The Passionate Love of a Rake: HarperImpulse Historical Romance

by Jane Lark

  Geoff wrote as though Jane was at Farnborough. He said to warn her about Sutton. A spasm clutched at Robert’s heart. She’d said she was going to London, so why would Geoff think she was here? Surely Jane should be with Violet? But if Jane was, then Geoff would know.

  Robert sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes scanned the letter again. Something wasn’t right. Something was, in fact, dreadfully wrong. Cold, dense fear gripped his stomach.

  He threw the letter aside and rose, unable to cope with it. She’d left. She’d chosen to go. She wasn’t his responsibility, and that was her choice.

  Every muscle in his body aching, Robert finished stripping then walked to the decanter. His stomach growled with hunger, but he ignored it, tipping brandy into a glass. He took it with him to the brass tub, stepped into the water, and sank down, submerging his body up to his chest and resting his elbows on the tub’s edge. He sipped the brandy then rested the glass on the tub’s rim, clasped in his hand. He laid his head back and shut his eyes. The warmth of the water seeped into his bones.

  Jane. He thought of her beautiful face, her almond-shaped, dark-rimmed, emerald eyes and felt the image calm him, relax him.

  “My Lord?”

  Robert’s body lurched, swilling water over the edge of the tub on to the floor as his eyes opened. His mind was stunned, and his breath stuck in his throat as his heart pounded. In his dream, he’d been on that street, watching Sutton strike her, and it had been so real, he’d almost felt the blow himself. His vision returned to his dressing room and looked at the glass still gripped in his hand.

  “Forgive me, my Lord. You shouted. I … ” Archer ceased speaking, but kept walking towards Robert. He had the oddest look on his face.

  “I don’t need you. Get out!” Robert said impatiently.

  “My Lord.” The man’s eyes said it all. He thought Robert was losing his mind.

  “Just give me that letter on the bed, Archer, and go.”

  “Sir, I think you should eat.”

  “Archer, I do not need a nursemaid. Just send up some bread and cheese. I’m in no mood for dinner.”

  “My Lord.”

  Archer’s concern was irritating. Robert did not need a bloody keeper, yet he knew he ought to appreciate it. Archer was under no obligation to show concern. He picked up the letter, brought it to Robert, and passed it into Robert’s outstretched hand. Then, with a sharp nod and a pathetically insulting bow, Archer turned and left.

  Taking another sip of brandy, Robert read the letter again. Geoff said Sutton’s behaviour had become erratic. He’d been bragging about his ability to control his father’s widow in White’s. Geoff urged Robert to keep Jane in the country. He also said Sutton had overturned the will, and Jane must hand everything back. Geoff feared Sutton would not be satisfied with just the money.

  There was no date on the letter. Robert turned it over. A date was scrawled in the corner over the address. It was dated less than a week ago. Could Jane have taken that long to return to Town? Perhaps she’d taken a detour. Robert let the letter fall to the floor and sipped the brandy. He saw a vivid picture of Sutton striking her. Angry, he downed the brandy, set the glass on the floor, and ducked his head beneath the water.

  He couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he wished to. Concern for the woman lodged inside him. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her and he did not go. “You were always rescuing me.” He had always felt a need to protect her, even before he’d fallen in love. Now it was simply instinct.

  At least Archer would be happy when Robert shaved.

  ~

  Seven days later, Robert stood before a bay window in White’s and looked down on the street, his hands clasped behind his back. White’s had always been a retreat, a place where he could recoup from the concerns of life. Perhaps it was the masculine scents of tobacco, leather, and brandy which eased him. They reminded Robert of his father’s office. Yet today, the quiet male conversation and heavy scents did nothing to restore Robert’s natural air of calm.

  He’d been waiting half an hour for Geoff.

  Sutton wasn’t in London.

  Neither was Jane.

  Apparently, Sutton had taken his wife and children into the country. It was not unusual for the time of year. The season was over. Most of the aristocracy had fled the city’s stale air.

  “Barrington.”

  Robert turned. It was Ellen’s father, Pembroke. He was not a man Robert expected to see in London at this time of year. Nor would he have expected Pembroke to acknowledge him.

