Lady Thief (16 page)

He stared at her grimly, the tenderness of moments ago forgotten. “I won’t allow it.”

Suddenly, her face went deathly pale. “You don’t have any say in the matter, Nick,” she said quietly.

“I do. You’ll be my wife—”

“No. I will not be your wife. If you cannot accept me as I am, there will be no marriage.”

“Jenny, for God’s sake—”

“I mean it, Nick.”

He saw the determination on her face, and realized that she could not be swayed. “So be it, then.” A moment later, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a thundering crash.

Jenny stood stiffly, her eyes fixed on the door, but he did not return. She was still there, unmoving, when Meg came in a few moments later.

“Jenny? I saw the duke ride away; his face was so angry! What happened? Jenny?” Meg suddenly fell silent as she looked intently at her stepsister’s face. It was the face of a stranger—pale and still. Her normally wild golden eyes were utterly without life.

When she spoke, her voice was as dead as her eyes. “Why, Meg? Why can’t life be as simple as one of your fairy stories? Why must it be so complicated?”

“Jenny?”

“What have I done, Meg? Dear God—what have I done?”

Meg flew to embrace her, sensing a loss she didn’t understand. “It’s all right, Jenny. Everything will be all right.”

Feeling an overpowering need to be alone, Jenny gently disentangled herself from Meg’s arms and said in a low voice, “I need to be alone for a while, my dear. I need to think.”

She produced a rather twisted smile for Meg, then slowly left the room, heading for the library. That would be a good place to sort out her thoughts.

Chapter Sixteen

Jenny sat alone in the silent library and wondered wearily how much longer she could go on. For the first time in her life she felt totally alone. As a child, she had felt that her father was near and that he stood, silently supportive, at his daughter’s side. That comforting presence had been gone for many years now.

Now Jenny was frightened. Since her father’s death, she had scorned the idea that she would ever need to depend on someone other than herself, but now she felt a desperate need to share her burdens.

She was tired of playing games with her life. She was tired of distrusting everyone she met, of guarding her every word and gesture. She was tired of pointing guns at people, and breaking laws she had been raised to obey. But most of all, she was tired of being alone.

And she had just rejected the man she loved. Why had she not told him the truth? Why had she not confided in him? She could find no answer within herself. Pride, perhaps, had prevented her. Or perhaps simply a stubborn desire to be accepted and understood without the need to explain her motives.

Whatever her reasons, she had effectively shut the duke out of her life. He would not chance another rejection.

Jenny sighed and dropped her head into her hands. Her question to Meg had come straight from her heart. Why
did
life have to be so complicated? If this were a fairy story, she could be certain of a happy ending, no matter how painful the interval might become. But this was reality, and reality did not supply happiness on a silver platter. Reality required that happiness be earned.

Which happiness was she to earn? The happiness of avenging her father’s murder? Or the happiness of loving the man of her dreams and being loved by him? Which did she most desire?

Jenny felt a leaden sensation somewhere deep within her. The choice had been made long ago. She could do no less than honor that choice. She would avenge her father’s murder—or die.

Having made her decision, Jenny felt at peace. She would finish what she had begun.

She became aware of a presence in the room. Looking up, she saw that Somers waited for her to acknowledge him. “Yes, Somers?”

“Sir George Ross to see you, Miss Jenny.” The butler’s face was expressionless. “In the Blue Room.”

Jenny’s limbs, which had been weakened by fear and loneliness a short time before, now stiffened with determination. She nodded. “Thank you, Somers.”

The young lady who faced Sir George a few moments later was as calm and collected as he had ever seen her. “Sir George. How good of you to pay us a visit.” Her voice was touched with irony.

Sir George bowed mockingly, appearing for once none the worse for drink. “You are in excellent looks today, my dear stepdaughter. I sincerely hope that no ill fortune has befallen you since last I saw you. You have not, for instance, received disturbing news from Bow Street, I hope?”

