Chapter 14
Alistair kept pace beside Jane, every step on the gravel path sounding heavier than the last. He had faced battlefields, ambushes, and the certainty of death without flinching, yet here—alone with her—he could scarcely summon the courage to speak.
He did not want her to marry Lord Whitehill.
The very notion set something sharp and hollow gnawing inside his chest. And yet…
it was for the best. She would be safe, cherished, secure.
Not his, but alive. Why did the thought of her belonging to another man feel like a blade twisting in his ribs?
Her voice cut through his torment, soft yet perceptive. “What troubles you?”
He startled slightly, then gave her the plain truth. “Everything. I was attacked again last night. In my own home.”
Her breath caught. “I am sorry, Alistair. I am glad you are all right.”
Jane’s genuine concern warmed him, but it only strengthened his resolve.
He could not keep her in the dark. She deserved the truth, even if it would drive her further from him.
“The man who is trying to kill me is Jules Leclerc,” he confessed, the name sour on his tongue.
“A dangerous smuggler. He will not stop until I am dead.”
She stopped short, turning to him with alarm. “What are you going to do?”
“I am going to stay and face him,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug that belied the storm inside him. “I will not run.” His throat tightened, for this was the part he dreaded most. “But, Jane… I found something far worse last night.”
“Which was?” she asked, her brows drawing together.
His mouth felt dry. “I believe you are his next target.”
She paled. “Why—why do you believe such a thing?”
“I found your address on a note in my attacker’s pocket,” he admitted.
She shook her head in bewilderment. “But I have done nothing wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said grimly. “You are associated with me. That is enough.” He forced himself onward, though every word cost him. “There is a way to protect you. You could marry.”
“And who do you suppose I should marry?” she asked, her words wary.
“Lord Whitehill.” He pressed on before his resolve broke. “I spoke with him, and he is willing. His wife recently passed away during childbirth—”
But Jane didn’t wait to hear him out. She turned sharply and strode back towards the townhouse.
“Jane! Wait!” he called, lengthening his stride.
“No,” she threw back.
He hurried until he was before her, walking backward, desperation rising in him. “Just hear me out.”
“Why should I? You ask me to sacrifice myself to a loveless arrangement. Are you mad?”
“Whitehill is honorable,” he argued. “I served with him. He would keep you safe.”
“I am safe here.”
“No, you aren’t,” he insisted. “The man who attacked me last night was disguised as one of my own footmen. If my valet had not intervened, I would be dead.”
She faltered, her chest heaving, and her eyes still blazing with anger. “I am sorry that happened, truly, but that is no reason for me to marry a stranger.”
“He is a good man. He loved his wife. In time, you could—”
“Stop saying foolish things,” she snapped, brushing past him.
His heart twisted. “Jane, I am trying to help you.”
“Help?” she asked, letting out a dry laugh. “You want me to do precisely what I fled from before.”
“Whitehill is nothing like the Duke of Brackenford,” Alistair protested.
“I do not care!”
He caught her arm, gentling his hold, turning her towards him. “Jane, please. I cannot bear the thought of harm coming to you.”
Something in her expression softened at his plea. Yet her answer remained firm. “I know you mean well. But I will not marry Lord Whitehill. My aunt will hire more guards.”
“That is not enough!” The words tore from him. Before he could think better of it, he blurted, “Marry me, then.”
She froze. “Pardon?”
“If we wed, I could keep you safe. I would send you to my country estate in Sussex, guarded day and night. You would be beyond his reach.”
Her gaze searched his. “And you would not come with me?”
“No. You must be far from me. It is me who he wants. I could not endure the thought of you caught in his net.”
Her eyes softened again, but this time with a sorrow that pierced him. “I will not marry you either, Alistair. But I do… appreciate the offer.”
“Why not?” His voice cracked despite himself. “It is the perfect solution.”
“For you, perhaps. Not for me.” She drew herself up, her tone resolute. “I want to marry for love. Did you not tell me once that I deserved that?”
His heart clenched. “You do, but—”
“No,” she said, speaking over him. “This is not safety. This is duty dressed up as kindness. Do you even want to marry me?”
He reached for her hand, desperate. “Yes,” he burst out. “Because I want to keep you safe.”
For an instant, something flickered in her eyes—disappointment, perhaps?—before it vanished behind resolve. “That is not enough reason to wed.”
