Anne Stuart (33 page)

“
I know,” Jessamine said, her voice deep with sorrow. “Do you love him, Fleur?”

“
God help me, yes.” She stared at him, blinking back the tears, telling herself that the best thing she could ever do would be to turn and run. But Jessamine was holding her too tightly.

“
Do you want him, Fleur?”

“
Yes,” she said hopelessly.

“
Then fight for him. This is your wedding day, Fleur. Take him.”

When Fleur reached his side, she didn’t dare look at him. Her hand was trembling, icy cold beneath the thin kid glove when he took it in his large, workman’s hands. The disparity between them was never so clear. He was a man of the people, with big, strong, square hands that knew how to do a day’s work. Hers were fragile, delicate, adept at watercolors and stitching a fine line and little else. She would ruin his life. She didn’t care.

It was over so quickly. A few words mumbled and repeated. Their names in a register, his a rough scrawl, hers a flowery script. And then out into the early autumn evening with Robert Brennan’s hand on her arm.

She didn’t remember taking leave of her sister. She didn’t remember anything at all as they walked through the darkening streets, his large, untidy body beside her, protecting her.

He stopped by a cheerful, noisy pub, and she stole a quick, worried glance up at him. His expression was unreadable. “Where are we?” she asked in a very small voice.

“
Where I live.”

“
In a public house?”

“
Above it. It suits me. I can always find a hot meal, and I don’t mind the noise. One of the barmaids mucks out my rooms every now and then. If you want, she can come in and help you.”

“
Did you sleep with her?” The question came from out of the blue, shocking her.

She waited for his scathing response. Instead, he merely glanced down at her, his expression enigmatic. “No,” he said.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. There were three rooms, a bedroom, a sitting room, and a kitchen, though the last didn’t appear to get much use. Everything was tidy, and
someone had been in to light a fire in the fireplaces, so that it was warm and light and welcoming.

But the man beside her wasn’t welcoming. He stayed at the door, and when she turned to face him he looked stern and forbidding. “I’ll have them send you up some dinner in a bit. You might want to take a rest.”

“
Where will you be?”

“
Out. I have work to do.”

“
When will you be back?”

“
I don’t know.”

His words couldn’t have been more clear. She had forced her way into his life against his will, and he was going to do his best to ignore her.

“
I’ll wait up for you,” she said with one last trace of hope.

“
Don’t bother. I’m going after the Cat. With the reward on him, I’ll have enough to return to Yorkshire.”

“
Will you take me with you?”

He seemed astonished that she would ask. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? Whether I like it or no, you belong to me. You’ll come with me.”

Relief swamped her. For a moment she thought he’d planned to walk away that night and never return. “I like the country,” she said tentatively.

There was no softening in his bleak expression. “It matters little to me. You’ve made your bed and you’ll lie in it.”

“
Alone?” she asked, shocked at her own boldness.

Something flared in his eyes, some emotion that she couldn’t read. “No,” he said. And without another word he left her, alone in the warm, cozy rooms, alone on her wedding night.

It was himself he was wanting to punish, Brennan thought fiercely, striding through the city streets at a breakneck pace. She stood there in the midst of his shabby rooms looking like
a fairy princess, her heart in her eyes, and all he wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and carry her into his bed. He was half afraid to touch her. She was so beautiful, so delicate, so exquisitely formed, and he was a great hulking brute of a man. A rough man, born a farmer and he’d die one as well. He wasn’t used to ladies. He wasn’t used to a lady who’d destroy her reputation on a whim. An innocent who looked at him with hurt and love in her eyes, when he was the one who was causing the pain.

He could have found a way out of the tangle, he knew he could. He could have applied to Sir John, and something could have been arranged. But instead he’d accepted his duty, he’d married her, angrily, reluctantly, all the while reveling in the fact that fate had forced his hand, and she belonged to him.

And he couldn’t even be honest enough with himself and with her to admit it. He’d abandoned her in a strange place, alone on her wedding night, because he was too angry and too proud. Too angry with himself.

And yet she was the one being punished.

They were wed legally, permanently, the bond sealed. Even if laws could break it apart, nothing would make him go back on his vows. He had promised to love and cherish, honor and protect her throughout all the days of their lives. And he was a man who never broke his word.

He was doing a bloody poor job of loving her, he thought angrily. He was so caught up in trying to honor and protect her that he couldn’t see straight. All he could think about was the look on her face when he left her. The scent of the roses in her hair.

He’d spent a fortune on those flowers, and they’d been worth every penny. He couldn’t buy his young wife jewels or silks, but he could buy her perfect roses. He would somehow have to swallow his pride and accept that.

He wondered if she was crying. If she was frightened. If she regretted her rash gesture that had bound her to him. He wondered if she hated him now. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

He had work to do. The Earl of Glenshiel was about town, and Brennan had every intention of catching the Cat in the act. The obvious thing to do was to watch his house on Clarges Street.

But it was a cold night. A woman waited for him. A woman who loved him.

And there were times when duty could wait.

“
Enjoying your wedding night?”

Brennan whirled around in shock. Josiah Clegg had materialized out of the darkness, picking his teeth with a thin, elegant dagger that looked far too expensive for the likes of a Bow Street runner.

“
Duty comes first,” he said stiffly.

“
Not when we were at Blaine House, it didn’t. That sort of thing gives runners a bad name. I wonder what Sir John thinks of his precious protégé seducing a high-bred young lady when he should have been working.”

Brennan summoned a bland smile. “He stood up for me at my wedding,” he said.

Clegg stiffened. “Well, ain’t that cozy?” he snarled. “You may be more interested in what’s between her legs, but I’ve got work to do. The Cat’s planning something big.”

“
What makes you say that?”

