“Miss Vernon strikes me as a sensible woman not given to hysterics, one who can handle the facts,” the viscount said. “Besides, just because Barlow forced himself on an heiress he was scheming to marry doesn’t mean he would force himself on a widow when there’s no need for it.”
Horror gripped her. “Samuel raped a woman?”
“Hell and thunder, Jane!” Tristan cried. “What do you know of rape?”
She glared at him. “I am not the china doll wrapped in cotton that you and your brother think me. Women hear of these things—from the streets, from the broadsheets, from accounts of crimes and trials. We know that men rape women.”
With a lift of her chin, she stared down the viscount. “That is why I involved Dom in this, sir—because I’m not fool enough to go off searching alone. But I didn’t realize that he would take over the investigation to such an extent that I’d be kept out of it.”
“Still, you understand why Dom did that, don’t you?” Tristan put in. “He didn’t want you worrying that Nancy might be in danger.”
“But she might.” Jane’s heart stuck in her throat as she looked toward Lord Ravenswood. “What happened to this other woman after Samuel . . . assaulted her?”
“He thought he’d cowed her into submission—but when they stopped to change horses, she got away from him and found someone to help her get back to her family.”
“Was he charged with a crime?”
“No. Her father feared that a trial would ruin her, especially since Barlow continued to insist that she’d seduced him. A family friend who was enamored of the girl stepped in to marry her, and then challenged Barlow to a duel. But Barlow fled instead of meeting his accuser on the field. That’s when Barlow’s family disinherited him.”
No wonder Edwin had never told her this. It must mortify him. “And nothing was done about Samuel’s crime.”
“Nothing could be done. All parties involved agreed to let it go because it was unlikely that a trial would serve the lady well.”
“Or so the men told her, I assume,” Jane said bitterly.
“And she agreed with them. After having her idyllic life ripped from her, she didn’t also want her pain exposed and picked over by the crowds.”
Jane supposed she could understand that, but wondered if she could have done the same, given her own vindictive streak.
“The husband of the injured girl was able to get Barlow dismissed from his post in the navy,” Tristan said, “which is why he now arranges prizefights for a living. But that’s where the matter ended.”
“Until he found another woman to assault.” Jane couldn’t breathe for thinking of Nancy at Samuel’s mercy.
“He won’t hurt your cousin,” Lord Ravenswood said firmly.
“You don’t know that!”
“I do. He’d be a fool to harm her when she is carrying the child who can make his fortune.”
“And if she isn’t?” she asked.
“We’re fairly certain that she must be,” Tristan said. “A servant overheard Barlow telling her about a doctor they could see in London. And the servant said she looked very ill, which she would if she’s suffering morning sickness.”
“Or if she’d already lost the baby,” Jane said.
Lord Ravenswood steadied a gentler gaze on her. “Then why would she go with him?”
“You said yourself that a man can force a woman to his will without brute strength.”
“Yes. But they were friends, according to what Bon-naud here discovered from the shopkeepers in York. That argues for her not being forced. Were you aware of their regular meetings in York?”
“No.” She hadn’t known any of that.
That’s why it was more important than ever that she talk to Dom. She had to find out what he was thinking, hear what he was planning. She had to elicit his promise that he wouldn’t cut her out of things anymore.
She forced a smile for Lord Ravenswood’s benefit. “Thank you for telling me this. It’s more than Dom would do.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, it’s very late and I’m very tired. I think I shall go up to bed.”
“I’ll take you up,” Tristan said.
“No, that’s all right,” she said, fighting to sound casual. “I know where my room is. You stay and enjoy your brandy with Lord Ravenswood. Besides, I believe he still has something to discuss with you.”
“I do, indeed,” Lord Ravenswood said.
But the viscount’s eyes followed her as she walked out of the room, and the whole time she traversed the hall to the staircase she worried that he or Tristan might come after her.
Fortunately, they did not. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she wondered if Dom might already be in his bedchamber. Somehow she doubted it. She’d be very much surprised if he intended to stay here tonight, no matter what he’d told his brother.
As she came into the foyer, a footman rose to ask her, “Were you just with the gentlemen, miss?”
“Yes. They’re still in the library.” She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Has Lord Rathmoor come in yet? The gentlemen wanted to know.”
“No, miss. I believe he’s still in the stable.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell them.”
With a smile that she hoped hid her consternation, she headed down the hall as if she were returning to the library, but she passed it up to go toward the back of the house.
She hurried through halls and rooms. Somewhere there must be a rear entrance that led to the stables, and she meant to find it. Because there was no way she would chance Dom’s running off again without her.
♦ ♦ ♦
DOM STOOD IN the harness room of Ravenswood’s stable, trying his hand at repairing the carriage lamps for his phaeton. Since neither the coachman nor the groom had succeeded, Dom had sent them on to bed with the assurance that if he got the blasted things working again, he’d rouse the men to put the horses in their traces.
