Jane bit back the impulse to admit that she already knew. After all, when she’d last seen Tristan, she’d said she didn’t, and she certainly didn’t want Tristan figuring out that she must have met up privately with Dom in the interim. It wouldn’t take much for him to figure out the real reason Dom was half-dressed in the stables.
Still, it warmed her that after Dom had revealed his secret to her, he’d done the same with his brother. If he could change that much after so many years, it gave her hope for their future together. And right now, she could use a little hope.
17
IT WAS WELL past noon as they approached Blakeborough’s town house in the most fashionable part of Mayfair. Dom hadn’t had the chance to speak to Jane alone since they’d rushed to London so quickly, but his one glimpse of her, looking fresh and pretty and bright in her sun-colored pelisse-dress, had made him want to howl his frustration. Especially when she’d refused to ride with him.
Damn it, this had gone on long enough. He would take her aside and make things right between them the minute they finished consulting with her fiancé about Barlow.
Fiancé. The very word scraped him raw. Dom had met Blakeborough half a dozen times back when he’d been courting Jane, but their paths hadn’t crossed since then. As Dom recalled, the earl had been too handsome for his own good.
Through the years, however, rumors had begun to circulate about the man’s disposition—that he was a curmudgeon of sorts, cynical about women and about marriage in general. Which is why Dom had initially been surprised to hear that Jane was engaged to the arse.
Still was engaged to the arse.
Dom scowled. He’d spent the entire trip imagining what he would do when confronted with the man.
The idea of challenging Blakeborough to a duel over Jane was tempting, but not remotely practical. For one thing, it would hurt Jane’s reputation. For another, it might result in Dom losing her anyway. Because if afterward Dom had to flee to avoid prosecution, she might not agree to leave England with him. Besides, it would be awfully hard to drag Rathmoor Park out of arrears from afar.
Dom had even considered telling Blakeborough that his fiancée was no longer chaste. But that would send her into an apoplectic fit, and rightly so. A gentleman didn’t impugn a woman’s reputation to gain what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was the woman as his wife.
No, he would just have to hope that Jane did the right thing and broke with the fellow. In the meantime, Dom would pray he could speak to the man with civility . . . or at least without wanting to call him out.
A few moments later they converged on Blakeborough’s doorstep, startling the poor footman who responded to their knock. He clearly recognized his master’s fiancée, but having a duke, duchess, and viscount unfamiliar to him show up en masse seemed to unsettle him.
While they waited to be announced, Dom tried not to remember the last time he’d been in this house—the night Jane had jilted him. He shot her a furtive glance. Clearly she remembered, too, for she wouldn’t look at him, and her gaze kept darting past the massive staircase and down to where the library was situated.
Or perhaps she was just looking at the large Botticelli hanging in the hall. Or the thousand-year-old marble bust of Homer sitting atop a costly mahogany table with ivory inlays. Or even the umbrella-stand of gilded bronze.
Blast the man and his blasted Botticelli and bust and bronze umbrella-stand. No wonder he wanted Jane. He had everything else. Now all he needed to make his life complete was a beautiful and accomplished lady to manage all his pretty things and adorn his arm at parties.
That annoying thought was still ringing in his head when Blakeborough himself strode into the foyer, accompanied by a surprise guest, walking more slowly and stiffly. Jane’s uncle. Damn it all to blazes.
“Uncle Horace!” Jane cried, clearly taken as off guard as Dom.
They’d intended to wait until they had more news before informing Sadler about his missing daughter. No chance of that now.
Since Tristan and Lisette knew Blakeborough and Sadler from Dom and Jane’s betrothal party years ago and Max knew Blakeborough from his club, there was little need for introductions. Instead, they all stood uncomfortably by as Sadler hugged Jane fiercely.
“My dear girl!” Sadler held her at arm’s length, as if to look her over. “What has happened?”
She turned wary. “What do you mean?”
“After I got your letter, Nancy’s housekeeper wrote to say that Nancy was supposedly off in Bath with Mrs. Patch and that you and Lord Rathmoor and his family had gone to look for her. I didn’t know what to make of that. Supposedly off in Bath? What does that mean?”
