The Rogue (26 page)

They
arrived at their destination at that moment. Ethan was grateful, for
the clatter and upset involving disembarking would surely drown out
the way his body still hummed with wanting her. She looked away from
him at last, her gaze going out the window to see that the carriage
once more stood before her uncle's home.

Her
front door was open, casting a golden pathway down the marble steps
for her. A manservant came to open the carriage door for her with a
bow. There was little she could do to argue with him now, he'd
ensured that. Her head bowed with apparent resignation, Jane pulled
the hood of her mantle up to cover her hair and wrapped it tightly
around her to hide her disarray. Then she stood to give one hand to
the man waiting for her.

Ethan
let go a soundless sigh of relief. She was going, taking away her
tempting self and taking with her all the painful dreams of an
impossible future that she inspired.

Then
one small hand reached back to take his in an iron grip and he looked
up into her hooded face. Her eyes gleamed over a small predatory
smile. "Don't underestimate me, Ethan Damont," she
whispered fiercely.

Then
she was gone in a flutter of dark blue wool. The golden doorway
closed on him, the carriage began to move—and Ethan sat there,
cradling the feel of her warm, determined handclasp tightly in his
fist.

«
^
»

The
man sat before the fire again. This time he leaned forward with his
elbows on his knees, gazing into the coals as if seeking an answer
there.

The
gambler was becoming unpredictable. Could the fellow maintain his
focus long enough to finish the task at hand, or would it be better
to sacrifice that particular chessman and begin again?

It
would be difficult to find another operative with the gambler's
particular mix of skills and social level. Difficult, but not
impossible.

Yet
a great deal of time and effort had gone into the present game. All
of that would go to waste if the gambler had to be dealt with before
the strategy came to fruition.

The
man closed his eyes for a moment to rest them from the dull glare of
the coals. He'd been so sure the gambler would succeed—and the
fellow might yet do so.

Many
things teetered in the balance—a great load for one morally
fragile man to bear. The danger could be eliminated in a single move.

It
seemed a final test was in order. A test that would tell, once and
for all, the steadfastness of the gambler.

And
if he failed…

Well,
that was the nature of the business. The fates of nations overruled
the destinies of mere mortal men. The game was worth more than the
sum of its pieces. Fortunately, the gambler would never see it
coming.

Ethan
hadn't made it out of the circular drive before the carriage was
stopped. The door opened and Lord Maywell himself stuck his bushy
white head inside, ruddy and out of breath.

"Damont,
there is a problem."

When
the housemaid came to tell her that her uncle wished to see her in
his study, a flutter went through Jane's stomach. She'd thought she
had managed to cover her disheveled state when she had come in.

After
pleading sudden illness, she had escaped to her room and had already
changed from her evening gown to an older, soft muslin. She felt as
though she were a completely different person than the girl who had
left the house those few hours ago. Such heat. She never knew she
bore such fire within her. It confused and delighted her at once. Her
thoughts were still too jumbled and chaotic to sort through. She had
hoped she could avoid seeing any of the family for a while,
especially her uncle.

The
ruthless gleam that sometimes came into her uncle's eyes shimmered
before her as she descended the stair. The unease did not dissipate
at the sight of her aunt and cousins lining the hall to her uncle's
office.

Her
aunt did not meet her eyes as she walked slowly by her. Serena was
the only one who could not look away. Jane's youngest cousin glared
at her with hot betrayal in her tear-reddened eyes.

They
are angry with me, she realized. How could they know—

Had
Mr. Damont told all? Her stomach churned. Even after everything, she
would not have thought it of him.

For
some reason, Serena's fury upset Jane more than the thought of her
uncle's reaction. She'd never had sisters, never had girls close to
her own age to grow up with, and now she never would.

Then
the study door was before her. A whisper of silk sounded behind her.
She looked over her shoulder. Her aunt and cousins were gone.

The
study was not well lit. Only a single candle on the mantel lit Lord
Maywell's face as he stared into the glowing coals. "Not well
done of you, Jane girl," he said, his voice a growl. "Not
well done at all."

"Uncle,
I—"

"Silence!"
He turned to her, his features a half-mask of light and shadow.
"You've said quite enough."

Then
Jane saw with horror that Uncle Harold held in his hand the long,
detailed letter she had posted to Mother this morning.

Oh,
God help me. Jane bit her lips. She would plead nerves, she decided.
She'd been overwrought by—by homesickness. Or she'd had a
nightmare and been carried away by her fears—

All
entirely silly reasons. She only hoped her uncle still thought her
merely a silly girl. Then she saw it—that icy edge of
heartlessness that only she seemed to notice—and her belly
turned to stone.

She
was going to die.

"Silly
girl," her uncle said easily. "Silly, overwrought,
thoughtless girl. To weave such a fiction about your own dear family.
Why, you must be as mad as your mother, mustn't you?"

His
words confused Jane for a moment. She'd thought she was about to be
gutted like a fish. She'd thought he would want to destroy anyone who
discovered his treasonous activities.

Then
his meaning sank in and Jane realized what he meant to do.

"No,"
she breathed, her voice choked by bone-deep fear.

