The Sinners Club (15 page)

Love had caused all this. He wasn't a deep thinker but even he could see why he'd avoided the emotion ever since. After a deep, steadying breath, he walked out of the room, taking with him the scent of old perfume and an unexpected hint of bitterness and betrayal. This house had changed him. The people in it had changed him, both the living and the dead.

As he walked back along the top of the main staircase, one of the grooms came running up the stairs.

“Mr. Smith, I was just coming to find you.” He held up two letters. “These were just delivered and need your immediate attention.”

“Jenkins, isn't it?” Jack held out his hand. “Thank you. Is Mr. Picoult back yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Will you ask the groom who brought these to wait and see if I need to answer them?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack continued on his way and relocked his door before sitting down on his bed to examine the contents of the letters. They were brief. Adam didn't want him to do anything about the Keyes situation, and advised him to come back to London as soon as possible. He also added that he had some information from Christian Delornay that might interest Jack and to call in at the Sinners Club.

Jack contemplated the letters and then stuffed his remaining clothes in his valise. It seemed his journey into Lincolnshire was destined to end more quickly than he'd anticipated.... He carefully burned his correspondence, wrote a polite note to thank Mary and Simon for their hospitality, and did what he'd always done when a situation became intolerable.

He ran away.

For the first time in his life, he hated himself for doing it.

 

“Simon!”

Mary finally found him in the estate office at the farthest end of the house. For once the early morning sunlight was streaming through the long front windows, illuminating the parquet floor and casting her shadow ahead of her.

“What is it, love?”

“He's gone.”

He looked up from the accounts. “Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.” She held up the letter. “He says that he was asked to return to London posthaste.”

“Sounds rather peculiar. Did you two have an argument or something?”

“No, he—” She paused, remembering the odd conversation they'd shared the evening before, the look on his face when he'd sworn to protect her and her child. It was as though he'd shown her a different side of his personality entirely. “He was very kind to me.”

Simon pulled back his chair and came around to take her in his arms. “Don't worry, love. I'll check with the staff as to whether he really did receive a message, or if he just decided to leave. I'll also make sure the silver isn't missing.” He kissed the top of her head. “I'm surprised he didn't stay to say good-bye.”

She registered the faint hurt in his voice and hated Jack Smith for putting it back there. It was the first time Simon had risked a physical relationship since the earl had died. Jack deserved to be shot.

“I'm sorry, love.” Mary kissed him back. “I told you he wasn't to be trusted.” She put her hand over Simon's. “Maybe we really should check the silver. I'll ask Mrs. Lowden and the butler if there were any late letters last night, while you go and check with the stables.”

Half an hour later, she was seated in the earl's study, her mind in a whirl. Simon didn't bother to knock as he came through the door smelling of straw and horse manure.

“Simon, neither the butler nor Mrs. Lowden saw any messages coming in.”

He halted beside her. “There's no need to look so grim, my dear. I spoke to Jenkins, and apparently a groom did arrive directly from London demanding Mr. Smith. He carried two letters. Mr. Smith left with him.”

“Oh.”

Simon frowned. “You almost sound disappointed that he had a good excuse for leaving in a hurry.”

Mary groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. “I don't want to like him, Simon. It would be much easier to justify my actions if he and his employer were obnoxious scoundrels.”

“Poor Jack.” He held out his hand to her. “Come and eat something. Mrs. Tyler gave me an armful of London papers full of gossip for you to peruse. You know that always cheers you up.”

She took his hand. “Are you sure you're feeling all right about this?”

“About Jack?” He patted her cheek. “Why wouldn't I be? He helped me remember how it feels to be attracted to someone without any rules or duty or... you know.”

“But did you care for him?”

Simon laughed. “Do you mean, am I in love with him? No. He told me right from the start that he prefers women.”

“That's good then.”

“I think it is. I have no regrets whatsoever. How about you?”

She punched him on the arm. “Why would you think I feel any differently from you? He was an interesting and inventive bed partner, and I enjoyed him.”

“And that's all?”

“Why would there be anything else?” She raised her chin.

He studied her for far too long. “I'm not sure. It's just that this time I sense something different about you.”

“I'm just a superb actress.” She disentangled herself from his embrace and marched toward the door. “Don't be ridiculous.”

How to explain to her closest friend and sometime lover that the connection she'd made with Jack Smith had shaken her to the core? He matched her in so many ways that it was unsettling, and she didn't want to think about him ever again. She'd just have to hope that her heart soon learned to agree with her.

London

 

“Y
ou are more than welcome to stay here, Jack.”

Jack smiled at his stepmother across the breakfast table. “That is very kind of you, love. I was rather hoping to have a home of my own by now. As I explained to you last night, things have gotten rather complicated.”

“So you said.” Sylvia poured him more tea. “It has all the makings of a Drury Lane melodrama. I can't help sympathizing with the Picoults, though.” She shivered. “I know how it feels to be left widowed and alone.”

“Whatever happens, I won't let them suffer.”

“I know that, Jack. You are one of the kindest men I've ever met. Look how well you took care of me and Violet.”

