by Shana Galen
So she wasn’t the only one who knew of Dominic’s trauma. She wondered if he’d spoken of it to this man, or if Old Connor, like she, was merely deducing. Old Connor looked back. “Here’s the man now. I’ve been keeping Little Molly away from her, sir.”
“Thank you.” Griffyn moved into sight. He’d changed and was now dressed in riding boots and coat.
“I see you rushed back to untie me,” she said. “You look quite fashionable. Now, release me.”
“One moment.” He moved out of sight, and she heard him speaking quietly to Old Connor. The nerve of the man. Really! The nerve. How dare he leave her tied here while he had a leisurely conversation?
Finally, he returned, leaned up, and began to unravel the knots. She looked up, but when she looked down, she saw his gaze was on her. She also realized his body was pressed against hers. She took a shaky breath as heat flooded through her. Desire so strong she felt dizzy ripped through her. She wanted him to press her up against the wall of the stall and kiss her until she forgot everything but the feel of his mouth. “You’re touching me,” she murmured, wishing her voice did not sound quite so seductive.
“I don’t mind it so much at the moment.”
Her arms sagged, and he took her wrists in his hands and began on those knots.
“Would you like me to stop touching you?”
She knew what he meant. His body was still pressed against hers, though such intimacy was not necessary to release her hands. She wanted to say yes, but she could hardly catch her breath. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her mind, control her desire.
Then her wrists were free, and she opened her eyes again. He’d stepped back, and she resisted the urge to grab his coat and haul him up against her again. Instead, she swept from the stall without looking back. She would not allow desire to sway her from her purpose. She would not allow Dominic Griffyn to sway her. He might follow her now, but she would lose him at the first opportunity.
Thirteen
It was not changing his clothing that had taken Dominic the additional few moments Jane seemed to object to. He’d written to Edgeberry to come to Kenham Hall immediately and to bring additional footmen. Dominic hadn’t liked leaving his mother and Lady Melbourne alone at Kenham Hall, but he saw the logic in going straight to the threat, rather than waiting for this Foncé to come to them. Jane was no fool, nor was she a coward. He might have wished she had less bravery. Time and again he’d watched her dive into danger without a second thought, and he wondered how she’d survived as long as she had. He wondered if she would survive until the wedding.
And then, as he rode beside her on the road to London, he wondered when he had started to think of marrying her as inevitable.
It should not have been inevitable, despite the efforts of his mother and Jane’s uncle. They had done nothing indiscreet, not in public at least, and engagements could be called off. Such a thing was not done without consequences. He did not mind consequences, except for the embarrassment they would cause his family. He felt as though he was embarrassment enough at times without contributing more. He knew his mother did not see him that way, and he did not think his half brothers did, but Edgeberry was altogether different. The marquess would have preferred the bastard son of his wife respectably married and out of the public eye.
If Dominic called off the engagement, he would not only ruin Jane’s reputation, he’d be quite prominently in the public eye. Everyone would assume there was some mark against Jane’s character, and she would be virtually unmarriageable. Dominic did not want to marry, but he’d known when he accepted the betrothal that such an outcome was likely. He would not be the source of dishonor for any lady. He knew only too well the pain that came with Society’s derision.
Jane would have to call it off, and while he did not think she had any such qualms about doing so, he also thought if she truly considered her options, she might decide marrying him was the best choice from a long list of undesirable choices. She had to marry someone. Why not him?
Because your touch made me want to do things I have never considered doing with another man? Risking what I have never been willing to risk before?
She wanted him. It still shocked and confused him. She seemed to suspect the truth about him, and she wanted him anyway. There was no doubt he wanted her, but he could not even allow himself to consider lying with her. Look what had happened the night before. The nightmares were bad enough when he was sleeping. He had never experienced one when awake, and he did not want to risk it again.
He could not go back to that time, to the little boy he’d been. He could not risk it, not even for the chance to bed Jane Bonde, not even for the chance at a normal life—a wife and children. His life would never be normal. He could never hope to have what other men had. It was better that he confine his needs to the occasional willing woman who would not question his rules—a woman he could touch but who would not touch him except when his cock finally demanded release and either his own hand or that of his lover’s was necessary.
Dominic had never paid for a woman. In London, he’d seen firsthand how respectable women were reduced to selling their bodies. A woman’s body was not something to be bartered, in his opinion. People were not commodities.
But what would he do with a wife? If he married Jane, he would not be able to keep himself from her bed. What then? Would he strangle her unwillingly? Pound her to a bloody pulp while in the throes of some memory? Force her to kill him to protect herself?
In the fading light, he caught the glint of Jane’s blue eyes as she peered back at him, and his chest tightened. Despite the risks, he still wanted her.
