Season for Scandal (34 page)

He took a winding route to Xavier House in Hanover Square; it wouldn’t do to be seen or followed by Turner at this late stage. The moon was a silver semicircle in the velvet-dark sky; an occasional gas lamp contributed a golden glow. Edmund’s feet covered his winding path more quickly than he had expected, and well before the expected hour, he was knocking at the servants’ entrance of Xavier House and being admitted by the earl himself.

“When you married Jane,” Xavier said without preamble, “my life was supposed to become less complicated. I wanted to be in Surrey by now, you know.”

“You are a slave to your own better nature.” Edmund shook off his ancient cloak and hat, hanging them on a hook near the door.

“Yes,” murmured Xavier. “Or my curiosity. It’s been months since I witnessed one of Jane’s schemes firsthand.”

“I am most grateful that you and Lady Xavier are willing to postpone your travel until Boxing Day.”

Xavier waved a hand. “A Christmas dinner can be enjoyed in London just as well as it can in the country. I’ll be at Clifton Hall in time to give out the gifts to my servants and tenants, which is likely all they desire.” He clapped Edmund on the shoulder. “You and Jane will join us tomorrow for dinner, I hope?”

“Let us see how tonight’s events play out.”

“As you wish.” Xavier shrugged. “Come, I’ll show you up to where we’ll observe.”

They walked through the servants’ quarters and up the back staircase, opening the door onto a landing faced by a green door to the servants’ quarters and next to it, a closet. “This closet shares a wall with the drawing room,” Xavier explained.

“You’re going to make us wait in a closet. Really?”

“Yes. Since you don’t want to involve the magistrate by confronting Bellamy openly—”

“Not tonight.”

“—and this isn’t an ancient, crumbling abbey riddled with secret passages, a linen closet is all I have.”

Edmund raised a brow.

“I had the table linens taken out.” Xavier fiddled with the door handle of the closet. “And a footstool brought in case of need. Does that help?”

“If there’s room for three, and a way to peep into the drawing room.”

“My dear wife insisted that holes be drilled through the wall, then checked them from the drawing-room side to make sure they’re hidden at the edges of pictures. We shall be able to spy upon Jane with no one the wiser.”

“And how is Jane?” Edmund swallowed thickly. “Is she all right?”

“Are you joking? My drawing-room wall has been damaged and my Christmas travel plans are upset. I’ve never seen her so delighted.”

“That’s good,” Edmund said. “So. She’s happy. That’s good.”

“Hmm.” Xavier looked thoughtful. “Want to take up your hiding spot now, or wait until the quarry arrives?”

“We can wait,” Edmund said. “What about Lady Sheringbrook? Has she arrived yet?”

“She arrived in a hack this afternoon. Louisa and Jane are having tea with her now. Do you want a cup?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Not that he cared about the tea, but he wanted a look at Jane. He didn’t disbelieve Xavier, but . . . well, damn it, he didn’t need a reason why. He simply wanted to see her.

When the two men entered the drawing room, an odd picture met their eyes. Louisa, garbed in dark-blue velvet, was giving some instruction to a servant. Lady Sheringbrook perched on the edge of a sofa, posture perfect and snowy hair impeccable. Her hands, wracked by tremors, were clasped uselessly in her lap.

Next to her sat Jane, holding a cup of tea. “Would you care for more, my lady?”

“Thank you,” said the viscountess. Jane held the cup to the older woman’s lips, and she sipped without spilling a drop on her gray silks.

“Ladies,” said Xavier. “Lord Kirkpatrick has arrived, as you see, and he is ready to be stuffed into the linen closet.”

“Positively eager for it,” Edmund agreed, making his bows.

As he straightened up, he caught Jane’s eye. She looked magnificent. Her hair was coiled back from her face, which looked dignified and eager and lovely and impish all at once. She was dressed in a silk gown the rich green of holly leaves, with emeralds at her throat, and her eyes shone. There was nothing the slightest bit wenchy about the ensemble, yet she looked irresistible.

Xavier had been right: Jane loved an adventure. It brought out the best in her.

Edmund had never adequately appreciated the best in her before. During their lost weeks of marriage, he hadn’t wanted to make demands on her; sharing his bed was already more than he should ask, considering he shared none of his trust.

It was only when he trusted her at last that he realized how much she was willing to give. Brave, forgiving, bloodthirsty Jane.

