is having a difficult time with her husband’s death. Hard enough to hear that George was killed while trying to murder his half brother, but then to have some of his unsavory deeds exposed afterward . . .”
Zoe stared earnestly at him. “Did George really force those tenants from their homes and break their leases, as they claim?”
“It appears so. George threw his weight around with a lot of people. And now those people are all coming out of the woodwork, trying to get a piece of the estate. They know that Dom won’t blackmail them into silence, the way George did.”
“What a legal nightmare,” she said dolefully.
“Dom will sort it all out, don’t you worry. Not for nothing did he train as a barrister.”
They danced a moment in silence, intimately entwined, swept up in the music and their thoughts.
“Do you realize how very lucky we’ve been?” he said softly.
“Very lucky,” she agreed. “Or perhaps just fated to be together, as that Romany fortune-teller said.”
He eyed her skeptically. “The one who said you were born of secrets and sadness?”
“Yes. And I was, you know. She also said that it would either destroy my future or lead me to greatness.”
He snorted. “She gave you two opposite possibilities, so one of them was likely to prove true. And that has nothing to do with us being fated to be together, anyway.”
“Ah, but I never told you all of it.” Zoe positively smirked at him, a bad habit she’d picked up from God only knew where. “She said that a handsome gentleman with eyes like the sky and hair like a raven’s wing would come into my life.”
Though that gave him pause, he wasn’t about to let her know it. “That describes probably a third of the men in England,” he said dryly. When she frowned, he softened his tone. “Much as I like the idea of our being fated to be together, my love, I wouldn’t base it on some fortune-teller’s spurious predictions.”
“There’s more.” She gazed up at him, her eyes soft and warm in the moonlight. “The woman also said, ‘If you let him, he will become the hand of your vengeance.’ What do you say to that?”
A chill passed down his spine. “That was just a lucky guess.”
“I suppose you’re right. She also said, ‘If you let him, he will shatter your heart.’ And you certainly haven’t done that.” She cast him an arch glance. “Though you very nearly did, before I convinced you to give yours to me, instead.”
“I would never have shattered your heart,” he said. “Because when a man is entrusted with the most precious thing on earth, he knows it. And he treats it with the love and respect it deserves.”
He bent to brush his lips over hers. “Besides,” he said in his best seductive manner, “if I’d shattered your heart, you would never have let me back into your bed—and I’m not fool enough to risk that.”
A laugh sputtered out of her. “You, sir, are a scoundrel in married man’s clothing.”
He grinned. “The better to seduce you with, my lady.” He lowered his mouth to hers. “The better to seduce you with.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Whenever you read about Lady Somewhere (the Countess of Somewhere), you’re reading about a woman with a courtesy title given to her because she married Lord Somewhere (the Earl of Somewhere). But, once in a great while, titles were handed down to women (according to the rules governing the title when it was first established), and that meant that the daughter could inherit the title. That’s why poor Zoe is in a pickle. Because she will be the one inheriting the title. Her problems would be similar if she were a son who was not the legitimate blood relation of the noble father. One had to be both a blood relation and legitimate to inherit a title and an entailed estate.
So adoption wasn’t an option. Until the early twentieth century, there was no such legal construct in English law. A couple could certainly take in a little boy, give him their name, leave him their unentailed property, and in every way treat the boy like a son. But he could not inherit the father’s title or entailed estate. There was no legal way to accomplish that . . . except by lying to everyone, as the Keanes do in my book.
As for the Romany, it is difficult to research them in our period because many of the sources from that time are biased against them. But I did find a few that seemed evenhanded, and there is some recent material on the Web written by the Romany themselves. The term “Gypsy,” while used a great deal during the Regency, wasn’t what the Rom called themselves, even then. It’s misleading, because it tries to encompass the Romany, Scottish Travelers, Irish Travelers, tinkers, and a number of other British nomadic groups, all of which are culturally and ethnically different. And yes, the Romany often did take houses for the winter. Given the vagaries of English winters, that’s no surprise!
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the fourth book in the Duke’s Men series from New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries!
If the Viscount Falls
Coming in Spring 2015 from Pocket Books
JANE VERNON WAS impatient to be gone from Mrs. Patch’s. She was dying to know what Dominick Manton had discovered. Was it possible he’d actually found her missing cousin? Could that be why he was taking so long? Perhaps Nancy had simply stopped for a few nights at Ringrose’s Inn, and he was coming back to give them the triumphant news.
But when the Viscount Rathmoor arrived, nothing in his grim expression said that he’d found Nancy. Dom had discovered something, however. She could tell. And it was clearly something he didn’t want to share with Mrs. Patch.
Jane impatiently waited through the goodbyes and repeated assurances that they would keep Mrs. Patch informed of what they learned, and by the time they were in the street, she was fit to be tied. “All right,” she said without preamble, “what took you so long? What did you find out at the inn?”