“I did my best.”

“Under very trying circumstances. Your father would've been proud of you.”

“I doubt it. Nothing I did was ever quite good enough for him.” Jack used his napkin and rose to his feet. “I have several appointments this morning, so I'll probably be back quite late. Do you have any commissions for me?”

“None at all.” She smiled up at him. “Unless asking you to have dinner with me tonight is considered a commission?”

“No,
that
will be a pleasure.” He bowed.

He'd never understood how his aging father had managed to marry yet another lovable woman like his stepmother. Sylvia had nothing but good to say about Jack's father, and stubbornly refused to believe he was anything but the perfect husband. Jack had given up trying to persuade her otherwise. It was both cruel and unnecessary to destroy her memories. It was also possible that in his later years, Jack's father had mellowed and truly appreciated the love of his new young wife.

“Ha!”

“Did you say something, sir?” The butler gave him an inquiring look as he opened the front door for Jack.

“No, Batlock, I was just clearing my throat. Can you find me a hackney cab?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Jack thanked the butler, put on his hat and gloves, and stepped out into the drizzle. He climbed into the hackney cab and directed the driver to the Sinners Club. He might as well face Adam and get that over with. Then he intended to see the Lennox solicitors, and perhaps Christian Delornay if Adam didn't have the information Jack required. As the cab made its way through the crowded, noisy streets, he pictured Pinchbeck Hall set amongst the quiet of the fens and wished himself back there.

“Here you are, sir. I don't think I'll get any closer than this!” The cabby's voice rang out, disturbing his thoughts.

“This will be fine.”

Jack avoided a few puddles, and made his way up the steps of the club. The footman inside merely nodded as Jack strode through the hall and down toward Adam's office.

“Ah, Jack. I thought you might be in this morning.” Adam sat behind his desk, one of the thick ledgers belonging to the club open in front of him.

“Your note made it seem like the best course of action.” Jack removed his hat and coat and sat down. “I assumed you might want more details about what happened at the Keyes house.”

Adam retrieved a sheet from under the ledger and perused it. “No, I think you were fairly comprehensive in your letter.”

“Do you think Keyes is there, then?”

“If he is, there isn't much we can do about it.”

“Why not?”

“He's obviously not being held for political reasons.”

“But I thought the Sinners Club was set up to help when the government couldn't or wouldn't? Have you spoken to Lord Westbrook about this?”

“I have, and he is of the same opinion as I am. It was time for Keyes to go home and sort out some family issues. In fact, it was long overdue.”

“So you know more about this than you are letting on.”

Adam smiled. “I'm afraid so.”

“And you believe that despite the woman with the pistol, Keyes is in safe hands?”

“None better, wouldn't you think? No foreign government or agent will be able to get to him either.”

“I suppose that's true—if he's there.”

“Oh, I think he is.”

There was a hint of amusement in Adam's voice that made Jack narrow his eyes. “One might think that you were enjoying this.”

“One might.” Adam shifted the book to one side. “Now on to other matters. I'm sure you'll be seeing Mr. McEwan, but I wanted to address the matter you asked me about before you saw him.”

“The Picoults.”

“Indeed.” Adam sat back in his chair and studied Jack. “That must have been something of an unexpected surprise for you.”

“It certainly was.”

“Why didn't you throw them out?”

“Because I wasn't myself.”

“But even as your own secretary, you had the power to order them to leave.”

“I found I couldn't do that.”

“Is the widow that attractive?”

Jack sat up straight. “The Dowager Countess is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.”

“Oh dear.”

“But that wasn't why I let her stay. She's expecting a child. If she delivers a son, that child should inherit the title.”

“Come now, Jack, she obviously schemed to marry an elderly, sick man in his dotage to protect herself and her brother from eviction. Who's to say that the child is even his?”

“I find I cannot blame her for wanting security for herself and her family. Wouldn't you do the same thing?”

“Good Lord, she must be exceptional to have gotten around you. What did she do? Seduce you?”

“That is none of your business.” Jack flexed his fingers in an effort not to leap across Adam's desk and plant him a facer. “I am convinced the Picoults are not to blame for this debacle.”

Adam sighed. “Then you won't be pleased to hear what I've found out about them.”

 

Mary turned over a page of the society newspaper she was reading. Sometimes she missed London, with all its noise and crowds and entertainment. When she was younger, she'd assumed that like her mother, she'd be having a Season. She'd dreamed of attending Almack's, and making her come-out to the queen.... Reading about those who were fortunate enough to still inhabit that world was somewhat bittersweet. Occasionally, she recognized the names of her contemporaries from school and wondered if they even remembered her, or whether her family's downfall had made her invisible.

She picked up the next newspaper and saw it was dated three weeks previously. Not that she minded. Any news was welcome in the quietness of Pinchbeck Hall, where no one ever visited them anymore. It was very kind of the vicar's wife to pass the papers on to her and Simon. She skimmed dutifully through the political news and turned with relief to the society columns, which detailed the goings-on of the ton, both actual and invented. The more scandalous the story, the less real information that was given, which left Mary happily trying to fill in the details for herself.

