Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
M uffled voices carried up through the building to reach Francis Sinclair’s ears. The voices would soon turn to alarm and excitement as the news broke that he had not attended his own hanging. Miles had, though. And it was Francis’ duty to ensure that his brother’s death had not been in vain.
Not only was Jasper, the bastard, responsible for Miles’ death, but the man’s father had been responsible for Jean’s. Francis was alone in the world. So Jasper would be the one to pay. Him, and everyone close to him.
Francis and Miles’ tactics thus far—written threats and feigned attempts on Jasper’s life—had been child’s play. Enjoyable, to be sure, but they had not yielded the hoped-for results. Francis wanted Jasper to feel afraid. To feel pain. For that reason, Francis’ efforts must be redoubled.
The door to his little home opened, admitting his woman, Sarah. Her blue dining gown accentuated her slender frame and small, pert breasts. The smile she always wore was pleasant enough, but it was her merciless nature that he so enjoyed. It fed his own.
She sat beside him on his cot. “My husband just left for his country seat—some emergency with his steward. And I had to come and see you. What a shame about your brother.” Her soft voice failed to echo in his secret, diminutive quarters with its roughened wood ceiling and damp wood-panelled walls. Only a small dormer window allowed a thread of light.
Francis nodded. “I haven’t time to feel the devastation that threatens. Instead, I shall focus on ways in which Jasper will suffer the consequences of Miles’ death.”
A smile quirked the corner of Sarah’s mouth, and her eyes gleamed. “That’s right, dove. You’ll get him.”
And he would. He wanted Jasper weeping and pleading for mercy before he killed the blackguard and took his rightful place in the ducal line.
Indeed, the dukedom was within his grasp, for with the correct alliances made and the seamlessly forged documents in his possession, he’d been assured success.
Francis spread his bare toes over the moth-eaten once-blue rug that covered a small portion of his floor, letting his hatred of his cousin—and his anticipation of what was to come—sink deeper into his soul.
* * *
“Don’t be silly, Jasper. We simply must report this to Grace,” said Jasper’s sister, Juliana, the new Marchioness of Livingston. Her green-and-slate–coloured eyes—that very nearly matched his—were shadowed by worry.
Jasper had just sent a footman to the magistrate with an urgent missive when Juliana, her husband Leonard Notley—the Marquess—and the man’s shadow, Mr. Percy Baxter, appeared in his foyer to discuss the news.
Jasper’s stomach lurched with trepidation. “Who is Grace, and why is she privy to my?—”
Juliana’s gaze turned scornful. “You mightn’t approve of my new profession, brother, but you could at least deign to listen when I speak of it.”
Sodding hell.
“Grace Huntsbury is the founder of our runner offices,” Juliana continued, “and my superior. She oversaw the handling of my first assignment, and I daresay she will do much the same now that Francis has slipped the noose.”
“Very well, then,” Jasper capitulated. “If this meeting is to take place in your runner offices, and will deliberate over what we might do to solve my family’s quandary, will I be privy to what is discussed?”
Juliana narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course.”
“What will you have us do?” Leonard asked. “Percy and I are at your disposal, should you desire aid.”
Percy nodded. The former pirate was one of few words, often communicating with Livingston without speaking at all. He was tall, lean, and muscular, his face one of sharp angles and dark eyes that held pain, experience, and what was sure to be a wealth of knowledge.
“I’ve already sent word to the magistrate?—”
“Are you privy to Francis’ haunts?” Juliana asked, cutting over Jasper. “Surely he hasn’t ventured out of town if his intent is to torture us.”
“Indeed,” Livingston put in. “Percy and I could conduct a search.”
The fictional blade in Jasper’s gut twisted. “Before this assault on our family began, I hadn’t seen or heard from our cousins since our youth. Truth be known, I do not know if he has any vices at all, let alone places that he might frequent.”
“What do you mean?” Percy inquired, his dark eyebrows furrowed. “Surely the man must do something .”