“I hate to put you in danger,” he told Jane. “Xavier and I each have a pistol, and we shall be in the room in an instant if needed.”

“Ridiculous,” Jane scoffed. “It’s only a game of chess.”

Louisa finished her instructions, then joined Jane and Lady Sheringbrook. “I thought you were going to play
vingt-et-un
. Isn’t that your favorite game on which to lay stakes?”

Jane took a drawn-out sip of tea. “Not for tonight,” she said, a bit breathlessly.

Edmund caught her eye. That game of cards—Lord Sheringbrook’s cheating, and Jane’s loss—had bound them in marriage. Brought them together, split them apart. Led them to this moment, this room.

As he and Jane looked at one another, neither of them seemed to know whether to smile or not.

The butler knocked. “Mr. Bellamy has arrived, my lady.”

“Thank you, Hollis,” Louisa said. “Places, everyone.” With a nod to the servants, Louisa went into action. The tea things were banished; Lady Sheringbrook was helped to her feet. “Jane, set up the chessboard.”

Lady Sheringbrook, Xavier, and Edmund crept to the door, footsteps silenced on the carpet. The three of them slipped out of the drawing room and into the linen closet, which was
not
big enough for three, no matter what Xavier insisted. They arranged themselves in darkness and silence. Edmund found that by craning his neck forward and ducking his head between starch-scented shelves—empty of linens, as Xavier had promised—he could catch glimpses of the drawing room through the peepholes. At his side, he guessed Xavier and Lady Sheringbrook were doing the same, the latter with the aid of the footstool.

They were arranged none too soon; Edmund heard a tread on the stairs and a jovial voice on the landing outside the door. “Ah, Lady Xavier. You’re looking beautiful tonight.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Bellamy.” Louisa’s voice was all graciousness. “Lady Kirkpatrick awaits your nightly game. Would you like tea sent in?”

“Something a bit stronger, if you’ve no objection. It’s a night for celebration, after all.”

“Christmas Eve? Indeed. I’ll nose through Xavier’s bottles and see what sort of manly beverages he has. Do you prefer port or brandy?”

“Either one.” A delicate pause. “His lordship isn’t present this evening?”

“No, he’s off at White’s with Lord Kirkpatrick. He couldn’t let his friend see in the holiday alone.”

“Yet he left you alone?”

“I’m not alone.” Louisa laughed. “I have Lady Kirkpatrick to keep me company whenever I like. Now enjoy your game. I’m for a book, myself.”

Nicely played. A part of Edmund would have dearly loved to be sitting before the fire at White’s rather than crammed into a closet, head jutting forward like a man in the stocks.

His suspicions seemingly allayed, Turner bade his hostess a pleasant evening, then entered the drawing room. Friendly greetings ensued between Jane and Turner; Edmund clenched his teeth. Then the man came into the range of Edmund’s peephole, seating himself facing Jane across a chessboard.

Play began at once, seemingly a familiar routine for the pair. They spoke little and frowned much, moving pieces with deliberation.

Turner was more skilled, judging from the number of Jane’s black pieces he collected. Edmund squinted, trying to count them, but the distance was too great or his peephole too small. At least she’d snapped up a few of the man’s pawns.

When a servant brought in a bottle of port and some small glasses, there was a pause in the game.

“You’re getting good at this, Lady Kay.” Turner poured out port with a heavy hand.

“Kirkpatrick.” Jane accepted a glass.

“Must you insist on that? Your husband isn’t here, dear lady.”

She sipped at the port. “Mmm.” Another sip. “You’re right. There’s no need to stand on ceremony, is there? As a matter of fact, you may call me Jane. That’s my Christmas gift to you.”

Trapped, Edmund could only watch as Turner beamed and clinked glasses with her. It was all a game, he knew. Yet his fists were clenched.

He hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to watch, and not just because of the growing crick in his neck and shoulders.

“—don’t plan to return to Kirkpatrick, no,” he realized Jane was saying. “Though someday I may need to, if I find myself in . . . trouble.”

“Trouble? What sort of trouble?”

“Oh. Well.” Her flush was beautifully done. “I’m neither wife nor widow, so I ought to live alone always. Without . . .”

“A man,” Turner finished.

“Well, yes.” A deeper flush. “But forever? I can’t imagine doing so forever.”

Again, she sipped at her port. “That’s good. It’s no wonder Xavier tries to keep this just for himself and his friends.” She laughed. “I shouldn’t be admitting any of this, should I? A respectable woman wouldn’t even bring up the idea of straying.”

