by Nichole Van
“Jamie would want me tae show mercy,” Kieran finally said, nearly at a whisper.
“Aye,” Rafe agreed.
Andrew nodded. That was true.
There would be compassion for Peter. The lad would not hang, at least.
“But,” Kieran continued, voice stronger, “actions do have consequences.”
With that, Kieran patted Andrew on the shoulder . . .
. . . took two steps forward . . .
. . . and tumbled Peter to the ground with a savage blow to the jaw.
30
Jane was quite sure her nerves would send her to an early death. Or, at the very least, result in an apoplexy of her own.
Andrew had left with Rafe and Master MacTavish to hunt down Peter and bring him to heel. Jane had been pacing ever since, her eyes dry.
How was she to bear such agonizing grief? To lose the two men who professed to love her?
Andrew’s words hummed in her brain.
I love you, too, mo chridhe.
The shock of that moment, of hearing that Andrew Langston, Lord Hadley, loved her.
And loved her, not because she was Lady Jane Everard, but in spite of her Englishness.
In spite of her condescending mother and ducal brother.
In spite of another brother who had condemned Andrew and his friends to death.
Andrew loved her uncouth, unlovable inner self.
The very thought sent tears pricking her eyes.
Case in point, instead of punching half-moons into her palm, she twisted Andrew’s bracelet on her wrist, round and round. Just that small, nearly-insignificant difference painfully highlighted how much Andrew Mackenzie Langston had changed her.
And all for the better.
And what had Jane done? She had hurled Andrew’s affections back in his face.
I reject your love.
Just the memory of it banded her chest in a painful ache. She hadn’t meant it. The words had boiled out of her in a moment of agony.
But, was she wrong? Even if she didn’t outright reject his love, surely any love they shared would not outlast this trial with Peter. She and Andrew would never agree on what was to be done about her brother.
Their love was doomed, even if Andrew forgave her for her harsh words.
How could she be in the position? Having the love of two men, but set to lose them both?
She dashed a tear away. Blasted things. How did she have any left to shed?
She had cried more tears than she thought possible over the past thirty-six hours, stoically enduring Montacute’s endless requests.
Lady Hadley remained oblivious to her son’s perfidy, entertaining Montacute and unconcerned about Peter’s absence. Jane hadn’t had the courage to inform her mother of the crimes of her only son. Worse, Wanleigh arrived, closeting himself with Montacute.
Wishing to avoid them all, Jane sneaked down to the library to watch the front drive, desperately waiting for a messenger to arrive. She knew it was far too soon for any news but felt helpless to do otherwise.
What would happen to Peter now? If Andrew caught her brother, would Andrew instantly bind him over for trial? Or would he take a few days to consider other options?
What if Peter were not caught? Would Andrew continue to hunt for him?
The sheer uncertainty of waiting nearly reduced her to a puddle of nerves.
She paced, over and over, nibbling on her lower lip, occasionally pausing to stare out the window.
It was during one of those pauses that she saw four figures emerge from around the edge of the house, clearly coming from the stables.
She pressed against the window, heart in her throat.
Was it?
Could it be—
Snick.
The door opening unexpectedly caused her to yelp in surprise.
Jane whirled to meet Montacute’s frosty eyes.
“Wanleigh wishes a word with you in private, Jane,” he said without any preamble. “He awaits you in the south drawing room with your mother. I expect you will give careful heed to his, and my own, wishes. Come.” He extended a hand to her.
All the air rushed from her lungs.
Truly? Now?!
She looked back out the window at the figures climbing the front steps.
Andrew, Rafe, Master MacTavish, and . . . Peter.
Peter!
Peter was returned with them.
Oh—!
“Jane, I am waiting.” Montacute’s impatient voice cut through the room. “I am willing to overlook your atrocious behavior of the past twenty-four hours provided you obey me now.”
Jane was too distracted to care. She craned her neck, trying to see more of Peter. Was he unharmed?
There was no sign of chains or shackles. In fact, her brother moved with the other men in easy companionship.
Perhaps . . .
Had Andrew listened to her pleas for clemency? Would Peter be granted mercy? What had transpired? And, more importantly, what would happen now?
Hallelujah!
Wait—was that blood on Peter’s cravat? Was his cheek bleeding?!
“Jane!” Montacute barked.
She whirled around.
Montacute faced her with barely leashed fury.
“You will come! Now!” he repeated, voice taut. “Do not disappoint me in this. You will not like the consequences—”
The very idea that she would consider Montacute and Wanleigh in a moment like this.
Peter had returned—
“No!” She shook her head and dashed past Montacute’s outstretched hand, racing for the front entrance hall. She skidded to a stop just as the butler closed the door behind the men.
“Peter!” she shrieked, throwing herself onto his chest.
“Jane,” he murmured, enfolding her in his arms. She sagged against him in relief, sobbing yet again.
She had tears in her yet.
He was here.
He had not been imprisoned or condemned.
Yet.
“I’m here, Jane.” Peter echoed her thoughts, voice low in her ear. “I couldn’t run, in the end. I have to face my crimes, such as they are.”
She pulled back running her hands over his chest before getting her first solid look of his face.
