But Mama and Papa were gone, and Louisa was safe in her new position. Jessa must strike out on her own.
Perhaps… Perhaps she could parlay her brief fame as the Gypsy Violinist in England to a wider reception on the Continent. But she would need a manager or agent, and perhaps an accompanist—people who must be paid in advance of any concert monies she might earn.
She now had a few hundred pounds, however, tucked at the bottom of her valise. After her performance, Morgan had followed her back into the drawing room. Not, alas, to kiss her. Instead, he had paid her.
“Three hundred pounds.” He’d held out a wallet. “I believe it is your usual fee.”
She had shaken her head. “I can’t accept it. My sister and I owe you far more than that for your hospitality.”
His lips had flattened into a severe line. “I insist. You were booked for this performance before you came to Trevethwick House. This is a business matter.”
There would be no swaying him, not with the unyielding light in his eye she had come to recognize. She had taken the wallet without further argument.
She would give some of the money to Louisa, so that her sister would not be wholly dependent upon Lady Agatha’s generosity. And the rest, well... It was not nearly enough to finance a performance tour of Europe, but it was a start.
And she did have a connection in Italy, although if her distant cousin refused to recognize her, she could not fault him. She might, however, be able to invoke his sense of family obligation. At the very least, she could do what she had done here. Namely, appear upon his doorstep and beg his aid.
Jessa chewed her lip, sparks of possibility racing through her, hot and bright. There was a fellow who had given her his card after one of her performances earlier that year. Mr. Burke had confiscated it, but she’d read the card before he’d ripped it in pieces and tossed it in the waste bin.
The man had been an agent to some musicians of note. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to recall his name. Mr. Peter Widmere, that was it. If she remembered correctly, he’d mentioned he represented Master Darien Reynard and his family. And wouldn’t that be a triumph, to share an agent with the most revered violinist in the world!
She sat up, hope warming her.
It was not the easiest of plans, but perhaps Lady Agatha would provide some assistance, as well. Especially if she were planning to take Louisa to the Continent. The three of them could travel there together, and Jessa could contact her viscount cousin, and somehow Mr. Widmere might be able to book some performances.
It was still all a tangle, but with enough substance that she felt lightness ease her soul. She did not need to beg for help from Morgan, or cast herself as mistress to the distasteful Lord Cranton.
Jessa tipped her face up and breathed a quick prayer of thankfulness to the heavens. With luck, everything would come out right.
***
Warm rain greased the streets as Morgan strode into Scotland Yard. He had not met with Commissioner Rowan for nearly a fortnight, having nothing to report to the man until now.
The junior constable waved him through. Morgan entered the commissioner’s office and shut the door firmly behind him.
“Lord Silverton.” Commissioner Rowan stood and gave him a firm handshake over the messy expanse of his desk. “Excellent to hear from you. Take a seat.”
Morgan shrugged out of his damp overcoat, then sat facing the commissioner. He drew an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Rowan.
“I’m afraid it’s still not conclusive,” Morgan said.
“Hm.” Rowan examined the envelope. “Posted from the same busy station as all Mr. Z’s correspondence.”
He slid the letter from the envelope and studied it, sandy brows drawing together.
“It demands I cease sheltering Jessamyn Lovell,” Morgan said, “or the facts of my ‘transgressions’ will be provided to the newspapers. No doubt the information I planted specifically for Mr. Burke. It must be him.”
“Yes, but it’s too circumstantial. The letter is unsigned.” The commissioner rubbed his cheek. “We can’t pull Burke in, not yet. He’d know we were on to him, and he’s too slippery. Without actual proof, this kind of evidence trail is too tenuous.”
“But who else would insist I remove Miss Lovell from my house?”
