No, she couldn’t think about that. Not right now, when she had Dom’s taste in her mouth and his scent engulfing her senses.
Blushing, she rose from his lap and straightened her clothes, sure that if she came across anyone in the halls, they would guess at once what she’d been doing. Thank heaven the servants had probably already retired to their quarters. She would die if any of them saw her and guessed she’d been playing the wanton.
“Dom . . .” she began, not sure what to say. Thank you? That was lovely? When may we do it again?
Not that. If they ever did this again, she wouldn’t rest until he made her his. And she still wasn’t sure she wanted that.
“It’s all right, Jane,” he said tightly, as if he could read the conflict inside her. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She bobbed her head and fled. But an errant and disturbing thought hit her as she climbed the stairs.
If I, as a maiden, can so readily give in to Dom’s charms, how much more readily will an experienced widow like Nancy give in to Samuel’s?
12
DOM SAT THERE in a state of acute arousal long after Jane left. He was out of control. He hated that. Most of the time he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it in the most efficient manner. But when it came to Jane . . .
Damn the wench, but she destroyed his control whenever she entered a room. Seeing her at dinner in that crimson dress, with garnets sparkling at her throat, had made it impossible for him not to touch her when she’d shown up outside the dining room alone.
Though he didn’t regret it. The feel of Jane coming apart in his hands was like nothing he’d ever known. Just remembering it had him fully aroused again. Blast.
Then he heard a noise in the hall. Was that Jane, come back to finish their encounter? But no, when a figure appeared in the doorway, it proved to be Tristan.
Good God. “How long have you been here?” Dom remained seated, hoping that the position would make it easier to keep his brother from noticing the arousal emblazoned on his trousers.
Tristan thrust his hands in his coat pockets. “Long enough to see Jane leave looking rather . . . disheveled.” His voice had an edge to it. “Take care, Dom. She’s toying with you.”
I know. “What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, she seems none too fond of you. For another, she’s engaged to someone else.” Tristan came into the room. “Yet every time the two of you get the chance to be alone, we find you . . . well . . .”
“Talking? That’s all we’re doing, you know.”
Tristan snorted. “Right. Because you’re on such good terms.”
Dom tensed. They could be. If he could manage to melt the glacier of a past that lay between them. “We get along well enough, under the circumstances.”
“Yes, and what are those circumstances, exactly?” Tristan walked closer. “She’s behaving rather like a woman scorned, which is odd when one considers that she jilted you. She did, didn’t she?”
Dom avoided his brother’s speculative gaze. “It’s a bit more . . . complicated than that.”
“I thought it might be.” Tristan dropped into a chair before the fire. “But she really is engaged to Blakeborough, is she not?”
A sigh escaped Dom. “That’s complicated, too.” Especially now that Dom had learned she wasn’t in love with the chap.
Love is too dangerous.
She certainly was right about that.
“Leave it to you to complicate a simple situation,” Tristan said.
With his arousal effectively banished, Dom rose. “You and Zoe did the same,” he said irritably.
Tristan shrugged. “Not really. I got her into my bed as soon as I could manage it, and all our complications vanished after that.” He watched as Dom paced the room. “Though I wouldn’t attempt that with Jane if I were you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Yet he was dreaming of it, of having her right where he wanted her, where he could tease and taste and touch every fragrant inch of her to his heart’s content. Where he could have her beneath him, where he could be inside her. After all, if he compromised her, she’d have to marry him.
But if he did that, she would never forgive him. It would be hard enough to get her to forgive him as it was. She seemed to think he’d been dictatorial in his decision to force their parting. And though he knew he’d done the right thing, there was no point in adding more ice to the glacier by arguing the matter.
“Are you still in love with her?” Tristan asked.
Tristan always got right to the point, damn him.
“I don’t know. If love is an obsession that grabs you by the throat and won’t let go, then I very well may be.”
“That sounds more like lust to me.”
“Aren’t they supposed to go hand in hand?” Dom snapped. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with his brother.
“For men? Not always. But for gently bred women, almost certainly.”
Dom hoped to God that was true. Because Jane had been pure liquid fire beneath his touch. And he fervently prayed that she would be so again. He would not let her marry Blakeborough without a fight.
But he didn’t mean to tell Tristan that. The bloody devil had already guessed far too much about the situation between him and Jane as it was.
Dom halted to stare at his brother. “Did you learn anything more in York?”
“So, we’re changing the subject now, are we?” At Dom’s dour look, Tristan laughed. “Fine, have it your way.” Leaning forward in the chair, Tristan rested his elbows on his knees. “I did actually learn a few things. Had you heard what Barlow does for income these days?”
“I assumed it was gambling or some such.”
“Tangentially related. He arranges prizefights in York and the surrounding areas. He uses his connections among the ton to find backers who don’t mind traveling up to York for a really good mill. He’s not getting rich, by any means, but he makes enough to keep him in brandy and cravats.”