He walked with such long strides toward the Elephant and Castle that she had to hurry to keep up with him. “I learned that Nancy arrived there around noon on the day you left Rathmoor Park. And then she apparently vanished.”
“What?” Jane seized his arm. “What do you mean ‘vanished’?”
He stared over at her. “No one saw her leave. Unfortunately, that doesn’t tell us much, because not all of the ostlers from that day were working today.” Frustration crept into his voice. “They said I’d have to return tonight to speak with everyone who would have been here then. But . . .”
When he hesitated, she shook his arm. “But what?”
“One of the ostlers said that when he asked if he could fetch a hackney coach for Nancy, she told him there was no need because she was meeting a friend.”
Jane’s heart began to pound. “Mrs. Patch?”
“I doubt that.” Eyes hard and brittle as emeralds glittered at her. “She would have said ‘aunt.’ Besides, ‘meeting’ implies that Nancy expected someone to come there for her. And you heard Mrs. Patch say she never ventures from her house.”
This got worse by the moment. “Perhaps Nancy has a female friend in York.”
“One you’ve never heard of ? Never met? How likely is that?”
Oh, the man was so infuriating! “I take it you’re determined to believe that Nancy was meeting with a lover.”
“As I said—it’s the most likely explanation.” When she frowned at him, he said smoothly, “Certainly the ostler’s words don’t fit your pet theory—that she was kidnapped.”
Seething with worry and anger and frustration that he could be such a . . . a man about this, Jane dropped his arm and quickened her
pace. “You are attributing a great deal to one remark by an ostler.” She turned onto the street that led directly to the inn. “He might have misheard or misunderstood the fact that she really was heading to Mrs. Patch’s.”
Dom followed her. “Without telling the woman ahead of time? Didn’t Mrs. Patch say that Nancy always sent a note before she came?”
“She also said that murderers run rampant in the streets of York, but I don’t hear you quoting the woman on that.”
“Yes, but, Jane—” he began in that condescending, arrogant tone of his that pricked her harder than any embroidery needle.
“So that’s it,” she bit out. “You’ve got your mind made up. Nancy ran off with a lover, and you’re washing your hands of the whole thing.”
“Can you give me a good reason why I shouldn’t?”
Something in his voice made her glance at him. He was regarding her as a naturalist regarded a beetle he intended to dissect.
That’s when it dawned on her—Dom wanted to unearth her secrets. Nancy’s secrets. And somewhere between Winborough and here he’d deduced that she was hiding some.
A shiver ran down Jane’s spine, and she jerked her gaze from him, fighting to hide her consternation. “Merely the same reason I gave you before. Nancy could be in trouble. And it’s your duty as her brother-in-law to keep her safe.”
“From what?” he demanded. “From whom? Is there more to this than you’re saying?”
Ooh, that he was so determined to unveil the truth about Nancy while hiding his former collusion with her scraped Jane raw. “I could ask the same of you,” she said primly. “You’re obviously holding something back. You have some reason for your determination to believe ill of Nancy. I wonder what that might be.”
Two can play your game, Almighty Dom. Hah!
He was silent so long that she ventured a glance at him to find him looking rather discomfited. Good! It was about time.
“I am merely keeping an open mind about your cousin, which is more than I can say for you,” Dom finally answered. “She isn’t the woman you think she is.”
“Because she wouldn’t give in to your advances twelve years ago, you mean?” Jane would make him admit the truth about the night they parted if it was the last thing she did! “Perhaps that’s why you’re determined to blacken her character. You’re angry that she resisted you and went off to marry your brother instead.”
“That’s a lie!” When several people on the street turned to look in his direction, Dom lowered his voice. “It wasn’t like that.”
She stifled a smile of satisfaction. At last she was getting a reaction from him that was something other than levelheaded logic. “Wasn’t it? If you’d convinced Nancy to marry you, you might not have had to go off to be a Bow Street runner. You could have had an easier life, a better life in high society than you could have had with me if you’d married me. Without being able to access my fortune, I could only have dragged you down.”
“You don’t really believe that I wanted to marry her for her money,” he gritted out.
“It’s either that or assume that you fell madly in love with her in the few weeks we weren’t able to see each other.” They were nearly to the inn now, so Jane added a plaintive note to her voice. “Or perhaps it was her you wanted all along. You knew my uncle would never accept a second son as a husband for his rich heiress of a daughter, so you courted me to get close to her. Nancy was always so beautiful, so—”
“Enough!”
Without warning, he dragged her into one of the many alleyways that crisscrossed York. This one was deeply shadowed, the houses leaning into each other overhead, and as he pulled her around to face him, the brilliance of his eyes shone starkly in the dim light.
“I never cared one whit about Nancy.”
She tamped down her triumph—he hadn’t admitted the whole truth yet. “It certainly didn’t look that way to me. It looked like you had already forgotten me, forgotten what we meant to each—”
“The devil I had.” He shoved his face close to hers. “I never forgot you for one day, one hour, one moment. It was you, always you. Everything I did was for you, damn it. No one else.”