Jasper shook his head and shifted his stance. “After Juliana fled our country seat and I journeyed to London, I had men searching for Francis and Miles as well as Juliana. We scoured every louche and squalid establishment—in addition to the reputable ones—but found no sign of them. I was left to conclude that they either hadn’t any vices or had sequestered themselves out of self-preservation.”
“And yet,” Juliana put in, placing a hand upon her husband’s sleeve, “I’m certain that an additional search would do no harm. I will accompany Jasper to Bow Street and see you both at home.” She lifted a brow at Jasper. “Come along, brother.”
Knowing when he was beaten—at least for the moment—Jasper accepted his gloves and hat from his butler and strode through the door. And into Maria.
Jasper’s pulse jumped, and he scowled.
“Maria!” Juliana swept forward to embrace her friend.
“Miss Roberts,” he said, doffing his hat.
“ Duke ,” she replied with a sardonic smirk that tightened his stomach.
“Oh dear,” Juliana fussed, glancing past her friend. “Is it raining?”
Indeed, the dark sky was heavy with clouds, and rain had begun to fall. Wisps of Maria’s dark hair were damp around her ears and at the base of her neck. Jasper itched to peel them from her skin and feel their silkiness. Then he would press his lips to the soft skin of her neck and kiss it until her chilled skin had been heated from within. He would?—
Damnation. I must stop thinking this way .
He cleared his throat. “We were just leaving.”
“Do accompany us, Maria. This pertains to you as well.”
With efficient movements, Juliana ushered her friend into Jasper’s awaiting carriage and bid farewell to her husband. She called out the direction to the coachman, and they jolted into motion.
Despite the spaciousness of the equipage, the air felt close and tight as he settled across from the women…from Maria .
Rain fell in rivulets over the roof of the carriage, the sound a nigh-deafening against the discomfited silence within. The women bumped together as the carriage turned away from Grosvenor Square.
Jasper shifted in his seat across from them, his chest welling with dread.
“Tell her, Jasper,” Juliana prompted.
His eyebrows lifted and his belly dipped. “I beg your pardon?”
Ignoring him, Juliana clasped one of Maria’s hands. “This morning, my brother returned home to find a poisoned note impaled by a dagger in the door of his study.”
“ Poisoned ?” Maria’s concerned grey gaze fell on Jasper. “How do you?—”
“It smelled of bitter almonds,” Jasper interjected. “It is the same aroma of laurel water. I know not if he intended to actually poison me or if he merely intended to amuse himself with a game of mental torture.”
Juliana nodded. “When our uncle and cousins would visit our estate, Francis would use laurel water as one of his means of killing our pets. Though I daresay it shouldn’t do you harm if you touch it.”
“How horrible,” Maria whispered. “And your staff? What of them?”
Jasper shook his head and braced himself as they turned onto New Bond Street, his lips set in a determined line. “I had my butler make inquiries among the others, but no one seems to have noticed a thing.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I checked the windows in my study, and all were locked.”
“Mmm,” Maria hummed. “If Francis has access to your home and continues to issue threats, do you imagine we could?—”
“If we wait until he attacks one of us, then it is already too late to act. Is that not what we are attempting to avoid?” The dread in Jasper’s chest spread as his mind worked. Maria had wit. And while she might have aided in Francis’ previous capture, she could scarcely be expected to know what to do when confronted with such an odious man fighting for his freedom. His life . “I’ll not have anyone face the danger of Francis on my behalf. You have all already done enough; it is time to set aside our pride and allow the Home Office and our local magistrate to handle this matter.”
Maria balked. “We are doing nothing to encourage Francis’ wrath, but he is well aware that we aided in his capture and Miles’ execution. I’m afraid that we are already within his sights, and whether or not we search for him, the threat is there. Currently, the most sensible course of action is inaction, caution, and preparation while we conduct a discreet search and formulate a firm plan.”