“What happened?” She touched his split lip and drifted her fingers lightly over cut on his upper cheek and the lump already swelling along his jaw. “Who did this?”
“That would be myself,” Master MacTavish replied. His gaze flitted over Peter, eyes murderous. “I had a pound of flesh owed me.”
“Master MacTavish! Well—”
“Do not trouble yourself, Jane,” Peter interrupted. “It is the least of what I deserve. Hadley has already been merciful.”
Oh!
Jane risked a glance at Andrew.
“No one will die, Jane,” he confirmed. “We’ve come to terms with Peter as to what will happen.” Warmth glowed in his eyes, that glorious affection she had thought gone forever.
What did that warmth mean?
Hope squirmed its way into her heart.
“Truly?” she asked.
Andrew nodded. “You were right. Peter’s life will not bring back Jamie. There are ways for justice to be served.” A pause. “But mercy, also—”
“Jane,” Montacute’s icy voice interrupted, “why are you yet here?”
All heads swiveled toward the sound.
The Duke of Montacute walked into the entrance hall, cold anger on his face. He didn’t spare a glance for Andrew or the rest.
“I believe you were told to go to the south drawing room,” Montacute continued, eyes drilling her. “Lord Wanleigh awaits you there. Lady Hadley will allow you a word in private with him.”
Jane froze.
Andrew stiffened.
Peter’s arm tensed under her hand.
No one misunderstood what Wanleigh wished to speak with her about.
Before she could say anything, Montacute fixed Andrew
with his haughtiest look. “Your presence, Hadley, is not required at the moment. This is a family matter between myself and my sister. If you will excuse us.”
As he spoke, Montacute took a few steps forward and set a hand under Jane’s elbow, tugging her out of Peter’s loose grasp.
Jane resisted, pulling her arm back. “I have other matters to attend to at the present, Duke—”
“I assure you, Jane,” the duke replied, bite in his words, “there is nothing in your life more important, at the moment, than your acquiescence to my request to speak with Wanleigh.”
He pulled Jane forward again, this time more roughly.
She stumbled, pressing against his arm to keep herself upright. Behind her, she sensed Andrew surging forward in outrage.
“Enough, Montacute.” The command in Andrew’s tone was unmistakable.
The duke froze, slowly pivoting to face them all.
Jane yanked her arm free, backing until she felt the heat of Andrew’s body behind her, his hand drifting to rest on her waist. Montacute’s eyes darted down, noting the physical contact between them.
“How dare you lay a hand upon my sister, Hadley.” Montacute’s tone vibrated with menace. “You have not been given leave to take such a liberty—”
“I am tired of this farce, Duke. It ends now,” Andrew replied. The steadiness of his palm on Jane’s hip relayed his calm assurance.
“You appear to have not understood my wishes, Hadley.” Montacute took a step forward. “Perhaps I need to make myself exquisitely clear, one final time. I hold all the cards here. You were born into nothing, and you will only become something if I condescend to grant it to you. Therefore, you will retreat from this situation with your tail between your legs. If you do not, I will ruin you, utterly and completely. No one will receive you. No one will extend you credit nor listen to your voice in Lords. You will be friendless and penniless. Go.” He pointed.
Jane craned her head around just in time to see Andrew raising one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
Jane ached to kiss him.
Wonderful, stupid, lovely man!
Peter gave a bark of laughter.
“He still doesn’t know, does he?” he asked Andrew.
Andrew shook his head.
Montacute’s gaze narrowed, bristling to deliver another set-down.
Not this time!
Montacute’s heavy-handed control of her life was onerous. She couldn’t allow Andrew to suffer the same fate.
“Enough!” Jane moved between Montacute and Andrew, facing her brother. “You’re making an ass of yourself, Duke.”
“Pardon?!” His gray eyes snapped. Eyes so like her own and yet impossibly different.
“Lord Hadley,” she said, taking a step sideways to glance at Andrew, “would you be so kind as to inform my brother of the name you went by before being raised to the peerage?”
Andrew chuckled, biting and short. “With pleasure, Lady Jane. Andrew Mackenzie, at your service, Duke.” Andrew’s sardonic bow was a masterpiece of elegance. “Though I believe you know me better as the Scottish Vulcan.”
“Wee bit of a grand title that,” Master MacTavish chimed in cheerfully.
Jane had the exquisite pleasure of witnessing Montacute blanch. She was quite sure his shocked face would be a treasured memory for years to come.
“The rumors of my poor parentage, impoverished upbringing, and general uneducated state have been grossly exaggerated,” Andrew said.
“Yet another reason why one should never listen to gossip,” Master MacTavish said.
“So you see, Duke,” Andrew continued. “I am anything but powerless. I have more money than any one person could spend in a score of lifetimes. I may not have friends in the highest echelons of government, but I do have significant economic reach. I do not need your assistance.”
Montacute blinked, looking between Jane and Andrew, brows drawing down.
“You lie,” he spat. “You are nothing—”
“Try me,” Andrew bit out. “You said over dinner that you wished to invest in my business ventures. My portfolio of holdings is vast and exceptionally lucrative. Fur trading in the Hudson? I have a company for that. Building steamships along the Clyde? I have a company for that, too. Financing jute sales from India? . . . You get my point, I think.”
