Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The note arrived just as Hector was preparing to retire for the evening. Benson entered his study with his usual measured stride, carrying a silver tray. Upon it rested a single folded sheet, sealed with plain wax.
“For you, Your Grace.”
Hector looked up from the reports spread across his desk.
He had spent the better part of the evening reviewing the names his parliamentary acquaintance had sent him, known associates of Phineas Strachan, suspected gambling dens, warehouses near the docks, shipping manifests that revealed nothing useful.
Hours of work had yielded little beyond more questions.
He reached for the note. “There was no signature?” he asked.
“No, Your Grace.”
Hector broke the seal. His eyes immediately recognized the elegant hand.
The usual corner near Wynten House. It is important.
He read the brief message twice. There was no greeting or explanation, but he knew who it was from instantly. His pulse gave an unexpected, unwelcome thud.
Lady Jane never wasted words. If she had sent for him instead of waiting for his next note, something had happened. He fought the urge to jump up and rush out of the room. Never before had he been so moved to hurry as he was now about Lady Jane.
He folded the paper carefully. “I shall be out.”
Benson inclined his head as though this were the most ordinary announcement imaginable. “Shall I have the carriage prepared?”
“Immediately.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The butler disappeared.
Hector remained seated for another moment, staring at the extinguished fire. He ought not to go. The thought came automatically.
After the attack in the alley, after Strachan’s men had warned them to stay away, distance had seemed the wiser course. His acquaintance in parliament had promised to investigate further. Until then, remaining quiet was the prudent decision.
It was the sensible decision. Yet here he was already rising from his chair. He muttered a curse beneath his breath. She had become entirely too capable of disrupting his judgment.
London had quieted by the time his carriage rolled through the darkened streets. A cool breeze stirred the summer air, carrying with it the distant sounds of horses and late-night revelers drifting home from clubs and assemblies.
The driver stopped where instructed. Hector stepped down onto the cobbled street. The familiar corner sat wrapped in shadow beneath an overgrown elm.
She was already there.
Lady Jane stood beneath the branches, her dark cloak pulled close around her shoulders. The hood concealed much of her face, yet he recognized her instantly.
She turned when she heard his footsteps.
For one brief moment, he noticed that relief softened her features before she gathered herself once more.
“You came,” she said quietly.
“You implied urgency.” Hector kept his voice even and low.
“I did.”
Neither moved closer immediately. The silence between them felt different tonight. Hector searched her face. Moonlight filtered through the leaves overhead, illuminating her features in shifting fragments.
She looked tired. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes that had not been there only days earlier. Her shoulders seemed tighter than usual, as though she was anxious and stressed.
“You wished to see me.” It was not a question, but his tone invited explanation.
She nodded. “Yes. I have a favor to ask.”
His brow lifted slightly. “A favor?” Now he was intrigued.
She inhaled slowly. “I want to ask you to continue teaching me to defend myself.”
Of all the requests he had anticipated, that had not been among them. He folded his hands behind his back.
“I thought we had agreed,” he said evenly, “that we would suspend our investigation until new information arrived.”
“We have,” Jane agreed.
“Then why the sudden desire for instruction?” Hector watched her carefully.
“Because I wish to continue learning.”
He kept his expression unreadable. “Lady Jane.”
“I am serious.” Jane looked at him with a determined expression on her face.
“So am I,” Hector said, his tone carrying a note of warning.
She took a small step toward him. “I have been thinking about that night.”
“The attack,” Hector supplied.
“Yes.”
“You handled yourself remarkably well.”
“I froze.” Jane’s expression turned to one of self-disgust.
“You recovered.”
“I still froze.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “You are being unnecessarily hard on yourself.”
She gave a humorless smile. “No.”
“You escaped when it mattered,” Hector said.
“Only because you were there.”
The words lingered between them.
Hector found himself looking away first. “I was,” he admitted.
“And next time?”
Hector shook his head. “There should not be a next time.”
“You cannot promise that,” Jane said.
“No.”
“Neither can I,” Jane said.
He sighed quietly. “This is not the appropriate moment.”
Jane said, “It never will be if we continue waiting.”
“I have other concerns.”
“Such as?”
