The Sinners Club (14 page)

Should he leave right away? Jack crouched down and fed the sheets of paper to the fire. He'd have to go soon, but only after he'd received a reply from Adam about Simon's mother and her house of ill repute. Devil take it, he didn't want to go. He liked Pinchbeck Hall. It felt like home. He'd even begun to remember his father telling him about it when he was small, before the man had become a drunkard, and an inconvenience to the British government more likely to betray them than to aid them.

Jack had almost got himself killed trying to make his family name respectable again. Playing the fool had become the easier thing to do, to make them think he didn't care, that he was as useless as his father. But that hadn't worked either. When his sister was in danger, Jack had discovered his backbone and found himself willing to kill without mercy. He'd also taken a long hard look at himself and decided it was time to settle down. His interactions with the Picoults had certainly made him wish he'd changed his ways far sooner.

Poking the fire, he made certain the incriminating letters from Adam had turned to ash and returned to the desk. He'd write to Mr. McEwan and await the last two replies, then leave Pinchbeck Hall to face the consequences of his stupidity.

 

Mary cornered Simon as he ascended the stairs and insisted on accompanying him to his room.

“What's wrong, love?” The sideways glance he gave her was a mixture of irritation and amusement.

“George Mainwaring came here.”

“What?” He stopped walking and swung around, a scowl on his face. “What the devil did he want?”

“To tell me that because I refused to become his mistress, he was going to take me to court and dispute both my marriage and any child of mine's claim to the title.”

“Damn him. What does he expect to gain? With Jack's employer being the next male heir to the title, he won't inherit it anyway.

“I think he'd just rather anyone but me had a claim to it.” Mary shivered. “He frightens me, Simon.”

He wrapped an arm around her. “I'll never let him hurt you, you know that.”

“Jack said the same thing, although heaven knows how he thinks he'll manage that from London.” She tried to smile. “I believe even if I have a girl, he intends to petition his employer on my behalf for a decent allowance for us both.”

“That's good of him. Why are you so downhearted?”

“Because I hate all the lying.”

Simon leaned against the door and studied her. “To Jack or to society?”

Mary chose not to answer him and instead closed his curtains and checked the fire.

“You like Jack, don't you?” Simon asked.

“He is not what I expected at all.”

“He certainly isn't.” Simon chuckled. “His sexual appetite is as voracious as yours.”

“And yours.”

“Not really. I'm only just rediscovering that bedding someone can be fun—that
fucking
can be fun.”

“Then perhaps we both have a lot to thank Jack for.” She smoothed his bedcover and walked back over to the door.

“So you do like him.”

“Despite myself.” She smiled. “I still don't think he is being entirely honest with us, but I sense that he is trying to do his best. He received some correspondence today from the Lennox solicitors. I wonder how they reacted to the news of Jasper's marriage?”

“I suspect they weren't pleased.” Simon moved aside and opened the door for her. “Do you want me to try and read the letters?”

“If you can. I'd rather be prepared for the worst.”

“I'm sure Jack won't mind.”

“You're going to ask him?”

“Why not? The worst he can say is no, and if he has something to hide we can go back to distrusting him again, can't we?”

“And pack our bags.”

“You don't think it will come to that, do you?” Simon frowned. “Despite everything, this place has come to mean a great deal to me. I thought you said you'd never leave.”

“But I didn't know about Jack's employer then, did I? I thought everything was going to fall into George Mainwaring's hands.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wish I'd just left things alone.”

He kissed her nose. “I won't say I told you so, but I believe I might have mentioned it a few times.”

“I did it for both of us, you know that. If you no longer support me I'll—”

He put a finger to her lips. “You know I'd walk through hell for you. I love you and whatever you choose to do I will support you.”

She nodded and he stepped away. “I wonder if Jack will be leaving tomorrow?”

“I suppose it depends on the news he received in his correspondence. We can ask him about it at dinner.”

“You
can ask him, love. I'm going out.”

“You don't mean to leave me alone with him, do you?”

“Why not?”

“Because ...” She stared helplessly at her brother. “Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine. I have no idea what I'm worrying about.”

“Neither do I. Jack may be more astute than we give him credit for, but I'd still wager on you.”

“Thank you.” She gave him her most dazzling smile. “Now I really must go and change.”

M
ary stole into the study and looked around. There was no sign of Jack. She assumed he'd gone upstairs to change for dinner. She crossed over to the desk and saw his correspondence laid out on the blotter. After another quick glance at the door, she read quickly through each piece of correspondence. One was a bill from the Lennox solicitors, which she immediately put aside. The longest letter came from Mr. McEwan, who was obviously concerned about what had been happening at Pinchbeck Hall without his knowledge. His list of questions was even more extensive than Jack's had been when he'd arrived.

She put the letter back in the exact same spot she'd found it. Was Jack right? Should she put her faith in the solicitors and hope that they'd uphold her marriage and the future of the earldom? But whose side were they on? If the honorable John Lennox, Jack's employer, was paying them, wouldn't they be biased toward him?

