Fanning the Flame (40 page)

"Beg pardon, Major." Reggie stood in the open doorway. "Ye've a visitor, sir."

Adam shoved his pen back into the inkwell. "Who is it?"

"Fellow says his name is Michael Aimes."

Muscles tightened at the back of his neck. Adam closed the heavy ledger and came to his feet. "I'll speak to him in here."

"Yes, milord." Reggie hurried away and a few minutes later, a tall, slim, brown-haired man walked through the door of the study.

Adam remained standing behind his desk, his stomach twisted into a knot the size of St. Paul's Cathedral. He steeled himself. "Would you care to sit down?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine right here."

"All right. What can I do for you, Mr. Aimes?"

"Technically, it's Lord Michael. My father is the Marquess of Devlin, but I'm not much concerned with that sort of thing."

God, one of Devlin's sons.
The marquess was wealthy in the extreme. At least the man would be able to take care of her. "Exactly what
are
you concerned with, Lord Michael?"

"Professor Whitney was a friend of mine. He fostered my interest in Egyptian antiquities. I've heard you share a similar passion."

Adam's eyebrow arched. He was beginning to realize exactly who this younger man was, not just one of Devlin's sons, but the one who had built a solid reputation in the field of Egyptian historical studies. Though he had wanted Jillian to be happy, he had also been determined to dislike Michael Aimes. It was difficult when the man was someone who had already garnered a measure of Adam's respect.

"I was in Egypt with the army," Adam said. "I developed an interest in the country's history and antiquities while I was there." He walked to the front of his desk. He was perhaps an inch taller, but Aimes was at least five years younger, closer to Jillian's age and undeniably handsome. "I'm afraid, Lord Michael, I still don't know why you're here."

Eyes, a warm shade of brown, remained steady on Adam's face. "I'm here because of Miss Whitney. When she came to me for help, I promised that I would keep her secret, and I tried to, truly I did. But I went to see her recently—"

"I don't understand. I thought by now the two of you would have wed."

"Jillian and I never intended to marry. As I started to say, when I went to see her and saw how utterly miserable she was, I simply couldn't keep my silence any longer."

Adam's heart was thudding. He didn't know what was going on, but somehow he knew it was crucial. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what she told you. I agreed to the lie because I had offered her my aid and that is what she asked me to do. I knew she had suffered a great deal since her father died. I wanted to help in any way I could."

"Are you saying you're not in love with her?"

A corner of Michael's mouth curved up. "I don't think any man in his right mind could help falling a little in love with Jillian. More to the point—Jillian is not in love with me."

Adam exhaled a slow breath. He didn't know where this was going, but his instincts were screaming again. Unfortunately, he couldn't figure out what they were saying. "I think I need a drink."

Walking over to the sideboard, he lifted the crystal stopper off a decanter of brandy, poured himself a glass, and took a swallow. "Would you care for something?"

"No, thank you."

Adam turned to face him. "All right, let's try this again. If Jillian doesn't love you, who is she in love with?"

"You."

He nearly choked on the sip of brandy he had taken. He swallowed a little more carefully and set the glass on the sideboard. "As much as I might wish that were true, I don't believe it is. The day she came to see me, Jillian made her feelings perfectly clear. And if she hasn't gone off to marry you, she must have gone off with someone else."

Michael Aimes shook his head. "You still don't understand. You're the man Jillian loves. She left London in order to protect you and your family. She knew you planned to ask her to marry. She gave you up because she loves you so much."

"That's impossible."

"I'm afraid it isn't. You see, your aunt came to see her at Rathmore Hall."

One of his eyebrows went up. "Aunt Sophie?"

Michael nodded. "She told Jillian that your sister, Maggie, was in love, and that the man Maggie loved wouldn't marry her if her brother wed a woman of Jillian's reputation."

His mind spun as pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. "My sister was recently betrothed to an attorney named Garth Dutton. He's the heir to the Schofield barony." And Garth's family was wildly concerned with reputation and social standing. In a way, Adam had been surprised when Garth had come to him for permission to marry Maggie.

He turned a hard assessing gaze on Michael Aimes. "You're certain about all this?"

"Jillian loves you. Of that much I'm sure."

The emotions Adam had been fighting threatened to boil to the surface. He didn't dare reach for his glass of brandy. His hand was shaking too badly. "Where is she?"

"Just outside Woburn Abbey, a little village called Bartonstoke. With my father's aid, I helped her secure a position there as governess to the Marquess of Richmond."

For the first time since Michael Aimes arrived, the tension in Adam's shoulders began to ease. Jillian loved him. She loved him. God, could it really be true?

"I'm grateful to you for coming, Lord Michael. You will never know how much."

"Michael is enough." He smiled with a hint of relief. "I assume you're going after her."

Adam's mouth curved. His heart was still beating too fast, but this time it was thumping with joy and hope. Jillian had left to protect him and his family. She had loved him that much. He wanted to believe it was true. God, he wanted it so much.

And yet, as Jillian had known, there was Maggie to consider.

"There's something I have to do first. Then I'm off for Woburn Abbey."

As they walked to the door, Adam settled a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'll never forget what you've done. You'll always be welcome at Blackwood Manor."

Michael seemed pleased. "Take care of her."

"No matter what happens, you may count on that."

Michael left the study and the moment he was gone, Adam rang for Harley Smythe to pack his things. Half an hour later, he was aboard his carriage and rolling toward London, on his way to see Garth Dutton, the man who held his family's future happiness in his hands.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

At the sound of a light rap on his office door, Garth set aside the document he had been studying, charges against the son of a nobleman for debts he refused to pay. Garth's secretary, a young man named Kent Wilson, stepped into the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but Lord Blackwood is here to see you. He says the matter is urgent."

