The Passionate Love of a Rake (27 page)

Robert rubbed his jaw, silent. He remembered the conversation he and Jane had had at Vauxhall. It was the only time she’d spoken of Sutton, “
and he certainly never did anything just to please me,
” she’d said.

“I will warn you, Barrington, my man thinks her inheritance is disputable. He believes the will a ploy to taunt the son. It is likely to be overturned if contested. It appears the late Duke of Sutton intends to keep his bird caged even from within his grave.”

Robert’s mind reeled. What if the son was as mad as the father? What if Jane was with Sutton? “It has already been contested. He won. Do you know anything of the current Duke?”

Pembroke’s expression turned sour. “He has a reputation for erratic behaviour and violence. He seems a man in the image of his father, inhuman.”

Pembroke was hardly one to judge. He, too, had been inhuman for a time towards Ellen, although never violent, just cruel.

Robert drank his port with an urge to go, but go where?

“Robert!”

Geoff. Robert stood as Geoff crossed the room and lifted his hand.

“Excuse me, Pembroke,” Robert said, looking back. Then he gave the man a stiff bow before adding, “Thank you for the information.”

“You have not heard it all yet,” Pembroke interjected. “My man heard the current Duke intends to obtain your fiancée as his mistress. I do not believe he intends to give her a choice. I thought you should know it. I am sure Sutton will not hesitate in disposing of any obstacles, Barrington.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed as suddenly the sum equalled four. But he had no intention of sharing his thoughts with Pembroke, yet he was grateful the man had spoken. Bowing again, more deeply, Robert said, “Thank you,” once more. Then he turned away.

He had to find her.

“Remember, Barrington,” Pembroke said behind him, “if there is any trouble, I do not wish my grandson caught up in it.”

Robert glanced back. “I would not wish it either, Your Grace.”

He crossed the room to meet Geoff. “Shall we find a coffeehouse? There are too many ears in here.”

Geoff nodded.

Half an hour later, leaning over a coffee as black as treacle and with arms crossed on the tabletop, Robert looked at his friend. The air in the little shop was thick with the aroma of roasted coffee, and tobacco smoke helped screen them from the other occupants. “Did Violet write to Jane’s address in Bath?”

“Yes. The letter was returned saying Jane’s tenancy had terminated. The house has been closed up. Her butler answered and asked after her. Apparently, he thought it odd. Violet said he’d followed Jane from the late Duke’s household. There is no word on Sutton?”

“He’s gone to Berkshire.” Why would Jane leave herself no property to return to? It was odd. Unless she’d gone into hiding somewhere.

“Safely out of the way then.”

Robert’s fingers rubbed his jaw. “Pembroke just shared some tales I’d sooner not have heard. What does Violet know of Jane’s marriage?”

“Very little, I think,” Geoff set his coffee cup on its saucer, his eyes on Robert. “The old man was seriously ill at the point Vi met Jane. I believe they only spoke when he was incapacitated, and Vi would not betray Jane’s trust to me, but she did mention Jane was very different in Bath. Vi said Jane was wary of censure from the old man. She is hardly outgoing, though. If Jane was more reserved, she must have been virtually silent.”

“Oppressed,” Robert stated.

“That was my assessment, yes.”

“When did Violet’s solicitor last hear from Jane? He can give me no leads?”

“None. The last communication was the letter he sent to your place.”

An attendant passed with a pot of coffee, and Robert lifted his hand, beckoning for him to refill Geoff’s cup. Robert hadn’t known Jane had received a letter from the solicitor. She’d not said. Had that been the letter he’d given her?

Geoff waited until the waiter moved on then said, “Apparently, French enclosed a letter from Sutton, too. It had been delivered via Sutton’s solicitor. I believe French wrote to inform Jane they’d lost.”

“What was in the letter from Sutton?”

“Who knows? French did not open it. It was addressed to Jane.”

Silent, Robert felt his heart thudding, and his gaze fell to his untouched coffee. Pembroke’s words tumbled through his head, “
He forbade her many things…he kept her like a bird in a cage
”. Robert remembered the night he’d seen Jane watching other people dance, when she’d still worn her blacks, longing to dance herself. “
A horse,
” she’d asked at Farnborough, as though she’d claimed the crown jewels, and in town, she’d confided, “
I have not ridden in an age
.” He could picture the bright light in her eyes every time they’d ridden. He thought of their last night, “
know that I love you
”, of that last day at the ruins. Why had she let him make love to her when she was leaving? All these things just did not knit together.