“Now, Jane. It happens all the time.” Just for a moment, Turner’s hand covered Jane’s; Edmund ground his teeth together. “Why, some of the best families have a few bastards.”

True. Though Edmund would hardly call his family one of the best.

His neck and shoulders were aching; he wished Jane would pounce. But she was sipping and smiling and toying with one of the white pawns she’d captured. “Bastards; what rot. Birth is an accident.
Action
is what decides a man’s worth.”

“And what makes a man worthwhile to you?”

“Adventure.” She licked her lower lip.

“Ah, well, I shouldn’t be using up your evening with chess, then.”

“Nonsense. Every chess game is an adventure.” She held up a white pawn, squinted at it, then lined it up with its captured brothers. “There is kidnapping; secrecy; strategy. Murder.”

“Or suicide,” Turner added. “It depends on how good a gambler one is.”

“I’m a
very
good gambler.”

Closer and closer they leaned across the chessboard. “The queen doesn’t always know her power,” Turner murmured.

“Some do.” Jane sighed and leaned back, her eyes half-closed in a sultry drowse. “Some only wish. I may be a very good gambler, but even I gambled and lost once.”

“With Kirkpatrick?”

“In a way.” She stretched, giving a little laugh; the emerald on her pendant dived between her breasts. “It started with Sheringbrook. I see you haven’t heard the tale of how Lord Kirkpatrick and I wound up married.”

At Edmund’s side, Lady Sheringbrook whispered, “This is the worst-played game of chess I’ve ever seen. Neither of them has a clue what they’re doing, do they?”

“I think Lady Kirkpatrick knows exactly what she’s doing,” Edmund whispered back.

“I think my ears are melting,” Xavier groaned.

A muffled grunt told Edmund that Lady Sheringbrook had jabbed Xavier, and they all fell silent again in time to hear Jane recount her long night of gambling at Sheringbrook’s, then her sudden, huge loss.

Xavier made a gulping sound, and it occurred to Edmund that until now, the earl had not known into whose pocket Jane’s dowry had gone.

Jane then told Turner how Edmund had swooped in to rescue her. It ought to have sounded rather heroic, but Jane described him as a curious bumbler, well-meant but silly. Desperate to catch himself a bride, not caring who.

How much of this was an act, and how much her true feelings?

“I had no choice,” she sighed, “but to accept him. So you see, it was never much more than a marriage of convenience. Yet we should never have come to that point. Sheringbrook cheated.”

“No!” Turner offered a fair approximation of shock.

She lowered her voice, leaning forward again. “Five aces in the deck. I had to take the loss, or he would have become violent.” Her eyes went wider. “A woman alone is all but helpless.”

What bollocks. But Turner was eating it up. “I am pleased to tell you, dear Jane, that Lord Sheringbrook has left the card tables behind him for good. He’s involved in a new venture now.”

“Oh? How do you know?”

Turner laid a finger aside of his nose. “That’d be telling.”

“Ah. Secrets.” Jane grimaced. “What’s his new game?”

“How much do you want me to tell you?” He ran a blunt index finger along Jane’s collarbone.

She shivered, wide eyes never leaving his. “What’s the price of adventure?”

Turner trailed his index finger down, down, until it caught on the chain of her necklace. “A certain young woman once entranced him with a set of dazzling rubies. As a result, he became interested in jewelry.”

Xavier made another sort of strange choking sound. Edmund had a feeling Jane would be receiving an earful later.

“Buying and selling?” Jane asked.

Turner hooked the pendant and lifted the emerald up so it winked in the firelight. “Let us call it . . . collecting.”

Now Lady Sheringbrook made a choking sound.

“It was you, wasn’t it, Jane? Who wore the rubies?”

She tugged back her necklace. “Once I did. Card games aren’t to my taste anymore.” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “Tell me more about collecting. Does it take much skill?”

“Not skill, but knowledge. Of where the finest collections are. And then, of how to create a diversion with charm or violence. So the collection can be . . . well . . .”

“Collected,” Jane finished. “You intrigue me . . . Daniel.”

God, she was marvelous. Everything she said made her more marvelous, yet pulled her farther away from Edmund.

“Have you a collecting impulse?” Turner asked.

“I have often been told,” Jane sighed, “that I’ve the soul of a pirate.”