by Shana Galen
“I know no such thing. I am an agent, not a wife. Most agents never marry, at least not until they retire.”
Her uncle shook his head. “You are not like other agents. You are a woman.”
“That shouldn’t matter.”
“But it does. The freedoms you have now cannot be allowed to continue unless you marry.”
Jane gripped the back of a chintz couch. “Why?” But she knew. She knew as well as he did.
Her uncle gave her a patient smile. “Must I detail the reasons?”
She knew them already. She was too old to claim to be studying abroad. And because she was not expected to be in the schoolroom, when she disappeared for any length of time, rampant speculation commenced that she had eloped or left to have an illegitimate child.
“I thought you were on my side,” she said petulantly. She knew how it sounded, but she could not seem to stop the childishness from flaring up for a moment.
“It is because I am on your side that you must marry. I want you to keep working. I need you to keep working. Foncé came very close to assassinating the prince regent last fall. We cannot allow him to come that close again.”
“And how am I to find him and destroy him if I have a husband to answer to?”
Her uncle gave her a long look. “You are Jane Bonde. You will find a way.”
“And I’ll find the husband as well,” she told him.
“What is wrong with Dominic Griffyn?”
“It won’t work with him.”
“Why not? I’ll admit he has a somewhat questionable past—”
“That’s not it.” But she immediately regretted interrupting. Griffyn had a questionable past? That might be the perfect reason to disavow him.
“Then what is it?”
Jane clasped her hands behind her back. She could not tell her uncle he’d kissed her, and she certainly could not admit that she enjoyed the kiss. “Trust me when I say it will not do,” she said. That had always sufficed in the past.
But this time he shook his head. “I cannot.”
Jane frowned. “What are you saying?”
“My hands are tied.”
“No. What does that mean?”
“It means I have already given my consent, Jane. I had no other choice. You will marry Dominic Griffyn.”
Four
Dominic typically arrived at the stables early. He liked to be the first one to greet the horses. Although Edgeberry had a full complement of grooms, stableboys, and trainers, Dominic often brushed, walked, and trained the horses himself. There was only one way to truly know a horse, and that was to spend time with him or her. Dominic found that a half hour picking out a horse’s hooves told him a lot about that animal.
When Dominic started for the stables that morning, the sky was black, and the rolling hills around the estate were shrouded in a low, eerie fog that swirled about his boots as he moved through it. He might have stayed at the marquess’s town house in London last night, but then he would have missed walking through the fresh dew this morning and the clean smell of the pasture.
He anticipated the scents of the stable—hay and leather and horse. Dominic hoped the familiar smells would help him forget the lingering fragrance of laundered linen and fresh violets. It would take longer to forget the taste of Miss Bonde, but he was determined. He did not know what accounted for his behavior the night before, and he did not want to know. He wanted to go for a long ride on one of his most spirited stallions and forget her altogether.
But he was still thinking of Miss Bonde when he reached the stable and was therefore surprised to be greeted by Old Connor. The man was so named because a decade or so ago, a Young Connor had been briefly employed.
“Sir, I am glad to see you.”
“What’s wrong?” Dominic wasted no time on pleasantries and did not expect Old Connor to do so either.
“It’s Lily’s Turn, sir. She’s showing signs of the colic.”
“What?” Dominic arrowed for the mare’s stall. “That’s the third horse in a month.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dominic opened the stall door and found Lily’s Turn on the floor. She rose quickly, bared her teeth, then went back down. “Do you have the oil and molasses ready?”
“Yes, sir. Do you want me to wake the other lads?”
Dominic waved his hand. “Not yet. Bring me the supplies.”
Old Connor rushed away, and Dominic bent to study Lily’s Turn. There was pain in her deep brown eyes. Dominic put his hand on her muzzle to comfort her. He closed his eyes for a long moment and sat with the horse in silence.
Dominic was not obligated to work with Edgeberry’s horses. As a part of the marquess’s family, Dominic did not have to do anything. Dominic’s mother had ensured he would receive a generous allowance yearly. Dominic had been free to act the wastrel, buy a commission in the army, join the clergy, or tour the Continent.
He’d chosen to stay here, at Edgeberry’s country house just outside London, and breed Edgeberry’s Cleveland Bays. In Dominic’s mind, there was not a better breed than the Cleveland Bay. He’d even come to blows once when another breeder insisted Yorkshire Trotters were better carriage horses. Cleveland Bays had regal blood. Dominic’s horses were especially prized because of their bright bay color and completely black points. He’d also had great success in breeding and training matched pairs, which were highly sought after by the ton. Members of the royal family owned Edgeberry horses, and when Tattersall’s had a request for a particularly fine Cleveland Bay or an exquisite matched pair, the auctioneer knew where to come. The name of the Marquess of Edgeberry had become synonymous with fine horseflesh.
Bur Dominic hadn’t taken this on for his adopted father. He hadn’t even done it for the horses, though he cared about them. He’d done it for himself. There was a peace when he was with these animals. The turmoil inside him ceased for just a little while, and he could forget.
