Author: Anne Stuart

“Where is he?” He couldn’t remember the servant’s name, but it hardly mattered.

“He’s in the green drawing room, my lord. He said to tell you his name is—”

“I know what his name is. Tell him I’ll be with him in a few moments.” And he went back inside his room to find his pistol.

Christopher St. John had changed very little in the last years. He was still a handsome man, if one didn’t notice the weak chin, now slightly softer than before with the hint of a second one beneath it. His clothes were the sort that looked expensive at a casual glance but were made of poorer quality fabrics and inferior tailoring. He’d fallen on hard times, which pleased Lucien.

What didn’t please him was the fact St. John no longer seemed terrified of him. Perhaps he needed Leopold’s stern presence to keep him in line. He gave St. John his calm, icy smile. “Don’t rise,” he murmured as he came in the room, leaning more heavily on his cane than he needed to. “What a delight to see you, old friend. Though I’m afraid I was under the misapprehension that you were to stay out of England. In fact, I thought I paid you a very great deal of money never to return. But perhaps I’m mistaken.”

“Money runs out, Rochdale,” he said with a faint sneer. “I find I’m in need of more. Which I’m certain you’ll be more than happy to provide, given that you’ve taken that piece of crumpet for your own.”

“Blackmail?”

Oh, let’s not call it blackmail, old man,” he said. “Call it insurance. You don’t want her to know you paid for me to kidnap and deflower her and I’m more than happy to be discreet. I just require a little loan.”

He could shoot him, Lucien thought dreamily. He’d derive great pleasure from it, but the sound would alert Miranda, and that was the last thing he could afford. “And just how great a loan are we talking about, dear boy?”

St. John eyed him carefully. He would want to come up with the perfect number, Lucien thought. Too little and he’d appear a fool, too much and Lucien would balk.

“Let me make this easier for you,” Lucien purred. “I would think five thousand pounds would keep you out of England and living quite well for the rest of your life.” He didn’t for one moment believe that. St. John would be back within the year, wanting more. He was a man with expensive tastes.

St. John looked torn. On the one hand that was clearly more than he’d been planning to ask for, on the other, if that was the offer then more was always possible.

“I suggest you take it,” Lucien said gently. “Before I change my mind and put a bullet in you.”

“You wouldn’t do that. How would you explain me to your lady?”

“With great difficulty, I have no doubt. However, do you really think I wouldn’t be able to bend her to my will?”

St. John was looking uncertain. Fear was beginning to gather in his shallow eyes once more, and Lucien knew he’d won. At least for now.

St. John tried bluster. “Well, there’s no guarantee of that, now is there, my lord? And I’m thinking …”

“I’m thinking you should stop thinking, take it and be gone, before I change my mind.”

“And you’re going to tell me you have five thousand quid in cash just sitting around?”

“In fact, I do. Small change, my boy.” He tossed the small satchel at him, and St. John fumbled for a moment, then clung tightly.

He rose, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “Pleasure doing business with you, my lord,” he said with a final show of bravado.

“I don’t think so,” Lucien said gently.

St. John fled.

28

Jacob awoke, wrapped in Jane’s sweet arms, and groaned. He wanted to lie in bed with his darling girl, kiss her into arousal, take her again, very gently given that he’d already had her twice and she was doubtless tender, but he couldn’t resist. Except some bloody idiot in the taproom below thought normal conversation was carried on in a modified bellow, and there was no way he could woo his beloved with those voices echoing through the small inn.

Her eyes opened sleepily, and he smiled down at her. “Go back to sleep, love,” he said softly, kissing her eyelids. “I’ll see about some tea and breakfast for you.”

“And a bath?” she murmured sleepily. “Or is that too much to ask for?”

“Nothing’s too much to ask for, my girl,” he said. If the innkeeper didn’t have the means to provide a hip bath for his patrons he’d scour the neighborhood until he found one.

Fortunately it didn’t have to come to that. The host most certainly did have a hip bath, and it wouldn’t take above ten minutes to get it up to the young miss, full of hot water.

Satisfied his job was momentarily done, he headed into the taproom and a morning mug of ale.

There were three young men there, toffs by the look of them. Old money, old blood—he knew the type well. He’d need to warn Jane to stay out of sight, just in case she knew these three young bucks, but the chances of that were so slim he stayed put.