“I can think of a number of possibilities.” Rowan folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, then returned it to Morgan. “Lord Dearborn, or another member of his family—they can’t be pleased that you have such a lovely young woman living under your roof. Any man who hopes to make Miss Lovell his mistress by removing her from your sphere of influence and then offering his protection. A jealous competitor who would like to see the Gypsy Violinist unseated. Or—”
“Enough.” Morgan frowned. “I take your point. But I’m hardly going to put Miss Lovell out on the street simply because this letter demands I do so.”
“Certainly not. It’s essential you keep her close. Burke will either publish the false information, in which case we will have a further lead, or try something more reckless when he doesn’t get his way.”
Morgan crossed his arms. “I’ll not put Miss Lovell in danger.”
“She’s a pawn in this already.” Rowan gave him a keen-eyed glance. “Have you questioned her further? Determined the depth of her involvement, found out everything she knows?”
“She’s my guest.” Reluctant as his hospitality might be.
“She might also be a criminal! Good gad, man, stop thinking with your nether parts, and question the girl.”
Morgan clenched his jaw, but had to acknowledge the commissioner was right. He should have made her honesty a condition of remaining at Trevethwick House. Desire had clouded his thoughts—which only proved he should excise it entirely from his life.
He leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair. “I’ll see what I can get out of her.”
“Good. I’ve been concerned that you’ve lost your commitment to this case. We could still reinstate the charges against your cousin, don’t forget.”
“I’ve been occupied recently.” Morgan glared at the man.
“Ah, yes. Lady Anne seems a nice enough girl, but pray, don’t let her distract from the matter at hand. Exposing Mr. Z and bringing him to justice is our top priority.”
“Yours, not mine.” Morgan held up a hand to still the commissioner’s protests. “Yes, I understand the gravity of the situation. No need to splutter at me.”
“I never splutter. And I expect you to pay me a visit in three days. With answers.”
Commissioner Rowan stood, a clear signal their interview was over. Morgan donned his overcoat, and shoved the letter into one of the deep pockets.
“You do understand that you’re nearly as guilty as Mr. Z?” he asked.
“I’m not extorting enormous sums of money from you,” the commissioner said dryly. “Simply helping you do your duty for the greater good.”
“You’ll not earn my gratitude.”
“Not yours, no.” Rowan handed Morgan his hat. “But the rest of the ton will sleep easier once Mr. Z is apprehended. And perhaps the queen will give you a medal.”
“Dare I hope?”
Morgan’s sarcasm made Rowan’s lips twitch, but the commissioner swallowed his smile. “One can always hope. But evidence is far better. I’ll see you in three days.”
Morgan nodded, donned his hat, and strode out of the commissioner’s office. The gray skies matched his mood, and he welcomed the discomforting drizzle.
He’d been an idiot not to question Jessamyn more insistently. Why hadn’t he pressed her harder?
Because he was a confounded gentleman. His decade of exceptional behavior had clearly penetrated deep. Except when it came to leashing his desire.
Blowing out an impatient breath, he stalked down the sidewalk. Keep Jessamyn close, the commissioner had said. Yet question her relentlessly. He feared the latter contradicted the former. What, after all, would p
revent her from leaving Trevethwick House in search of a new protector, since he had not offered the refuge she was seeking? Her sister was now safely employed as Aunt Agatha’s companion, leaving Jessa free.
Would she actually go to that lout Cranton? His shoulders tightened at the thought.
If not Cranton, there were plenty of other men of the ton who would gladly take Jessamyn Lovell for their mistress, and take her innocence as well. The thought made a haze of anger mist his brain. The commissioner had put him in an impossible situation. If Morgan pressed Jessamyn too hard with questions, he had no doubt she would simply leave.
Unless…
Damn him for a black-hearted schemer, but he could see only one solution. And though the part of him that was a gentleman protested, the part of him that was simply a man approved.
He would take Jessamyn Lovell to his bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
During supper, Jessa was aware of the brooding glances Morgan sent her way, but she could not decipher them. Between courses, Louisa and Lady Agatha talked of the Continent. Jessa gladly joined in, especially when the discussion turned to Italy.