When Jane looked at a loss for words, Dom jumped in. “We’re happy to explain all, sir, but if I may ask, why are you here?”
Sadler shrugged. “I got the housekeeper’s letter this morning, so I drove here to consult with Blakeborough, hoping he might know more. That Jane might have bent the rules of propriety to write to her fiancé.”
Blakeborough was watching Jane closely. “As I told your uncle, however, you never bend the rules of propriety.”
The blush that stained her cheeks made Dom want to leap between her and the earl to defend her honor. But since the man hadn’t actually impugned it, that would alert the man to the fact that her honor needed defending.
Still, it was clear Blakeborough had noticed her blush, for his gaze flicked suspiciously between her and Dom. “Of course, I was glad to hear that Jane was among friends. I shouldn’t have liked to think of her riding the roads alone.”
Dom forced a smile. “Despite everything that happened between me and my brother, I do still consider Nancy my responsibility. So Jane came to me the moment she realized her cousin was missing.”
“Missing!” The color drained from Sadler’s face. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so.” Dom glanced at the servants who were avidly listening. “We’re happy to give you more details, but we’ve come a long way and—”
“Of course, forgive me,” Blakeborough said hastily, exchanging a glance with Dom that said he understood the need for privacy. “You’ll want to be more comfortable for this discussion.”
He ordered that refreshments be brought to the drawing room, then led them there down a different hall from the one leading past the library. Thank God. Even passing by it might send Jane right over the edge, especially with her fiancé right in front of her, reminding her that she could have a more amiable husband than Dom if she wished.
Dom silently groaned. How was he to go on if she chose to stay with Blakeborough?
As soon as they entered the drawing room, Jane followed her uncle to the settee. Dom noticed that Sadler had to hold on to her to sit down. Well into his sixties now, he apparently had bad knees. Dom sighed. He hated telling the aging fellow bad news about his only child, but that couldn’t be helped.
Meanwhile, Blakeborough placed himself behind them like a guard. The investigator in Dom went to work analyzing the man’s attire—expensive but not ostentatious, studied but not affected—and Blakeborough’s wary stance, closed manner, and stiff expression. Was that just his usual response to strangers or a sign that he was bracing for trouble about his brother? Which could mean he was well aware of Barlow’s scheme.
But the man in Dom noticed none of that. It just wanted to march over and punch bloody Blakeborough in his perfect, unscarred face for being too rich, too eligible, and too thoroughly engaged to Jane. The man in him wanted to throttle the earl for standing guard over Jane when she should be Dom’s responsibility, Dom’s to protect. Dom’s to marry.
The man in him had to shut up, unfortunately. Or this investigation wouldn’t progress very far.
As soon as Max and Lisette were seated in two wing chairs and Dom and Tristan stood next to them, Sadler turned to Jane. “Now, what’s this about Nancy being missi
ng?”
Jane grabbed his hand. “I hate to tell you, Uncle, but she’s gone off somewhere with Edwin’s brother.”
Despite hearing Sadler’s gasp, Dom kept his gaze fixed on Blakeborough to assess the man’s reaction. There was shock, alarm, dismay. But no guilt. The man was either a brilliant actor . . . or entirely unaware of his brother’s scheme.
A pity. Dom would very much have enjoyed arresting him. For anything.
But Blakeborough seemed utterly undone, for he now gripped the top of the settee behind Jane. “Samuel has something to do with this?” he asked hoarsely.
Briefly, Dom and Tristan laid out all they had discovered, refraining from posing their speculations about what was afoot. Dom first wanted to see what the earl and Sadler would make of the bare facts.
“So, Blakeborough, as you might imagine,” Dom finished, “we need to speak to your brother. And Nancy, too, of course. It’s most important. We were hoping you might know where he stays when he’s in London.”
“I wish I could tell you, but I have no idea.” Blakeborough raked his fingers through his black hair. “I gather that you already have his address in York.”
