Chapter 17
Alistair sat hunched in his study, the glow of the hearth the only light in the room.
He stared into the flames, trying in vain to quiet the storm in his mind.
Jane’s face lingered there, her smile, her stubborn chin, and the haunted glint in her eyes when she thought no one noticed.
Every possible danger she might face uncoiled before him in a relentless parade—kidnapping, betrayal, Jules’s vengeance.
He had faced many terrible obstacles in his life, yet nothing unsettled him so deeply as the thought of harm coming to her.
The door creaked. He straightened and saw Lady Cosima glide in, wrapped in a white dressing gown. She carried herself with the same regal poise she always possessed, though the faint lines about her eyes were softened in the firelight.
“I see that my instincts were correct,” she said. “I knew you would be awake.”
He managed a faint smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nor could I,” she replied. “I have never slept well in a strange house. It has been that way since I was a girl.”
“I am sorry for that.”
She waved a hand. “Not your fault, my lord.”
“But it is my fault you are here,” Alistair said. “You and Jane were dragged into this danger because of me.”
Her sharp eyes turned to the drink cart. She lifted a decanter with a questioning arch of her brow.
“Please,” he granted.
She poured a measure of brandy, then crossed the carpet to sink into the chair opposite him. “Tell me,” she started, “are you any closer to finding Jules Leclerc?”
Alistair let out a breath. “No, we are no closer. He is a shadow. Always just beyond reach.”
“That is disappointing.” She sipped her drink. “I would like, eventually, to go home.”
“I can imagine.”
Her gaze flicked upward. “I noticed the guards you placed outside our chambers tonight.”
He inclined his head. “I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe.”
“I know you will.” She leaned back, brandy glass balanced in her fingers. “But I cannot help blaming myself. I promised Jane’s mother I would look after her, but her father kept her far from me. I did not even know she was engaged until I read it in the newssheets.”
“You are more than making up for lost time now,” Alistair said.
“Am I?” she asked. “The poor child was raised by two brutes. I fear she lost her voice somewhere along the way.”
Alistair could not help a smile tugging at his lips. He remembered Jane’s sharp retorts, and her spirited defiance. “No, I assure you, she has her voice. She does not hesitate to use it on me when the situation warrants it.”
That coaxed a laugh from Lady Cosima. “Good. But you should have seen her as a child. She was so bold, so fearless. My little trickster. It all changed after her mother died. She became more withdrawn, and I fear it would break her mother’s heart.”
“Be patient,” Alistair urged. “She is still there, beneath the quiet. If you listen closely, you will hear her.”
Lady Cosima shook her head. “I only want her to be happy.”
“As do I,” Alistair said, and the truth of it came out more fiercely than he intended.
Her eyes narrowed in keen appraisal. “That is what we have in common.”
For a long moment, the fire crackled between them. At last, Alistair reached for the glass at his elbow, the weight of his decision heavy in his chest. “When this is over,” he said slowly, “I intend to court Jane properly.”
Lady Cosima set down her glass, her expression unreadable. “You should know that I must approve her husband before she can inherit.”
He lifted his drink, the corner of his mouth curving wryly. “With respect, Madam, I do not give a whit whether you approve of me. All I care about is whether Jane does.”
Her gaze pierced him, searching. “You do realize how wealthy I am, don’t you?”
“I have more than enough to provide for her. She will never want for anything,” he replied firmly.
“And safety? What of that?”
The word struck him like a blow. He winced. “I would not dream of pursuing her while danger lingers. Not until this threat is ended.”
“Good,” she said briskly, standing and smoothing her wrapper. “But that does not mean I like you, Lord Alcott.”
He rose as well. “Perhaps not. But I am grateful for what you have done for Jane.”
She inclined her head, then swept out.
Before he could sink back into his chair, Rupert entered, closing the door behind him. His expression was grim, but his eyes were alight with purpose.
“I come bearing news.”
Alistair straightened at once. “What news?”
“Someone spotted Jules leaving a warehouse near the docks. He entered a townhouse not far from here.”
Alistair shot to his feet. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Rupert lifted a steadying hand. “We cannot simply go half-cocked, storming the structure. We don’t know what lies inside.”
“So we let him slip through our fingers again?” Alistair demanded.