  “Your Grace.” Robert bowed, but not deeply.

  “You seem distracted, Barrington,” the Duke said, studying Robert with his arrogant, silver-eyed gaze.

  Robert took a breath, but gave no answer. He had nothing to say to Pembroke.

  If only Robert knew where Jane was, he would feel better. He felt jumpy and unable to relax until he did. He’d hardly slept since she’d left Farnborough, yet he did not feel tired.

  Pembroke continued “I have had my man research your future wife.”

  Robert’s eyes widened at the audacity, but in an odd way he wished to laugh. There was not a hope-in-hell’s chance Jane would ever be his wife. Pembroke had wasted his time and money. But then, the pain of Jane’s loss swept in again, and Robert felt bitter. “I do not want to hear it,” he growled, scowling and moving past Pembroke. The man caught Robert’s arm.

  “Hear me out, Barrington. You will not dislike it. I did it to protect my heir. I do not want the boy corrupted.”

  Robert glowered and yanked his arm free. He knew the price Pembroke placed on protecting his heir. Previously, Pembroke’s daughter had borne the greatest cost. Yet perhaps Pembroke knew where Jane was.

  An ache in his chest, Robert chose to relent, but it felt like betrayal to publicly interfere in Jane’s affairs. “Well?” he pressed impatiently.

  Pembroke did not speak, so Robert pushed again. “Tell me, Your Grace, if you must, but pray, do so promptly. I am due to meet a friend.”

  “I misunderstood what I saw when the late Duke of Sutton was alive, Barrington. I owe her an apology.”

  The man could have punched Robert in the face and he would not have been more shocked. Pembroke did not apologise lightly.

  “Will you take a drink with me? I ordered port.”

  Stunned, Robert nodded. They occupied two leather wing-chairs in the bay window.

  “If you were wrong, then what can you have to tell me, Your Grace?” Robert posed, leaning forward, a hand resting on one knee. Pembroke leaned back, relaxed, and arched one eyebrow.

  The attendant arrived, and Robert waited, anxious and irritable, as the port was poured.

  Once the attendant had gone, Robert urged sharply, “Tell me what you know, Your Grace?”

  Pembroke laughed. It was a deep resonant sound. “Patience is a virtue, Barrington.”

  Impatient, Robert answered, “It is not a virtue I have time for.” But despite his words Robert sat back, his hands gripping the chair’s arms, rigidly holding himself in check.

  “Very well. I discovered the Dowager Duchess was not a willing party in Sutton’s amusements.”

  “Amusements?” Robert scowled.

  “The late Duke encouraged his guests to be, how shall I say, less than respectful to his wife. Apparently, Sutton took pleasure in tormenting her in other ways, too. He forbade her many things, riding, walking, and dancing, for instance. She had no freedom, I believe. My man also discovered that Sutton forced her father into debt to secure the match. I always thought the late Duke of Sutton odd, but now I wonder if he was mad. He kept her like a bird in a cage.”

  Robert rubbed his jaw, silent. He remembered the conversation he and Jane had had at Vauxhall. It was the only time she’d spoken of Sutton, “and he certainly never did anything just to please me,” she’d said.

  “I will warn you, Barrington, my man thinks her inheritance is disputable. He believes the will a ploy to taunt the son.
It is likely to be overturned if contested. It appears the late Duke of Sutton intends to keep his bird caged even from within his grave.”

  Robert’s mind reeled. What if the son was as mad as the father? What if Jane was with Sutton? “It has already been contested. He won. Do you know anything of the current Duke?”

  Pembroke’s expression turned sour. “He has a reputation for erratic behaviour and violence. He seems a man in the image of his father, inhuman.”

  Pembroke was hardly one to judge. He, too, had been inhuman for a time towards Ellen, although never violent, just cruel.

  Robert drank his port with an urge to go, but go where?

  “Robert!”

  Geoff. Robert stood as Geoff crossed the room and lifted his hand.

  “Excuse me, Pembroke,” Robert said, looking back. Then he gave the man a stiff bow before adding, “Thank you for the information.”

