“Apparently not.”
Dom furtively adjusted his trousers, which seemed to be rather . . . oddly protruding just now.
Ohhh. Right. This was one time she wished Nancy hadn’t been so forthcoming about what happened to a man’s body when he was aroused. So that, not his pistol, had been the odd bulge digging into her.
Definitely not a pistol. Her cheeks positively flamed. Faith, how could she even face his family after this and not give away what she and Dom had been doing?
Mortified, she hurried to the looking glass to fix her hair. While she stuffed tendrils back into place and repinned drooping curls, Dom came up behind her to meet her gaze in the mirror. “Before we let them in, I want an answer to my question about Blakeborough.”
Curse the stubborn man. How could she tell Dom she was so pathetic that she hadn’t even managed to find another man to love in all the years they’d spent apart? That she’d been foolish enough to wait around for Dom all this time, when he’d happily gone on living his life without her? Her pride couldn’t endure having him know that.
To her relief, Tristan said, “Well, whatever they’re up to, we have to get moving.” A knock sounded at the door. “Dom? Jane? Are you done talking?”
She met Dom’s gaze with a certain defiance, and he arched one eyebrow in question.
So she took matters into her own hands and strode for the door. Caught off guard, Dom swore behind her and snatched up his greatcoat just as she opened the door and said, “Please come in. We’re quite finished.”
In more ways than one.
Their companions trooped in, casting her and Dom wary glances. Jane looked over to see Dom holding his greatcoat looped over his arm as if to shield the front of him. That brought the blushes back to her cheeks.
She caught Lisette furtively watching her, and she cursed herself for wearing her emotions on her sleeve. Better shift her attention elsewhere before Lisette guessed just how shameless she’d been.
“I assume you now know of Nancy’s possible pregnancy?” she said baldly.
The others exchanged glances.
“Tristan filled us in, yes,” Lisette said.
“As I explained to Dom, it is by no means a certain thing.” Swiftly Jane related what she’d revealed to him about Nancy’s past miscarriages and friendship with Samuel.
The minute she was done, Dom said, “Jane seems to think that Nancy would never behave so duplicitously as to try passing off Samuel’s child as George’s own.”
“Then perhaps we should listen to her,” the duke said.
“Max!” Lisette said. “Don’t you realize what would happen to Dom if Nancy gives birth to a son who could lay claim to the estate and title?”
“Of course. But that’s beside the point. And it doesn’t change the fact that none of us are remotely familiar with George’s wife. I’m not sure I’ve even met her.” He nodded to Jane. “Whereas Miss Vernon has had an intimate acquaintance with her for years. If anyone knows the woman’s character, it ought to be she.”
Jane could have kissed him for that. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Call me Max, please,” he corrected her. “I learned a long time ago that this family doesn’t stand on ceremony.”
“Then do call me Jane,” she answered. “It’s beginning to look more and more like we’ll be thrown into each other’s pockets quite a bit in the next few days, given that I’ll be traveling on with you and Lisette to London.”
“Speaking of that,” Tristan said, “Max and I came up with a plan while you two were having your discussion . . . or whatever it was.” When his knowing tone provoked a foul glance from Dom, Tristan added hastily, “Max has an estate near Newark, about seven or eight hours’ drive from here. It’s a logical stopping point on the road to London, since you’ll need to break the trip up into parts. Since we’re getting a late start, we thought that you three could head on to Max’s estate in Newark while I stay to do more nosing around in York.”
“For what?” Dom asked.
“Information on Barlow. Other than what the innkeeper said about the post chaise to London Barlow hired for him and Nancy, we didn’t learn anything about whether they’ve been spending time together. It would be good to know the exact nature of their . . . er . . . friendship.”
“I think we can guess, can’t we?” Lisette said stoutly. “Given all the gossip about Mr. Barlow, I mean.”
Jane winced. It had probably been too much to expect that Lisette would be on her side and not Dom’s, but still it hurt to see the duchess so ready to assume the worst about Nancy.
“I’m sure all the rumors about Mr. Barlow and women are true,” Jane said. “But that speaks more to his character than to my cousin’s. It certainly doesn’t mean Nancy ran off to have the man’s baby, for pity’s sake.” She glanced at the three siblings, who’d unconsciously moved together, ranging themselves against her. “Have any of you considered the possibility that she didn’t go with him of her own accord?”
“No,” Dom growled, “because it’s absurd.”
Jane pinned him with her gaze. “Why? Simply because you wish it to be? Was there any evidence that she went with him willingly? Did the innkeeper say anything about how she behaved? Did he even see her get into the coach with Samuel?”
“No,” Tristan put in before Dom could growl something else at her. “But what would Barlow’s purpose be in abducting her?”
“Marriage, of course,” the duke answered. “As Nancy’s husband, Barlow would have complete control over her widow’s portion. And if Nancy is bearing George’s child, then Barlow would be stepfather to the new viscount. He’d be able to mold the lad however he wished and run the estate however he pleased until the lad came of age. He could bleed it dry before the heir ever reached his majority.”
“You see?” Jane said. “Even the duke understands that more could be at work here.”