The moment he entered the room they lowered their booming voices, talking amongst themselves like conspirators, and he smothered a snort of disgust. The fools didn’t realize their voices carried throughout the inn, or they would have kept their bloody voices down earlier and let him enjoy his first morning in bed with his heart’s love.

“We’d best be going,” the oldest of the three said, and he realized they must be brothers. Not so much by the look of them, though there was some similarity, but they way they held themselves. “But remember, if this is to be a killing matter then it’s on my head as the eldest. The grudge is against me, and it’s my responsibility to deal with it.”

Shit, Jacob thought, taking another lazy drink of ale. If they thought someone needed to be killed it was doubtless Scorpion—he had only to meet people to turn them murderous. The question was, how was he going to distract them without compromising his time with Jane.

“She was mad, Benedick,” the youngest one said. “She threatened you with a gun. She said she was going to kill our parents—you could scarcely be expected to marry a madwoman.”

“I should have seen to her, Charles. At least made certain she was no danger to herself and others. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Damn it all to hell. Apparently his Jane wasn’t the only one bent on rescue. These could only be Lucien’s future brothers-in-law, and future family gatherings were not looking promising.

He was just trying to decide what to do when Jane came down the stairs, looking rumpled and decidedly well-tupped.

“Good God, Jane, what are you doing here?” The youngest of the three who addressed his Jane, his Jane, in a peremptory manner was running a very great risk, until Jane put a calming hand on his arm. He didn’t like that much better but he bided his time, rather than rip the lad’s arm off.

“I imagine the same thing you are, Brandon,” she replied calmly. “Trying to save your sister. Hullo, Benedick, Charles.”

The other two were staring at her in disbelief. The eldest one pulled himself together. “Surely you’re not out here alone, Janey?” he said, his voice a rumble of disapproval, and Jacob’s irritation spilled into possessive rage. Who was he to call Jane, his Jane, Janey? And to set himself up as protector? He heard a soft, growling noise and realized, to his astonishment, that it had come from his own throat as he pushed away from the bar.

But Jane, his Jane, smiled at him, her dear, sweet face mischievous. “I’m very well taken care of indeed. My dear Benedick, allow me to introduce you to my fiancé, Mr. Jacob Donnelly. Mr. Donnelly, these are Miranda’s brothers and my childhood friends. Benedick, Charles and Brandon Rohan.”

There was a dead silence as the three surveyed him, knowing from one glance that he wasn’t of their world. Finally the youngest spoke. “Your fiancé, Jane? That’s not Mr. Bore-well!”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Jane said in a tranquil voice.

“Well, thank God for that,” the young one said. “Your servant, Mr. Donnelly.”

“King Donnelly?” the eldest, Benedick, inquired in an icy voice.

“The same.” Was he going to have to fight these three? Well, at least two of them. The youngest was looking at him with approval.

Lord Benedick was glaring at him. “And why, may I ask …?”

“No, you may not ask,” Jane said with more courage than he’d heard from her before. “We may have grown up like brother and sister but my marriage is none of your business.”

“I thought you said you were only engaged.”

“That won’t be for long,” Jacob said quietly. “Do you want to make something of it?”

Benedick appeared more than ready to, when Jane once more intervened. “Stop it, you two. I’m not some bone for you two to fight over. We need to be rescuing Miranda, not arguing. At least, I presume that’s why you’re here.”

“Lord, Janey, why else would we be at the back end of nowhere?” the middle one demanded, and Jacob decided he really didn’t like strange men, even if they’d grown up with her, calling her Janey. “It’s been more than ten days since she was taken, and I don’t know how long the family can keep it quiet.”

“There’s no need for you all to go racing up to Ripton Waters,” Jacob said in a calm voice. “Jane and I were headed there ourselves. But I don’t think we’re going to be needed. I expect they’ll be happily married by now and not wanting their honeymoon interrupted.”

Benedick Rohan cast him a long, speculative look. “Ripton Waters, is it? And how do we get there?”

“Oh, Christ,” his Janey said. “Jacob is right. And I don’t imagine Miranda wants you three great loobies bursting in on them. We could send word …”