She’d insisted they pause this afternoon in order to ensure they would reach London as night fell. He suspected she also needed a brief respite from riding, since she moved stiffly, favoring her injury. But she would not allow them to tarry long. They were nearing London proper now, and the travelers on the road were still plenty. Farmers and country laborers left the city for the night, while those in the ton who had been spending the day in the country returned. She had been right to wait until now. No one watching the roads would have been able to spot her. There were simply too many people traveling to and from the capital.
They rode straight to Piccadilly and the offices of the Barbican group. Jane swept inside, removing her hat and gloves as she walked, and he followed in her wake. He observed that men made way for her, their eyes watching her, not with desire but respect. Their gazes fell on him with curiosity.
She led him down the hallway and to the central area where they had been before. Tonight it was all but empty of men. However, there was a woman.
“Butterfly,” Jane said, stopping her march toward Melbourne’s office. Dominic glanced at the woman rising from a table covered in documents. She must have been a spy if she was here, but she looked like any woman he might have passed on Bond Street. She was attractive enough, with her dark hair and large brown eyes. She wore a gown that accentuated the lushness of her figure and yet was still perfectly respectable. She was several years older than Jane, but she had an air of youth and excitement about her.
“Bonde!” The two women embraced, and Dominic saw the other woman’s gaze flick to him.
“This is Mr. Griffyn,” Jane said without looking at him. “He insisted on accompanying me.” Jane gestured to him carelessly. “Lady Keating, Mr. Griffyn.”
Lady Keating moved forward and held out her gloved hand. Dominic took it and bowed slightly. He was never one for these formalities. “A pleasure, Mr. Griffyn. Thank you for returning her safely to us.” She moved toward Jane again. “But why have you returned?”
“Foncé sent Tueur to kill me.”
“Tueur?” Lady Keating asked, her brow furrowing.
“Foncé’s assassin,” a male voice said as a wall of a man stepped into the room from the direction of Melbourne’s office. He glanced at Griffyn, assessin
g him, then slid his gaze to Jane. “Bonde. I didn’t think you had clearance to return.”
“And when did you become my superior, Baron?”
“Your uncle is in the field. I have command until he returns.” He stepped toward Dominic. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, sir.”
“Dominic Griffyn.”
“Ah.” The man’s sharp green eyes returned to Jane. “Your betrothed. Should he be here?”
“No, but he refused to stay behind.”
“You should have stayed behind.”
“I was only endangering everyone by remaining. I can do more good here.”
The man seemed about to argue, but Lady Keating spoke. “We do need help. Every available agent is searching London for Foncé. We are no closer to finding him, but I thought if we uncovered his plan, we might be able to intercept him before he could carry it out.”
“And what are these?” Jane gestured to the papers littering the table.
“Every piece of correspondence we have intercepted in the last year. I thought perhaps if I went through it…”
“Yes.” Jane was nodding and moving toward the papers. Dominic watched her, saw the way she continued to favor her injured side, and the stiffness in her movements. He caught Baron watching her too.
“Bonde, you were sent to the country to recover from your injury,” Baron said, his gaze meeting Dominic’s. “I do not think sufficient time has passed for you to recover.”
“I’m fine.”
Dominic shook his head. He’d be damned if he was going to allow her to come all this way and then fall ill because she refused to listen to her body when it was in pain. “You need to rest. You did not sleep last night and just rode all the way from Richmond.”
“He’s right,” Baron said. “As your superior—”
“You are not my superior,” she said, eyes blazing.
“As your temporary superior, I insist you rest for at minimum three hours before working.”
“I can read papers. That is not taxing.”
But Dominic could see Baron would not allow her to naysay him. He stood firm, arms crossed over his wide chest. “You are ordered to the dormitory at least until nine. I’ll have provisions sent to you. Griffyn, I am afraid I cannot allow you to leave. You know too much at the moment. If you were to fall into Foncé’s hands, it could be disastrous.”
“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here to protect Miss Bonde.”
Jane rolled her eyes and shook her head, but Baron nodded. “Good. Jane knows the way to the dormitory.”
***
Jane stared at Baron for a long moment. She narrowed her eyes, willing him to back down. Ridiculous man. Did he really think she did not know her own limits? And did it really matter at the moment? So what if she was in pain? It was the least she could endure to do away with Foncé once and for all.
Baron leveled his gaze at her, and she let out a sigh and started for the door. She didn’t really care if Griffyn accompanied her or not—which was a complete fabrication. She wanted him to leave, go far away from her. He was a constant distraction. She should never have allowed matters to progress as they had the night before.
The country was in jeopardy, and this was no time to think about bedding a man. And yet her thoughts kept returning to the way it had felt when his lips pressed against hers, when his hands caressed her, when his body molded to hers. He was strong and hard, not an ounce of fat on him. And those shadowed eyes turned impossibly large and dark when he was aroused. She could lose herself in those eyes.