The final letter gave her a sense of Jack's employer and seemed far more levelheaded than the solicitors, although rather peremptory in tone. Hadn't Jack mentioned that his master was also employed by the government in political matters? Perhaps the title of Earl of Storr wasn't one he cared about too greatly. If she remembered the family history correctly, the earls' fourth son had run away from home, married unwisely, and never been spoken of again....

“Good evening, my lady.”

Mary steeled herself not to jump at Jack's sudden appearance. “I assume you didn't mind if I read your letters. You did leave them open on the desk.”

He bowed. “I left them there deliberately. I hoped they might set your mind at rest. As you can see, neither my employer nor the Lennox solicitors are condemning you out of hand. In fact, they might both be willing to support you.”

“Is that because Jasper's younger brother was not universally liked?”

“I understand that John Lennox, the elder, was something of a black sheep. Even my employer admits that.” He took the seat in front of the desk and sat at his ease in his dark coat and well-fitted trousers.

“It's a shame no one thought to disinherit him.”

“And let George Mainwaring advance his claim to the title?”

Mary shuddered. “I hadn't thought of that. I've never met a man who was so obsessed with his family tree. He hates the fact that Jasper married me and ‘diluted the bloodline.' ”

“Some might say the old earl added new life to the family. Too much inbreeding results in a lack of brains and a higher possibility of congenital deformities. Look at the Hapsburgs, look at George Mainwaring himself.”

Mary couldn't help but smile as she rose to her feet. “It must be time for us to dine. Simon sends his regrets.”

Jack placed her hand on his sleeve and headed for the door. “Where is he off to this evening?”

“To a meeting of the local farmers.” She grimaced. “He says it is fascinating to hear about herds of cattle, milk yield, and how many bushels of barley one can grow on an acre, but I can't quite imagine it myself.”

Jack chuckled. “Your brother is obviously a countryman at heart.”

“He does seem to have taken to it rather well, considering—”

Jack ignored her hesitation. “Considering he was born in London.”

“Did he tell you that?” She sat down at the table and spread her napkin on her lap. As it was such an informal supper, all the dishes were laid out on the table for them to help themselves, leaving them free of the staff.

“Not exactly.”

She frowned at him. “Did you beat it out of him?”

“No, I promised never to do that to him again. I just made a reasonable guess based on what he told me about his upbringing.”

Mary put down her soup spoon. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“There's no need to worry. I don't intend to share the details with anyone.”

“What details?”

“That you grew up together in a brothel.”

Silence threatened, and then she laughed as if she didn't have a care in the world. “I must remind my dear brother not to be so indiscreet in bed.”

“As I said, I don't believe this information is relevant to your claims on the earldom.”

“Some would think it very relevant—your employer, for example.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, hating the sympathy in it. “Who would want the mother of an earl to be revealed as a whore?”

“That is something I wanted to ask you about. Is it possible that George Mainwaring knows?”

“About where Simon and I came from? I don't think so. The only person in Jasper's confidence was the vicar, and that was only near the end when he was afraid of dying without confessing his sins.”

“I doubt the vicar is the sort of man to share such sacred confessions with his congregation, or with George Mainwaring.” He frowned. “Then what does George think he knows that might sway the court in his favor?”

“I have no idea, but he is very knowledgeable about the family tree. Perhaps he discovered some earlier aberration that means his branch should really have inherited the lot.”

“That wouldn't surprise me in the least. The thing is, the authorities are very reluctant to mess with ancient history. Once a precedent for a title is set, it is extremely hard to take it away from someone.”

“Which George must know?”

“One would think so. If he simply got rid of you, then he'd still have to deal with John Lennox. Do you think he's the murdering kind?”

“I think he'd consider it.”

“Indeed.” Jack's faint smile disappeared to reveal the acute intelligence in his eyes and the hardness of his jawline. “Perhaps you should take more care of your personal safety.”

“Simon will guard me.”

“But he isn't always here.”

“Then I'll be careful.”

“Can you warn the staff?”

Mary rose to her feet and took to pacing the carpet. “Really, Mr. Smith, I don't think the situation is so dire that I need to involve the entire household.”

“You were the one who said George was dangerous.” He met her gaze without flinching. “I happen to agree with you.”

She widened her eyes at him. “Perhaps you should stay and take care of me, Mr. Smith.”

To her disappointment he didn't take the opportunity to respond to her flattery. “I almost wish I could. Unfortunately I'll have to go back to London quite soon. My employer is anxious to speak to me.”

“I noticed that in his letter. Is he always so abrupt?”

“He's a busy man, my lady.”

“Perhaps you need a different job.”

His smile was wry. “I couldn't agree with you more. I wish I'd never taken this ridiculous assignment on.”

“Because you thought you were dealing with a pair of tricksters and ended up rather liking us?”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Exactly.”

“We didn't mean to put you in a difficult position.”

“Oh, don't worry, I did that all by myself. When is the baby due?”

She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “I'm not quite sure.

“You must have some idea. The previous earl died several months ago.”

She placed a hand on her rounded stomach. “It should be fairly soon. Mrs. Lowden reckons in the next four to six weeks.”