“It would be prudent for you and Juliana to seek shelter at the estates in Derby or Nottingham, and leave this matter to the professionals,” Jasper argued. “By morning, Francis’ likeness will be in every newspaper and magazine in the country; if anyone sees him, they’ll surely summon the magistrate.”
Juliana scoffed.
“I very much doubt that fleeing London would make any of us any safer,” Maria supplied, her eyes flashing with indignation. “As experience has taught us, Francis has no compunction about following his quarry, and I daresay he’s managed to secure some help to keep himself hidden.”
A huff of frustration found its way out of Jasper, and he attempted to cover it with a cough. He hated that she was right. Why it bothered him, he couldn’t be certain, but it bloody well did.
“I concede that point,” he grudgingly admitted. “It would be best, however, to?—”
“I have sent a missive to Grace and Heather,” Maria cut over him, “alerting them to the situation. Grace will be awaiting our arrival, and no doubt Heather will join us directly.”
* * *
Maria’s belly quavered as she watched the play of agitation over the duke’s features. The man was frightened and, naturally, concerned for his sister, but he needn’t be an arse as well.
“I and the Home Office are capable of dealing with Francis on our own.” Jasper frowned at them, his beautiful two-toned eyes glittering with apprehension and distress. “You needn’t put yourselves in undue danger. Your positions as runners might see you searching for a wayward youth or retrieving some woman’s baubles from thieving maids, but you’re not prepared for what Francis will?—”
“Your pomposity and contumely notwithstanding,” Maria fumed, “you are welcome to join our meeting with the understanding that Juliana, Heather, and I will take part in bringing Francis to justice. Again. And I would suggest, Your Grace, that you accept our aid rather than fight us, because I can assure you that we will be the proverbial scuff on your Hessians until Francis hangs.”
The rush of Maria’s pulse filled her ears and drummed against her chest. Lord, had she just done that? It felt…good.
Juliana covered a snort of laughter with the back of her hand.
Jasper’s dark eyebrows rose toward his hairline, and his lips turned down in one corner. Had the man ever been spoken to in such a manner? She rather doubted it.
“Very well,” he drawled. “I surrender.”
With Maria’s nod of acceptance, they lapsed into silence once more. The carriage’s wheels splashed into puddles and rattled along the cobblestones until they rolled to a halt in front of the Bow Street offices.
Maria sent Jasper a warning glance. “Miss Grace Huntsbury is an excellent woman. I’ll not have you impugn her?—”
“Gads, Roberts, what sort of a man do you think I am?” Jasper gave a haughty sniff, swung the door wide, and stepped out, offering his hand to Juliana.
Maria glared at his profile before accepting his hand, descending into the rain—and determinedly ignoring the sudden stirring of heat low in her belly.
* * *
Shifting uneasily in his seat under the scrutiny of the four women, Jasper cleared his throat. “I’m certain. Francis will not show himself unless he has no other choice. He will, instead, toy with us from afar. We oughtn’t, however, become insouciant.”
The sound of rain against the tall windows of the small drawing room filled the space. They were in one of the few rooms on the main floor of the building, the space appearing to have been decorated to conduct business.
On one side of the room stood two wide desks, behind which was a wall of bookshelves. The remainder of the space was filled with cream-and-green upholstered chairs and chaises and inviting white-painted wood tables. It was an attractive sitting room by all accounts. It might even be pleasant, under other circumstances.
“Then you shall be prepared,” Grace Huntsbury said. “Maria, it makes the most sense for you to oversee this investigation. You are already familiar with Francis and his approach. It is a rather perilous and delicate situation, but you have my full support. You will need to work closely with your client—I assume you are comfortable enough sharing confidences with His Grace, given your long acquaintance.”
“Of course,” Maria returned.
“Oh.” Jasper sat forward. “I had not intended to?—”
“We’ll not accept payment from you, Your Grace,” Miss Huntsbury said in a smooth, placating tone. “Miss Roberts requires investigative experience before taking on stipendiary clients, and you are closely acquainted. It is rather ideal.”