Jenny stiffened slightly, her golden eyes darkening as she considered her stepfather’s triumphant expression. Softly, she said, “Yes, of course. It would have to be you. You informed against me.”

He bowed again, a bland smile on his face. “I did. May I dare hope that you have been exposed for what you are? Does the hangman know your name, my dear Jenny?” His voice was full of satisfied certainty.

Jenny smiled very gently and moved a step closer to him. “I am afraid not,” she replied.

His smile faded. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” he asked hoarsely.

“The Runners did come. However, I answered all their questions satisfactorily, in addition to which I was also vouched for by a very influential man.”

“Who? Who was the man?” The hoarseness had not left his voice.

Nor had the smile left Jenny’s face. “The Duke of Spencer. He was here when the Runners came and defended me quite admirably.”

Violent rage flashed in Sir George’s small eyes. “Spencer? Perhaps His Grace would like to know just how true the accusation is.” His smile was not pleasant. “I’ve heard the rumors, Jenny. The talk of London is that His Grace seems quite taken with you. I wonder if his feelings would change if he were told the truth.”

Jenny wandered to the settee and sank down gracefully. Her voice was casually unconcerned when she replied, “You may tell him what you choose. I assure you the duke knows all there is to know about me.” She forgave herself the lie.

Sir George frowned. “He knows you’re the Cat? I find that hard to believe.”

Jenny lifted one eyebrow, a faintly puzzled look on her face. “The Cat? I’m sure I haven’t the vaguest idea what you mean.”

He smiled tightly. “I didn’t expect you to admit it, Jenny. Nevertheless, we both know the truth. I’ve known for months. You think I didn’t see you sneaking out of your bedroom window late at night?”

“I have always preferred to ride at night. Ask my mother.”

“And the horse? Have you always hidden him?” Sir George asked sarcastically.

“Only since my mother married you,” she replied calmly. “The horse is valuable, and I had no desire to see you sell him.”

Sir George flushed angrily. “A pretty opinion you have of me,” he said shortly.

Jenny looked at him steadily. “Any man who would to go Bow Street and accuse his own stepdaughter of being a notorious thief couldn’t be considered a gentleman, now could he?”

“Only if the accusation were untrue. But it isn’t, is it, Jenny?”

She had no intention of helping him put a noose round her neck. “Don’t be ridiculous. What possible reason would I have for becoming a thief?”

He folded his arms and stared at her grimly. “That has me baffled. You certainly don’t need the money, so it must be the excitement.”

She sighed wearily. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Sir George. I have all the excitement I can handle at the moment.”

“Trying to catch a duke?” he asked nastily.

Jenny stared at him for a moment before saying deliberately, “That’s right. If you want to dispose of me, you’re going about it the wrong way. Leave me alone for the Season in London, and I can safely promise you won’t be bothered by me again.”

She watched her stepfather’s changing expression with satisfaction. Visions of marriage settlements seemed to dance in his eyes. He fully intended to make some man pay through the nose to become Jenny’s husband and, for once, she was grateful for his greed.

Slowly, he said, “So you mean to marry Spencer. You didn’t want to be a countess, you wanted to be a duchess. That’s why you rejected Stoven.” He stared at her.

“Something like that.” Jenny wasn’t in the least disturbed that her stepfather thought her mercenary. Carefully playing her role, she went on irritably, “You nearly ruined my chances by sending the Runners here. If you don’t want to endanger them further, you’ll go back to Kent and let me handle my own affairs.”

Sir George nodded. Having a mercenary mind himself, he was easily convinced of calculating motives in others. “I’ll expect a visit from Spencer before the end of the Season, Jenny.”

She rang for a servant to show him out, without responding to his statement. She knew in her heart that her stepfather would not receive a visit from the duke, but she had to keep Sir George away for at least the remainder of the Season. By that time, she hoped to have found her father’s murderer. If not—she would deal with that when the time came.

Jenny watched as the butler showed Sir George out, then wearily climbed the stairs to her room. She was drained, exhausted from the strain of confronting her stepfather, and the tensions from what seemed like the longest day of her life. And the day was far from over. There was still Lady Jersey’s party to be gotten through. Spencer would be there.

