Anne Stuart (13 page)

“
Well, then,” Jessamine said in a deceptively quiet voice, “we’ll simply have to hope you find your master thief as quickly as possible. Won’t we, Fleur?”

“
Of course,” Fleur murmured instantly, her voice lacking the ring of enthusiasm.

A trail of alarm danced down Jessamine’s backbone. The danger was all around, but her first thought, as always, was to protect her family, and the rest could sort itself out. “And we’ll do our best to help you, Mr. Brennan,” she added generously. She would deal with Clegg when the time came.

Fleur was staring at her, openmouthed in shock. “But, Jess, what about...?” Her voice trailed off before Jessamine’s fiercely silencing glare.

“
I’d be most grateful, miss, though I can’t imagine how you’d be able to help. I mean to catch him, and I’m not about to let anyone stand in my way. Not the Cat himself, not his accomplices, not the people he’s bribed or the thief-takers who want him themselves. I’ll catch him in the act, present him to Sir Robert, and turn in my pikestaff and pistol for boots and a pitchfork.”

“
I used to love it when they harvested the corn near our house,” Fleur said soulfully.

“
That’s not all you use a pitchfork for, miss,” Brennan said wryly. “There’s nothing to love about manure.”

“
Not so, Mr. Brennan. You’d have a poor crop without it,” she shot back.

“
True enough, miss. You might make a farmer after all.”

The words fell into the carriage with shocking force. “I don’t think that’s what my sister aspires to,” Jessamine said in a deceptively calm voice.

Again there was that easy, polite smile. “I wouldn’t think so, Miss Maitland. When she marries a wealthy landowner, she’ll have more understanding for the tenants though.”

Jess relaxed slightly—only slightly. “And what about you, Mr. Brennan? Will you be able to look back on your time in London with pride? Knowing you kept the city safe from twelve-year-old felons?” She couldn’t keep the faint hint of acid from her voice. Robert Brennan seemed a far cry from the odious Josiah Clegg, but if she had learned one thing over the last few difficult years, it was that looks could be deceiving, and she would be a fool to trust anyone.

“
No, miss,” he said. “But I’ll feel right pleased when the Cat comes to the end he deserves. Dancing at the end of Tyburn’s rope.”

Alistair was not in a dancing mood at that particular moment. It was a dank, miserable day, he was up before noon, and he was soundly regretting his rash decision to spend the next week in company with an entirely odious bunch of brainless matrons and their docile spouses. He had to have been mad to come up with this latest notion. For all Miss Jessamine Maitland’s bizarre attractions, she was surely not worth the trouble he was setting himself. He could always blame it on his inability to resist a challenge. She’d set herself up as a woman who could see past masks and charades, who looked into her cards and divined the truth. If she had any talent at all, she clearly hadn’t bothered to ask the cards about him. He wanted
to see how far he could push her. Whether she would stay oblivious, or whether she really had some supernatural talent beneath those witch’s eyes?

And he wanted to bed her quite desperately. Desperation was not an emotion he was used to entertaining.

He didn’t like to think himself ruled by his passions. The fact that he had a strong desire to tumble Miss Maitland of the mysterious eyes was nothing to worry about; the fact that he was willing to go to such lengths to do so was decidedly unsettling. He could tell himself her presence at this dratted house party was the least of his concerns, but he made it a point of honor never to lie to himself.

At least Freddie Arbuthnot would accompany him on the rain-soaked journey, and they could while away the trip with a few hands of cards. Of course, he’d have to let Freddie win enough to continue gaming, but subterfuge was hardly beyond Alistair’s capabilities. As long as Freddie didn’t go on too much about his intended’s dubious virtues.

It wasn’t as if Freddie were truly enamored of the very wealthy Miss Ermintrude Winters. He was madly in love with her sixty thousand pounds a year, however, and by extolling her attractions, he obviously hoped to convince himself of the felicity of his hoped-for union. This house party was to put the seal on his ongoing courtship—Ermintrude’s father had looked upon his suit with favor, and the exacting heiress seemed to consider Freddie’s witless charm appealing.

