“Yes, but.” She stopped, not wanting to complain.

“Yes, but what?”

“Is there any way we could get some clothes for me? And perhaps something to eat?”

He looked amused, some of the grimness fading from his eyes. “It’ll be seen to.” He paused. “I can have you safely back at your parents’ house in the countryside if you wish it. You don’t have to stay with me. I promise I won’t let your former fiancé anywhere near you.” His lip curled in contempt.

He was looking for a way to get rid of her, she thought, her heart dropping. “You don’t have to take me anywhere,” she said, doing a creditable job of sounding unmoved. “I can find a hackney back to my house—by now Mr. Bothwell will have removed himself and I can simply leave orders that he’s not to be admitted. You don’t need to feel you have any responsibility for me. I’m certain there are a great many things you’d rather do than …”

He put one foot on the step, vaulted up and leaned into the dark carriage interior, and she let out a little squeak of nervousness. One that was swallowed by his mouth, closing over hers as he slid one big hand behind her neck, holding her there.

It was a brief, thorough kiss, and when he pulled back she simply sat there, dazed. “There’s nothing I’d rather do. And you needn’t worry I’ll be all over you. I’ll be taking you to Ripton Waters, all right and tight, and leave the rules up to you. But you’ll be treated like a lady. I just wanted to make my point.”

She was still stunned by his kiss, but she tried to gather some of her shattered intellect. “Ripton Waters? Is that where they are?”

He nodded. “In the Lake District. So it’ll take us two days to get there if we push hard, maybe three. But I’m game if you are, lass.”

She had no reason why she adored it when he called her “lass,” but it made her stomach warm and her heart smile. “I’m game,” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

He grinned at her, that same, cheerful, slightly wicked grin. “No trouble at all, Miss Jane.”

Lucien ate dinner in solitary splendor in the dining room. It was damnably clean, and he’d been right. There were flowers, vases and vases of fresh daffodils, and he could only be glad the greenhouses were in disrepair, or she’d have even worse throughout the house. The daffodils were bad enough, their sunny yellow at war with his mood. He was tempted to take his cane and smash all the vases, but resisted the impulse. He was feeling guilty, and it was making him childish and petulant, and he wanted Miranda to come downstairs with her sunny smile and bait him once more.

But she didn’t. He didn’t see her until the next day, when she sailed into his study wearing a gown of cherry sarcenet with paler trim and he immediately wondered how difficult it would be to get her out of that particular gown. And which dark place he could take her.

“Good morning, Lucien,” she said in that mock-cheerful voice. “My, my, you do tend to immure yourself in your study, do you not?”

“I find it soothing.” He ran his eyes over her. “Don’t you?”

She glanced around her. “I find it gloomy. We could paint it a charming shade of.”

“Touch this and I’ll beat you.”

“Empty threats, my dear,” she said, sinking into the chair. “I wanted to find out more about the visit you mentioned. What clothes will I need to bring with me? You were more than generous with my wardrobe, and I’m certain I have everything I need, but Bridget will want to know what to bring ahead of time. Will anyone I know be attending?”

“So many questions!” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll answer them in order. Clothes are of little importance at our little gatherings. I’ve ordered something suitable from a dressmaker who specializes in such things.”

“A different dressmaker?” she said, her voice faltering. Then she smiled. “Oh, lovely! More new clothes! You really are the most thoughtful of lovers!”

“I’m happy to have pleased you, my love. And whether you know any of the other guests or not, I should most sincerely doubt it.”

“You forget, I’ve been on the town for a number of years, and I’ve met a great many people.”

“Not these. Even a soiled dove such as Lady Miranda Rohan would be warned against these particular men.”

“Only men are at this party?” she asked with a barely audible gulp. “Is it a gaming party?”

“Some will bring mistresses. Some will even bring sisters and wives if they’re particularly perverse. For the most part, though, Long Molly will send a dozen of her finest ladybirds up to entertain them.”

“I am to assume you mean whores?”

“Who else to entertain the Heavenly Host?”

She didn’t flinch, he had to grant her that. But then, she was an intelligent woman, perhaps a bit too intelligent. She had probably figured that much out already.

“And we are to be married in front of this particular group of your friends?” she said in a tranquil voice. “Not that I object—they sound perfectly delightful. But don’t weddings have to be held in churches in order to be legal?”