“I would appreciate it if you or Simon could inform the Lennox solicitors as to the sex of the child when it is born.”

“Naturally.” She contemplated his rather stern profile. “Do you not intend to return for the birth to verify that I'm telling the truth?”

“I doubt that will be necessary, my lady.” He took a deep breath. “In truth, I suspect that whatever the outcome of that happy event, we will not meet again.”

“Oh.”

She was aware of an unexpected sense of disappointment. Shouldn't she be pleased that a man as clever as Mr. Smith wouldn't be near her when the child arrived? It would make her life much simpler.

“I have enjoyed meeting you and Simon immensely.”

She sank down in the nearest chair and contemplated her joined hands.

“If it were not for my position—”

“Mr. Smith, it's quite all right. I do understand. You have been more than willing to listen to our side of the story, and for that I am very grateful. At least your employer will gain a balanced view of the issues.”

He turned abruptly and came to kneel at her feet, taking her hands in his.

“Know this. I will never willingly harm you or your brother. I will do everything in my power to make sure that neither George Mainwaring nor my employer will deprive you or your child of your rights.”

“That is very good of you.”

He held her gaze and then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I mean it.” He rose slowly to his feet. “Now I will wish you good night. If the letters I'm expecting arrive tomorrow, I should imagine I'll be on my way the day after.”

“And you don't want to spend your last few hours with me?” She forced herself to sound flirtatious and amused.

He stopped, but he didn't turn around, presenting her with his broad back. “Don't do that. Don't pretend.”

“How do you know I'm pretending?”

“Because like knows like, and in your position, I'd be offering exactly the same currency.”

“And what would that be?”

He slowly turned to face her. “My body for a few hours of pleasure.”

“And if it were more than that? More than just carnal lust. If I wanted—
you
?”

“You have no idea who or what I am, or what I've done.”

“Because you refuse to be honest with me.”

He shrugged. “I regret that more than I can say.”

“Do you truly wish us harm?”

“No, as I just told you, I will do all I can to protect you.”

“But you can't be honest with me about who you are and what you've done.”

“No.” Regret shadowed his blue gaze.

She forced a smile. “Don't despair, Mr. Smith. As you said, we're obviously not destined to meet again, so why does it matter?”

“Because that's why we can't meet again. It's my own damn fault.” He bowed. “Good night, my lady.”

He quietly closed the door behind him, leaving Mary with a sense that something vital had been missed—that some connection that should've been made between them had been lost forever. She wrapped her arms around her waist and fought unexpected tears. If Mr. Smith had lied as well, did it somehow make it better that she hadn't quite told him the truth either? Did the two wrongs balance each other out? And what had he meant about his deception preventing him from ever seeing her again?

 

Jack retired to his room and locked both the door and the internal door to the dressing room that led to Simon's bedchamber. He spent an aimless few minutes sorting through his clothes and stuffing them into his valise, leaving out only what he'd need for the morning. His last day at Pinchbeck Hall ...

After another few hours staring at the fire, he'd begun to hate his own company and even contemplate seeking out Mary and telling her the truth. Driven by some strange compulsion, he lit a candle and let himself back out into the corridor. He vaguely remembered her telling him that there were some formal apartments in the opposite wing that had once been used for visits from local grandees or the occasional member of the royal family.

Holding the candle aloft, he traversed the silent hallways and the gallery and passed into the unlit west wing. The smell of damp and decay immediately assaulted him. If he ever came into his inheritance, he would make everything new again, make the house the showpiece it had obviously once been.

He opened a door at random, and found himself in a room with gold drapery, a high four-poster bed crowned with a coronet and a rather fine Turkish carpet. He kept moving, opening up each new set of double doors of what he assumed were the state apartments until he was brought back out through a small antechamber onto the corridor again. Another door beckoned, and he opened it, the woodwork creaking from lack of use. He paused, but there was no sign of pursuit, or any interest from the already quiet house.

It was a small room, which, he suspected had once been a lady's personal sitting room. The chairs drawn up to the cold grate were comfortable rather than grand. A collection of novels and embroidery had been left lying around as if their owner had got up for a moment and would return momentarily. So strong was the sensation that Jack shivered. He held the candle up and turned his attention to the many pictures and portraits on the wall. From what he could gather, the room might have belonged to his grandmother.

A portrait of a black-haired woman surrounded by four children drew his gaze. The youngest child was the only one as dark-haired as his mother, and leaned against her knee, his blue eyes gazing worshipfully upward. Jack's hand tightened on the candlestick. Why had his father left? Why hadn't he appreciated what Jack had never had? A mother to love him, and the security of a family behind him? Exhausted by her husband's antics, Jack's mother had left with Violet as soon as she could, and made a home for herself with Jack's maternal grandmother. He didn't blame her.

Damnation, yes, he did.

He stepped back from the picture, his throat tight. How could she have left him behind? He and Violet were practically identical. Had she seen in him the same characteristics as his father? Had she not wanted to watch another man she loved become a charming, dissolute failure? He'd never know. She'd died before he'd had a chance to ask her anything at all.