An ominous thought struck him. What if Sutton’s letter had summoned her back to her cage? But she’d escaped. Why would she go back? If Sutton had threatened her, why had she not spoken of it? Robert had offered to protect her!

“
I am sure Sutton will not hesitate in disposing of obstacles.
” Robert suddenly understood everything. Pembroke had implied Robert was an obstacle. That scene at Vauxhall came to mind – Sutton pressing Jane back against the stone. Had Robert been disposed of then?

“
I love you – but I cannot stay – cannot, not will not.
” Jane’s words.

Good God!

What if Sutton’s threat was aimed at
him
? Would she have gone
for him
?

Was she protecting
him
?

The more Robert thought it, the more he believed it. Sutton was threatening her with what he could do to
him
.

The clever bloody bastard.

Sutton knew her far better than Robert ever did.

He’d spent years thinking her selfish when Jane’s only fault was selflessness.

Her little outburst before his tenant had been Jane straining against the bit. She had not wanted to go.

If Robert had pressed, if he’d made her explain instead of losing his temper, he could have given her the power to break her bonds. But in the image of his behaviour years before, he’d ridden away.

No wonder she did not trust him.

Geoff nudged him. “What is it?”

Robert leaned back, feeling suddenly helpless. “Sutton has her; I’m certain of it. He threatened her, I think, with what he would do to me. I believe that was the content of his letter. Pembroke thinks the man’s mad. He’s also heard Sutton intends to force himself on Jane. Having seen him hit her, I would not be surprised if it is true. She’s in danger.”

“You are fond of her?” Geoff’s gaze said he knew the answer.

“I have always been. I loved her when we were young, before she married. I failed her then. I’ll not fail again. No other woman ever stood a chance. They’ve always been in her shadow.”

Geoff’s gaze filled with compassion. “My sister was right. I think you’ve even convinced Violet. I dare say Jane will believe you, too, when you find her.”

A low growl of self-disgust slipped from Robert’s throat. “I’m not certain. She proved the level of her faith in me by leaving Farnborough. She has no belief in me. If she did, Sutton’s threats would have been worthless.”

“Or perhaps she cares too much about you to take the risk.”

Robert said nothing. It was only salt poured into the wound.

“At least, if you think she is with Sutton, you have your lead. He’s gone to his estates, so follow him. Jane will either be there or not. Either way, you need only sit it out in a nearby inn and wait until he leads you to her.”

Robert nodded. He’d thought the same. He stood. “Thank you, Geoff,” he acknowledged as his friend stood, too. They shook hands, and Robert gripped Geoff’s tightly. “You will forgive me for my haste.”

“Of course. You will keep Violet informed? She is beside herself with worry. Jane did not deserve the life she’s had.”

“No, and I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for it. Good day, Geoff. Tell Violet I shall write when I have news.”

“May luck go with you, Robert.”

~

Silent, sitting in the dark, occupying a threadbare armchair, Jane clutched her knees, tucked inside her skirt, and listened intently, waiting, wondering – terrified.

She didn’t know the hour, but she could hear the clock ticking in the hall outside. It was a steady, unrelenting rhythm which matched her heartbeat.

Joshua was late. It must be well past midnight. Did it mean he wouldn’t come tonight? She didn’t imagine for one moment he’d given up his game.

Her eyelids were heavy and kept falling, but she dare not sleep. Forcing her eyes to stay open, she looked towards the dark shadows near the door. She’d pushed a chest before it.

Fear prickled in her nerves.

Hector had tormented her for years, but he’d never physically hurt her. Joshua had. He was sadistic, not simply cruel. She had good reason to fear him.

Robert slipped into her mind. He did so constantly. When she was most afraid, she sought refuge in halcyon memories of the summer. He was secure. That was a constant balm.

Then she heard it, the first heavy footfall in the hall. The ring of hardened leather heels on wood.

Silent, she gripped her knees harder to her chest, and her bare toes curled over the chair’s rim. She was too afraid to even breathe.

Strike. Strike. The rhythmic steps grew nearer.

She was no fool. If Joshua wished to open it, he would. He was strong enough to push the chest aside. The barrier would simply buy her time to contemplate her fate.

Strike, strike.

There would be no point in crying out. No one would come. No one would help her here.

Her heart pounded.

She was in a third-floor room. There was no escape.

“Jane.” His deep baritone stretched along the hall, heavy with threat, and she saw light break a crack above the door.

Strike, strike.

He was two steps away.

Strike, strike.

Her heart thumped harder as his footsteps stopped outside the door.

“So tempting.” His voice resonated through the wooden door. His tormenting words reaching into the room. “Do you lie awake thinking of me, Jane?”