“So he definitely might be interested in marrying Nancy.”
“Actually, I found out more about that, too.”
Dom’s gut clenched. “They’ve been spending time together.”
“Yes, but not the way you’d think. I spoke to everyone in his lodging house. No one had ever seen them together there.”
“They could have gone to an inn.”
“Perhaps, but I couldn’t find any evidence of that. I did, however, speak to several shopkeepers who knew Nancy. They said that Barlow sometimes joined her and her maid while they shopped.”
Tristan leaned back to put his feet on the hassock. “But although the shopkeepers described a definite flirtation, it didn’t sound like anything more. Barlow flattered Nancy, she teased him, and that was that. He didn’t even buy her gifts. It was all perfectly respectable.”
“I wonder if George would have seen it that way,” Dom muttered.
“I doubt it. But from what I heard, they did nothing truly wrong. Nancy had Meredith with her at all times, they were never seen without the maid, and at no point did anyone suspect a physical relationship.”
“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”
“No.” Tristan crossed his ankles. “And in fact, I have one rather large piece of information that could imply that there was.”
“Oh?”
“It took me awhile, but I finally found an inn servant who’d actually witnessed them leaving for London together.”
Dom lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me. Nancy went with him of her own accord.”
“Not only that, but the servant overheard Barlow telling her that the doctor they were to see in London was the best money could buy. That she needn’t worry about that.”
“The doctor who was meant to confirm her pregnancy?”
“I don’t know. That’s all the servant heard.”
“Damn.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dom paced to the fireplace. “If she’s seeing a doctor, she probably really is pregnant. And Barlow did tell the innkeeper as much.”
“Yes, but if she has a history of miscarrying, wouldn’t a carriage trip to London increase her risk of losing the child? Why would she take such a chance?”
“Nancy may not have considered that possibility,” Dom said. “She’s not terribly bright.”
“Or Barlow might have forced her hand somehow.”
Dom frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you’re listening to Jane’s wild theories now.”
“I’m not listening to anyone’s theories. I am trying to keep an open mind and listen to the facts, and the facts aren’t making sense.”
Blast. Was Jane right? Had Dom been so biased against Nancy heretofore that he hadn’t thought rationally about this? “But we’re still sure that they’re headed to London?”
“I’ve seen nothing to indicate otherwise.”
“Do you have any idea where he would take her in the city?”
Tristan shook his head. “We could probably track them to the inn where the rented post chaise ends up, but they’re too far ahead of us now for us to catch up to them before they disembark. So finding the inn won’t do us any good unless we happen to stumble upon the hackney that took them to their destination from there.”
“Not much chance of that at a busy coaching inn,” Dom said, “although I suppose it’s worth the attempt.” He thought a moment. “Or . . .”
“Or what?”
“Our route from here to London takes us right by Saffron Walden, does it not?”
Tristan shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Ravenswood’s estate is near there. And with Parliament not in session because of Whitsuntide, we might actually find him at home.”
“Viscount Ravenswood? The undersecretary to the Home Office?”
Dom smiled grimly. “Also a spymaster with whom I’ve had substantial dealings.”
“Oh, right. I forgot that you worked for him at one point.”
“He’s had his finger in every pie. He may know what caused the rift between Barlow and his family, which could help us figure out the man’s purpose. And Ravenswood would also have kept an eye on Barlow because of the man’s involvement with boxing and the ton. Prizefights are still illegal, no matter how many gentlemen attend them.”
“But will he give us the information we need? Spymasters are notoriously closemouthed.”
“He’ll give it to me.” Dom rubbed his scar, remembering that awful day in Manchester . . . and Ravenswood’s part in sending him there. “He owes me.”
“Then we might as well stop to speak with him. It’s quite a drive from here to Saffron Walden, but it’s on our way and with good weather and the longer days we ought to be able to reach it by evening tomorrow, as long as we leave early.”
“I’ve already warned Max of that. Although we ought to start out tonight. The less time we waste on the road, the more chance we can find Barlow and Nancy once we reach London.”
“I agree,” Tristan said, “but it’s dark as pitch out there. We’re not getting much of a moon tonight. I don’t think we should risk it, especially since one of us at least will have to drive the phaeton. Besides, the rest of our party has retired, and I’ve gone two days already with little to no sleep. As have you.”
“You’re right. And we both need to be fresh when we reach London, if we’re to track down Barlow and Nancy.”
“Exactly.”
Dom stared into the fire. “I wish you didn’t have to tell Jane any of what you’ve told me about him.”
Tristan eyed him askance. “Why?”
Because Dom had her so close to being his again that he could practically taste it. Merely reminding her of his suspicions regarding Nancy might send Jane back behind her stalwart defenses.
“I hate upsetting her until we know more,” Dom said.
“I can understand that. But she’s going to ask me what I found out, and I have to tell her something.”