Dom met her gaze balefully. “First of all, we have no evidence that Barlow took her against her will, and we have plenty of evidence that he did not. We know she came here purposely to meet him.”
“That’s probably true,” Jane conceded, “but I don’t think she intended to run away with him, or why bother to tell the servants she’d be back that night? She could have just said she was going to Bath with her aunt. Then she could have packed up all her baggage and gone off, with nobody the wiser. Besides, as I already told you, she would never willingly leave her dogs behind.”
“All good points, you have to admit,” the duke said.
Jane flashed him a smile. “Thank you, Max.” He was obviously a very wise man, and Lisette was a very lucky woman.
Though judging from the scowl Lisette leveled on him, the woman didn’t particularly agree with that assessment at the moment.
Dom crossed his arms over his chest. “But if Barlow kidnapped Nancy in an attempt to force her into a marriage, wouldn’t he have carried her to Gretna Green? He’d want her married to him as quickly and easily as possible. Instead, they’re going to London.”
“None of it makes any sense, I’ll admit,” Jane said.
Tristan nodded. “And that’s precisely why we need more information. So I’ll stay in York however long it takes to find it, and then I’ll catch up to you in Newark or even London to tell you what I’ve learned.”
Dom eyed him warily. “Won’t your wife have something to say about your traveling so far off?”
“I already knew this was probably not going to be swift or easy, so I prepared her for any eventuality. She’ll understand.” Tristan shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “You may need me once you reach London. I realize that Victor and Isa are there, but who knows what else we’ll uncover as this investigation goes on? Your entire future could be at stake. So I’d rather err on the side of caution and pursue this to the end with you.”
Dom got a strange l
ook on his face, surprise and affection mingling. “Thanks,” he said, his voice taut with emotion. “Though I do welcome the help, you don’t have to do that. This isn’t your fight, after all.”
“It wasn’t your fight when you stood up to George on my behalf, either,” Tristan said softly. “The least I can do after all you did for me is add my support to this endeavor.”
The two brothers stared at each other a long moment, and Lisette looked a little misty-eyed.
Then Tristan cleared his throat. “Besides, ever since Zoe got pregnant, she’s been craving those sour pickles sold only at Fortnum & Mason in London. So I’ll bring her back jars of them, and she’ll instantly forgive me for being gone so long.”
“Not if she finds out that you think her forgiveness can be bought with jars of pickles,” Lisette said dryly.
“You’d be surprised how much a jar of those pickles could buy me right now.” Tristan grinned. “Or perhaps not, since you’ve already endured having a baby.”
“Lisette craved Russian caviar,” the duke said. “Slightly more difficult to come by than pickles.”
“And slightly harder on the purse,” Dom put in. “Good thing she’s married to you.”
“For your next pregnancy,” Tristan told his sister, “you should crave pearls. So much more practical than caviar.”
Lisette stuck her tongue out at him, and Max said, “Don’t give her ideas,” though he then smiled at her.
Jane got the feeling that the duke would buy his wife the moon if he could find a way to dislodge it from the night sky, and her throat tightened with envy. Dom hadn’t even been willing to swallow his pride for her.
“Speaking of babies, actual and prospective,” the duke went on, “I know Lisette is eager to get home to ours, and Dom is eager to find out for sure about Nancy’s, so we’d better be off. We’ve already lost a great deal of time just trying to find out the circumstances of Nancy’s disappearance.”
“True,” Dom said. “We’ll be lucky if we catch up to the pair before they disappear into the crowds of London.”
Tristan’s expression hardened as he walked toward the door. “Don’t worry. If Victor and I have to comb every slum in the city, we’ll find them. You can be sure of that.”
Jane believed him. The Duke’s Men had quite the reputation for finding people, and they had more reason than usual to find Nancy.
Now if only she could be sure that Barlow wouldn’t destroy Nancy’s reputation or steal her future before they did.
9
HALF AN HOUR later, as they left York headed for Newark, Dom stretched his legs out in Max’s spacious and comfortably appointed traveling carriage. Another carriage behind them carried the ladies’ maids and the duke’s valet. It was all very civilized and proper, the very epitome of how gentlemen like them should travel.
A pity that Dom wasn’t feeling particularly civilized and proper just now, and he certainly wasn’t feeling like a gentleman. How could he, when the woman he ached to possess sat directly across from him, ignoring him?
Jane looked so pensive and aloof and pretty in the violet walking dress he’d wanted to strip off her earlier, that just gazing at her made his chest hurt.
The years had been kinder to her than to him. Not a single line creased her features, and not a thread of silver appeared in her unfashionably red hair . . . her beautiful, unruly red hair that he still itched to unpin and take down, to tangle between his fingers as he tasted again those lush breasts of hers, with their pert russet nipples hardening while he . . .
He bit back an oath as his cock stirred. Jerking his gaze to the window, he fought for mastery over it. He had to stop thinking about her naked! Otherwise, he was going to be giving quite the show to his companions.
Clearly, after all these years, he had finally lost his mind. This infernal lust wasn’t like him at all, and acting on it as he had earlier certainly wasn’t. All right, perhaps he’d enjoyed a few intimate encounters with Tristan’s actress friends in Paris some years back, but generally Tristan had always been the only one to do things like that.
