The Princess & the Pea (39 page)

He threw back his head and laughed. "And with you in it, Lord knows, it will never be dull."

Her eyes twinkled. "I should certainly hope not."

Spirals of blackened timber climbed skyward, the only still-standing remnants of the stable. The structure was gone, burned to the ground. Nothing remained but charred, smoking rubble.

Cece wandered aimlessly through the area, nodding to a servant here, an acquaintance there. Her voice rasped and her throat ached from the smoke, but she'd tried to help battle the blaze as best she could. Still, even a well-trained Chicago fire brigade could not have saved this building. The loss was such a shame. Both spare machines were burned beyond salvage, any number of tools were missing and all drawings and plans had been destroyed. At least she'd recovered the automobile.

She stared at the smoldering wreckage. It could have been so much worse. Thank goodness Jared and Quentin had learned from their past mistakes. Previous incidents with highly flammable fuel had taught them to store the petrol in a shed some distance from the stables. It was untouched. Cece shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if the flames had found the fuel.

Emily, of course, had dressed Cece down for her actions, claiming she ahvays knew her older sister's impulsive nature would lead her astray some day. She railed for long moments over the sheer stupidity of what she called Cece's "stunt" until she burst into tears and threw herself into her sister's arms. Finally, her emotions spent. Emily looked at her and said solemnly. "Nellie Bly couldn't have done better." Cece grinned at the memory. It was indeed a high compliment.

She glanced around at the thinning crowd. Now that the fire was essentially extinguished, many who had come to help had drifted back to their own concerns. Her parents had already come and gone. Her mother grew faint at Emily's somewhat embellished telling of her older daughter's exploits. Her father expressed his opinion in no uncertain terms, and his blistering words still rang in her ears. Even so, with the look in his eye, she wondered if he wasn't at least a little proud of the initiative she'd shown. He'd muttered something to Jared as well that she couldn't quite make out. It sounded suspiciously like. "Good luck. You'll need it."

So far, Jared had said nothing about her driving the motorcar. She'd caught a few considering glances tossed her way and she'd responded to each with an innocent smile. But she had little doubt he would broach the subject eventually. Her gaze fell on the automobile standing alone like a cocky warrior who had defeated a powerful enemy, and she grinned to herself. It was nice to learn the way to truly disarm a man was to allow him to believe you were in serious danger, or better yet, dead. Relief appeared to wash away any vestige of anger at one's actions. Perhaps it was a trick that would not work every time, but it was useful knowledge to have.

Lady Olivia was still in the vicinity somewhere. She was the quintessential lady of the castle today, lending assistance and support with words of encouragement and gratitude. Cece could not help but admire her.

"Are you ready to go home?" A thoroughly grubby Jared trudged toward her. "There's nothing more to be done here." He and Quentin both had joined in fighting the blaze, and the man now standing before her was a picture of soot-covered weariness.

She laughed softly. "You look as bad as the stables."

He arched a brow and tossed her a tired grin. "I would not cast stones, my love. Perhaps you've forgotten your own state?"

She glanced down at the charming frock she had donned only a few hours earlier. The pale apricot dress was streaked with grime. A long tear exposed her no longer white slip. Her hands were black with smoky grit and she suspected her face had not fared much better. "We do make a pretty pair."

Jared wrapped a strong arm around her. "We do indeed." They started toward the castle. He heaved an exhausted sigh. "Let's go home."

Home. The castle. It struck her that it would indeed be home soon. Her home and his and, someday, their children's. The thought was as warm as the arm around her.

Slowly they walked down the lane, a content silence between them.

"Your lordship." A voice called from behind and they turned. A pair of servants tramped toward them, a small weasel of a man gripped between the two.

Cece gasped. "Sinclair."

Jared threw her a puzzled look, then turned to the men holding Sinclair. "What is this all about?"

"Beggin' your pardon, milord." Cece recognized the taller man as one of the servants who had played the fiddle. Andrew, she thought. "We found this bloke skulking about. He tried to make a break for it, but we caught him."

"Right after the fire started, it was, milord," the second man said. "He looked suspicious, so we thought we'd bring him to you."