  “You have not heard it all yet,” Pembroke interjected. “My man heard the current Duke intends to obtain your fiancée as his mistress. I do not believe he intends to give her a choice. I thought you should know it. I am sure Sutton will not hesitate in disposing of any obstacles, Barrington.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed as suddenly the sum equalled four. But he had no intention of sharing his thoughts with Pembroke, yet he was grateful the man had spoken. Bowing again, more deeply, Robert said, “Thank you,” once more. Then he turned away.

  He had to find her.

  “Remember, Barrington,” Pembroke said behind him, “if there is any trouble, I do not wish my grandson caught up in it.”

  Robert glanced back. “I would not wish it either, Your Grace.”

  He crossed the room to meet Geoff. “Shall we find a coffeehouse? There are too many ears in here.”

  Geoff nodded.

  Half an hour later, leaning over a coffee as black as treacle and with arms crossed on the tabletop, Robert looked at his friend. The air in the little shop was thick with the aroma of roasted coffee, and tobacco smoke helped screen them from the other occupants. “Did Violet write to Jane’s address in Bath?”

  “Yes. The letter was returned saying Jane’s tenancy had terminated. The house has been closed up. Her butler answered and asked after her. Apparently, he thought it odd. Violet said he’d followed Jane from the late Duke’s household. There is no word on Sutton?”

  “He’s gone to Berkshire.” Why would Jane leave herself no property to return to? It was odd. Unless she’d gone into hiding somewhere.

  “Safely out of the way then.”

  Robert’s fingers rubbed his jaw. “Pembroke just shared some tales I’d sooner not have heard. What does Violet know of Jane’s marriage?”

  “Very little, I think,” Geoff set his coffee cup on its saucer, his eyes on Robert. “The old man was seriously ill at the point Vi met Jane. I believe they only spoke when he was incapacitated, and Vi would not betray Jane’s trust to me, but she did mention Jane was very different in Bath. Vi said Jane was wary of censure from the old man. She is hardly outgoing, though. If Jane was more reserved, she must have been virtually silent.”

  “Oppressed,” Robert stated.

  “That was my assessment, yes.”

  “When did Violet’s solicitor last hear from Jane? He can give me no leads?”

  “None. The last communication was the letter he sent to your place.”

  An attendant passed with a pot of coffee, and Robert lifted his hand, beckoning for him to refill Geoff’s cup. Robert hadn’t known Jane had received a letter from the solicitor. She’d not said. Had that been the letter he’d given her?

  Geoff waited until the waiter moved on then said, “Apparently, French enclosed a letter from Sutton, too. It had been delivered via Sutton’s solicitor. I believe French wrote to inform Jane they’d lost.”

  “What was in the letter from Sutton?”

  “Who knows? French did not open it. It was addressed to Jane.”

  Silent, Robert felt his heart thudding, and his gaze fell to his untouched coffee. Pembroke’s words tumbled through his head, “He forbade her many things…he kept her like a bird in a cage”. Robert remembered the night he’d seen Jane watching other people dance, when she’d still worn her blacks, longing to dance herself. “A horse,” she’d asked at Farnborough, as though she’d claimed the crown jewels, and in town, she’d confided, “I have not ridden in an age.” He could picture the bright light in her eyes every time they’d ridden. He thought of their last night, “know that I love you”, of that last day at the ruins. Why had she let him make love to her when she was leaving? All these things just did not knit together.

  An ominous thought struck him. What if Sutton’s letter had summoned her back to her cage? But she’d escaped. Why would she go back? If Sutton had threatened her, why had she not spoken of it? Robert had offered to protect her!

  “I am sure Sutton will not hesitate in disposing of obstacles.” Robert suddenly understood everything. Pembroke had implied Robert was an obstacle. That scene at Vauxhall came to mind – Sutton pressing Jane back against the stone. Had Robert been disposed of then?

  “I love you – but I cannot stay – cannot, not will not.” Jane’s words.

  Good God!

  What if Sutton’s threat was aimed at him? Would she have gone for him?

  Was she protecting him?

  The more Robert thought it, the more he believed it. Sutton was threatening her with what he could do to him.

  The clever bloody bastard.

  Sutton knew her far better than Robert ever did.