Montacute was silent, eyes promising murder. He did not like to be thwarted. Andrew was on thin ice, even now.
Jane chewed on her lip.
“Many a man has wished to invest with me, but I grew weary of untrustworthy partners. So I sold or bought out the lot of them.” Andrew’s eyes slid over Montacute, silently condemning the duke to that same pile. “As you know, the old earl owned the only business shares held by someone else.”
Montacute still said nothing.
Andrew stepped forward, placing a hand on Jane’s waist again. She felt his eyes drift to his bracelet on her wrist. “I once promised your sister that I would bring her a piece of heaven. But I will do one even better. I have an offer for you, Montacute.”
“An offer?”
“Aye. I will sell the old earl’s share to you, and for a bargain price at that, but . . .”
Pardon?! Jane froze with surprise. Why would Andrew do such a thing?
Montacute’s head reared back, eyes lighting with surprise and avarice.
Jane frowned. What game was her brother playing?
“But?” Montacute prompted.
Her heart stilled.
Why was Andrew doing this? Why was Montacute so eager for those business shares?
“But, in return—” Andrew glanced down at Jane. “—you must set Lady Jane free.”
She gasped, whirling to face Andrew directly. He didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes trained on Montacute behind her.
“Set Jane free?” her brother repeated.
“Aye. Ye must settle her dowry on her, free and clear. Allow her tae choose who she will marry. Or, perhaps, she will choose not tae marry at all—”
“Bah!” Montacute thundered. “That’s hardly a choice. I will not surrender Jane’s dowry to her care.”
“Why not? She is perfectly capable—”
“Jane has a duty to her family, and she will abide by it. It is none of your affair, Hadley.”
“If you want the shares, you must agree to my terms,” Andrew countered. “Free Jane or there is no deal.”
He lowered his gaze, meeting her eyes.
Jane’s heart lodged in her throat, tears threatening again, understanding what hadn’t been said.
I choose you, his actions stated.
I will show mercy towards Peter despite my own personal vendetta. I will set you free from Montacute’s tether and take it on myself.
Moreover, the emotion in his eyes said even more clearly, I will always choose you.
I love you, too, mo chridhe.
When had anyone ever chosen her over something else they valued?
Surely not her mother. Definitely not Montacute.
Not even Peter, really.
And what had she done? She had taken this man’s incredible heart and, in a fit of temper, thrown it back at him. She bitterly regretted her words.
And yet . . .
His very actions in this moment showed the enormity of his heart. That he would forgive her, just as he had forgiven Peter.
Jane had never understood love until that very instant. She had never realized how thoroughly it crystallized the important facets of life, blowing away all the unnecessary chaff.
She loved Andrew.
She couldn’t let him tie himself to Montacute like this.
She had to choose him, too.
“This is outrageous, Hadley.” Montacute was still spluttering behind her. “I will never agree to release Jane in such a fashion. How dare you interfere with a personal family matter!”
Jane’s temper spiked. Andrew was making an enormous sacrifice for her, and Montacute was cruelly rejecting it.
Money and powe
r were everything to Montacute. Andrew’s business shares would give Montacute both of those things. In return, he only had to release Jane.
And yet, Montacute refused. Her brother was so bloody stubborn, always grasping for more and more. He would argue and belittle Andrew into relinquishing so much more than those business shares.
And given the determined set of Andrew’s jaw, the idiotic man would likely cave. Because he loved her.
No.
She loved Andrew too much to watch him do this on her behalf.
Montacute was her cross to bear. Moreover, it was high time someone told him, No.
She would fight this battle.
“You are very gracious, Lord Hadley, but I kindly decline your offer on behalf of Montacute,” Jane said to Andrew.
That sent Montacute to spluttering even more loudly. “Jane! You are unhinged!”
She turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips.
Half a lifetime ago, her half-brother had placed a spirited, courageous little girl into a cage.
Now he would reap his just desserts—the sharp claws and suppressed rage of a chained creature finally set free.
Never to be caged again.
She fixed Montacute with that same steely gaze they shared, courtesy of their father. “Montacute, I will not be marrying Lord Wanleigh or any other man of your choosing.”
Montacute reared back, her attack on him unexpected. “I am the head of this family, Jane, and you will be obedient—”
“No! I will not marry to please you. I am of age. You cannot force me into it—”
“Can I not?!”
“—Moreover, when our father bestowed my dowry, I know he did not intend it to be used as a cudgel to beat me into submission. I ask you, a sister entreating her brother, to allow me to choose my own husband in my own time.”
“Never!” Montacute raged.
But in his roaring denial, Jane saw something she hadn’t expected.
Panicked desperation.
Abruptly, it all clicked together—those snippets of conversation with Peter and her mother, small changes in Montacute’s behavior, rumors buzzing through the ton about financial concerns. All the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place.
What if Peter were right? What if her dowry were more important to Montacute than she supposed?
His insistence that Jane marry a man of his choosing must have greater bearing than she presumed. And his concern appeared to be hinged on her dowry, as he refused to relinquish it.