She led him down a flight of stairs into the dormitory area. Kitchens and workrooms were also on this level, and she was pleasantly surprised when she turned from the stone steps and spotted Q in the corridor. Her workshop was on this level, and she was about to turn into it. She wore a plain brown gown with an apron over it, her curly hair pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head. She was petite and thin, with a pointy chin and large eyes that peered at the world from behind large spectacles. Q paused when she spotted Jane, smiling at her friend and then allowing her smile to fade when she spotted Griffyn. Jane almost rolled her eyes. She knew that look. Probably every woman who saw Griffyn gave him that look, knowingly or not.
Q pushed her spectacles onto her nose and darted her attention quickly back to Jane. “Bonde! It is good to see you.”
“Miss Qwillen. I did not realize you were still here.” Jane gestured to Dominic. “This is Mr. Griffyn.”
He gave a short bow. “I am Miss Bonde’s betrothed.”
Jane felt like punching him. Was it necessary to tell everyone about the betrothal?
“Congratulations!” Q said. She looked at Jane, a question in her eyes. “I had no idea. Does Moneypence know?”
Jane frowned in confusion. Why should Q care about Moneypence? “I suppose. Why?”
Q fluttered her hands. “No reason. Come. I have something you simply must see.” She started for her workroom then glanced over her shoulder. “You too, Mr. Griffyn.”
“Miss Qwillen is in charge of weaponry design,” Jane told him before they followed.
“Interesting,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear.
She felt a rush of desire and immediately countered it with indignation. “Why? Because she is a woman?”
“No.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because I had never before considered that weapons needed to be designed.” He held out a hand, as though he was inviting her into Q’s workshop. Vexing man.
“Weaponry design is an old and fascinating pursuit,” Q said as she bustled behind a long table covered with wheels and cogs and spring of all shapes. Jane took a moment simply to gaze about the room, noting any changes. She’d always loved Q’s workshop. She remembered when Miss Qwillen had joined the Barbican group. She was Jane’s age or a year or two older, and the two had immediately become friends. Jane had sat for many hours in the workshop, watching Q work.
It was a rather small room, about the size of a parlor or a small sitting room, but far less comfortable. The stone walls and floors were bare of any and all decoration. No rugs or paintings in here. The surfaces of the plain wooden tables, two against one wall and one very large table in the center, were covered with pieces of metal, string, various tools, and jars with cryptic labels like innards.
Shelves lined the back wall of the room, housing books and more jars, as well as the area Q had warned Jane she should never touch. That shelf held powder and explosives. A fire burned in a hearth on the other side of the room, and jars and vials were suspended above it by a metal contraption. The contents of the containers bubbled and hissed.
“What do you have in those?” Jane asked, indicating the hearth.
Q glanced at them as though only just seeing them. “A witch’s brew. But I have something I want to show you.” She beckoned the two of them toward the shelves in the back, toward the area usually restricted. She reached onto the shelf and removed a quill. The large swan feather was quite lovely, and Jane noted it had a metal nib, which meant it was a rather expensive pen.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked.
“A pen,” Dominic answered. Jane knew better than to assume anything Q possessed was as simple as what it appeared to be.
“Very good,” Q said with a smile. Jane was suspicious of that smile. “Would you like to write something with it?” Q looked at Jane. Jane shook her head. She was not risking it, no matter how much Q smiled. “Mr. Griffyn?”
He took the quill, and Q produced parchment and ink. He dipped the metal nib in the ink and pressed the point to paper. Jane cringed and scooted back slightly. But Dominic scrawled his name on the parchment without incident.
“Anything strike you as odd about the pen or ink?” Q asked innocently. Jane took another step back.
“No. It appears ordinary enough.”
“Good. Watch this.” Q produced a large ring with several keys hanging from it. She walked to a book lying at a forty-five-degree angle on one of the shelves and slowly shifted it to the opposite angle. A panel in the wall at the back of the room sprang open. Jane jumped and ducked. Dominic gave her a curious look, but Jane took her time climbing back to her feet. Q went to the panel, inserted one of the keys into the lock hidden within, and the rest of the panel opened. A door had been hidden behind the panel. It was a thick stone door with a large peephole at eye level.
“What is that?” Jane asked.
“My secret chamber,” Q said. “Haven’t you seen it before?”
“No.” And Jane was not so certain she wanted to see it now.
“Why do you need a secret chamber?” Dominic asked. “The entire building is secret.”
Q gave him a look that spoke volumes of her opinion of civilians. “Because some secrets cannot be shared even with spies.” She inserted another key, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped inside. She lit several wall sconces and then placed the pen on a small wooden table in the center of the room. Other than the table, the room was bare. The plain stone walls and the square shape reminded Jane of a gaol cell. She did take note of one aspect of the room. The walls were blackened in irregular patches. If she had moved closer, she might have inspected the black and determined its origin, but Jane was not stepping into that room.
“Watch carefully,” Q said. She lifted the pen from the table and broke the metal nib. “One.”
“Oh!” Jane cried. What a waste.
“Two, three.” Q reached the door to the room and closed it. “Four, five, six—watch through the peephole. Eight.”