“We get along, don’t we?” he tried.
She squeezed his hand, her gentleness undoing him further. “We do. You are a good man, Alistair. One of the best I know. But I will not chain myself—or you—to a marriage neither of us truly wants.”
“How do you know what I want?”
A knowing smile curved her lips. “Because you speak only of duty, and not once from your heart.”
He drew closer, unable to stop himself. “I am worried about you, Jane.”
“I know,” she responded. “And that is the only reason I am still standing here.” Her hand tightened on his. “But you must care for yourself first.”
“That is impossible,” he asserted. “Knowing you are in danger because of me.”
“I will be fine.”
“And if you are not? Do you think I could live knowing I was the cause of your death? It would destroy me.”
“Alistair…” She stepped back, but he closed the distance, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. His thumb grazed her skin. “Please, Jane… if not me, then consider Whitehill.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, though she blinked them back. “No.”
“Jane—”
Her voice broke, but her will did not. “You are asking me to throw away my future, and I will not do it.”
“Would you truly be so miserable with me?” he asked, almost pleading.
Before she could answer, an unyielding voice cut between them.
“I do hope I am interrupting.”
Alistair dropped his hand and turned to face Lady Cosima.
Her eyes narrowed, brows arched in sharp disapproval. “What is so urgent that you feel entitled to such familiarity with my niece?”
Jane turned her face away, brushing at the tear that betrayed her. And Alistair’s heart sank like a stone. He had caused that pain. He was the reason for her tears.
“Go inside, Jane,” Lady Cosima commanded. “It is time I spoke with Lord Alcott privately.”
Jane obeyed without a word, slipping past them and vanishing into the house. She did not look back.
Alistair longed to call after her, to promise that he would make everything right—but he could not. He would not lie. He cared for her far too much to bind her in false assurances.
And so he stood, helpless, watching her retreat from him into the safety he could never truly give.
Lady Cosima’s arms folded across her chest, her stern gaze pinning him where he stood. “Well, do you want to explain yourself, my lord?”
Alistair forced himself not to flinch beneath her scrutiny.
He had stared down the barrels of muskets and the eyes of dying men, but somehow this woman’s disapproval struck far closer to the mark.
He could evade, as he had with others, but he owed her honesty—perhaps it was the only chance he had of proving his intentions towards Jane.
“I did things in the war I am not proud of,” he admitted. “My actions have placed my life in danger, and—worse still—they have endangered Jane’s. A dangerous man wants me dead, and I fear she may be his next target.”
At once, some of the steel in Lady Cosima’s expression eased, though her eyes remained alert. “Who is this man?”
“Jules Leclerc,” Alistair replied.
Lady Cosima’s lips parted in a startled breath. “I have heard that name. My husband feared him and his men.”
He inclined his head grimly. “Then you know what we are up against.”
Her arms lowered, and she straightened with a decisive nod. “I shall hire additional guards to keep Jane safe. No one will get to her.”
Alistair shook his head, frustration tightening his chest. “Forgive me, but I doubt that will be enough. I was attacked in my own household by a man disguised as one of my footmen. If danger can slip through doors I considered secure, it can slip through yours as well.”
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then she countered, “Then we shall retire to my country estate, where every servant is loyal to me. It would be easier to perceive a threat in such a place.”
The thought of Jane gone from London—gone from his reach—struck him like a blow. But isn’t that what he wanted? He would miss her presence more than he dared admit, yet the logic was sound. The farther from him she remained, the safer she would be. He somehow managed a terse nod. “Very well.”
Lady Cosima took a deliberate step nearer. There was no censure in her face now, only shrewd awareness. “You care for my niece.” It was not a question.
His instinct was to guard himself, but in that moment he saw no reason to deny it. “I do.”
“And yet,” she pressed, her tone laced with challenge, “you would have her marry another?”
Surprise flickered through him. “You heard that?”
Her mouth curved in the faintest of smiles, though her eyes gave nothing away. “I daresay the gardens are not as private as one would think.”
Heat crept up the back of his neck, and he lowered his head, unable to meet her gaze. “Lord Whitehill would have kept her safe.”
“You would let her go so easily?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but with the weight of an accusation.
His eyes snapped back to hers. “Easily? No. But I would do anything to protect her. Even if it means I lose her.”