Which would leave Alistair free to pursue Jessamine. Whether he would simply endeavor to convince her of his guileless innocence, or seduce her into not caring, was a question still to be decided. The second tack was preferable, but fraught with danger. And Alistair knew himself well enough to realize it was the danger that appealed almost as greatly as Miss Maitland herself.

There was a damp chill in the small, elegant house, brought on by the rain and the fact that he’d dismissed his servants for the week, knowing he’d be gone. It reminded him of his childhood. The drafty halls of Glenshiel Abbey, the damp loneliness of the east wing with only his tutor for company. A sudden sweep of pain rushed over him, and he shivered, clenching his hands so tightly they broke the delicate chicken-skin fan he used for comic effect. At the moment he didn’t feel particularly comic.

The anger that flared up deep inside him was almost painful. He wasn’t ready to consider where that anger came from, but he knew where he could direct it. Toward the busybody, entrancing Miss Maitland, who would deserve the very thorough seduction she was about to receive. And would, in her dotage, look back upon the memory with fond pleasure.

He seldom spent his time seducing virtuous young women, but he had little doubt he could accomplish the task. Particularly since she’d shown herself such an apt pupil when he’d kissed her in Isolde Plumworthy’s parlor. The memory, the taste of that kiss, immediately made him hard, and he found his anger had fled, replaced with a wry smile. The thought of Miss Maitland continued to have that decidedly adolescent effect on his anatomy. If he didn’t take pains to render himself resistant, the house party could prove quite an embarrassment.

“
Halloo? Anyone home?” Freddie called from the hallway. He spied Alistair through the gloom. “What in God’s name are you doing, moping around in the darkness, Alistair? It’s not like you. Where are the servants?”

Alistair donned his indolent charm like a discarded cloak, crossing the dark room into the pool of light. “They’ve abandoned me, Freddie,” he murmured. “You’re late.”

“
Demme, it’s an indecent hour,” Freddie protested. “I don’t
see why we can’t drive at a leisurely pace, stop along the way, and arrive there tomorrow.”

“
You’d best get used to the parson’s mousetrap, Freddie. If you want all of Miss Winters’s lovely money to play with, you’re going to have to let her call the tune. And she wants you there today.”

Freddie snorted, obviously not sure the heiress’s tidy portion was worth an early rising. “Well, let’s not stand about discussing it. If we have to go at such a godforsaken hour, let’s be off.” He looked suddenly abashed. “Beg pardon, Alistair. I forgot you were doing this for me. It was demmed kind of you to offer to keep me company. Not quite sure of Ermintrude yet, and I could use your support.”

Alistair smiled faintly, forebearing to mention the irresistible presence of Jessamine Maitland. Not that Freddie would have the faintest idea that Alistair would be interested. She was hardly Alistair’s usual sort of inamorata. “Glad to be of assistance, Freddie,” he said. “Besides, I could use a little rustication.”

Freddie, never a lover of rural pleasures, looked even more gloomy. “Quite so,” he said under his breath. “And if Ermintrude turns down my suit, we could always leave early.” He looked marginally more cheerful at the notion.

“
Leaving you with Lady Elizabeth Marshall as your only other marital possibility,” Alistair pointed out.

Freddie shuddered. The sour and portly Lady Elizabeth made Ermintrude Winters appear to be a diamond of the first water. “Kent isn’t that countrified,” he said hopefully. “She’ll have me, won’t she, Alistair?”

“
She’d be a fool not to,” he said gently. Freddie was an exceedingly feckless, foolish young man, in many ways reminding Alistair of his brother. So far Freddie had resisted the lure of heavy drinking, but his gaming was already dangerously
deep, and he needed a wife to settle him, a rich wife to keep him, and a horde of noisy children to distract him.

If only everyone’s life could be so easily settled, Alistair thought grimly, none of his thoughts showing in his cool, detached expression. “The sooner you come up to scratch, Freddie, the sooner you can cease worrying,” he pointed out. “Shall we to Kent?”

“
To Kent!” Freddie said, reaching for enthusiasm but falling sadly short.

“
To Kent,” Alistair murmured. “And all the pleasures that there await us.”