“Of course,” Lady Agatha said, with a pointed look at her nephew, “we shall have to wait until after Morgan’s nuptials.”
Jessa’s chest burned at the thought. Oh, she understood that the earl would declare himself to Lady Anne soon, but the knowledge did not hurt any less when spoken aloud. Keeping an amiable look upon her face, she reached for her wine glass. The beverage tasted bitter, but she swallowed it back.
“In good time, Aunt,” Morgan said. “I’ve a few matters to attend to first.”
“Well, don’t take forever about it,” Lady Agatha said. “Lady Anne is a catch, and everyone is waiting for the announcement.”
“I thought I was the catch.” He gave his aunt a dry look. “Don’t fret. Everything is under control.”
Lady Agatha set her fork down. “That is precisely why I worry. One can’t control matters of the heart.”
“Not that again.” He lifted his own glass and studied the garnet liquid within.
Sometimes, Jessa noticed, the earl did choose to take a glass of wine with his dinner. Tonight being one of those times.
“I think Jessa looks very pretty today,” Louisa said, blithely unaware of the undercurrents. “Don’t you, Lord Silver?”
Jessa had explained that the “lord” came first, but she could not persuade her sister to give the earl his full title. At least he seemed amused by it, rather than offended.
“Yes,” he said, his gaze moving to Jessa. He studied her intently. “Very pretty. Is that a new dress?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “It is one of the gowns your aunt has so generously provided. Since, as you recall, we arrived here with very little.”
“You look well in it.” His eyes locked with hers, and she felt her pulse beating in her throat.
“Mine is new, as well,” Louisa said.
Jessa tore her gaze from the earl’s and managed a smile for her sister. “Pale rose is very becoming on you.”
“And royal blue suits your strong coloring, Jessamyn,” Lady Agatha said. “Now that we have suitably complimented the ladies on their new apparel, I wish to inform you of what the evening holds.”
“I’ve no intention of going out tonight,” Morgan said.
“Of course not.” Lady Agatha patted his hand. “We shall be staying in. Geordie will arrive shortly, and we are going to teach the girls how to dance.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jessa asked.
“I understand neither yourself nor your sister knows the steps commonly performed in the ballroom,” Lady Agatha said. “I intend to remedy that situation.”
“It’s not necessary.” Jessa tucked her napkin beside her plate, choosing her words with care. “While it’s kind of you to think of us, I don’t imagine Louisa or myself would ever need such a skill.”
“Nonsense. Every girl needs to know how to dance.”
“Jessa is a marvelous dancer,” Louisa said. “She knows all the Rom dances.”
“Hardly all of them, duckling. Besides, you’d never see them performed at a Society cotillion.” Jessa shook her head at the image of herself performing those wild and whirling steps over an elegant marble floor instead of packed earth. And how scandalized the ton would be at the amount of ankle and leg exposed.
“Don’t impose your mad ideas on the Lovells,” Morgan said to his aunt. “While I know you mean well—”
“Oh, hush. It’s only one evening. You can all indulge an old lady’s whims for that long. Besides, I have been practicing the pianoforte in preparation.”
“I turn the pages for her,” Louisa said, nodding.
Jessa was aware that Lady Agatha played for a short while every afternoon. But she had not ascribed any ulterior motive to the sweet melodies tinkling forth from the piano.
The butler entered the dining room, closely followed by Lady Agatha’s son, Geordie.
“And here he is now!” Lady Agatha rose from her chair and hurried to greet her son.
“Sorry I couldn’t join you for supper,” Geordie said. “But I hear we’re having a private ball this evening.”
He winked at Jessa, and she suspected he had shared her admission she did not know how to dance with his mother. Why else would Lady Agatha seize upon this impractical idea?
“I really don’t—” Jessa began, but Louisa grabbed her hand.
“Please,” she said.