“You’re talking about matches made in heaven, my love. Or at least, in drawing rooms. Our match was made in hell, and the ceremony planned will reflect that. With appropriate revelry afterward.” He was watching her closely, looking for a reaction. “An absolute orgy of rejoicing.”

She didn’t fail to understand him. Her smile remained firmly in place, but she rose, her body graceful, and he remembered the feel of her beneath him. He’d only taken her in the dark and now wondered what color her nipples were, dark or light? And her triangle of hair—did it match the rich brown of her head or was it darker, lighter? The problem with keeping to the dark was that in ensuring she couldn’t see his scars, in return he couldn’t see her. And he wanted to.

He would when the Host convened. He and everyone else would see a great deal of her, and he refused to feel guilty about it. If she objected he would send her safely back to her room, defeated.

But she wouldn’t object. She wouldn’t cry off. And he was looking forward to it.

“And when may I look forward to this exceptional treat?” she inquired in a dulcet voice.

“We’ll leave tomorrow. It’s not a long drive—not more than a few hours. We’ll leave in the afternoon.”

She had her share of courage, he could grant her that. “I imagine you have a very great many things to do, having been gone so long. Shall I see you for dinner?”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, watching her closely for signs of distress. There were none. “Good morning, my love.”

He sat very still when he was alone once more, staring at her empty chair, abstracted. He was feeling oddly melancholy. It was most likely the advent of spring. He always tended to brood when spring arrived, though he’d been unable to understand why. Perhaps it was simply his determinedly evil disposition. Sunshine was no good for a villain. He was much more disposed to darkness and shadows.

He laughed. Now he was acting like an adolescent, like that ass Byron she’d compared him to. Posturing and moping. Things were moving along quite well, and he had no reason to brood. For all Miranda’s resourcefulness, all he had to do to silence her was to take her to bed. In truth, things were coming together just as he planned. The bizarre ceremony was in place, and once the revels were over he would bring her before a priest in a church and finish it off legally, just to close her last avenue of escape. And let the Rohans suffer. The only drawback was that the grandsons of Francis and the sons of Adrian Rohan didn’t partake of the Heavenly Host. It would have been perfect if they were in attendance when their sister was brought in.

Then again, they’d probably stop things. No, this way they’d hear about it once it was fait accompli, and they would suffer.

He simply wondered why he wasn’t feeling more pleased about the whole thing.

* * *

A light rain began to fall on the carriage roof, and the day was growing darker. Jane reached for the heavy shawl, huddling under it. She’d forgotten her pelisse in her precipitous flight, forgotten everything when he’d held out his hand to her.

She’d simply put her hand in his and gone, without a backward glance. She hadn’t even stopped to consider whether Mr. Bothwell might be dead. If he was, then Jacob was in grave trouble, and the sooner they got out of London the better. Even so, striking a gentleman of Mr. Bothwell’s stature was a highly dangerous thing to do as well, and he could have the Bow Street Runners out after them. Mr. Bothwell was the kind of man who would hound a person, and she couldn’t bear to think of her jewel thief endangering himself for her sake. The longer it took him the more nervous she became, at one point opening the carriage door to go look for him.

A bad idea. She’d had the shades pulled down on the carriage, but the sight of the area was shocking. The filth, the poverty, the sheer number of people milling around. A huge man appeared at her door immediately, and while he didn’t look particularly savory his smile was quite sweet, despite the number of teeth missing.

“You’ll need to stay in the carriage, miss. The king says that no one’s to go near you and you’re not to set foot outside. Too dangerous for the likes of you, if I do say so myself. There are some bad people around here.”

“And you’re one of them, Neddie,” a woman’s cheerful voice came through, and Jane looked behind the man to see a pretty woman standing in the rain, a basket on her arm. “I’ve brought food for her.”

“The King said no one was allowed in.”

“Do you really think he was worried about me?” she woman countered, pushing past him. “The girl’s bored and hungry, aren’t you, miss? I’ve brought you food.”

Neddie wasn’t looking any too happy with this, but he decided not to argue. He moved out of the way, and the woman climbed up into the carriage. “You call me if you feel the need, miss. I’ll be right here.”