She read about births and deaths, about betrothal announcements and funerals with equal attention.

Mary read through the announcement again, and then for a third time. A terrible premonition roared through her and she fought a wave of sickness.

“Simon, did Jack ever tell you the name of his sister?”

“His sister?” Simon sat opposite her by the fire doing the farm accounts. “Some kind of flower name? I don't quite remember.”

“I think he said it was Violet.”

“Why do you ask?”

She put the paper down on her knee, and smoothed it out beneath her trembling fingers. “Because, according to the newspaper, the Honorable Jack Lennox's twin sister, Violet, got married last month.”

“Do you think it possible that John Lennox and Jack Smith both have twin sisters called Violet?” She waited until Simon came across to join her, and pointed out the offending passage in the newsprint. “I knew he was lying to us!”

“But—why would Jack pretend to be his own secretary?”

“To catch us off guard? To make us his fools?” Mary threw the paper to the floor. “I'd like to roast him very slowly over a large fire!”

“I don't believe it.”

Mary stood up to pace the carpet. “What other explanation can there be?”

Simon sank down into Mary's abandoned seat. “I don't know.” He hesitated. “Do you think it was all a game to him?”

The expression on his face made her want to weep, but she couldn't console him, couldn't console herself.

“We have to think. What will he do now? Did he go to London to get support from the authorities to throw us out?”

“Mary, he swore that he wouldn't do that.”

“While he was lying to us and pretending to be his own secretary. How can we believe a word that came out of his mouth?”

What was worse,
she'd
believed him. Was she a complete fool? When had she decided to let her guard down and allow herself to be seduced by a trickster? It wasn't as though she were a flat. She should have spotted him for what he was the moment they met.

“What do you want to do, love? Should we leave?”

“Leave?” Mary scowled at Simon. “He will have to drag me out by my hair!”

A knock on the door interrupted their discussion and heralded the arrival of Mrs. Lowden, as it was the butler's night off. She hated being dragged away from the kitchen fire, and wore her favorite martyred expression.

“The vicar's here, my lady. I have no idea why he's bothering us at this hour.”

“Please show him in.” Mrs. Lowden departed to fetch the vicar from the hall. “I wonder what he wants?”

Mr. Tyler came in and smiled at them both. “Good evening, my lady, and Simon. I apologize for bothering you, but I have something for Mr. Smith.” He took a package out of his capacious pocket. “I wonder if I might deliver it to him?”

“Mr. ‘Smith' isn't here,” Mary said tightly.

The vicar's gaze flew to her face. “Is everything all right, my dear?”

“No, it isn't.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

Mary picked up the paper and held it out to him. “Did your wife happen to mention a society wedding that took place recently?”

“I don't believe she did.”

“It was in the newspapers she lent me.” She pointed out the paragraph, and waited until he'd put on his spectacles and read it through.

“Ah.”

“Mr. Smith insinuated that his employer was old and married.”

Mr. Tyler sighed. “Mr. Smith said a lot of things that I didn't believe.”

“You
know,
don't you?” Mary asked. “You know that Jack Smith and John Lennox, the would-be Earl of Storr, are the same man.”

“I don't think it matters if I tell you now.” He took the seat beside her and held her hand. “I knew his father, John, very well. We occasionally corresponded so I was aware he had a son. Jack looks very much like him.”

“The wastrel who ran away from home, and was never spoken of again? That sounds just like him.”

“I don't think he's quite as wild as his father.”

“He's worse! Why on earth did he deceive us? What was the point?”

“I think the young man should explain that to you himself.”

“If he ever comes back here. And if he does, I'll shoot him on sight!”

“He might well be back, my dear.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, and placed it over her stomach. “Do you think he'll try and deprive my child of his inheritance?”

“If your child is a girl, he has a perfect right to ask you to move out, you know that.”

“He told me that his employer would support me whatever happened, but I'm beginning to doubt that is true. How can I trust a man who can't even admit who he is?”

“I think you should believe he means to support you.”

Mary smiled, but didn't reply. The vicar was a good man and truly believed every soul was redeemable. He'd believed in her and Simon, and had risked his reputation to help them. Why shouldn't he trust Jack? She didn't want to think about that too much—didn't want to think of him as another misunderstood soul.

“I can't believe you are defending him, Mr. Tyler. That he confided in you and you didn't tell us until it was too late.”

“Many people confide in me, Mary, including you. I try to help when I can.”

The gentle reproof made her feel like a child again and her cheeks heated. “You didn't tell him anything about us, did you?”

“Of course not.” He searched her face. “But are you certain you want to continue with this? I didn't realize how many people would become involved in such a minor matter as a private wedding ceremony.”

“Are you saying you won't support us any longer?” Mary faced him despite the terror coiling itself around her heart.

“I'll support you until the Good Lord tells me not to. If I am asked as to the particulars of the marriage, I can't lie to the authorities, Mary. But that child of yours deserves his inheritance and you have both suffered enough.”