Jenny laughed. “Very well. What shall we talk about?”
“You.”
“Oh, no. We talked about me last night—today it’s your turn.”
He grinned ruefully. “What would you like to know?”
“You were in Spain with Wellesley, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “For a year or so. I was wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo and sent home. My mother insisted that I stay—since I am the last of the Wares.”
“She was right.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “But I’d like to go back.”
Jenny shook her head slowly. “I hate war.”
He studied her intently. “Why? I mean aside from the fact that it’s a bloody, unpleasant business.”
“Because,” she replied quietly, “war turns men into traitors.”
“You’re too intelligent to believe that,” he said gently. “Traitors are born, not made. War simply brings their innate tendencies to light.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” She sighed and tried to throw off her feeling of depression. “It’s too beautiful a day to talk of war and traitors.” She smiled at him. “I thought we were going to challenge convention.”
“So we were.” He grinned at her. “Shall we startle all of London by galloping through the park?”
By way of answering him, she pointed her whip at a stand of trees at the other end of the park. “Race you!” she cried and was off.
Pedestrians were treated to a startling sight as two horses came thundering through the park. First came a magnificent young woman on a gray and, just behind her, the Duke of Spencer on his chestnut.
Jenny arrived at the stand of trees first, and pulled her horse to a stop. With a breathless laugh, she said, “There! I won!”
The duke laughed. “I demand a rematch; you caught me by surprise.”
“Nonsense!” She smiled brilliantly. “You just won’t admit to defeat, that’s all.”
“Well of course not. We dukes never admit to defeat, you know.” There was a teasing glint in his eyes.
She laughed. “Ah—the truth will out. You depend on your consequence to pull you through.”
“Blast my consequence!” He burst out laughing. “Miss Courtenay—no, that will never do. May I call you Jenny?”
“Please do.” She smiled at him.
“Jenny, I assure you that dukes are no different from anyone else.”
“Of course not. It’s natural for people to be referred to as ‘Your Grace.’”
“Which reminds me—” He smiled at her, his eyes serious. “Please call me Nick.”
She nodded. “If you wish.”
“I do.”
“Very well then—Nick.” She nodded toward the carriageway. “Lady Jersey has been trying to attract your attention for the past five minutes. Don’t you think perhaps you’d better go over and talk to her? Or aren’t dukes obliged to be polite?”
“Jenny! Will you please stop throwing my title in my face.”
She smiled mischievously. “But, Nick, it’s such fun to see your expression when I do.”
He sighed. “Let us go over and talk to Lady Jersey.”
When the couple approached Lady Jersey’s barouche, she was greatly encouraged to see that they appeared to be on excellent terms. In fact, the duke had a definite gleam in his eye, and Miss Courtenay seemed highly amused.
With a laugh in her voice, Lady Jersey said, “Galloping in the park. Really, Nick, you should know better. And at your age, too.”
“Rules were made to be broken, Sally.”
Lady Jersey laughed and turned to smile at Jenny. “Miss Courtenay—I wanted to make sure you are planning to attend my little party this evening.”
Jenny smiled and nodded. “I am looking forward to it, my lady.”
“Good.” She lifted an eyebrow at Spencer. “Nick, are you coming?”
He bowed. “If I may.”
“You may. I’ll see both of you tonight, then. And no more galloping.” She signaled her coachman, and the carriage moved on.
Jenny watched as Lady Jersey’s barouche moved sedately along the carriageway, and then smiled at the duke. “After that scold, we dare not gallop again. Shall we content ourselves with a gentle canter?”
Spencer chuckled. “After my crushing defeat, I would not have dared to gallop even without the scold. Let us, by all means, canter.”
The two horses broke into an easy canter, and Spencer barely had time to note that Jenny’s expression was suspiciously demure before she was off again. The gray went from an easy canter to a dead run in nothing flat, and the duke was hard-pressed to keep pace.
By the time he did catch up, the gray was walking calmly, and Jenny wore an expression of angelic innocence.