Jessa studied her sister a moment. There was the possibility that, as companion to Lady Agatha, Louisa might be called upon to dance some day. As for herself, it was very unlikely—but she could not rob her sister of the opportunity.
“The ballroom has been readied, at your request,” the butler said to Lady Agatha.
Morgan raised a brow at his aunt. “Excessive as ever.”
“Nonsense. Where else should one learn to dance? The parlors are all too small, and the floor in there is much more suitable. As is the piano.” She waved her hand at him, dismissing his concerns.
“Perhaps I should fetch my violin,” Jessa said. “I will play, and Lady Agatha can take my place in the dance.”
“Not with these old knees of mine,” Lady Agatha said. “Now come along, all of you. Yourself as well.” She pinned Morgan with her gaze.
He frowned, but made no further argument, which seemed to satisfy her. Taking her son’s arm, Lady Agatha led them from the dining room. Louisa, still holding Jessa’s hand, skipped down the hall behind them, and the earl followed like a dark cloud.
Why had he not simply refused to participate? Jessa felt his presence, the way one could feel imminent rain gathering in the sky above.
She supposed he was so fond of his aunt that he indulged her even at cost to himself. Much like herself with Louisa. And agreeing to dance was not so very high a price, to see both of them happy. She could manage one evening of it.
Especially if she were paired with Morgan.
A shiver of anticipation trembled through her. Although she tried, she could never, ever forget the sight of his naked chest. Or the feel of his kisses.
Oh, why had he kissed her the other day? Just when she had felt able to ignore his effect upon her senses, just when she had let go all hope that he wanted her, he must go and stir the ashes of her longing into flame again.
Yet he was intent upon marrying Lady Anne, and Jessa was not certain she would be able to bear that happy event. Far better that she go to the Continent, without waiting for Louisa and Lady Agatha.
She had written a letter to Mr. Widmere, and the butler had promised to find out his direction. Such a flimsy plan. There was every chance the man was not currently in London, and even if he were, how probable was it that he would agree to represent her musical career?
Still, she must try. If she did not hear back from him within the week, she would have to cast about for some new course of action.
Lady Agatha stepped through the wide doubl
e doors leading into the ballroom, and nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent.”
Twilight sifted in through the windows lining the room, and the near end was alight with candles set in ornate silver candelabra. Empty vases, nearly five feet high, stood along the walls, and Jessa guessed they would overflow with flowers during an actual ball.
The grand piano gleamed—a much better instrument than the upright in the front parlor. A pity Jessa had no talent on the keyboard. Lady Agatha sat and played a chord that echoed into the high-ceilinged room. The acoustics were inspiring, and Jessa resolved to ask the earl if she might practice her violin in the ballroom.
Not that she would remain much longer at Trevethwick House.
Louisa laughed and spun into the middle of the room, then clapped her hands. “It’s just like in a fairytale.”
“And you are the princess,” Geordie said.
“Oh, no.” Louisa gave him a serious look. “Jessa is.”
“Morgan, dance with Louisa,” Lady Agatha said. “Geordie, with Jessamyn. We will begin with the most basic steps of a set dance.”
Geordie made Jessa an absurdly florid bow, and she could not help but smile at him as she placed her hand in his, despite her disappointment at not being paired with his cousin.
“I apologize in advance for stepping on your toes,” she said. “But it is your own fault. I suspect you had some part in suggesting this foolish idea to Lady Agatha.”
“If you tread upon me, I will only feel it as a flower feels the brush of a butterfly’s wing,” he said. “And you wound me by thinking our endeavor tonight is folly. I only mentioned in passing to my mother that you and your sister lacked the skill of dancing.”
“You knew that would be enough,” Jessa said, trying to make her voice stern. “And your gentlemanly fripperies are useless on an uncultured lady such as myself.”
He sobered, and gave her a serious look. “Do you truly think yourself so outside the ton? Miss Lovell, you do yourself a disservice. After all, you are granddaughter to a viscount.”
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