She jumped half out her skin and gasped when the door handle suddenly jolted, twisting sharply. He’d won again. He’d heard her cry out. He knew she was awake, and he knew she was afraid.

Deep, callous laughter echoed about the hall outside as he rattled the handle several times with no intention of coming in. He had the key. He was just tormenting her.

She clutched her stomach. Until this morning she had held on to the chance their might be a child within it. But now her courses had come and she knew there was not.

He walked on. She felt sick as she heard him go and she ached everywhere from the bruises of his violence. She had not tried to bar her door in the day because she’d needed food to stay alive in case there
was
a child.

He had held her by the throat this morning, and she’d thought she would die as he’d cut off her air. But then he’d let her go. That was when her courses had come. Now she was unsure whether it was best to be alive or dead.

His footsteps and laughter faded with the light. She could doze now, for a little while, but she would not dare lie down.

He’d played this game three dozen times, sometimes thrice in one night, deliberately disturbing her sleep.

In London, he’d said he would wait until she begged him to take her. Now she understood. He was torturing her until she would rather suffer rape than fear.

Robert paced back and forth across the courtyard of the small inn. He’d been evicted from the taproom, unable to simply sit. His heart raced with a galloping beat. It had done so for days now. He wondered, and not for the first time, just how much more of this he could take before he expired.

His boot heels struck the cobbles, and he turned and forged the same path back again. He had no outdoor coat on, and the day was cloudy and cold, but it didn’t permeate his distracted senses. A breeze swept the dust up in a sudden eddy. Summer had departed, and autumn was on the way.

With a shudder that twisted his shoulders, he refused to think too far ahead.

James, Robert’s groom, was established in Sutton’s stables. Two days ago, James had gone there, cap in hand, seeking employment. It had gotten them access to the house. They’d tried more subtle investigations, interrogating the local populace with obscure questions about visitors who stayed with the Suttons. Robert had claimed to be an associate of the old Duke and wondered how his widow fared. Robert’s staff had deployed various ruses, claiming to be former employees or staff of friends of the Dowager Duchess. But no matter the tack they took to question, no one had seen anything of Jane.

Robert hoped James had gleaned some knowledge of her. At least he must have seen when Sutton came and went. Sunday was normally a day the staff had time off. Robert had been waiting hours, believing James would come back to the inn.

As he turned to pace the yard again, Robert thought, thankfully, of the quickly scribbled note he’d passed to Jenkins to deliver to his man of business before leaving London. The special marriage licence he’d acquired had arrived this morning, four days after Robert had arrived. This time, Robert was not giving Jane a choice. When he got her away from Sutton, he would insist she accept his protection.

In the street beyond the courtyard, he heard the approach of a carriage, horses, the jangle of harness, the creak and roll of wheels. Shouts flooded the inn’s courtyard, and grooms ran from the stables as a large mail coach rumbled beneath the arched entrance. Stable hands rushed to unharness the horses and replace the team. Robert stepped back out of the way and watched the driver jump down. The top was heaped with luggage, and two young men sat on top of it.

Robert sighed, his patience suddenly running dry.

A drop of rain struck his brow. He looked up and saw the gray cloud was now painted black.

Another spot of rain touched his face, then another his hair. He looked down and saw rain speckling the gray cobble.

His fingers swept back a lock of hair which had fallen forward over his brow. He would feel much better if he knew he was in the right place – that Jane was definitely here with Sutton. The sound of the patter of rain striking the roof tiles began to increase, intensifying. Robert’s eyes turned to the activity about him, but his thoughts were still elsewhere. The stable hands walked the winded horses. Their coats were thick with sweat. Fresh, eager-spirited horses were being secured in the traces of the mail coach.

Robert knew how they felt. Blood flowed thick and fast in his veins, pumping adrenalin that had his muscles ready for fight or flight. The issue was he could do neither,
yet
. He could do nothing but wait.

The rain fell in earnest now and struck his shoulders, his hair, and his face with force. He lifted his forearm and wiped his brow, but his sleeve was already wet.

He had no idea how to endure this waiting.

“Lord Barrington!” His gaze whipped to one of the inn’s attendants. “There is a woman wishing to speak with you, my Lord!”

Robert shifted out of the way of a lad running with a bag which had been thrown from the mail coach, and saw a young woman behind the attendant. She was no one he knew, and in service by the look of her.

The heavy rainfall dripped down his face and plastered his shirt and waistcoat to his skin, but Robert paid no mind to it as he crossed the courtyard.