The passionate profession threw her off course. Dom had never been the sort to say such sweet things. But the fervent look in his eyes roused memories of how he used to look at her. And his hands gripping her arms, his body angling in closer, were so painfully familiar . . .
“I don’t . . . believe you,” she lied, her blood running wild through her veins.
His gleaming gaze impaled her. “Then believe this.” And suddenly his mouth was on hers.
He was kissing her. Kissing her, curse him! That was not what she’d set out to get from him.
But, oh, the joy of it. The heat of it. His mouth covered hers, seeking, coaxing. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed her back against the wall, and she grabbed for his shoulders, his surprisingly broad and muscular shoulders. As he sent her plummeting into unfamiliar territory, she held on for dear life.
Time rewound to when they were in her uncle’s garden, sneaking a moment alone. But this time there was no hesitation, no fear of being caught.
Glorying in that, she slid her hands about his neck to bring him closer. He groaned, and his kiss turned intimate. He used both lips and tongue, delving inside her mouth in a tender exploration that stunned her. Enchanted her. Confused her.
Something both sweet and alien pooled in her belly, a kind of yearning she’d never felt with her fiancé. With any man but Dom.
As if he sensed it, he pulled back to look at her, his eyes searching hers, full of surprise. “My God, Jane,” he said hoarsely, turning her name into a prayer.
Or a curse? She had no time to figure out which before he clasped her head to hold her still for another darkly ravishing kiss. Only this one was greedier, needier. His mouth consumed hers with all the boldness of Viking raiders of yore. His tongue drove repeatedly inside in a rhythm that made her feel all trembly and hot, and his thumbs caressed her throat, rousing the pulse there.
Thank heaven there was a wall to hold her up, or she was quite sure she would dissolve into a puddle at his feet. Because after all these years apart, he was riding roughshod over her life again. And she was letting him.
How could she not? His scent engulfed her, made her dizzy with the pleasure of it. He roused urges she’d never known she had, sparked fires in places she’d thought were frozen. Then his hands swept down her possessively as if to memorize her body . . . or mark it as belonging to him.
Belonging to him. Oh, Lord!
She shoved him away. How could she have fallen for his kisses after what he did? How could she have let him slip that far under her guard?
Never again, curse him! Never!
For a moment, he looked as stunned by what had flared between them as she. Then he reached for her, and she slipped from between him and the wall, panic rising in her chest.
“You do not have the right to kiss me anymore,” she hissed. “I’m engaged, for heaven’s sake!”
As soon as her words registered, his eyes went cold. “It certainly took you long enough to remember it.”
She gaped at him. “You have the audacity to . . . to . . .” She stabbed his shoulder with one finger. “You have no business criticizing me ! You threw me away years ago, and now you want to just . . . just take me up again, as if nothing ever happened between us?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I did not throw you away. You jilted me, remember?”
That was the last straw. “Right. I jilted you.” Turning on her heel, she stalked back for the road. “Just keep telling yourself that, since you’re obviously determined to believe your own fiction.”
“Fiction?” He hurried after her. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, why can’t you just admit what you really did and be done with it?”
“What I really did?” Grabbing her by the arm, he forced her to stop just short of the st
reet. He searched her face, and she could see when awareness dawned in his eyes. “Good God. You know the truth. You know what really happened in the library that night.”
“That you manufactured that dalliance between you and Nancy to force me into jilting you?” She snatched her arm free of him. “Yes, I know.”
Then she strode out of the alley, leaving him to stew in his own juices.
♦ ♦ ♦
DOM STOOD DUMBFOUNDED as Jane disappeared into the street. Then he hurried to catch up to her, to get some answers.
She knew. How the devil did she know?
The answer to that was obvious. “So, Nancy told you, did she?” he snapped as he fell into step beside her.
Jane didn’t reply, just kept marching toward the inn like a hussar bent on battle.
“When?” he demanded. “How long have you known?”
“For ten years, you . . . you conniving . . . lying—”
“Ten years? You knew all this time, and you didn’t say anything?”
“Say anything!” She halted just short of the inn-yard entrance to glare at him. “How the blazes was I to do that? It’s not as if I encountered you anywhere. You disappeared into the streets of London as surely as if you were a footpad or a pickpocket.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, I read about your heroic exploits from time to time, but other than that, I neither heard nor saw anything of you until last year when you showed up at George’s town house to get Tristan freed from gaol. It was only pure chance that I happened to be at dinner with Nancy that day. As you’ll recall, you didn’t stay long. Nor did you behave as if you would welcome any confidences.”
Remembering the cool reception he’d given her, he glanced away, unable to bear the accusation in her eyes. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”
“Besides, it hardly mattered that I knew the truth. I assumed that if you ever changed your mind about making a life with me, you would seek me out. Since you never did, you were clearly determined to remain a bachelor.”
His gaze shot back to her. “It was more complicated than that.”
How the Scoundrel Seduces Page 30