Garth ignored a trickle of alarm that something might have happened to Maggie. "Send him in." He rounded his desk and strode to the door to greet the man who would soon be his brother-in-law.

"I hope nothing untoward has occurred," Garth said, trying unsuccessfully to read the expression on Adam's face.

Blackwood waited till Kent closed the door, making them private. "I suppose that depends on one's point of view."

Garth's alarm took a leap. "Is it Maggie? Is she all right?"

"As I said, that depends." Blackwood's eyes looked hard. Garth sensed an underlying turbulence hidden beneath his outer control.

"Depends on what?"

"What you will say if I tell you I intend to marry Jillian Whitney."

Garth frowned, not quite sure he had heard correctly. "I thought Miss Whitney was marrying someone else."

"So did I. Apparently that was a ruse Jillian created in order to protect my sister."

"Your sister? What the devil are you talking about?"

"Before I explain, I need to know if your betrothal to Maggie will stand if I marry Jillian."

"For God's sake, man—what you and Miss Whitney do has nothing to do with your sister and me. I love Maggie. I would have married her already if I weren't concerned about the damnable gossip."

"That, I'm afraid, is exactly my point. The Dutton family has always been overly concerned with propriety. Maggie's name is bound to suffer from my marriage to a woman of Jillian's reputation—as undeserved as we both know it is. What will you do if your grandfather threatens to disinherit you?"

Garth was beginning to feel his own temper rising. "Let me get this straight. You're telling me that Jillian refused your suit because she was afraid that if she accepted, I wouldn't marry Maggie?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying. Jillian knew Maggie was in love with you. My aunt made certain of that. She also made sure Jillian was convinced you would never offer marriage if the two of us were to wed."

Garth shook his head. "Gad, what a coil." He raked a hand through his hair. "It seemed obvious the two of you were in love. I was surprised to hear things didn't work out." He straightened. "I feel terrible about this, Adam. But make no mistake—Margaret Hawthorne has agreed to become my wife. Not my grandfather nor anyone else is going to keep that from happening."

The relief on Adam's face made Garth's chest feel tight. He knew how he would feel if he lost Maggie. Thank God, the truth had come out before it was too late for Adam.

"Thank you," Blackwood said, his voice a little gruff. "My sister is lucky to be marrying a man like you."

Garth smiled. "I'm the lucky one, I assure you. Tell Jillian I wish both of you the very best."

Adam nodded and started for the door.

"When you get back, don't be surprised to find out the wedding's been moved up. After listening to you, I don't want to take any chances."

Adam laughed, a carefree sound unlike anything Garth had ever heard from him before.

"Kiss the bride for me," Garth called out as the earl pulled open the door.

"Count on it," Adam called back over his shoulder.

Garth merely smiled.

Jillian sat curled on the sofa in the library of the Marquess of Richmond's country estate. It was getting late, nearly eleven o'clock, and she had to get up early. But a storm was building outside. She could hear the rumble of distant thunder, catch the occasional flash of lightning, and she wasn't the least bit sleepy.

Instead, she felt restless and edgy, as jittery as the branch trembling in the wind outside the mullioned windows. She sighed as she left the sofa and walked over to the hearth, knelt to add coal to the low-burning flames. It was warm in the room and yet her hands felt icy cold. She couldn't seem to warm them.

Little by little, her nerves slowly calmed and a deep, numbing lethargy replaced them, a feeling that gripped her every evening about this same time.

It was this time of night she thought of Adam, late in the evenings when she remembered how safe and solid he had felt lying next to her in bed. It was this time of night she ached for him, suffered the despair of knowing she had lost him. Her only consolation came from the notice she had read in the
Chronicle
of Maggie's betrothal to Garth. At least some good had come of all the grief.

With a leaden heart, Jillian walked back to the sofa to continue the book she had been reading, a text of Walter Scott poems. She had just reached to pick it up when the library door swung opened. Soft yellow light from the wall sconces down the hall illuminated the figure of a man, tall and spare, wide-shouldered, with wavy dark hair.

Her heart clutched. The book remained where it lay, draped over the arm of the sofa. She wanted to say the man's name but she was afraid to, afraid that if she did, the figure would step out of the shadows and it would be someone else. He started walking toward her, his long strides graceful and determined. For an instant, lamplight touched the side of his face, revealing the thin white scar along his jaw. There was no mistaking who it was and her leaden heart took wing.

"Adam . . ." she whispered, a thick lump swelling in her throat. She started shaking, tried to walk toward him, but couldn't get her legs to move. Adam just kept coming. He didn't stop until he stood directly in front of her and for an instant, she thought he meant to sweep her into his arms.

Her breath caught in anticipation and her eyes slid closed, but the moment never came. When she looked up at him again, she saw that he stood just inches away and it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him.

"Adam . . ." she repeated, the merest whisper of his name.

His eyes were dark, the lines of his face barely visible in the flickering firelight. "Michael Aimes came to see me."

Her lips trembled. "Oh, God."

"He told me the two of you never intended to marry."

Jillian said nothing. Her throat felt strangled and no words would come.

"Lord Michael says you don't love him. He says you never did. He says . . . he believes that you're in love with me. Is it true?"

She knew she should lie. Garth and Maggie weren't yet wed. But she loved him so much, and as she looked into his beautiful face, the beloved planes and valleys, dear God, she couldn't lie to him
again.