With all the air of one making a great discovery, Spencer said, “I have just learned an important lesson.”
“Indeed? And what might that be?”
“I have learned never to tell you not to do something.”
Jenny began to laugh. “No, have you really? Well, I expect that it does you good to learn something occasionally.”
“I have also learned,” he went on rather quizzically, “that you appear to favor Rivenhall.”
She looked startled. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“A little bird whispered in my ear.”
“I wonder why the bird thought you would be interested?” Before he could respond, she went on rather dryly, “I have never been overly fond of fortune hunters.”
His mind relieved of one care at least, the duke immediately latched on to her murmured question. “What makes you think that I would not be interested?”
With an unconsciously wistful expression, Jenny answered, “You are interested in the novelty of a lady thief—nothing more.”
Spencer at once set out to prove to her that he was interested only in the young lady in his company—and he succeeded very well. So well, in fact, that word flew round London within the hour that the elusive Duke of Spencer had tumbled head over heels in love.
Jenny, weary of the secrecy and tensions of the past year, gave herself up to the pleasure of the duke’s company. The future would take care of itself; for the present, she was happy.
At least two pairs of watching eyes in the park that day were singularly uninterested in the romance, however. Those eyes belonged to two men who were rather shabbily dressed and sported bright red waistcoats. They had kept Jenny and the duke under close observation, and now stood with their heads together.
The taller of the two, who had a ruddy face and penetrating blue eyes, nodded toward the opposite side of the park—and Jenny. “That’s ’er all right,” he pronounced in a grating voice.
The shorter man grunted something which was apparently intelligible to his companion.
Impatiently, the taller responded, “Well, she fits the description. Small, with black hair an’ queer yaller eyes.”
The second man grunted again.
“I know it don’t make sense. I ask you, Sam—why would a pretty little thing like ’er take to thievin’? It ain’t like she needs the money. From all accounts, she’s got plenty o’ brass.”
The next grunt contained a questioning note.
“Well, I don’t like it anymore than you do, Sam. But it’s our dooty to ask ’er some questions. The orders come from the Chief Magistrate, y’know.” He went on in a confiding tone. “I don’t mind tellin’ you, Sam—I ain’t got much likin’ for this assignment. It’s a bad thing to go accusin’ a member of the Quality. ’Specially when that Quality is a lady.”
He gave his head a shake and gazed toward the riders. “An’ would you look who she’s ridin’ with. The Duke of Spencer. Now wouldn’t it be a pretty kettle o’ fish if he got up in the boughs over the whole thing. You an’ me could find ourselves on the first ship bound for the colonies.”
Another grunt from Sam.
“No, o’ course it weren’t him informed against her. It were her own Pa. Now that just go
es to show, don’t it? ’Er own Pa! I tell you, Sam, the Quality is queer as Dick’s hatband—ever’ one of ’em.”
Another grunt.
“Why does ’e think she’s the Cat? Said ’e saw ’er sneakin’ out ’er window late at night dressed like a man. ’Course that don’t prove nothin’. She coulda been sneakin’ out to meet ’er sweetheart—an’ Lord knows it ’ud be easier to climb down a tree in breeches ’stead o’ skirts.”
The next grunt was more of a growl.
“No, we ain’t got any proof. Whoever the Cat is, she don’t keep that black stallion of ’ers in Lunnon. If we could just find that damned ’orse. There ain’t another ’orse like that in England.”
Another grunt.
“Well, o’ course it’s important. That ’orse could point the way to the Cat sure as I’m standing in’ here. And there ain’t even a smell of a black ’orse in Lady Beddington’s stables. ’Sides the carriage ’orses, there’s just three of ’em—Miss Courtenay’s two, the little mare an’ that gray she’s ridin’ now, an’ Miss Ross’ bay.”
He sighed gustily. “An’ when you ask somebody if they seen a black stallion, they look at you like you just growed a extra head. You know, Sam, sometimes I get the feelin’ the Quality don’t want us to catch the Cat. It don’t seem to bother ’em at all that she stealin’ their brass.”