Jenny lay silently on her bed and fought a cowardly impulse to crawl beneath the covers and never come out again. One part of her wanted to see Spencer and resolve the misunderstanding between them. Another part realized that what had happened between them was far more serious than a simple disagreement.

In any case, she reminded herself, she had made her decision regarding Spencer. The search for her father’s murderer would continue.

The burden for that search would rest on her shoulders alone—as it always had. That burden, carried for so long, was becoming unbearably heavy.

Jenny shook the thought away. She would go on; it was impossible to go back.

 

 

Jenny swung herself from the bed as her maid entered the room. Hours of reflection had done much to ease her troubled mind and stiffen her resolve.

She would attend Lady Jersey’s party and no one—no one!—would suspect the ache in her heart. The Dark Incomparable would treat the
ton
to an evening they would not soon forget.

With an oddly feline smile, Jenny said to her maid, “The black evening gown, Mary, and the yellow diamonds.”

The maid’s face was shocked. “The
black
gown, miss?” Black was for mourning—or matrons.

Coolly, Jenny replied, “The black gown.”

Mary slowly went to her mistress’s wardrobe, wondering if Miss Jenny were losing her mind. It was against social dictates for a young, unmarried woman to wear black unless she was in mourning, although the black gown would have been totally unsuitable for such a somber time. Made of French silk, it was one breath away from being indecent.

An hour later, Jenny stood before the full-length mirror in her room and stared at her reflection. The black gown was every bit as wicked as she had remembered. She turned, twitching away the graceful folds of the half-train, and stared at the side view the mirror presented. The gown lent her a grace and dignity she had not known she possessed.

The yellow diamonds caught the light as she turned, glowing against her white skin with a brilliance only surpassed by the radiance of her golden eyes.

Jenny smiled and slowly drew on the long black gloves. She was perfectly aware of the danger of appearing in such a gown, but she also knew that if anyone could carry it off, she could. There was no vanity in the thought; the hypocritical opinions of London society could always be influenced to pardon an outrageous heiress.

Outrageous heiress. If they only knew, she thought, if they only knew!

Lady Beddington twittered nervously all the way to Lady Jersey’s. She had tried vainly to convince Jenny not to wear the black gown, but the determined glint in her young friend’s eyes had defeated her. Now she envisioned terrible social ruin for them both, and wondered desperately what Lady Ross would have to say when her daughter was sent home in disgrace.

But Lady Beddington’s fears proved groundless. Lady Jersey greeted them at the door, saying, “Why, Miss Courtenay, you look delightfully wicked! If only I had the coloring to wear black!” Her acceptance set the tone for the entire evening.

Jenny found herself besieged with admirers, and even the staid matrons with daughters of marriageable age were considered merely resentful when they remarked acidly that Miss Courtenay was obviously fast.

The official seal of approval was bestowed on Jenny when Mr. Brummell bowed low before her and requested a dance. The acid-tongued matrons subsided noticeably after that.

Brummell, performing the steps of the waltz with faultless grace, smiled down at Jenny. “Miss Courtenay, you are absolutely bewitching tonight. If I were not so averse to matrimony, I would be languishing at your feet.”

Jenny laughed softly, not in the least deceived by his flattery. “You are too kind, sir. But it does seem a shame that I cannot ensnare you—it would be the coup of the Season.”

The Beau’s gray eyes were amused. “Ah, but to ensnare a duke is quite enough of a coup.” He immediately regretted his statement, for the lady’s beautiful golden eyes dulled, and her smile disappeared.

She recovered almost immediately, however, and with a note of forced gaiety in her voice, said lightly, “Once ensnared does not mean forever, sir.”

“I see.” Brummell was given credit for a great deal of perception by the members of the
ton
, and Jenny would have been considerably dismayed if she had known exactly how much the Beau did see. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

With a bright smile, Jenny replied quickly, “No—but thank you.”