"Oh,
yes." Lord Maywell took a seat behind his desk. With a flourish,
he took a pen from the inkstand and dipped it into one of the wells.
"A stroke of the pen by your oldest male relative will have you
safely tucked away in Bedlam by morning—at least when
accompanied by a sizable bribe."

Bedlam—the
madhouse. Jane could not breathe. Mother had never received the last
letter. As far as Mother was concerned, Jane would simply have
disappeared. Mother would never look for her in Bedlam.

Uncle
Harold shook his head sadly. "A bribe that I shall have to pay
for from your very own accounts, of course. 'Tis only to be expected
that I should pay for your care from your inheritance. Money and
madness—those are your legacies, my dear." He signed the
paper, each scratch of the pen abrading Jane's nerves further.

Then
he leaned back and wove his blunt fingers together over his girth.
"We took you and treated you as one of our own daughters,"
he said piously, although the dark flicker she saw in his eyes might
have been guilt. "I only hope I've acted quickly enough to
prevent your infected mind from contaminating my own dear girls."

Jane
slid one foot sideways. She wasn't too far from the door and she was
fairly sure she could make it out of the room before her uncle could
manage his bulk around the desk. If she could beg shelter from a
boardinghouse long enough to send word to—

"If
you run," Uncle Harold said sadly. "If you run and scream
and carry on, it will only strengthen my case that you have become
deranged."

He
was right. She didn't care. She turned and dashed to the door. Her
hand was on the knob when heavy footsteps behind her ended with her
being snatched back from freedom with both arms wrenched behind her.

Two
of her uncle's burly footmen held her pinned between them. She hadn't
seen them, so closely had she concentrated on her uncle's eerie
performance. She fought them, as hopeless as it was. All she needed
was for one hand to slip, for one second of a lessened grip—

They
stood stolid and silent, letting her fight herself to exhaustion like
a badly tamed horse. Finally, she sank to her knees, sickened by her
own weakness, terrified beyond her own control.

She
was not going to die. She was only going to wish she was dead.

Lord
Maywell stood from behind his desk, where he'd watched her struggles
with regretful eyes. She wanted to scream at his hypocrisy. The
packet of commitment papers was neatly sealed with a large waxen
M
.
"All settled now, my dear?" His tone was everything kindly.
His false affection made her want to vomit.

She
wondered wearily if doing so would in any way deter her guards.
Looking up at the crude, grim features of the footmen, she rather
doubted it.

Lord
Maywell opened the door and woefully waved them through it. "I've
a man outside who will take her to Moorfields," he told the men.
He handed them the commitment papers. "Give him this and tell
him to consider himself permanently engaged."

Jane
could scarcely keep her feet beneath her as the two men hurried her
out of the house and into the darkening dusk where the same unmarked,
unlit, closed carriage awaited. She considered letting them drag her,
but as it was she felt as though her arms were nearly wrenched from
their sockets.

She
needed to stay fit and watchful. From what her uncle had said, only
one man would accompany her to the asylum. Her chances were better
against one, better yet if they left her unbound. Her only goal now
was to appear as weak and unthreatening as possible.

The
footmen tossed her carelessly into the waiting carriage, sending her
tumbling onto her seat like a sack of potatoes. No sooner had Jane
fought off her own tumbled skirts and fallen hair than she was sent
sideways again by the horses' sudden departure.

Hands
grasped her in the darkness, pulling her against a hard male form.
Jane cried out and struggled anew, despite her vow to appear
helpless.

"Shh,
Janet. Be still."

Joy
leapt through her at the sound of Ethan's voice. "I am saved!
Oh, Ethan, you clever darling!" She turned in his arms to plant
ill-aimed kisses on his face, laughing damply with relief through
tears of fear.

He
hesitated, then he pushed her gently back to her seat. "I can't
imagine what makes you say that," he said slowly.

In
the confining darkness of the carriage, Jane felt a thrill of renewed
fear. No, it couldn't be—not Ethan too? Her heart aching, Jane
pressed herself back against the velvet cushions, her eyes straining
to see him in the dimness.

"You
are not saving me?"

He
shifted. "Not at the moment… no."

"But
his lordship means to put me in the asylum!"

He
cleared his throat. "It is not my place to interfere in a family
matter. I'm sure your uncle—well, I'm sure he knows what he's
doing."

"But
I'm not mad!" she cried.

In
an instant, his palm covered her mouth, unerring in the darkness.
"You'll not convince anyone by screeching like a fishwife."

Jane
closed her eyes against the fear that surged within her. Ethan would
never do this if he knew. All she needed to do was tell him the
truth—but he would not listen to a madwoman. He was quite
correct. No one would.

So
she drew a deep breath through her nose, and then another.

"That's
good," Ethan said soothingly. "It will all go better if you
stay calm."

The
cool sympathy in his voice cut through her. Ethan never talked to her
that way. He provoked her, he teased her, he even frankly insulted
her—but he never spoke to her like a simpleton.

The
cruel injustice was too much for her for a moment. A single hot tear
fled from beneath her lids and trailed down her cheek to his hand. He
snatched his hand away as if she'd scalded him.