Unfortunately, he was still close enough to London to find trouble. He’d found it last night in the form of Jane Bonde.
Old Connor returned, and he and Dominic set to work, administering warm water and oil. Dominic offered Lily’s Turn molasses in her feed bowl, and she ate it eagerly. “Do you want to walk her, sir, or shall I?”
“You take a turn. I’ll see to the other horses.”
The other grooms were arriving now, eyes heavy-lidded and hazed with sleep. Dominic greeted them as he checked the other horses. So far all appeared well. He returned to Lily’s Turn’s stall and studied it. Had she eaten something poisonous? He made certain his horses ate the best food to be had. He walked to her feed bucket and studied it. It was empty. He checked the manger and the water bucket. Nothing. Walking the stall, Dominic saw nothing else that pointed to a reason for the colic.
Old Connor returned, and they repeated the treatment, then Dominic walked Lily’s Turn. By midmorning, the horse had moved its bowels and was doing better. Dominic had one of the younger grooms watching her for any signs of distress. Dominic sat in the small office and read correspondence from gentlemen seeking to buy horses or hoping to breed their stock with that of Edgeberry’s. Dominic savored the time he spent in this stable, in this office. It felt more like home to him than his chambers in Kenham Hall. The sight of the rectangular red-brick building, with its row of windows and carefully tended paddocks, never failed to loosen any tightness in his chest. Even now, with a pile of tiresome correspondence before him, he felt at peace.
He heard a shuffle and glanced up, spotting his mother in the doorway. For a moment, he merely looked at her. She was still a beautiful woman. Even as her son, he could appreciate her beauty. As petite and dainty as she was, he could have lifted her with very little effort. But she did not need his protection. She was tough, tougher than any man he’d ever known. Men seemed to want to protect her, though, and when it was in her intere
st, she allowed it. She could pretend to be helpless. She was an excellent actress; she could pretend anything.
There were times, when she’d first married Edgeberry, he thought she pretended to love the man. But over the years, her behaviors had become less practiced and more natural. Dominic thought she probably had fallen in love with Edgeberry after all.
There was no question that Edgeberry had fallen in love with Titania upon first meeting her. He would not have defied convention by marrying her if he had not been desperate for her. Growing up, Dominic was used to seeing men desperate for his mother. She possessed a sensuality and voluptuousness that appealed to men, and she used it to her advantage. He could hardly blame her. She’d been born into poverty and squalor, and now she was the Marchioness of Edgeberry. But there had been casualties associated with her rise. His childhood was one of them.
“Do not frown,” she said, sidling inside. “It makes me feel unwelcome.”
“You are always welcome.” He stood and pulled out a seat for her. It had been months since she’d last been here. She preferred London, even in the winter.
“I’ve interrupted you.” She gestured toward his letters.
“It will wait.” He sat. “I presume you are here about the ball last night.”
She smiled. “I should have known you would cut straight to the point. There is an art to chitchat, Dominic.”
“I am not interested in art.”
“As I am well aware.” She steepled her white-gloved fingers. “So tell me, what did you think of Miss Bonde?”
“She is attractive.”
“Attractive? The chit turns heads every time she walks into a room.” She leaned back. “You should have seen her mother, God rest her soul. She was a true diamond of the first water.”
“How did her mother die?”
“A fire. It was tragic. Only the little girl and her nanny escaped.” Dominic could picture a cherub-faced child being carried from a burning building by a nurse dressed in a long night shift. He could all but see her crying, reaching back for her lost mother and father.
“How old was she?”
His mother cocked her head. “Ask her, or is she incapable of conversation?”
“She seems intelligent and able to converse.”
“Good, because you will need to converse with her tomorrow evening.”
“Mother…”
“I was deadly serious when I told you to marry, Dominic. Your father—”
“He’s not my father.”
She held up a hand. “Very well. Lord Edgeberry has had enough. You either marry, or you will be disowned.”
“That babe was not mine.” He fisted his hands in his lap, still fuming about the woman who had appeared at the Edgeberry town house with a baby she claimed was his on her hip. She hadn’t known he was the bastard son and not the heir to the title. Too late, she realized she’d been seduced by the wrong brother.
The marchioness plucked at her fashionable ruby gown. “So you never touched the chit?”
Dominic clenched his jaw.
“So you did bed her.”
“Mother.”
“What term would you prefer? Swive? Or perhaps the Old English word? Fu—”
He rose. “Mother!”
She grinned, and he knew she enjoyed this game of poking at him. “I have four children, Dominic.”
He sank back in his chair and covered his eyes. Now he had images of his mother and Edgeberry in his mind. He shuddered.
“I have done the deed a time or several hundred.” She paused, and Dominic allowed his forehead to thud on the desk. “Now that I think of it, it has been much more than that. Perhaps thousands of times.”
“Save me,” he muttered.
“So did you have relations with that woman or not?”
He sighed. “I did.” It was easier to speak of…it if he did not look at her. “But I did nothing that would produce a child. She—er…” Could he not simply fall into a hole and disappear right now? “She pleasured me, if you understand my meaning.” But of course she understood his meaning, and his fear was that she would illustrate how well she understood. The silence went on for several moments, and Dominic finally looked up.
