Fanning the Flame (35 page)

"You also lied about your whereabouts after your uncle's funeral. Two lies, Howard, and people begin to get suspicious."

"I don't think so. I think your precious Jillian is going to hang for murder."

"She isn't guilty," Adam said, casting a look her way. "But then you know that firsthand."

Howard's mouth thinned. The corners faintly curved and Adam caught the gleam of teeth in a smile that looked almost feral. "What if I do? What if I told you I knew the old man and the girl would both be here in the study that night, as they had been every night that week? What if I told you I came into the yard through the garden, that I watched them through the window, and when Jillian went into the library, I shot that selfish old bastard and tossed the gun onto the floor next to his body?"

Adam heard Jillian's gasp.

"What difference would it make?" Howard gloated.

"With your reputation and your involvement with the girl, who do you think would believe you?"

"I would." The Duke of Rathmore's powerful voice swept across the dimly lit study. The pistol in his hand glinted in the lamplight as he stepped out of the shadows. "And I would suggest,
my lord,
that the best chance you have of saving your miserable life is to confess your crime and throw yourself on the mercy of the court."

Howard's hand shook. At Clay's appearance he had begun to sweat, but he kept the gun pointed at Adam's chest. "They won't believe you. They know you've both been against me from the start."

It was very possibly true, but it was obvious Howard wasn't sure and panic flared in his eyes. Howard turned the pistol, focusing it on Jillian, and Adam's blood ran cold.

Moving behind her, Howard wrapped a thick arm around her neck and jerked her back against his chest. "Drop the gun," he said to Clay.

Adam's heart thundered. This was his fault. He shouldn't have let her come, no matter how convincing she was. Fear for her made it hard to think.

"Drop it!" Howard demanded. "Now!"

Very carefully, Clay placed the weapon on the floor in front of him.

"Very good. Now kick it over here."

Clay used the side of his foot to send the pistol sliding across the polished wood. It disappeared through the door to the library.

"The gun is gone. Let her go," Adam commanded, his voice hard with the fury he fought to control.

Howard shook his head. "I'm afraid that isn't possible. You see, Miss Whitney and I are leaving. If you wish her to remain alive, you will stay exactly where you are until we are safely away."

Jillian's fingers dug into Howard's arm as he dragged her backward, heading for the library and the door leading out to the garden.

Unconsciously, Adam took a step toward them. He instantly stilled when Howard lifted the pistol and pressed it against the side of Jillian's head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." One step at a time, Howard continued backing away, and Adam's muscles tensed with every step.

Easy,
he told himself.
Let the enemy get into your sights before you make your move.
But with Jillian's life at stake, his patience was wearing thin. He couldn't let Howard leave the house or he might never see her again.

The moment Howard disappeared into the library, Adam moved and so did Clay. They had almost reached the door when a shot rang out.

Fear—more savage than he had known on the battlefield—ripped through him like red-hot grape shot. Adam burst through the library door, breathing hard, his mouth so dry he couldn't swallow.

Instead of finding Jillian wounded and lying on the floor, it was Howard, facedown at her feet, the back of his dark blue tailcoat covered in blood. On the opposite side of the room, Madeleine Telford stood pale and shaken, Clay's pistol hanging loosely from her hand.

"I-I didn't mean to shoot him. We . . . we were together up in his room. He thought he heard noises in the study. When he came down to see, I-I left by the servants' stairs. I heard . . . heard him say he killed Lord Fenwick. I saw him threaten Lord Blackwood and Miss Whitney and I-I picked up the gun . . ."

Madeleine swallowed, then started to cry. As Clay drew the gun from her fingers, Adam wrapped Jillian in his arms. He could feel her trembling, and a shudder ran through him. He would never forget the terror he had felt when he thought that she had been killed.

"I didn't mean to kill him," Madeleine repeated softly. "I just aimed and somehow the gun went off." She continued to weep, and Clay urged her down into a nearby chair.

"You probably saved Miss Whitney's life," Clay said.

The butler, Atwater, burst into the library just then and saw the earl on the floor. With a glance at Adam and the duke, he turned and raced off to summon the needed authorities.

A movement on the floor drew their attention to Howard.

"He's still alive," the duke said, kneeling beside the wounded man.

Adam moved next to him and together they gently turned Howard over. His pain-filled eyes searched for Madeleine Telford across the room.

"I loved you," he said. "I always . . . loved you." He was breathing hard, blood oozing out of a small hole in his chest where the lead ball had exited his body. "But you never . . . really . . . cared about me at all . . . did you?"

Madeleine's face turned a ghostly shade of white.

Adam shrugged out of his coat, wadded it up, and shoved it under Howard's head. "Save your strength. Atwater has gone for help. A surgeon will be here any moment."

Howard's glassy eyes swung to his face. "It . . . it was her idea . . . not mine."

Madeleine came swiftly to her feet. "I don't know what he's talking about."

"The night she came to . . . see him . . . the old man told her he was . . . changing his will. She knew where he . . . kept his pistol. She took it out of his . . . drawer and . . . brought it to me . . . said we had to . . . kill him."

"He's lying!" Madeleine nearly shouted. "I didn't have anything to do with it!"

Howard's lips thinned, barely curved. "He found out about us . . . a couple of weeks ago. Found out that . . . Madeleine had been . . . cheating on Henry. That is the reason . . . he was going to change the will. He thought Madeleine's infidelity was the reason Henry . . . killed himself." Howard fixed his gaze on the woman he had loved. "He never knew the truth."

"Shut up, Howard. Please . . . if you ever really loved me—"

"Keep quiet, Madeleine," Rathmore warned.

"What truth, Howard?" Jillian gently prodded.