Yet even now, Dom burned to touch Jane, caress Jane, know Jane. Even in the biblical sense. Especially in the biblical sense.
Meanwhile, she wanted nothing to do with him. Since their discussion in the inn, she hadn’t said more than two words to him.
And before that, she’d flat-out refused to answer his question about her fiancé. What did that mean? That she didn’t love the man? If her bloody fiancé was so bloody important to her, she’d certainly hidden it well while Dom was kissing and caressing her.
Unless she’d been using his lust against him, tormenting him for what she saw as his throwing her away years ago. Punishing him for refusing to apologize for doing what he’d had to in order to ensure her happiness.
That’s the problem. You still really believe that.
Yes, damn her, he did! Though it was getting harder to do so, with the scent and taste of her filling his mind. That was probably what she intended, to show him what he’d lost. To make him regret it.
If that was her purpose, it was certainly working, blast it.
“There’s one thing I’ve been wondering about, Jane,” Max said from beside him. “Why on earth did your cousin choose to marry George in the first place? I met the man once, and he didn’t strike me as the sort to make a woman’s heart quicken, if you know what I mean.”
Dom glanced furtively at Jane. Would she reveal the truth of what had prompted George’s interest in Nancy? Would she tell his family what had actually happened that blasted night in the library?
If it was revenge she wanted, then that would certainly be a fitting one. Lisette would never let him hear the end of it.
“George could be very charming when he wished.” Jane looked pointedly at Dom. “I believe they grew interested in each other one night at a ball when he behaved very gallantly in defending Nancy from some . . . untoward fellow. That made a great impression on her, and apparently she made an even greater impression on George.”
Dom just stared at her. So it wasn’t revenge Jane sought. Then again, perhaps she just felt that the truth of that “one night at a ball” would somehow not reflect well on either of them. She might be right.
“So, was Nancy’s marriage to George a happy one?” Lisette asked. “Because I don’t see how it could have been, if she’s been engaging in an affair with the likes of Samuel Barlow.”
“She has not been engaging in an affair with anyone!” Jane cried. When the others fell into an uncomfortable silence, Jane tipped up her chin. “She hasn’t, or I swear I would have known it.”
“Forgive me for saying so,” Max remarked, an edge to his voice, “but women can be adept at hiding such secrets, even from their families.”
Ah, yes, Max’s mother had cuckolded his father, hadn’t she? Dom had forgotten that. Max himself hadn’t known it until Tristan uncovered it last year.
“Perhaps so,” Jane said hotly, “but not Nancy. I can imagine her flirting with Samuel, perhaps, but sharing his bed while also married to George? Never.”
“Because she loved him?” Dom said sarcastically.
“Because by then, she feared him.” Jane leveled him with a dark look. “Surely you can understand that, knowing him as well as you did.”
“Then she shouldn’t have married him,” Dom said.
And she shouldn’t have maneuvered that encounter in the library so that George saw her supposedly being assaulted by me.
Dom couldn’t say that in front of the rest of them. But when he got the chance to be alone with Jane again, he would be sure to point it out.
“She was foolish to wed him, I’ll admit,” Jane said. “She was swept up in the idea of becoming Lady Rathmoor. Sadly, my uncle’s concerns over George’s character could never convince her, because she thought him merely overcautious. Co
nsidering what had happened to—”
Halting abruptly, she jerked her gaze from Dom.
“To you?” Dom snapped, insulted that her uncle could have spoken of him and George in the same breath.
“Of course not,” Jane mumbled, but color stained her cheeks, making her freckles stand out, and he wasn’t sure he believed her.
“Then to whom?” he snapped.
Myriad emotions crossed Jane’s face, so many he couldn’t sort them out. She opened her mouth, closed it. Paused a moment.
Then she squared her shoulders, as if coming to a decision. “To his sister—my mother. Considering what happened when Mama drowned.”
Lisette gaped at her. “Your mother drowned ?”
“She fell into a swollen river,” Dom answered. What did Kitty Vernon’s drowning have to do with anything? “Jane’s father jumped in to save her, but he was pulled under, too, and they both perished. It was very tragic.”
“Oh, Lord,” Lisette said. “You didn’t witness it, did you?”
“No, I was with my nurse.” Jane’s gaze shifted to his. “But as it turned out, events weren’t quite as I was led to believe when I was a child.”
The haunted look in her eyes struck a chill to Dom’s bones. “What do you mean?”
“Mama did not ‘fall’ into the river. She was pushed.”
“By whom?” Dom asked, though he began to fear he knew.
“My father.” Her voice held an edge. “He flew into a rage—not for the first time, I might add—over some misstep he fancied that Mama had made. Only after he realized what he’d done did he jump in to save her. But neither survived.”
A shocked silence fell on the carriage.
Dom could hardly take it in. Her mother was killed by her father? “But the official story—”
“Uncle Horace convinced the constable that with both parties dead, there was no point in dragging the rest of the family through a scandal. The two servants who’d witnessed the attack agreed to keep quiet, and it was ruled an accidental drowning.”
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