A rather impatient grunt.
“All right, all right. You don’t have to get snippy. We’ll talk to ’er—but we’ll wait ’til the duke takes ’er ’ome. We don’t need ’im around when we question Miss Courtenay.”
Sam grunted.
Chapter Thirteen
Jenny stood in the hallway, slowly removing her gloves. Her face was expressionless, her golden eyes thoughtful. She was thinking of the past hour, and as she remembered the duke’s teasing, her lips curved in a smile. It was some time before she became aware of the butler’s presence by her side.
Hastily wiping the smile from her face, Jenny turned to the servant. “What is it, Somers?”
Somers inclined his head slightly. “You have a visitor, Miss Jenny. He called while you were out and, upon hearing that you had gone riding, elected to wait here until your return.”
Jenny tilted her head thoughtfully to one side as she studied the butler. To anyone unacquainted with the ways of servants, Somers’s voice would have seemed perfectly expressionless. Jenny knew better. It was obvious that the butler’s dignity had been sorely tried by the persistence of the “visitor.”
Jenny smiled faintly. “He refused to leave his card?”
Somers stared expressionlessly into space. “I suggested that he do so, Miss Jenny, but he appeared determined to remain here.”
She sighed. “Lord Stoven.”
The butler nodded. “In the Green Room, miss.”
Jenny lifted a wry eyebrow and said, “Pray inform Lord Stoven that I will be with him as soon as I have changed.”
Somers nodded. “Of course, Miss Jenny.”
She made her way to her room, a crease of irritation between her brows. Damn the man! Could he not take no for an answer? She was not looking forward to this interview. She changed quickly, scorning the assistance of her maid. Minutes later, she was quietly entering the Green Room.
Stoven was standing by the window. He turned quickly when he heard the door open. Immediately, he moved toward Jenny, his hand outstretched. “My dear Jenny—how lovely you look today.”
Jenny allowed him to take her hand, but her voice was cool and formal when she said, “Lord Stoven. How good of you to pay us a visit.” She suppressed a shudder as his cold lips touched her hand. As soon as she could, she withdrew it from his grasp and moved to seat herself on the settee. “Please, sit down.”
He took a seat close beside Jenny. She swore silently for not having had the forethought to sit in the chair by the window. It was too late now. The earl’s small eyes were roving over her, a hungry expression in their depths. His hand reached for hers.
Jenny tried to evade him, but was a fraction of a second too slow. His sweaty hand closed over hers. She attempted to pull away from his grasp, but there was an unexpected amount of strength in his pudgy grip. “My lord,” she said coldly, “will you please have the goodness to unhand me immediately.”
Stoven smiled slyly. “Now, love, we both know why you came to London. You wanted to get away from Sir George. I understand that—I know that you had to get away from him. So as soon as I could, I followed you here.”
Jenny’s eyes glittered with fury. “Sir! I have not given you permission to address me in such terms, nor have I ever given you reason to suppose that your suit would prosper.” She jerked her hand away and rose to her feet.
Stoven rose also, his face darkening with anger. “Don’t be a fool, Jenny! The matter was settled between your stepfather and myself long ago. We will be married in the summer.”
She drew herself up, her face hardening. “I will never marry you,” she said flatly.
The earl’s face twisted in a soundless snarl. Before Jenny could move, he caught both of her wrists in a painfully tight grip. A leering smile made his face even uglier than usual. “You’ll marry me, pet—even if I have to force you into it.”
“Why?” Jenny’s voice was calm, in spite of the fact that her stomach was twisting itself into knots. “You certainly don’t need the money.”
“Because I love you.” The leering smile remained. “And because you are a very desirable young woman. I want you, Jenny. And I intend to have you.”
She shook her head. “You won’t ever possess me, my lord.”