He looked back at her. “Such as the possibility that Strachan’s men are still watching.”
Her gaze swept briefly down the deserted street before returning to him. “If they are, then I need this even more.”
He admired her determination. He also found it profoundly exasperating.
“You possess an astonishing ability,” he observed, “to mistake stubbornness for courage.”
A corner of her mouth lifted. “I could say much the same of you.”
Despite himself, Hector almost smiled. Instead, he said, “You continue to confuse persistence with victory.”
“And yet, I generally obtain what I seek.”
“Not always,’ Hector said, smirking.
“No.” She lowered her eyes for only a moment. “But sometimes.”
Something in her voice had changed. Hector felt his instincts sharpen. “What has happened?”
She looked up again. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are different tonight.”
Jane smiled. “I assure you I remain precisely the same woman.”
“I doubt that.”
Her smile faded. He studied her more carefully. She was attempting composure. He had seen soldiers do the same after battle. He had done it himself often enough.
“What occurred?”
“Nothing,” Jane insisted.
Hector said, “I do not believe you.”
“There is nothing to believe,” Jane said with a sigh.
“You summoned me,” Hector pointed out. “Without explanation. You ask me to show you how to defend yourself. And you expect me to conclude that nothing has changed?”
Her chin lifted. “I am merely trying to prepare myself.”
“For what?” Hector asked.
“For whatever comes next.”
“That is not an answer.”
Jane simply shrugged. “It is the only one I have.”
Hector stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her. Just enough that he could study her face without the distance between them obscuring the smallest detail.
“You are frightened.”
She opened her mouth immediately. “No.”
“You are.”
“I am worried,” Jane said. “That is not the same thing.”
She held his gaze stubbornly. “I fear for Colin.”
For the first time since receiving her note, genuine unease settled in his chest. Not because of what she had said, but because of what she refused to say.
He had watched witnesses hide fear. He had watched politicians disguise panic. He had watched men lie to protect people they loved. Lady Jane was doing the same. The question was who was she trying to protect? Herself, or someone else?
Before he could press further, she closed the remaining distance between them. Her gloved fingers rested lightly against the back of his hand. The contact lasted scarcely more than a heartbeat. Yet every coherent thought deserted him.
“Please,” she whispered.
Hector looked down at her hand resting against his, then his gaze moved slowly back to her eyes. His pulse, ordinarily so disciplined, betrayed him with one heavy, unmistakable beat. She had never touched him first before. He should have stepped away.
Instead, he found himself standing perfectly still, his attention fixed entirely upon the woman before him. And one thought eclipsed every other. He could see that someone had frightened her. The certainty struck him with such force that it left no room for doubt.
His voice came lower than before. “Lady Jane…” He searched her face. “Tell me the truth.”
Her fingers slipped from his hand. She took one careful step backward.
“I am only afraid for Colin.”
His eyes never left hers. “And no one has harmed you?”
She hesitated. Then she forced a small smile that failed to reach her eyes. “No one.”
Hector knew then, with quiet certainty, that she had just lied to him. He did not know what else to do but to take her home.
“Very well,” he said.
Hector closed the carriage door behind them before the footman had fully settled onto the rear step.
“Straight home,” he instructed quietly.
The driver acknowledged the order, and the horses started forward.
Silence settled inside the carriage.
Jane sat opposite him, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. The moonlight drifted through the small window every few moments as they passed beneath breaks in the clouds, washing her face in silver before darkness reclaimed it.
She had asked him for help. Simply reached for his hand and whispered, “Please.” The earnest look in her eyes refused to leave him. He flexed his fingers against his knee. He could almost still feel the warmth of her touch.
Ridiculous. She had touched his hand for scarcely a heartbeat. Yet somehow it lingered far longer than any kiss ought to.
He forced himself to look out of the window instead.
“You are very quiet.” Her soft observation pulled his attention back.
“I am thinking,” he replied.
“So am I.”
He gave a faint hum. “I suspected as much.”
Another stretch of silence passed. Finally he said, “You understand what tonight requires.”
“I do.”
“If anyone discovers you at my house—”
Jane interrupted. “They will not.”
“You cannot know that.”
“No.” Her voice remained calm. “But I trust you.”