“I know. Just try to keep to the bare facts, will you? No speculations.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Dom snorted. He knew what that meant—that Jane wasn’t the sort of female to be fobbed off with bare facts. So tomorrow’s drive to Saffron Walden was going to be anything but easy. Unless . . .
He began to smile. Yes, that would definitely work.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE NEXT MORNING, Jane stood in the foyer of Max’s country house in Newark, hardly able to believe her ears. “What do you mean, they’re gone?”
Lisette seemed rather flustered as she directed the servants on where to place her trunk in the coach. “Apparently Tristan arrived late last night, after we’d retired. He reported to Dom, they went to bed for a few hours, and they rose early to head off in Dom’s phaeton.”
To avoid speaking with Jane, no doubt. Bad enough that she had tossed and turned half the night, but now to have this happen . . .
What if Tristan had learned something truly alarming? What if that was why they’d raced off? “Did they leave a note to explain?”
“No.”
She was going to kill Dom. Or his brother. Or both. “So they left us behind to go investigate, without a word as to what Tristan had learned in York.”
“Not quite. According to our butler, we’re to meet them at some man’s estate in Saffron Walden this evening. By the time we arrive, they will have gathered all their information, and then the five of us can go straight on to London. I gather that Dom wanted to lose no time, which is why he and Tristan chose to go on ahead.”
That mollified her a little. At least they weren’t trying to cut her out of the search completely. Still . . . “Did they mention whom they were going to see?”
Max came up beside her. “The Viscount Ravens-wood.”
“Oh! Isn’t he quite high in the government?”
“You could say that.” Max flashed her an indulgent smile. “He works directly for the Home Secretary. Rumor has it that they’re grooming him to be prime minister.”
Jane blinked. “But . . . But what could he possibly have to do with Nancy and Samuel?”
“Dom is undoubtedly relying on Ravenswood for information,” Max said. “The Home Office is in charge of the Bow Street Runners, you know. So I’m sure Dom worked for the man at some point.”
Of course! The Home Office—and Dom in particular—had been lauded for halting the members of the Cato Street Conspiracy, among other things. Obviously, there was a connection there. Still . . .
“What kind of information does he hope to glean?”
“We’ve no idea,” Lisette said testily. “Before we could even leave our beds, my two idiot brothers went galloping off like the tight-lipped fools that they are, leaving us to wonder and fret and—”
“I doubt they did it purposely, dearling.” Max laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps they were following some lead where time was essential.”
Lisette exchanged a glance with Jane. “What do you think? Did they do it on purpose?”
“Undoubtedly.” Jane fought down anger. Dom could be so devious. “Either Tristan learned something damning about Nancy that neither wants me to know, or he’s afraid to admit that he learned nothing.”
Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Yes, what about that? How was she supposed to talk to Dom when he ran off to escape her?
Oh no. Perhaps Dom had learned for certain that Nancy was pregnant. Perhaps he’d returned to his old ways of being cautious, in preparation for possibly losing the viscountcy. After all, the last time he’d lost his birthright, he’d manipulated Jane into jilting him.
She scowled. Fine.
If that was causing his silence, then he could go to the devil. She’d put up with that once; she wouldn’t put up with that again. Especially after last night. He’d roused her hunger for him with his incredible kisses and sly seductions and tender care for her virtue . . .
When her heart did silly little jumps at the thought of how he’d warned her to leave, she wanted to cry. Curse him for tempting her to feel. She did not want to feel. Not for him. Not after how he’d ignored her for twelve years.
Yet she couldn’t seem to stop it.
And now, some time later, riding in a carriage with his sister only made it worse. Jane could feel Lisette’s speculative glances like needles pricking her skin, and the only way to banish them was to talk.
Unfortunately, all she could talk about were the many scenarios she imagined Nancy and Barlow in, each more alarming than the last. Max laughed off her worries, but that didn’t stop Jane from fretting, rethinking every word Nancy had ever told her.
Meanwhile, Lisette was strangely silent. But when they stopped to change horses and she and Lisette got out to use the necessary, Lisette took her aside the minute they’d left Max.
“Please allow me to apologize on my brothers’ behalf, Jane. I know that the uncertainty is killing you. Tristan really should have stayed long enough to tell you what he’d learned.”
“I don’t blame him.” She sniffed. “I’m sure Dom is the one who insisted that he keep quiet.”
“Probably. I’m afraid that Dom can sometimes be—”
“Manipulative? Arrogant? Infuriating?”
Lisette clearly fought a smile. “I was going to say, ‘oblivious,’ but apparently you have a different view of things.”
“He’s not oblivious,” she said stoutly. She only wished he was. He’d realized right away that she wasn’t in love with Edwin. “He notices everything.”
“Not when something stands in the way of a notion he’s got into his head. Once in a while he follows a plan of action so slavishly that he not only misses the forest, but the hills and the sky and every other thing surrounding the trees. Particularly if the plan involves someone he cares about. Like you.”
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