“Lord Barrington?” the woman questioned as he walked the last few steps. The attendant bowed and disappeared.

She cast back the hood of her cloak. “James, the groom, sent me, my Lord, with this.” She withdrew a letter from beneath her cloak. “He said to say not to worry, but he promised you’d give me a penny for dropping it off.”

Robert shivered, a chill running across his skin beneath the damp cloth of his shirt. “Thank you. Come in a moment, please.” He took the letter and encouraged her to go before him.

Inside the inn’s lobby, a chambermaid was waiting on the stone flags to pass him a linen towel.

Accepting it, Robert nodded his thanks, wiped his face and hair, then thoughtlessly passed it back, too distracted by the letter in his hand.

James couldn’t write. It would not be from his groom, but it bore no address so there was no handwriting or mark to determine its origin.

“This way.” Holding out a hand, he directed the young maid to the private parlour he’d hired. Embers still glowed in the hearth, warming the room. The woman waited just within the open door as he unfolded the letter and saw Jane’s neat script.
She’s here
. His heart pounded, but his concentration was disturbed by the movement of the maid.

She watched for his reaction.

He reached into his pocket and handed her a couple of coins.

“Thank you, my Lord. Jim said you’d be grateful. Did you want me to take anything back, sir?”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Are you on another errand? Could you come back?”

He received a brisk nod. “Yes, sir, if you want.” With that, she bobbed a quick curtsy, and, in a swirl of skirt, was gone.

Robert walked to the door and called for writing materials, then turned back and reread Jane’s note. There were just three lines.

Your offer is gratefully accepted. I shall be free tomorrow at the larks. Meet me at the fore.

His heart set up a thundering pace again. The message was written in code, a code they’d developed in their youth, to hide their affair from their families. What it told him was that she’d feared the note being intercepted and the consequence if it was. She asked him to meet her at six, at a crossroads. But what crossroads? He’d need to find out.

She was being kept against her will, watched and censored, if she must write the note in this brief code.

Pembroke’s words rang in his head. “
He kept her like a bird in a cage.
”

A few moments later, sitting before the writing desk, Robert’s fingers shook as he withdrew the cork from the bottle of ink and considered his response. A hundred words he’d left unsaid ran through his thoughts. The soft tip of the feather tapped against his chin, and his fingers gripped the nib in inactive preparation. Finally, he dipped the quill into the indigo ink and merely scratched
Agreed. R
on to the paper. Words had failed him. There was nothing he could express which would not give her away, and yet, there was so much to be said. It would have to wait. All of it.

~

The black stallion beneath Robert stepped sideways, pawing the ground impatiently, as restless with waiting as he was. Easing his grip on the reins, Robert sat back, aware his tight hold was probably transmitting his tension to the horse. He’d sent his carriage on ahead. His gaze turned from one lane to another. It was a quarter past six. Apparently, these were the only crossroads she could have meant.

A sharp breeze swept at the trees, rustling leaves. The sky above was blue. The morning sunshine bright, if not warm.

He looked along the lanes once more in each direction. Nothing. The horse puffed, whinnying and shaking out its neck.

Listening intently, Robert absorbed every sound. Several young rooks played on the breeze above, letting the air catch their wings, cawing merrily. Then he heard in the distance the thud of hooves on compact, moistened ground. More than one horse. Cautiously, he walked the stallion back to conceal himself in the trees. From there he listened to the riders approach, watching for his first glimpse. When they turned the bend, he felt his heart lurch into his throat. A woman and a man. The woman sat astride with her skirt drawn up, and her cloak flew loose behind her as she rode at pace, heedless of propriety.
It was Jane
with James.

Robert kicked his heels to the stallion’s flanks and rose into a trot. Relief flooded him with an intense pain.
He had her
. He was not a man to cry, but if he were … 

Heading in their direction, he watched her gallop towards him, low in the saddle.

She eased up as she drew nearer, rising and pulling her mount back into a canter. He could see her face. She was smiling a broad, excited smile. It struck him right in the heart. He smiled in answer as she slowed to a trot a few feet before him. God, she was a blessed sight. He stopped and sat back in his saddle.

She drew up her mare, and it danced about his impatient stallion, setting his beast sidestepping again.

“
Robert
,” was all she said, his name breathless on her lips.

It said so much more though. The same hundred words he’d not said in his note. He could hear everything he felt in her voice.

Despite the presence of his groom, Robert found himself reaching forward to touch her face. He had to touch her just to be sure it was not a dream. His fingers stroked over her cheek reverently then slipped to her nape and pulled her to him to receive his kiss.