Nine

The weather didn’t improve during the seemingly endless trip to Sevenoaks. Fleur was fortunate enough to fall asleep, Robert Brennan leaned back and closed his eyes, but Jessamine wasn’t fooled. In his own way, he was as alert as Josiah Clegg. Perhaps that was a necessity for thief-takers. It made sense—if you were ever alert, no one could sneak up behind you.

The poorly sprung carriage went over a bump, and Jessamine found herself tossed against the thin cushions with a resounding thump. Fleur slept on, the sleep of the innocent, but Brennan opened his eyes.

“
It was kind of Mrs. Blaine to send us the coach,” he observed pleasantly in a voice pitched low so as not to wake her sister.

Jess looked around her. It was, in truth, a horrid coach, made for transporting servants and poor relations. The squabs were thin, and the wind and rain blasted through the windows. Either Sally Blaine was less well-to-do than Ermintrude had suggested, or the coach was a deliberate snub. Jessamine had the melancholy suspicion it was the latter, and her dread of the upcoming visit grew.

“
Very kind,” she said absently, stroking the cheap material.

Silence filled the carriage once more, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the clop of the horses in the heavy rain. For a moment Jessamine thought she too might sleep, until Robert Brennan cleared his throat.

“
I’m a man who prefers plain speaking, miss,” he said calmly enough. “And you’re a lady who’s more observant than most. I’d say you’ve guessed that your sister and I were previously acquainted.”

It was only a slight knot in her stomach, Jessamine thought, keeping a calm expression on her face. She’d survive. “I suspected as much,” she replied, surreptitiously putting a hand on her stomach.

“
I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression,” he continued in a soft voice as Fleur slept on. “I know my place, Miss Maitland. You needn’t fear anything from me.”

She looked at him steadily. “What is your place, Mr. Brennan?”

“
I’m a thief-taker, Miss Maitland. Born a farmer, and I’ll die a farmer, but in the middle I’ve spent a few years seeing things you couldn’t even imagine. Your sister is a lady. She’ll marry well and have a good life, and I wish her the best.”

“
Mr. Brennan—” she began, uncertain what to say.

“
Pay me no mind, Miss Maitland. I just didn’t want you to worry about something that will never, ever happen. I’m from another world, and I know that. I was sent to keep you and others safe. And you are safe, miss. Have no fear of that.”

She looked into his strong, calm face. He was a good man, far more worthy than a thousand Cleggs put together. More decent than the undoubtedly decadent Earl of Glenshiel, kinder than anyone she’d met in years.

“
Mr. Brennan,” she said gently, “I hope and pray my sister marries a wealthy, titled gentleman who is exactly like you.”

He smiled at her kindly. “I do too, miss.”

Their arrival at Blaine Manor confirmed Jessamine’s worst fears. Sally Blaine’s coachman deposited them at a side entrance, with no covering from the heavy rain. They found their
way into a dank, ill-lit hallway, only to be met by a sour-looking woman who could only be the housekeeper.

She looked at the rain-bedraggled trio and sniffed. “You there,” she said to Brennan. “One of the footmen will show you to the kitchen. Your colleagues are there, eating up cook’s best tea cakes.” Her disapproving gaze slid over Jessamine and her sister, and instinctively Jess put her arm around Fleur, feeling her faint shiver. “I’ll show you to your room.” There was no missing the grudging tone in her voice.

Jessamine steeled herself. “And where is Mrs. Blaine? I should like to greet my hostess.”

“
She’s busy with her guests,” the woman said shortly, making it abundantly clear that that category did not include the Maitlands. “She’ll see you when she has time. Follow me.” She started up a narrow flight of stairs.

Jessamine managed a soothing smile for her sister as she tucked her arm through hers. “Don’t worry, Fleur,” she said softly, “I’ll sort everything out. In the meantime, I think we want to get out of our wet clothes, don’t we?”

“
Yes, Jess,” Fleur said. She glanced back toward Brennan, who stood waiting in the hallway, a troubled expression on his face. “Thank you for your company, Mr. Brennan,” she said in her soft, lovely voice.

“
My pleasure, miss,” he said stolidly.