“That doesn’t seem very fair of you. You gave her nothing in return?”
“Of course, I—” Dominic stood. “I am not having this conversation, Mother. God knows I am no saint, but that child is not mine. The last thing I want is to bring a bastard into the world.” He closed his mouth abruptly, aware he had said too much.
“Dominic.” His mother stood and reached for him, but he avoided her. He did not want to be touched at the moment. She clasped her hands together in front of her. “It has not been easy for you. I know that. I am so proud of all you’ve accomplished. The Edgeberry name is revered among anyone who knows horseflesh.”
But it wasn’t his name, Dominic thought. None of this was his.
“Lord Edgeberry wants you to marry. I want you to marry. I’d like to see you with a family and children.”
Dominic shook his head. The thought of children made him physically ill. He could not be responsible for a child.
“Dominic, there is no longer a choice. You must marry or you lose everything, including these horses.” She swept her hand, indicating the stable.
“Change his mind,” Dominic said. He hated to ask for anything, but the thought of leaving his horses was devastating.
“I cannot. I have tried, and really, there’s no reason you should not marry—”
“I don’t want to. That is reason enough.”
She gave him a sympathetic look, the kind she had given him when he’d been a child and stomped his foot, declaring, “I don’t want to go to bed!”
She did not say too bad now, but he saw it in her expression.
“You are a grown man and able to make your own decisions.” She collected her reticule and made her way toward the door. “If you choose to consider marriage, I expect you to be at Lord Melbourne’s home tomorrow evening for dinner.”
His mother was almost through the door when Dominic said, “Why her? Why Miss Bonde?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Because I always want the best for you.”
***
Jane had climbed out of many windows, but she had never climbed out of her own. She’d never had to, but Blue’s information had intrigued her. She had to meet this Wolf and find out what he’d learned about Foncé. Her uncle had always tried to keep her away from the other agents. She understood and respected the decision, but the situation with Foncé required extreme measures. The man had to be caught. They were all his targets now.
The drop from her window was steep, with little to cling to. Part of the way down, a tree branch touched the wall, and she thought she might be light enough to catch hold and use it to aid her descent. But the straight drop from her window was another matter.
She went to her wardrobe and pulled down a wooden chest with an embellished gold Q on it. It was the right size for jewelry, but it held something infinitely more valuable. She took a key from her dressing table and unlocked the box, pushing the cover back on the hinges. Inside lay a pair of ordinary gloves, an inkwell, and a brush. She opened the inkwell and gagged at the smell. What had Miss Qwillen mixed in here? She dipped the brush inside, and it came out covered in what looked like black honey. Was it tar? Tree sap?
Jane did not know, but she had learned to trust Miss Qwillen, or Q, over the years. She pulled on the gloves and painted the palms with the awful mixture, then waited a quarter of an hour for it to set. She thought she remembered Q saying to wait a quarter of an hour. Perhaps it had been three-quarters of an hour? Oh, bollocks! Jane did not have time to waste. She would go and hope for the best. Nine out of ten of Q’s inventions worked.
Jane stood at her window and looked down at t
he drop. Please let this be one of the nine.
She climbed out of the window, resting her hands on the ledge. The gloves felt sticky, which was encouraging. She looked down at the drop between her window and the tree branch she hoped to catch. It was quite a fall. Taking a deep breath, she moved her feet so they rested on a narrow foothold. She’d tied her skirts up and out of her way, and she looked down to be certain of her footing before she moved. Jane closed her eyes and inched her hands off the window casement one by one. She gripped the wall and wobbled slightly, but when she pressed her hands flat, so that the glue made complete contact with the building, she had a more secure hold.
Inch by inch, she made her way down the side of the town house. It was slow going, and she had to steel her nerves so as not to panic the few times her hands slipped and she slid down the side of the house. Finally, her feet touched the branch, and she lowered herself onto it. But the moment she was sitting securely on the branch, she heard an awful crack and jolted downward. The branch did not snap, but it hung onto the tree by a few layers of thin and peeling wood. Jane held on to the end of the branch, swaying in the breeze.
She almost laughed. She had been in far worse situations. If she fell to her death outside her own window, it would be the ultimate irony. The branch still swayed, and she used her legs to further the momentum, moving them as she might if she were on a swing. The branch dipped perilously close to the tree trunk, and Jane almost wrapped her legs around it, but then she swung back.
And the branch made another ominous cracking sound. She was running out of chances. She swung her legs again, this time catching the trunk at the same time the branch snapped. She let go, but too late, and fell backward, her legs gripping the trunk and her arms hanging down. Fortunately, the ground was not so far below her now. She latched on to the trunk with her hands and flipped her legs over, scratching her neck as she turned. She landed on the ground with a soft thud that reverberated all the way to her forehead. It had been a longer fall than she would have liked. She sat down, took inventory, and decided her neck had borne the worst of it. She would have to wear her hair down for a few days to cover the scratch. She touched it gingerly, wincing when the raw skin flared and burned.