"We're nearly certain"—Andrew threw Sinclair a disgusted glare—"he started the fire."

Jared's eyes darkened. "Is this true, Sinclair?"

Sinclair shook off the hands gripping him. The servants took a short step backwards. Sinclair straightened his jacket and glared coolly as if it was Jared, and not he, who was in the wrong. "It was an unfortunate accident. My apologies. I will, of course, make financial restitution for the loss."

A muscle ticked in the clenched line of Jared's jaw. His voice was icy. calm and dangerous. "What were you doing at the stables? On my property?"

Sinclair's beady, ratlike eyes narrowed and he stared at Jared for a moment. His oily gaze slipped to Cece, and she shuddered. This was indeed a wicked creature doubtlessly here to steal the carburetor. What was he going to say? Fear caught her breath. Surely he would not tell Jared about his arrangement with James?

A slow, hateful smile creased Sinclair's face and he nodded at Cece. "Ask her."

"Me?" Her voice squeaked.

Jared's eyes hardened, his gaze still on Sinclair. "Why?"

Sinclair cocked an insolent brow.

"Jared ..." Cece said, a rising note of concern in her voice.

"Why?" Jared repeated sharply.

"Why?" Sinclair leered. "Why, my dear sir, because she knows my purpose here."

"I doubt that your presence has anything to do with legitimate matters." she snapped. Misgiving flashed across his face, as if he had just remembered her threat of legal prosecution. She suspected he would not take that risk.

Sinclair shot her a spiteful glare, the look of someone who realizes he's lost. Then his eyes widened, as if a new strategy had occurred to him. Apprehension gripped her with an iron grasp.

"And who would know better than you about legitimate matters?" He sneered with pure malice. His vile gaze lingered on her, but he directed his words to Jared. "Did you know she paid me off?"

Cece gasped.

Jared slanted her a quick glance of surprise but returned his attention to Sinclair. His voice was deceptively mild. "I find that extremely hard to believe."

"Believe it or not, as you wish. But your charming little American fiancee indeed paid me three hundred pounds." Sinclair shrugged. "She wanted to make certain your automobile would beat mine."

"That's not true!" Cece said with indignation.

"It is quite farfetched, Sinclair," Jared said. "Your machine has never been the equal to mine. If Cece wanted to ensure my success, there are far better competitors to bribe than you."

"Perhaps I was mistaken then." Sinclair smirked at Cece. "Are you saying you didn't give me three hundred pounds?" He patted his waistcoat. "I could have sworn I had the bank draft on me here somewhere."

"Cece—" Jared said, a warning in his voice.

She wanted to lie through her teeth and deny everything, but she couldn't contradict one part of Sinclair's statement without admitting to the other, and the disgusting little man obviously had the proof still on his person. If she told Jared she had paid Sinclair, she would also have to tell him why. It was best for him to be angry with her, rather than know the truth about his brother.

"Jared, I..." She stared, powerless to defend herself.

The emotions that flickered through the stormy seas of his eyes nearly broke her heart. Disbelief. Shock. Disappointment. Anger.

A controlled fury underlaid his words. He turned to the servants and jerked his head toward Sinclair. "Remove him at once and deliver him to the proper authorities. Make sure he's charged with something. Arson, trespassing, I don't care."

Sinclair cast them a smug smile of triumph and turned to accompany the servants, as if he was leaving of his own accord. He had distorted the truth just enough to put her in the position of destroying Jared's faith in his brother or his faith in her.

Jared turned and stalked toward the castle. She scrambled to catch up with him. "Jared!"

He ignored her and continued. She reached out her hand and grabbed his arm. "Jared, please."

He stopped and turned to face her. His midnight eyes glittered like dark jewels on a winter night, cold and hard and unfeeling. He studied her for a long moment and her heart sank. "Tell me the truth, Cece. Did you pay him three hundred pounds?"

She stared helplessly and struggled to find an answer. Nothing came to mind. No clever rejoinder. No keen evasion. Not even an intelligent, outright lie. She pulled a deep breath. "Yes."

"Why?" He spat the word as if it were obscene.

Again defenselessness washed over her. She could only shake her head mutely.