He still hoped to go on to London tonight since it was only a few hours away. Although Ravenswood was right that it was foolish to drive without lamps on such a dark night, if they could be fixed, Dom saw no reason to stay.
Especially now that he’d learned why Barlow was disinherited.
“I knew you would ride off again to avoid me.”
At the sound of the familiar female voice, he spun around, then groaned to see Jane standing in the harness room entrance. She was still dressed for travel, which was odd, given the footman’s claim that everyone had retired.
Leave it to Jane to defy expectation.
“I’m not avoiding you,” he said. “You wanted me to investigate, so I am.”
She came closer, and he tried not to notice how lovely she looked despite her frilly, flouncy gown. As far as he was concerned, it gilded the lily. He itched to haul her into his arms and strip away the furbelowed green gingham and flimsy undergarments until only pure, unadulterated woman was left, standing naked in all her heartbreaking beauty.
Judging from her accusing scowl, that wasn’t going to happen.
“I wanted you to investigate on my behalf,” she said, “not go running off to do it on your own.”
He returned his attention to the carriage lamp. It was the only way to restrain his impulse to tear off her clothes. “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘running off,’ ” he said curtly to hide his agitation. “If I can’t get these working again, I’m not going anywhere.”
Coming up behind him, she peered around his shoulder to watch what he was doing. She smelled of lavender and honey, a scent that had haunted his nights for years. Now it nearly brought him to his knees.
He trimmed the wick too short, then cursed under his breath.
“I didn’t know that repairing carriage lamps was one of your particular talents,” she said.
“Obviously it isn’t,” he snapped, “since I’ve had no more success at it than Ravenswood’s coachman.”
“Yet that hasn’t stopped you from trying,” she said in an arch tone. “God forbid you should trust a mere coachman to handle anything so important.”
Refusing to be baited, he stared coolly at her. “Is there something you wanted, Jane?”
“You know what I want. To be told what’s going on. To hear why you’re ready to risk life and limb to go on to London tonight when even your friends are against it.” Her gaze, dark with anxiety, struck him hard. “Are you that worried about Nancy’s being alone with Samuel? Lord Ravenswood says she’s not in any danger, but clearly you think otherwise. His tale about that lady Samuel assaulted must have upset you as much as it did me.”
“It didn’t upset me so much as—” What she’d said registered, and his heart jumped into his throat. “Ravens-wood told you about all that? When?”
“I . . . I . . . well . . .” A fetching blush stained her cheeks. “I . . . um . . . sort of listened in on your conversation with him and Tristan in the library just now.”
God save him. He ran through what they’d said in the library, trying to figure out if any of it had been damning. “I don’t recall Ravenswood’s mentioning Barlow assaulting the lady.”
“No, his lordship told me that later. Apparently, he’d already figured out I was in there and was just waiting until you left to rout me from my hiding place.”
“The bloody arse ought to have said something the moment he realized it,” he said hotly.
“Why? So you could hem and haw about the truth? So you could keep me in the dark about whatever danger Nancy is in?”
Blast Ravenswood to blazes.
Dom laid the carriage lamp down on the table to face her. “I doubt she’s in danger. Assaulting Nancy wouldn’t suit Barlow’s purpose, which is to have her child inherit Rathmoor Park. Even seducing her would be unwise; he won’t want to draw attention to their association right now. In fact, he was probably the one to insist that Nancy tell the servants she was visiting Mrs. Patch. If you hadn’t returned to the estate, no one would have known anything was amiss.”
Her troubled gaze bore into him. “His lordship said much the same. But if you really thought that, you wouldn’t be racing off to London.” She rubbed her arms. “You wouldn’t be trying to hide the truth from me.”
“I saw no reason to alarm you.”
That made her bristle. “I am not a coddled child. I can endure hearing about the ugly side of life!”
“Except when your cousin might be part of it.”
She searched his face. “If the facts demonstrate that Nancy is helping Barlow in some scheme, you should want to reveal them, if only to convince me to accept your version of things. But clearly they don’t, or you wouldn’t keep hiding them from me.”
“I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you would trust my instincts as an investigator, damn it!” When she flinched, he tamped down his temper. He hadn’t meant to say that, but she’d struck a nerve. “Every time I mention Nancy in less than glowing terms, it puts your back up. Then you refuse to listen to anything else I have to say.”
“It’s not your mention of Nancy that does that. It’s you, with your secretive ways and your running off without me. It’s you, making decisions that concern us both.” Her voice grew choked. “This . . . ongoing argument between us is about more than just the investigation. You want me to trust you, but how can I when you hide your whole life from me?”
She was staring at his cheek now, and he had the perverse urge to shield it, like a child covering up the evidence of some misdeed. Suddenly, he remembered what he’d accused Ravenswood of in the library earlier. What she must have overheard.
He groaned.
“Like that scar of yours, for example,” she went on, confirming his fears. “You want me to trust you implicitly? Fine. Then trust me for a change. Tell me how you got it.”
“What, your chatty new friend Ravenswood didn’t explain it to you the minute my back was turned?” he said snidely.