“Well, this all seems entirely outrageous,” Sadler put in, though his wan cheeks showed he had some notion of the ramifications. “My girl would never run off with that scoundrel. She knows better.”
“Does she?” Blakeborough said cynically, to Dom’s surprise. “Until she ended up with Rathmoor’s brother, you feared she might actually marry Samuel.”
“But that was long before he got cut off by your esteemed father,” Sadler said. “Once that happened, Nancy agreed with me when I stated that the fellow was a rascal and not to be trusted.” He winced. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so, Lord Blakeborough.”
Blakeborough’s hard laugh cut through the room. “No need to beg pardon from me, sir. I know what my brother is capable of.”
Jane twisted to look up at him. “And what is that, Edwin? I mean, he . . . he wouldn’t hurt Nancy, would he?”
The earl glanced at Dom, as if appealing to him for help in dealing with Jane’s delicate feelings.
“She already knows what got Barlow disinherited, I’m afraid,” Dom said. “I consulted with Lord Ravens-wood on the matter, and she overheard our discussion.”
“Dear God,” Blakeborough muttered.
“What?” Sadler asked. “What is it?”
“Well, Edwin?” Jane asked anxiously. “Would he hurt her?”
Blakeborough squeezed Jane’s shoulder, then left his hand resting there. That seemed remarkably intimate for a man who supposedly had only a platonic-sounding “arrangement” with her.
Dom tamped down his urge to go knock the earl’s hand from here into the next county.
“It depends on how you define ‘hurt,’ ” Blakeborough mused aloud. “I don’t think he’d . . . do what he did before with that other poor girl.”
“What other poor girl?” Sadler cried.
“It’s all right, Mr. Sadler,” Dom cut in. “Tristan and I agree with the earl’s assessment. We think Barlow is enamored of your daughter and wouldn’t harm her.”
He probably shouldn’t mention his suspicions about what Nancy was capable of. Her father might not handle that well at all.
With an uneasy glance at Sadler, Blakeborough said, “But I wouldn’t put it past Samuel to . . . er . . . lay on the charm so he could persuade Nancy to marry him.”
At Blakeborough’s tactful wording, Sadler stiffened. “ ‘Lay on the charm.’ You mean, ‘seduce her,’ don’t you?” When the other men exchanged glances, Sadler pushed himself to a stand. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m some sentimental old fool. I know what men do to women, especially vulnerable ones like my girl.”
“Uncle,” Jane said gently as she, too, rose. “By every account, Samuel and Nancy have had only a friendship, nothing more.”
Sadler arched one gray brow. “It won’t remain that for long if she’s in Barlow’s power.”
“Look here, my brother is a selfish arse,” Blakeborough broke in. “But I don’t think he’d force Nancy into anything. Even his mistress said—” He halted when every eye swung to him.
“Barlow has a mistress?” Dom asked. “Here in London?”
“I believe she’s still here, yes. When she came to see me a couple of weeks ago, she gave me an address somewhere in Cheapside.”
Cheapside? Something niggled in the back of Dom’s brain, but he couldn’t put his finger on why Cheapside seemed significant.
“Why did she come to see you?” Tristan asked.
Blakeborough got a disgusted look on his face. “Well, initially she told me that my brother had gotten her with child when she was working in Yorkshire. So she’d moved to London to stay with her family while she had the babe, but she hadn’t heard from him since her arrival. She asked for my help in pressing him to answer her.”
“How long ago did she move here?” Dom asked sharply.
“I don’t know. Three months? Four? I told her I would do what I could to convince Samuel to own his flesh and blood, but I also warned her that he has an unreliable character and probably wouldn’t pay me much heed.”
Blakeborough’s voice hardened. “In the end it didn’t matter. A few days ago, she sent a note here saying that she’d been mistaken about being pregnant. I suppose she’d merely been hoping to wheedle some money out of him. Or me.”
“That’s about the time when Barlow would have reached London,” Tristan said. “The mistress might have found him, and he might have asked her not to involve herself with his family.”
