Chapter 18
Jane lay in bed, her eyes tracing the carved edges of the canopy above her. The silken drapes stirred gently with the night breeze that slipped through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of the gardens’ roses.
She was exhausted but her mind refused to quiet.
Each time she closed her eyes, her thoughts turned to Alistair.
What if something happened to him tonight?
The very notion hollowed her chest. She loved him—she knew it now with certainty as unshakable as the stars beyond her window.
She had never loved another, nor would she.
The endless search of her heart ended with him.
With him, she could breathe, she could be wholly herself.
He understood her in ways no one else ever had.
A faint scrape—a noise outside the window—pulled her abruptly from her reverie.
Jane sat up sharply, her heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes darted to the window just as a shadowed figure hoisted himself over the sill and into her chamber.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the man leveled a pistol at her and pressed a finger to his lips.
Terror clawed at her throat. He was short, with wild, dark hair and a bulbous red nose that stood out in the moonlight. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes mean and unfeeling.
“Hello, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with menace. “We are going to have ourselves a little chat.”
Dread knotted her stomach, but she forced her voice steady. “About what?”
“I am to ask you a very important question,” he said, dragging a chair to her bedside, the pistol never wavering. He sat heavily, his smirk cruel. “And your answer will seal your fate. Tell me, do you love Lord Alcott?”
Her lips parted, but she hesitated. To confess her heart’s truth to this stranger felt like betrayal—like giving him something precious he had no right to know.
The man’s smirk deepened. “That is all I need to know.” He cocked the pistol. “A pity, really. You’re a pretty enough thing.”
Jane swallowed hard, summoning what courage she could. “If you shoot me, the guard outside my door will hear you.”
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Ah, but I am not worried about that.”
“Why?”
“Because someone saw to him,” he said smugly. “So it’s just you and me, my lady.”
Her stomach turned. Who could have betrayed them? Summoning defiance, she lifted her chin. “You are lying.”
“Go and see,” he taunted. “But run, scream, or make a sound and I’ll put a bullet in your back.”
Her legs shook as she slid from the bed, each step towards the door heavy with dread. She cracked it open, and her worst fear was confirmed. The guard’s post was empty.
Her pulse thundered. Who had tempted him away?
The intruder chuckled behind her. “You must be wondering who betrayed you. Tempting to know, isn’t it? But not my secret to tell.”
“Lord Alcott says his men are loyal,” she said, clinging to conviction.
“Oh, they are,” the man allowed. “But even the loyal can be persuaded with a few well-placed gold coins.” He gestured lazily to the bed. “Sit.”
She obeyed, perching on the edge of the mattress, every muscle taut with fear. “Did Jules Leclerc send you?” she demanded.
“Since you are about to die, I see no harm in telling you,” he said. “Yes. Lord Alcott earned himself a powerful enemy when he killed Jules’s father.”
“His father deserved his fate.”
The man shrugged. “Perhaps. But I was paid well to kill you. And I intend to do so. Your precious lord, meanwhile, is being lured to his own grave. If fortune favors me, he is already dead. If not, he’ll return home to find you are.”
“What do you mean dead?”
“Jules sent him to an abandoned townhouse… to watch him blow sky-high.” He grinned. “Whether your viscount lives or dies, it makes no difference. Jules wins. Just as he always does.”
“He is a monster,” Jane whispered.
The man’s eyes glittered. “He is a visionary.” He reached for a pillow, pressing it against the pistol. “This will do nicely to muffle the shot.”
Her breath hitched as he raised the weapon. She closed her eyes, bracing for the end. Instead, a guttural grunt split the silence.
Her eyes flew open. The man staggered, a knife protruding from his chest. He collapsed heavily onto the carpet, lifeless.
Jane gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Slowly, she turned towards the window. A young woman stood framed in moonlight, her dark hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, and her posture poised.
“Who… who are you?” Jane stammered.
The stranger smiled faintly. “Someone who thought you might need help,” she said, her words softened by a lilting French accent.
Jane rose unsteadily. “Wait! I do not even know your name.”
“Rosalie,” the woman replied before disappearing out the window. Jane hurried to the sill just in time to see her vanish into the shadows of the trees.
The door burst open behind her.
“Jane!” Alistair exclaimed. He strode in, Lord Rupert close on his heels. Alistair froze at the sight of the corpse, then whipped towards her, eyes blazing with questions.