A strange sorrow lit her face. “No.” She reached up to trace the line of puckered flesh, and his breath caught. “Though he did say this isn’t your only one.”
The pity in her eyes unsettled him. “Damn Ravens-wood. He ought to keep his nose out of it.”
“I wish he’d told me more. Because Lord knows you never will.”
Perhaps that was why Ravenswood had forced the issue. He was taking a page from Lisette’s and Tristan’s matchmaking book.
God rot them all. For years, no one had given a damn that Dom remained a bachelor. But once Jane had dropped into his life again, his bloody family and friends had apparently decided that Dom needed their help to get her back. That he didn’t have the sense—or, more likely, the stones—to manage it himself.
Well, he had both.
He caught her hand. “Why do you want to know about my scars? What does it matter, if you mean to marry Blakeborough anyway?”
Her eyes turned that warm coppery brown that never failed to stop his heart. “I haven’t yet decided what to do about Edwin.”
“Then let me advise you.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it, then each finger one by one. “Don’t marry him. Marry me.”
To blazes with being cautious. It wasn’t getting him anywhere.
“Marry you?” she said tartly. “So you can give me half of yourself? Hide your past from me? Continue to shelter me from anything you think might alarm me? That sounds no better than the arrangement I meant to make with Edwin.”
Meant to make. He wanted to take comfort in that, but he couldn’t since she still hadn’t said yes. She apparently wanted him to bare his soul before she’d even consider it.
“Fine,” he bit out. “You want to know how I got the scar on my cheek? It was a slice from a saber.”
“Where? By whom? Under what circumstances?”
“I got it while I was working. That’s all I can say.”
She snatched her hand from his. “That’s all you will say, you mean.”
When she turned on her heel and headed for the door, the thought of her leaving him with his proposal unanswered made his heart falter. “Wait, damn you.”
“There’s no point.” She paused in the doorway. “Not when you insist on remaining a stranger to me.”
Was that what she thought he wanted? “Jane—”
She walked out into the stable proper, and his gut clenched. He’d never told anyone but Ravenswood what had happened that day, and even Ravenswood had only received the barest of facts.
Because Dom couldn’t speak of it. Some days he couldn’t even think of it for fear that the weight of it would crush him.
But he couldn’t let Jane walk away, either. He couldn’t risk the possibility that she’d never come back. So perhaps he could tell her something. Just enough to pacify her.
“I got my scar at St. Peter’s Field in Manchester, all right?” he called after her. Perhaps she wouldn’t know what that meant. Perhaps she wouldn’t ask to hear more.
But when she halted and turned to retrace her steps with a certain horror in her expression, he realized such a hope was futile.
“When?” she asked hoarsely.
Damn her for making him do this. “You know when. I can see it in your face.”
“Oh, dear sweet Lord. So you were at the Peterloo Massacre.”
14
JANE WISHED THE words unsaid the minute Dom flinched. She wished she didn’t know of the Peterloo Massacre, wished she weren’t so avid a reader of newspapers. But she did, and she was.
Ten years ago, a meeting of radical reformers at St. Peter’s Fields had ended in horror for hundreds of poor working men and women, earning it the name that compared it to Waterloo. But though Waterloo had been far
worse, it at least had been fought during wartime, with real armies.
A thought stopped her cold. Dom would have been on the side of the militia who’d thundered in and wreaked havoc, not on the side of the meeting goers. But if that were the case, how had he been wounded?
“Were you among the soldiers?” she whispered.
“Don’t call them that.” His words were sharp, tortured.
Them. Not me. “Why not?”
“Because anyone who would cut down an unarmed man for nothing more than speaking his mind doesn’t deserve the title of soldier. Soldiers protect the innocent; they don’t willfully slash and slaughter them.”
She watched him uneasily. “Some said the crowd brought the violence upon themselves.”
“Anyone who says that is a fool,” Dom clipped out. “Anyone who says that wasn’t there.”
“So why were you there?”
She had to know, though she was wary of his answer. Because his eyes had gone bleak, like those of men who’d looked into shadows and seen themselves.
“Don’t make me talk about it, sweeting. You don’t want to hear—”
“I want to hear anything that will help me understand you.” Why you didn’t come after me. Why you keep me out even now. “Every time you refuse to reveal your secrets, Dom, I assume that you find me unworthy to hear them.”
“That isn’t remotely the case,” he ground out.
“Then tell me what happened. Lord Ravenswood said you torture yourself over it. I want to know why. I need to know why.” And she suspected he needed to tell it.
“Fine. Since you’re giving me no choice . . .” He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was there with the Spenceans who were pressing for parliamentary reform. But I knew we were in for trouble when over sixty thousand people gathered in that field to hear them speak.”
“You were worried they might turn violent?”
“The radicals? No. I’d spent months with the Spenceans as one of Ravenswood’s spies, and I knew they were determined not to cause trouble. It was precisely because they feared violence from the local magistrates that they required that their people come unarmed, in orderly groups.”
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