Words failed him. Maria being in charge of this investigation meant more time in her company. More hours attempting to refrain from watching her graceful movements beneath her frocks, from inhaling her spicy citrus fragrance. It also meant that Maria would be directly in Francis’ path. But was she not there already?
Christ , this was not to be borne. He cleared his throat. “Very well.”
With a tight nod, Miss Huntsbury turned her attention to his sister. “Juliana, though you have a current assignment, do you believe that you are able to lend your aid to this as well, should Maria require it?”
“Yes, of course.” Juliana straightened her spine.
“I would be glad to help as well,” Miss Morgan offered.
“Excellent.” Miss Huntsbury nodded. “I’ve already sought associations among the local magistrate’s staff. I shall connect them with you, Maria, to begin your investigation into Francis’ escape. And I shall confer with my acquaintances in the Home Office regarding His Grace’s staff?—”
“What of my staff?” Jasper interjected.
“Well.” Miss Huntsbury’s gaze fixed on him. “Your staff were present when Mr. Sinclair infiltrated your study, leading one to conclude, at the very least, that your cousin has influence over one of them. For your safety, and with the intent to capture Mr. Sinclair should he return to your home, we will arrange for your staff to be temporarily replaced.”
Jasper’s mind raced as the four women awaited his response. He ought to have immediately considered the implications of Francis’ entry to his home. The blighter could have done something to the food in his larder, for Christ’s sake, could have persuaded more of his staff to join his cause.
His gut dipped, and disquieting prickles of unease raced up the backs of his legs, at the thought of any member of his staff betraying him in such a way. He’d known them for years—some since he was a lad in short pants! And now he was expected to trust his home—his life —to strangers, at the behest of a woman he scarcely knew.
“They’re lovely people,” Miss Huntsbury hurried to add. “And while their number might be fewer than to what you are accustomed, they are efficient at their household duties while also being excellent at keeping a person safe.”
Jasper nodded slowly. “You are acquainted with those in the Home Office?”
Miss Huntsbury’s lips tightened. “I am. But”—she cut him off before he could ask the next question on his tongue—“I shan’t discuss the matter further, I’m afraid. I will, however, have Maria introduce you once your temporary staff becomes available.”
“I would be delighted to,” Maria put in. “Additionally, Your Grace, I would like further consideration regarding the note Francis left for you. What, precisely, did it say?”
The tea Jasper had consumed sat heavily in his stomach as the quote drifted through his mind. He cleared his throat and recited: “ Thou a R t a boil / A plague-sore or embossèd carbuncle / In my corrupted blood. ” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I can’t place the quote, but it is familiar. I daresay he simply wished to frighten me.”
A pucker formed between Maria’s brows. “And while I don’t disagree with you, Your Grace, we must consider all possibilities.” She strode to one of the desks and withdrew a pen and a piece of parchment. “Could you please repeat the quote once more?”
He did, rather enjoying the sight of her features scrunched in thought while she wrote.
“Was there a signature?” she asked. “Any distinguishable markings, such as smudges or ink droplets?”
Miss Huntsbury hummed in approval over her teacup.
It was Jasper’s turn to frown. “There was no signature, but one letter was slightly larger than the others in height and girth—as though it was capitalized, or the pen released too much ink.”
Maria’s gaze sharpened on his. “Which letter?”
“R.” He cleared his throat. “It was the R in art .”
With a nod, Maria jotted another note on the parchment, then resumed her seat among their group.
“I shall look into the quote and report back,” she announced.
“Thank you, Maria,” Miss Huntsbury replied.
Juliana sipped at her tea and returned the cup to its saucer. “The news of Francis’ escape will break on the morrow, if the gossip mill has not already seen it spread through every home in London.”
Miss Huntsbury took a moment to look each of them in the eye. “And we shall be ready.”