Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jane almost declined the invitation.
The note had arrived shortly after breakfast, delivered by one of Zachary’s footmen. Its contents were brief and formal.
Lady Jane,
There are matters concerning the Wynten estate accounts that require your attention. I expect you at my townhouse this afternoon.
Zachary Deverell.
She had stared at the letter for several minutes.
Since her marriage, Zachary had made no attempt to contact her. She had assumed Hector’s warning at the ball had finally accomplished what years of endurance never had.
Apparently not.
Estate accounts. The words troubled her.
Though Zachary remained only the steward until Colin was officially declared missing, he still oversaw the management of the earldom. It was not impossible that something genuinely required her attention.
Against her better judgment, she decided to go. Perhaps it would finally settle whatever business remained between them. The carriage stopped before Zachary’s townhouse shortly after noon.
Jane stepped onto the pavement and looked up at the imposing brick residence. Everything appeared perfectly ordinary. The butler admitted her almost immediately.
“Your Grace,” he said with a respectful bow. “Mr. Deverell is expecting you.”
Jane offered a polite nod. “Thank you.”
He led her through the quiet house. Too quiet. Normally a townhouse bustled with activity. Housemaids dusted furniture, footmen crossed corridors with trays, somewhere a cook barked instructions below stairs.
Today she heard almost nothing. Only the steady echo of their footsteps. Her unease grew.
They reached a spacious drawing room at the rear of the house. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, illuminating expensive carpets and polished mahogany furniture. Zachary stood beside the fireplace, one hand resting casually upon the mantel.
He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “You came.”
“You wished to discuss the estate.”
“So I did.”
The butler stepped inside behind her.
Before Jane could speak again, Zachary turned toward him. “That will be all.”
“Sir?”
“You and the rest of the household may have the remainder of the day off.”
The butler hesitated. “As you wish, sir.”
Jane frowned. “The entire household?”
The butler offered no answer. He merely bowed and withdrew. The heavy oak door swung shut. A loud click echoed through the room as the lock turned.
Jane’s stomach tightened. Slowly, she turned. A man emerged from the shadows beside the doorway. He was elegantly dressed in a dark coat and gloves, his expression calm enough to be unsettling.
One arm restrained her mother against his chest. His gloved hand covered Lady Wynten’s mouth, silencing the frightened cry trapped behind it. Her mother’s eyes brimmed with tears.
Jane froze. The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Her gaze flew to Zachary. He did not appear surprised. If anything, he looked almost... expectant.
The stranger noticed her confusion. A faint smile curved his lips.
“At last,” he said smoothly. His voice carried the effortless confidence of a man accustomed to being obeyed. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Your Grace.”
Jane’s pulse thundered in her ears. The man inclined his head with impeccable courtesy despite the terrified woman imprisoned in his grasp.
“My name,” he said, “is Phineas Strachan.”
Jane reacted without thinking. “Mother!”
She rushed forward. Before she had taken two full steps, Strachan calmly withdrew a pistol from beneath his coat. The movement was smooth.
He lifted the weapon and rested the barrel against Lady Wynten’s temple. “Another step,” he said pleasantly, “and I shall redecorate this parlor.”
Jane stopped so abruptly that her skirts swayed around her ankles. Every muscle in her body locked.
Her mother let out a muffled cry behind the gloved hand covering her mouth. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared helplessly at her daughter.
Jane’s own heart hammered so violently she thought it might break through her ribs.
Strachan smiled. “There we are.” His tone was almost conversational. “I had hoped you possessed more sense than the men I’ve dealt with recently.”
Jane kept her eyes fixed on the pistol. “What do you want?”
“Patience.” He inclined his head toward a nearby sofa. “Sit.”
She didn’t move.
His smile disappeared. “The sofa, Your Grace.”
The pistol pressed a fraction harder against her mother’s head. Lady Wynten whimpered. Jane swallowed the cry rising in her throat. Slowly, she crossed the room and lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa.
Every instinct screamed at her to fight. To run. To do something. Instead she forced herself to remain still. Hector had taught her many things. The first had been to survive long enough to find the right moment. This was not it.
Only once she was seated did she truly look at Zachary. He stood several feet away, rigid beside the fireplace. The color had drained from his face. His jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched. He was frightened.