He seized her arms, his gaze boring into hers. Betrayal shone in his eyes. "I thought you believed in my machine. In my aspirations. In me."

"I do, Jared. I do." The words came from the depths of her heart, and she prayed he'd believe her.

"It would seem your actions contradict your words. If you had faith in me, you would not find it necessary to resort to paying off a scoundrel like Sinclair. Really, Cece." He released her and cast her a look of disgust. "If you were going to squander good money on my behalf, you might at least have found a more worthwhile competitor than Sinclair." His eyes narrowed. "Or was he the only one willing to take your bribe?"

"It wasn't that way at all," she said, a beseeching note in her voice.

"Wasn't it?" He ripped the air with a short, bitter laugh. "I find the irony in all this quite amusing."

"Amusing?" She stared in disbelief.

"Indeed." Sarcasm weighted his words. "I find a great deal of amusement in the fact that you, who are so fond of regaling me with the American appreciation of ingenuity, would bypass that process altogether and simply purchase victory. Although. I suppose"—he shrugged—"depending on one's point of view, and tossing aside all thoughts of morals, standards and basic honesty, it could be considered extremely clever."

"Jared!" She gasped. "That's not—"

"Not what?" He arched a scornful brow. "Not funny? Oh, but it is, my dear. And it's not the only thing.

"There is something exceedingly humorous in the delightful way you have gone on and on about how a man shouldn't marry for wealth. How a man should earn his money. Yet, you are willing to spend a small fortune on deceitful methods to ensure my success. Is that how this marriage will work, Cece? You will spend your resources behind my back to guarantee my triumphs?"

She shook her head vehemently. "That's not it at all."

"Then what is it?" He stared angrily. Fury battled desperation in his eyes, and she couldn't bear the anguish she saw there. She wanted to tell him everything, all about Sinclair and James. But the pain that gripped him now at her perceived treachery was nothing compared to how the truth about his brother would tear him apart.

She placed a hand on his arm. "Jared"—she dropped her hand—"I don't know what to say."

"Say something, Cece." His gaze was hard, his jaw set. his fists clenched. "Say anything."

She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. "I... can't."

It was as if the warm flesh of his face changed to stone, as if a shutter snapped shut over the simmering depths of his eyes, as if he closed himself off from her. He stared with a cold disdain that chilled her blood. He nodded sharply.

"Very well, then." He swiveled to leave, hesitated, then abruptly turned back. "When I did not meet you in Paris, when I sent you that note. I thought I had lost something rare and precious. Oh, certainly, I expected I would find an heiress eventually and marry. But the woman I left waiting at the Eiffel Tower had claimed my soul and I knew my life would never be the same."

His voice was low and intense and held her spellbound. "You see, she had not fallen in love with the Earl of Graystone or a respected position in society or even a castle in the country." For a moment the mask over his eyes lifted, and they burned with the anguish of betrayal. "She wanted Jared Grayson, an impoverished inventor. And for the rest of my days I would cherish the memory of that one woman who loved not the title but the man."

"What are you saying?" She squared her shoulders and fought the tremor in her voice.

"I don't know." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of exhaustion. "I suspect we would have all been better off if I'd settled for your friend from Chicago. Multiple chins aside, I was prepared for a marriage based on my family's need for funds. I was prepared to accept my responsibilities to my heritage. I was even prepared to cast aside all thoughts of automobiles." His gaze meshed with hers, and she could hardly breathe for the deep sorrow simmering in his eyes. "But I was never prepared ... for you."

"I love you, Jared," she said quietly.

"No, my dear, it's just as you've said before. Love"—a bittersweet smile quirked his lips—"has nothing to do with it." He turned and strode toward the castle.

She watched his retreating figure, struck numb by shock and the certain knowledge that he might never forgive what he perceived as her betrayal.

"No, Jared," she whispered, "love has everything to do with it."

"How could you?" Lady Olivia's indignant voice rumbled behind her.

Cece heaved a weary sigh and turned around. A glowering Lady Olivia stood beside Emily and Quentin. She arched a brow. "Forgive me, I didn't know we had an audience. Did we speak loudly enough for you?"