  He’d spent years thinking her selfish when Jane’s only fault was selflessness.

  Her little outburst before his tenant had been Jane straining against the bit. She had not wanted to go.

  If Robert had pressed, if he’d made her explain instead of losing his temper, he could have given her the power to break her bonds. But in the image of his behaviour years before, he’d ridden away.

  No wonder she did not trust him.

  Geoff nudged him. “What is it?”

  Robert leaned back, feeling suddenly helpless. “Sutton has her; I’m certain of it. He threatened her, I think, with what he would do to me. I believe that was the content of his letter. Pembroke thinks the man’s mad. He’s also heard Sutton intends to force himself on Jane. Having seen him hit her, I would not be surprised if it is true. She’s in danger.”

  “You are fond of her?” Geoff’s gaze said he knew the answer.

  “I have always been. I loved her when we were young, before she married. I failed her then. I’ll not fail again. No other woman ever stood a chance. They’ve always been in her shadow.”

  Geoff’s gaze filled with compassion. “My sister was right. I think you’ve even convinced Violet. I dare say Jane will believe you, too, when you find her.”

  A low growl of self-disgust slipped from Robert’s throat. “I’m not certain. She proved the level of her faith in me by leaving Farnborough. She has no belief in me. If she did, Sutton’s threats would have been worthless.”

  “Or perhaps she cares too much about you to take the risk.”

  Robert said nothing. It was only salt poured into the wound.

  “At least, if you think she is with Sutton, you have your lead. He’s gone to his estates, so follow him. Jane will either be there or not. Either way, you need only sit it out in a nearby inn and wait until he leads you to her.”

  Robert nodded. He’d thought the same. He stood. “Thank you, Geoff,” he acknowledged as his friend stood, too. They shook hands, and Robert gripped Geoff’s tightly. “You will forgive me for my haste.”

  “Of course. You will keep Violet informed? She is beside herself with worry. Jane did not deserve the life she’s had.”

  “No, and I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for it. Good day, Geoff. Tell Violet I shall write when I have news.”

  “May luck go with you, Robert.”

  ~

  Silent, sitting in the dark,
occupying a threadbare armchair, Jane clutched her knees, tucked inside her skirt, and listened intently, waiting, wondering – terrified.

  She didn’t know the hour, but she could hear the clock ticking in the hall outside. It was a steady, unrelenting rhythm which matched her heartbeat.

  Joshua was late. It must be well past midnight. Did it mean he wouldn’t come tonight? She didn’t imagine for one moment he’d given up his game.

  Her eyelids were heavy and kept falling, but she dare not sleep. Forcing her eyes to stay open, she looked towards the dark shadows near the door. She’d pushed a chest before it.

  Fear prickled in her nerves.

  Hector had tormented her for years, but he’d never physically hurt her. Joshua had. He was sadistic, not simply cruel. She had good reason to fear him.

  Robert slipped into her mind. He did so constantly. When she was most afraid, she sought refuge in halcyon memories of the summer. He was secure. That was a constant balm.

  Then she heard it, the first heavy footfall in the hall. The ring of hardened leather heels on wood.

  Silent, she gripped her knees harder to her chest, and her bare toes curled over the chair’s rim. She was too afraid to even breathe.

  Strike. Strike. The rhythmic steps grew nearer.

  She was no fool. If Joshua wished to open it, he would. He was strong enough to push the chest aside. The barrier would simply buy her time to contemplate her fate.

  Strike, strike.

  There would be no point in crying out. No one would come. No one would help her here.

  Her heart pounded.

  She was in a third-floor room. There was no escape.

  “Jane.” His deep baritone stretched along the hall, heavy with threat, and she saw light break a crack above the door.

  Strike, strike.

  He was two steps away.

  Strike, strike.

  Her heart thumped harder as his footsteps stopped outside the door.

  “So tempting.” His voice resonated through the wooden door. His tormenting words reaching into the room. “Do you lie awake thinking of me, Jane?”

  She jumped half out her skin and gasped when the door handle suddenly jolted, twisting sharply. He’d won again. He’d heard her cry out. He knew she was awake, and he knew she was afraid.