“
I have my sources,” he said loftily. “As a matter of fact, Samuel Welch got wind of something. Told me a bit, but now he’s disappeared.”

“
Disappeared?” Brennan said sharply.

“
I expect the Cat’s gotten to him.”

“
Why are you telling me this, Josiah? You’ve never been
interested in helping me. You want the thief-taker’s share for yourself.”

“
Half the sum is better than none,” Clegg said with a reasonableness that was almost believable. “The Cat’s too tricky for me. You know who he is, don’t you?”

“
Do you?”

“
Mebbe I do, mebbe I don’t. But I expect he’s done for poor old Sammy, and I hate to see his sort get away with it. Especially when you consider what he’s after this time.”

“
What is it?”

“
You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I can scarce believe it myself, but the facts don’t lie. An insult to all of England. And I intend to stop him, with or without your help.”

Brennan just stared at him. Josiah Clegg was playing him like a pair of loaded dice, but Brennan had no intention of falling.

“
You do that, Josiah,” he said evenly. “I’ve already given Sir John my notice. I’m no longer a runner. I’m taking my wife back to Yorkshire.”

“
You mean you’ll just walk away? With the Cat still on the prowl?”

“
You’ll see to him, Josiah,” Brennan said. “I know I can leave the safety of London in your capable hands. In the meantime, I need to be getting home.”

“
Back to the bit o’ crumpet?”

“
Back to the woman I love, Josiah. Back to my wife.”

Twenty-Two

The house in Spitalfields had never felt so cold and empty when Jessamine returned that night. The meager fire in the parlor could barely begin to warm even that small room, and the cheap tallow tapers sent out a wavering light. Jessamine sat alone, staring sightlessly at the cards laid out in front of her.

They meant nothing. Pasteboard pictures as old as time, but they no longer spoke to her. She picked them up and shuffled them once more, laying them out in a random pattern, trying to concentrate. But Marilla’s warnings came back to her tenfold. All she could see was Glenshiel—his haughty, mischievous face, his elegant body. His wicked smile.

“
Having a spot of trouble, are we?” The voice, low and evil, slid out of the shadows like some nasty, dark thing. Clegg was standing, watching her, and she had no idea how long he’d been there.

She was beyond fear. She glanced up at him, in perfect control, surveying him icily. “What are you doing here?”

“
Now, what do you think, missy? We have an arrangement, you and me, and that arrangement stands until I choose to end it. You’re all ready to help me, I can see that. Look at your cards and tell me where I’ll find the Cat.”

She swept the cards up into a pile. “I can’t.”

The look on Clegg’s face in the flickering candlelight was not reassuring. “You’ve spent too much time with the toffs,” he said. “You’ve forgotten that I don’t take no for an answer.”

“
I told you I can’t. I’ve lost whatever talent I had.”

He came up to her, standing too close, and he smelled of beer and dirt and something evil. “I don’t give a bloody shit about your talent,” he said. “Tell me where I can find the Cat.”

“
I don’t know....”

He slapped her backhanded across the face, so hard that her head whipped around. He was wearing a heavy jeweled ring and it cut her. She could feel the dampness of blood on her stinging face, and she had the strange, remote thought that she didn’t want to bleed on her beautiful new dress.

“
Where is he?” Clegg shoved his face into hers, breathing rank fumes. “I’ll give you your share once he’s strung up and dancing the hangman’s jig, but I’m not about to wait any longer. Brennan knows what’s up as well, and he’ll try to cut me out. I won’t let that happen. Right now he’s lying between your sister’s legs, but sooner or later he’ll remember what’s important. And I mean to see that it’s too late for him. Where is the Cat?”

“
I don’t—”

He slapped her again. Her eyes stung, and she found she’d bit her lip. She stared up at him mutely.

“
I’ll ask you one more time. If you don’t answer me, I’ll have to hurt you. Where is the Cat?”

She thought of the handful of gold coins she’d thrown back at Nicodemus. She thought of the crumpled letter that lay hidden beneath her pillow, the cruel, dismissive words. Revenge would be gloriously simple. Defiance would mean pain.

“
I... don’t... know...” She spat out each word at him.

He put his thick-fingered hands around her neck, pressing tightly. “You know you’re pretty in that dress,” he cooed. “I never fancied you much—you have too sharp a tongue on you. It’s your sister I wanted, and I’ll have her after I’ve finished with Brennan. But mebbe I’ll show you what a real man is like,
first. Not one of your fancy lords, to diddle you in a great fancy bed.”

She didn’t move. She couldn’t, she could barely breathe. He was pressing just hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to restrict her breathing, not enough to cut it off entirely. She stared up at him in silent scorn, waiting, willing him to hurt her.

He pressed harder, and her breath constricted. The room was growing darker, colder, and she realized she would die. It was an unappealing thought, but she could see no way out of it. At least if he strangled her she’d be unable to tell him what he so wanted to know.

The sudden banging overhead startled him into releasing her. It was Mrs. Maitland, her plaintive voice echoing down the stairs, calling for a hot posset.

“
Who’s that?” he demanded.

She was struggling to get her breath back. She couldn’t talk, she could only cough and choke, a fact that amused him. “I remember. It’s your mother. Mebbe she’d like to learn what her daughter’s doing on the side with the Earl of Glenshiel? Climbing over rooftops and robbing innocent people?”

Jessamine looked up at him with mute horror.

“
Oh, yes,” Clegg said with a foul smirk. “I know who he is. I just want to know where. He hasn’t been back to his house all day. I means to capture him, and I don’t care how I have to go about doing it. Now, where is he?”

“
I haven’t seen him.” She braced herself for another blow, but instead he caught her chin in his hand, holding it in a painful grip.