Howard coughed, wheezed in a breath, and moistened his dry, trembling lips. "Madeleine made it look like . . . Henry killed himself . . . but it wasn't the truth. Madeleine . . . shot him."

Madeleine jumped up from the sofa and raced toward the door at the back of the library, but Clay's long strides cut off her escape. He caught her easily, sliding an arm around her waist, hauling her back into the room, and dumping her down into the chair.

"You aren't going anywhere, Madeleine. Not just yet, at any rate."

Howard gazed dully at Jillian. "She started . . . those rumors about you."

Jillian made a soft little sound in her throat and Adam felt a tightness in his chest for all she had suffered at Howard and Madeleine's hands.

Then the door burst open and half a dozen watchmen rushed in. When Adam looked at Howard, his eyes were closed and his chest no longer moved up and down.

The recently titled Earl of Fenwick was dead.

Adam strode to Jillian and pulled her into his arms.

The next two hours passed in a blur. Jillian barely remembered watching the uniformed officers dragging a hysterical Madeleine off to their battered carriage for transportation to Newgate prison. She only faintly recalled picking up the book she had found in the library, and showing it to Adam.

"This is what the earl sent me to get the night he was killed. It's Chesterfield's
Letters to His Son on How a Gentleman Should Behave.
I thought it odd at the time. Tonight I found what the earl had actually sent me to retrieve."

Her hand shook as she held out the small, leather-bound volume she had discovered behind Lord Chesterfield's book. "It's his son Henry's journal."

"So that's how he knew," Clay said.

"I only read the last several pages, but it mentions Madeleine's betrayal and how much it hurt him. Henry said he loved her too much to share her with another man. He said when he told her, she laughed. He wrote that he was going to divorce her."

Adam released a weary sigh. "Then that is the reason she killed him."

"Madeleine would have lost everything," Clay said.

"Yes, but with Henry dead, Howard Telford became next in line for the title—and if Madeleine played her cards right, she would still become a countess, just as she had planned."

It was almost two in the morning when the carriage pulled away from the mansion, heading first to Rathmore Hall. Exhaustion kept them silent along the way, weariness mingled with relief. It didn't take long to reach the ducal mansion. As Clay reached for the door, Adam caught his shoulder.

"That invitation you and Kassandra extended to Jillian . . . is that still open?"

Clay cast him a glance. "You know it is."

"Good. Then if it's agreeable with you and the duchess, she'll be arriving tomorrow afternoon."

"Of course." The duke turned to Jillian. "We'll look forward to your visit." Stepping down from the coach, he headed up the path to his house. As the carriage rocked forward, Jillian caught a glimpse of the duchess flying down the steps into her husband's arms.

Jillian glanced at Adam. Brass lanterns next to the velvet curtains reflected on his raven black hair, but his face remained in shadow.

"What will they do to Madeleine?" she asked softly, remembering all too clearly the horrors of Newgate prison.

"There is no way to prove Henry was murdered. She'll have to face charges for conspiracy, but in Howard's death, she can claim she was only trying to protect you. Perhaps she'll be transported. Madeleine's always been a survivor. Whatever happens, I imagine she'll land on her feet."

Darkness hid the sharp planes and angles of his face, but she could hear the bitterness in his voice. He was thinking of Caroline, she knew, and the betrayal he had suffered. Jillian felt the sharp sting of tears. Her ordeal was over, the danger past, but the future remained nebulous, even more uncertain than it was before.

She would put her trust in Michael Aimes, pray he and his father would help her make a new life somewhere else.

"It's over," she said, more to herself than to him.

Adam wrapped his arms around her. "Yes. . . . You're free, Jillian. No trial, no prison, no threat of the gallows over your head. Nothing more to worry about."

But it wasn't that simple. Not for her. She was in love with the Earl of Blackwood. Just looking at him made her heart swell almost painfully.

And yet they had no future. She wouldn't become his mistress and that was all he had to offer.

"I'm going to be staying with the duke?"

His eyes looked bluer than she had ever seen them. He pressed his lips against her temple. "Just for a while, my love."

Jillian didn't say anything more. She didn't understand why he had suddenly decided to send her away but as much as it hurt to leave him, she knew it was the right thing to do.

The wind came up, making the carriage shudder as it rolled toward his town house. She could hear the clatter of the rain on the roof and the splash of water beneath the iron wheels.

She must have fallen asleep. It was sometime later that she awakened in her bedchamber dressed in a clean white night rail. In the light of a freshly stoked fire, she saw the tall, shadowy figure of the earl on his way out the door.

"Adam?"

At the sound of her voice, he stopped and turned. "Yes, love . . .?"

She was leaving on the morrow. Their time together was over. Though she knew it would only make things harder, she couldn't stop the words. "Don't go."

She was in love with him. Wildly, desperately, and she was going to lose him.

He returned to the side of the bed and his hand brushed gently against her cheek. "Are you certain?"

She was sure it was the wrong thing to do and even more certain it was exactly what she wanted. "I need you. I don't want to be alone. Not tonight."

Adam sat down on the edge of the bed and for several long moments simply held her. He left her only long enough to strip away his clothes and return to the bed. Thunder rumbled, rattling the windows as he reached for her, his elegant hands drawing off her simple white night rail.

She thought how much she loved him, how much she would miss him. The pins were gone from her hair and he fanned the heavy auburn curls around her shoulders.

"I've always loved your hair," he said softly, running his fingers through it as he kissed the side of her neck, trailed moist kisses over her bare shoulders. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the little wrought-iron balcony that overlooked the garden and Adam's lean, muscular body. Reaching out, she ran her fingers over the long hard muscles across his shoulders, the sinews on his chest. Adam kissed her deeply and pleasure streaked through her, as wild as the storm outside. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, kissed her deeply again.