She shook her head quickly. “I didn’t do it. A woman—she saved me. She said her name was Rosalie.”
Rupert’s brows shot up. “Rosalie? She killed him?”
Jane nodded, tears threatening to spill. “He was about to shoot me. If not for her, I would be dead.”
In an instant, Alistair crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. She sank against him, trembling, relief and fear spilling over in sobs.
“It’s over,” he murmured against her hair. “You are safe now.”
But Jane knew better. Jules would never stop—not while either of them still lived.
When she finally pulled back, her voice was raw. “How did you escape the bomb?”
Alistair managed a grim smile. “It was nothing I could not handle. My greater concern is you.”
Her aunt’s voice pierced the moment. “Unhand my niece, my lord.”
Alistair only eased his hold, staying close, for which Jane was most grateful.
Cosima’s gaze fell to the body on the ground, then back to Alistair. “Did you do this?”
“No,” Alistair replied. “I was not granted that pleasure.”
Her eyes widened. “Then Jane—?”
“No,” Jane broke in. “A woman came through the window and killed him with a dagger. She saved me.”
Her aunt’s expression hardened. “Who was she?”
Rupert answered, “Someone who would not want recognition, my lady.”
Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “If it was the same Rosalie, then she is the one whose life we spared after we killed her father.”
Cosima’s eyes sharpened. “Then why is she here?”
Alistair exhaled. “She said she came to warn us. I never imagined she would do… this. Truthfully, I did not think her capable of it.”
Jane turned her head towards the door, her pulse still unsteady. “My attacker said that someone betrayed us by luring the guard away.”
“Did he say who it was?” Alistair asked.
“No,” Jane replied. “Only that he bribed him with a few gold coins.” The simplicity of it made her stomach turn. Her life had nearly ended for so little.
Aunt Cosima stepped closer and held her arm out towards her. “You will sleep with me tonight, dearest. And I expect to hear no arguments from you.”
“You won’t hear any. But I do not know how I am expected to sleep after all of this,” Jane said.
Before her aunt could reply, Alistair placed his hand lightly on her sleeve, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric. “I will sit outside your door to ensure you are safe.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she whispered, though her protest felt weak, halfhearted. She wanted him close; needed him close.
His eyes held hers with unyielding resolve. “I do. And quite frankly, it is the only thing I can think of doing now.”
Jane let her breath ease out slowly, hoping her eyes conveyed the gratitude she could not bring herself to voice. “Then I will admit that I would feel safer knowing you are there.”
Something softened in his gaze at her words, and for a heartbeat the world narrowed to just the two of them, the silence between them brimming with unspoken things.
“Then it is settled,” he said.
They lingered there, their eyes holding longer than propriety allowed, until Aunt Cosima, with impeccable timing, looped her arm through Jane’s. “Goodnight, my lords,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.
As Jane allowed her aunt to guide her from the room, she cast one last glance at Alistair.
The memory of his kiss upon her cheek earlier that evening burned in her thoughts.
How desperately she wished he had repeated it now, when her heart so needed reassurance.
But instead, she carried the memory of that fleeting touch with her into the night, guarding it as though it were a secret treasure.
Once they reached her aunt’s bedchamber, Jane went straight to the window without a word. Her fingers fumbled against the latch in her haste, but at last it clicked shut with a decisive snap. She pulled the curtains tightly across, as though flimsy fabric might shield her from shadowed intruders.
Aunt Cosima watched her with patient eyes. “How are you faring, my dear?”
The question broke Jane’s composure. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Someone almost killed me,” she whispered. “I do not even know how to feel.”
“It is quite all right to have your emotions in conflict.”
“I think the one I feel the most is anger. I am angry that someone I do not even know thought my life was worth nothing, so he sent another to end it.” Her voice thickened with the weight of her fury.
Cosima’s gaze was steady, wise. “It is natural to feel that way. But you mustn’t let anger consume you, Jane. Anger will only chain you to the man who seeks to harm you.”
Jane turned her face aside, frustration prickling. “That is easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You were not the one staring down the barrel of a pistol, waiting for death.”
Cosima cupped her cheek, her thumb brushing away the tear Jane had not realized had fallen. “Come to bed, Child. Rest. The night makes all fears sharper, but daylight brings a different perspective.”