Dom only shook his head. He’d finally remembered where he’d seen the word Cheapside recently. “More likely Barlow had a far more sinister motive.” He glanced at Tristan. “Don’t you find it a convenient bit of happenstance that this woman came here from Yorkshire to stay with her family a few months ago? And that she suddenly lost her baby right before we arrived?”
Tristan’s eyes widened, and he let out an oath. “As you’re so fond of saying, ‘happenstance often happens by design.’ ”
Jane had gone pale. “Oh, Lord, Cheapside.” She looked up at the earl. “Did the woman leave her name?”
“Of course. I have the note somewhere.” Blakeborough rounded the settee, headed for a writing table. “It was Merry or something.”
“Meredith,” Jane said hollowly. Her gaze met Dom’s. “She’s part of it.”
So Jane had put it together, too, the clever girl. “Which means Nancy is part of it.”
“Not necessarily,” Jane said.
“What are you two talking about?” Sadler stared at Jane. “Wait, isn’t Nancy’s maid named Meredith?”
“Her former maid,” Dom said. “Who accompanied Samuel and Nancy every time they shopped together in York.”
“I guess the man was seducing the maid and the mistress both,” Tristan said. “Looks like you were right to be concerned, Dom. Barlow really is trying to make sure that Nancy’s child inherits—even if it’s not actually her child.”
Dom nodded. “That’s why Meredith renounced the pregnancy. She didn’t want anyone tracing the babe back to her. That wouldn’t have helped their scheme.”
“Whose scheme?” Blakeborough asked. “The maid’s and my brother’s?”
“Your brother’s and Nancy’s.” Ignoring Sadler’s shocked gasp, Dom added, “When Meredith became pregnant, she left to come here, probably hoping that Barlow would follow eventually. Back in York, Nancy began to fear she might lose or had already lost her own baby, so she and Barlow cooked up a scheme to appropriate Meredith’s child. That’s when they headed here.”
“Now wait just one moment,” Sadler cried. “Are you suggesting that my daughter is helping that scoundrel pass off his mistress’s child as George’s heir? So the child can inherit what is rightfully your
s?”
Placing her hand on the man’s arm, Jane shot Dom an accusing look. “Yes, Uncle, that’s precisely what he’s suggesting. Dom insists on seeing Nancy as some sort of scheming villainess, no matter how much I argue with him over the matter.”
“Jane,” Dom said softly, “my theory makes the most sense.”
“Only because you’ve got it fixed in your head that it does!” She left her uncle’s side to approach Dom. “Do you really think that Nancy would put up with having Samuel’s babe by another woman foisted on her?”
“When a great deal of property and a title are at stake? Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
“But the scheme only really works if the child is a boy!” Jane said. “And only if Nancy wrests the babe from poor Meredith to raise as her own.”
“She would probably just hire ‘poor Meredith’ to take care of the infant.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Jane said. “Nancy may be dim-witted sometimes, but she’s not so stupid as to hire back the one woman who might tempt her husband to cheat under her very nose.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t know that Meredith’s child is also Samuel’s.”
Even before Jane gave an inelegant snort, he had to admit that it sounded unlikely. As she said, Nancy was not that stupid. Still . . . “If this isn’t some scheme to steal my title and estate, then why did Meredith suddenly claim she was no longer pregnant?”
“Perhaps because it’s Samuel’s and Meredith’s scheme?” Jane snapped.
“I wouldn’t put it past my brother to concoct such a thing,” Blakeborough put in.
Annoyed by the earl’s interference, Dom narrowed his gaze on the man. “If Meredith was in on it from the beginning, why would she have asked you for money? Because she hadn’t heard from your brother. Because he and Nancy were sure at that point that Nancy had a babe in her belly. It’s only after they decided otherwise that they shifted tactics.”
Jane planted her hands on her hips. “So your theory is that Nancy plans to marry Samuel, pass off as her own the child he fathered on her maid, and then raise it, assuming it’s a boy, to be heir to the title. That doesn’t gain Nancy much, does it? It’s not her son, and she’s not Samuel’s only lover. He and his mistress and the son get everything; she gets only the privilege of knowing she’s married to a seducer.”
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