James coughed behind her. “Huh hum, my Lord.”

Robert broke the kiss and smiled at her, then at his groom. “Yes, James?”

“My Lord, the horses may already be missed, and once they know they’re gone, they will look for Her Grace.”

“You’re right, James.” Robert looked at Jane and drank her in. Her ebony hair was swept back in a simple plate, her gown plain, yet she looked so beautiful. Her bright, shining, emerald eyes were the only jewels she needed. “Are you happy to ride on?”

She nodded. “Anything you say.”

“Come on then,” he responded, as though it was no more than one of the morning rides they’d shared frequently at Farnborough. “This way.” He turned the stallion.

“That way?” she echoed. “It goes south.”

“
Anything you say,
” indeed. He cocked one eyebrow at her failure to comply so soon. He’d thought it too submissive for Jane. She was clearly still not willing to trust him. “Exactly,” he answered. “Sutton will expect us to head for London or North, so we will go the opposite way.” His smile dared her to disagree.

She did not. Nodding, she kicked her heels and was off. In a moment, the three of them were at full tilt, setting as much distance as they could between Jane and her cage.

The brisk autumn breeze cooled Jane’s face and her bared stocking-clad legs which gripped the mare’s flanks. It caught at wisps of her hair, too, pulling it loose.

She hadn’t dared risk searching out her riding habit, too afraid of being seen. If anyone had seen her in it, they’d have guessed her intent. She’d never ridden there before.

As it was, she’d been terrified, creeping through the quiet house in the wake of the maid James had communicated to her through.

Over the last weeks, in the dark hours of night, she’d longed for Robert and regretted leaving him, even though she’d known it was right to protect him. But when she’d discovered he’d sent his groom, her heart had leapt in her chest, and she’d forgotten everything but being with Robert. She’d not stopped to weigh the decision. She’d merely grasped the chance. Now, she was here, riding beside Robert, free. But she was not. She never would be. Joshua would never really let her go, he’d find some way to force her back by threat or foul play.

Robert was pale. He’d lost weight, too. He looked at her, reached across, and clasped her hand over the reins. The gesture moved her, and she felt tears glaze her eyes. His grip eased their pace to a canter. “We should get rid of these horses.”

Robert let go her hand and pulled to a halt. So did she and his groom.

“You must take the horses back to the inn, James, and ask them to run them up to the house. Make sure they don’t see the direction you leave in. We’ll meet you at The Fox Inn as planned.

“Jane, sweetheart.” Robert’s eyes were back on her, rich brown and tender. “Slide over to my saddle. I’ll not have you hung for a horse thief when I’ve gone to so much trouble to save you.”

Their animals drawn together, she dropped her reins and reached for his shoulders as his hands gripped her waist. His strength pulled her over to his saddle.

Her bottom rested on his thigh and she laid her cheek onto his shoulder.

“James.” She felt the deep rumble of Robert’s voice in his chest.

“Aye, my Lord,” the man acknowledged, catching up her mare’s reins. Then wheeling both horses about with a nod and smile to her, the groom rode off.

Robert gripped her waist and held her closer. Jane looked up. “
Robert
.” Their lips touched again, as they shared a lingering kiss, which was about love, not lust. Her heart ached when she broke it and whispered, “I missed you.”

“Did he touch you?” was his answer as his brown eyes flashed anger.

She shook her head. Not as he meant. Not yet.

“You shouldn’t have gone to him.”

She held his gaze for a moment, but said nothing. Then she let go of him and shifted in the saddle to sit astride before him, hitching up the skirt of her plain grey walking dress to enable it. Her bottom rested against his thighs and groin.

“I didn’t go to him,” she said at last, her fingers gripping the pommel as she looked ahead.

“Well then, I wish you had not left me.” His words were caustic. It jolted a pain in her that brought tears to her eyes. She was glad he couldn’t see.

He kicked the horse into a walk, rocking his hips forward to encourage it.

“I had to leave you; I didn’t want to involve you,” she said to the road ahead.

His reins still in one hand, he splayed his other hand over her stomach and pulled her back against him firmly. The touch was gentle and protective. His heels kicked again and set the stallion into a trot. “And now I am involved anyway. How could you think I’d want you to give yourself up to protect me?” Jane moved to turn, but couldn’t. “Yes, I worked it out in the end. It doesn’t make me feel particularly proud knowing you think I can’t protect myself or you from Sutton, Jane.” His voice dropped to a low, cracking note. “It hits my pride. I
will
protect you.” His fingers pressed against her stomach, and his breath stirred the escaped curls at her temple.