The earl’s eyes contained an evil glint. “Don’t count on it, pet!” Without warning, he jerked her hard against his body, holding her wrists pinned at the small of her back. “I could take you here—now. You’d have to marry me then.”
Jenny felt sick to her stomach. Goose bumps of fear rose over her body. But, during the past year, she had learned to depend on her own resourcefulness whenever danger threatened.
In a coldly mocking voice she said, “Your threats mean nothing to me, sir.” At the same instant, her right heel came down sharply on the earl’s toe, and her left knee jerked up with deadly accuracy.
They were standing so close together that Stoven had no way to protect himself. He doubled over, groaning in agony, and Jenny was free. She quickly moved to the fireplace and stood with one hand on the bellrope. Her voice still cold, she said, “A friend of mine taught me that trick. He said that it would come in handy if I were ever to be attacked.” She smiled. “He was right.”
By this time, Stoven had collapsed in a groaning heap on the settee. “You little bitch! You’ve killed me!” His voice was hoarse and full of pain.
“Hardly.” There was no trace of sympathy or remorse in her voice. “I merely gave you—I hope—something to think about. I trust that you will remember this interview should you ever decide to lay a hand on me again.”
Pale and shaking, Stoven managed to get to his feet. His small eyes were filled with rage. “You’ll pay for this!”
“I think not.” Jenny pulled the bellrope. “You will leave this house immediately. You will not return. Should you ever decide to try your luck with me again, you will find yourself in far worse case than you are now.”
A sneer twisted Stoven’s face. “You won’t catch me off guard twice, I promise you. Next time I’ll be ready for you.”
Jenny smiled gently. “If there is a next time—which I strongly doubt—your heir will be thanking the Fates for his good fortune. Because you will be very dead.”
The earl stiffened and managed to go a shade more pale. “You couldn’t kill a man.”
“Of course not. But there are men available who will do almost anything—for a price. I suggest you remember that, my lord.”
Before Stoven could respond, the door opened and Somers stepped inside. His alert eyes flicked over the earl’s pained expression and mussed clothing, but he made no comment, merely looking inq
uiringly at Jenny.
She nodded toward the earl. “Show Lord Stoven out, Somers.”
The butler nodded. “If your lordship will follow me?”
The earl cast a fulminating glare at Jenny’s calm face, and stomped angrily from the room.
Jenny watched the door close behind them, then lifted a shaking hand to her face. She suddenly became aware that she had made a dangerous enemy for herself. Stoven wanted her. Jenny had a sick feeling that the earl would do almost anything to possess her.
She moved slowly to the settee, and sank down on it, trying to slow the frightened pounding of her heart. The look in Stoven’s eyes terrified her. She had seen desire in men’s eyes before—but nothing like the all-consuming hunger that glowed in the earl’s eyes whenever he looked at her.
Jenny sat very still on the settee and gazed sightlessly into the cold fireplace. The only thing she could do was to stay out of Stoven’s way. It wouldn’t be easy, since he was likely to attend the same social affairs that she did.
Jenny frowned slightly. It would cause comment if she refused to stand up with him in public, but she had no intention of talking to him—much less dancing with him.
She was still frowning when the door opened to admit the butler. He waited until Jenny looked up before asking quietly, “If Lord Stoven should call again, Miss Jenny?”
Jenny stared at the servant’s expressionless eyes for a long moment before saying quietly, “I am not at home to Lord Stoven, Somers. No matter what the reason for calling, I am not at home.”
The butler nodded in understanding, started to withdraw from the room, and then paused. His keen eyes were fixed on Jenny’s face. “Miss, are you all right?”
She smiled in answer to the worried query. “I’m fine, Somers. I can take care of myself.”
“I had that impression, Miss Jenny. If you will allow me to say so, you appear well able to deal with any—problems.” Before she could respond, he went on quietly, “There is a gentleman to see you, miss. A Mr. Robert Collins.”
Jenny frowned slightly. Irritably she wondered why trouble always came in bunches, and why Robert had ignored her advice by coming to London. “Send him in, Somers.”