Jane understood at once. Whatever bargain Zachary believed he had struck with Phineas Strachan, he had never imagined this. He had invited a wolf into his home, thinking he could keep it on a leash. Now he stood trapped inside the cage with it.
Jane dragged her attention back to Strachan. “What do you want from us?”
Strachan regarded her with quiet amusement. “You ask direct questions.”
“I have no patience for games.”
“Oh, I rather think you do.” His eyes glittered. “You’ve been playing one for weeks.”
Jane frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” He tilted his head slightly. “You and your husband have become extraordinarily meddlesome people.”
Ice settled in Jane’s stomach. “Our search had nothing to do with you.”
He laughed softly. “An admirable lie.” His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against her mother’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, it is still a lie.”
Jane held his gaze. “You kidnapped my brother.”
“I did.”
“You imprisoned innocent men. You deserve to hang.”
The smile returned. “Perhaps.” He sounded almost entertained. “But because of your dear husband, I now find myself forced to abandon London considerably sooner than I had planned.”
Jane’s pulse quickened. “Hector will find us.”
Strachan chuckled. “Will he?”
“He always does.”
For the first time, something dangerous flashed behind the crime lord’s composed exterior. “I admire your confidence.”
Jane clung to it anyway. “When he realizes I’ve disappeared, he’ll come.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.” Strachan nodded almost thoughtfully. “He is a remarkably determined man. But by the time the Duke of Sunderford discovers what has happened here, I shall be far beyond his reach.”
The certainty in his voice chilled Jane far more than the pistol ever could. Zachary cleared his throat. The sound was small. Far too small for the suffocating silence that filled the room.
He glanced from Jane to her mother, then to the pistol in Strachan’s hand. A bead of perspiration rolled slowly down his temple.
“I... perhaps...” His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “Perhaps I should leave the three of you to discuss your... business... privately.”
Jane nearly laughed. Not because anything about the situation was amusing, but because only now—standing in the same room as genuine evil—had Zachary finally realized the difference between cruelty and monstrosity.
Strachan turned his head with maddening slowness. The pistol followed. Instead of pointing it at Lady Wynten, it came to rest squarely on Zachary. The older man’s face went white.
“Nobody,” Strachan said softly, “is leaving.”
Zachary froze. “I only thought...”
“I know what you thought.” Strachan smiled pleasantly. “You thought you could introduce us and excuse yourself before unpleasantness began.” His smile vanished. “You were mistaken.”
Jane watched her uncle’s confidence collapse. For years she had feared him. Now he looked like a frightened child.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Not another word escaped him. Strachan seemed satisfied. He lowered the pistol once more, returning it to Lady Wynten’s temple with infuriating calm.
Jane forced herself to breathe evenly. Panic would help no one. She needed to think. Hector’s lessons echoed faintly in her mind. When you cannot fight... observe. When you cannot escape... delay.
Delay. It was all she had. She had no idea whether Hector even knew where she was. She had left no note. She had told no one except the coachman where she intended to go. For all she knew, Hector believed she was safely visiting callers in Mayfair.
Still…every minute mattered. She lifted her chin. “If you intended to flee London,” she said quietly, “why remain long enough to confront me?”
Strachan looked at her with polite interest. “An excellent question.”
“I imagine you don’t waste your time.”
“I do not.”
“Then why are we here?”
He regarded her for a moment before answering. “Loose ends.”
Jane nodded slowly, pretending to accept the explanation. “And we are those loose ends.”
“You and your husband.” She noticed he kept returning to Hector. The realization settled heavily inside her. He viewed the duke as the true threat. “You seem remarkably concerned about my husband.”
“I respect capable opponents.”
“He defeated your men.”
“He inconvenienced me.”
“He rescued my brother.”
“Temporarily.”
The certainty in Strachan’s voice made Jane’s stomach tighten. “You speak as though this is not over.”
He chuckled. “It rarely is.”
Jane kept her face composed, though her thoughts raced. “Is that why you kidnapped my mother?”
“A precaution.”
“Against what?”
“You.”
She blinked. “Me?”
“You’ve proven unexpectedly resourceful.”
Jane almost glanced toward her mother but stopped herself. Keep his attention. Keep him talking. “You overestimate me.”
“I never overestimate anyone.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “That is why I remain alive.”
Jane chose her next words with care. “If you intended revenge upon Hector, surely abducting me was unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary?” He smiled again. “No.”
“Then why?”