“I never said that,” Rupert countered calmly. “I’ve sent word to Warwicke, asking him to bring Bow Street Runners. They’ll be here soon.”
“That could take hours,” Alistair snapped.
“Do not fret. I’ve already placed someone to watch the townhouse. Jules will not leave unnoticed.”
Alistair eyed his friend curiously. “Pray tell, how exactly did you receive this word?”
“A messenger,” Rupert replied.
“And how did they know you were here? We told no one.”
A smirk played about Rupert’s lips. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You say that often,” Alistair muttered. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing. Can’t a barrister have his secrets?”
Alistair studied him. “Most barristers are dull creatures, but you are not. Why is that?”
Rupert tugged on his lapels with mock pride. “Thank you. I shall take that as a compliment.” He grew sober. “But when we move on this townhouse, I need to know you are prepared for anything.”
Alistair’s brow furrowed. “I was a soldier. Same as you.”
“Yes, but war has a way of changing men,” Rupert said, his gaze sharpening. “You seem less angry at the world than when last we fought side by side. I wonder what—or should I say, who—altered your outlook.”
“What did I say about analyzing me?”
Rupert only lifted his palms. “Merely an observation, my friend.”
Turning to the mantel, Alistair braced his hands upon it.
The fire warmed his face, though his thoughts ran cold and clear.
“I fought against this life—against becoming what my father wanted. I longed for my own path.” His voice dropped.
“But now I see this is who I am. Not merely a lord. Not an estate owner. But a man with purpose.”
Rupert’s voice was quiet. “And what purpose is that?”
Alistair’s jaw set. “Through Parliament, I can enact true change. I can be a voice for those who have none. That is where my duty lies.”
“Ah, a noble crusader.”
“Call it what you like,” Alistair said. “But there is more to this title than balancing ledgers and attending balls. Much more.”
Rupert gave a dry chuckle. “I will have to take your word for it, considering I am but a mere third son of a marquess.”
Alistair turned his head towards him. “Some might call you fortunate that you were spared such grave responsibility.”
Rupert huffed, and in the set of his shoulders there was something almost weary. “I still have burdens, just as everyone does.”
There was a ring of honesty in his voice that made Alistair pause. He was tempted to press the matter, to discover what weighed so heavily on his friend, but before he could frame the question, the door opened.
Warwicke strode into the room and announced, “I was able to round up five Bow Street Runners. They are waiting in the alley by the townhouse.”
Alistair surged to his feet, his heart quickening. “Then let us go.”
Rupert gestured with a faint smile, though his eyes were sharp. “You lead the way.”
The three of them swept from the study, boots echoing on the marble floor as they moved swiftly through the entry hall. Alistair’s mind was already racing ahead—what they might find, what dangers might lie within that townhouse, and most of all, whether Jules was finally within his grasp.
But a soft voice pierced his focus.
“Alistair?”
He froze, turning towards the grand staircase. At the top stood Jane, wrapped in a white gown, her blonde hair plaited in a long braid that tumbled over her shoulder.
His chest tightened. “Jane.”
She descended one step, worry etched in every line of her face. “Where are you going at this late hour?”
He was moving before he knew it, striding up the stairs. He stopped beside her and was close enough to catch the faint trace of lavender clinging to her wrapper.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “Go back to your room where it is safe.”
“That did not answer my question,” she countered.
His hand found her sleeve, his thumb brushing the soft fabric. “There has been a sighting of Jules Leclerc. We are going to investigate, to see if this can at last be ended.”
She searched his eyes. “Is it safe?”
Alistair hesitated a moment, then forced conviction into his tone. “Safe enough.” He prayed he was not lying to her.
Her brows drew together. “That sounds rather vague.”
From the entry hall, Rupert called out, “I promise, my lady, I will bring Alistair back in one piece.”
Something in Rupert’s tone seemed to reassure her, if only a little. Jane exhaled slowly and said, “As long as he is alive.”
Alistair’s heart clenched at her words. Without thinking, he leaned closer and pressed his lips to her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin. “Lock your door when I am gone. And if you need anything—anything at all—call upon the guard stationed outside.”
“Yes, Alistair.”
He studied her then, truly studied her, committing each line and curve of her face to memory. Her wide eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin, even the faint shadows beneath her lashes. Just in case. Just in case this was the last time.
“Goodbye, Jane,” he said.