The Rogue (41 page)

Jeeves
had been referred by Lillian something-or-other…

Lillian
Raines. Just like the school across from the club. And of course, his
name wasn't really Jeeves, it was—

"Pearson."

The
butler raised a brow. "Yes, sir."

"You're
a Liar, aren't you?"

Pearson
nodded. "In an honorary capacity, yes, I suppose I am."

Ethan
closed his eyes. "Sarah Cook?"

"She
and I both work for Sir and Lady Raines, who run the Liar Academy."

"Uri?"

"Uri
works for the Gentleman, sir."

Ethan's
jaw worked. "Tell me, Pearson… are my underdrawers my
own, or are they borrowed from the Prime Minister?"

"Only
you would know that, sir."

"Where
is Etheridge?"

"His
lordship is conferring with some of the men in the next room, sir."

Ethan
rose shakily. Taking a deep breath, ordering his knees to tighten up,
he strode into the next room to confront Lord Etheridge.

"How
can you just sit here talking when one of your own people is in
danger?"

Etheridge
turned to him. "Who is in danger?"

"Lady
Jane!" God, had no one been listening?

Etheridge
tilted his head. "I don't know Lady Jane."

Ethan
scoffed. "You don't know anything about Lord Maywell's niece,
the only other spy that the government has been able to place there
besides me—"

"What?"

Ethan
wavered slightly. Etheridge pushed him toward a chair. "Explain."

"No!"
Ethan stood. "No more explaining, no more testing, no more
performing! For God's sake,
just
trust me
!
We have to get Lady Jane out of Lord Maywell's clutches immediately!
If you want your Chimera, Lady Jane is the one who can give him to
you!"

Etheridge
looked around the room. "You heard the man. Arms and knives."

He
turned back to Ethan. "Where would he take her?"

"Bedlam,"
Ethan answered instantly, then hesitated. "But that would be too
easy, wouldn't it? The way he told us, repeating it several times—"

"It
feels like a decoy?"

Ethan
nodded sharply. "Yes."

Etheridge
gazed at him levelly. "Then Maywell House it is."

«
^
»

When
pistols continued to fire, Jane slipped quietly out of the other side
of the carriage. Crouching next to the fore wheel, she could see her
uncle's boots silhouetted against the torches. Past that, she could
see several men milling around two bodies on the ground.

Neither
was wearing a blue coat. Nor was Ethan among the standing. He'd
escaped! For a brief instant, Jane indulged in her relief, clenching
her eyes shut and pressing her cheek to the cool, gritty rim of the
carriage wheel. She'd feigned collapse to fool her uncle, but her
head yet ached from his blow.

Then
she began to work her way into the darkness, keeping the carriage
between her and the men. She crept sideways, unwilling to take her
eyes off the clearing for an instant. It was too bad she was wearing
such a pale gown. Now would be a very good time to be dressed in a
nice sensible brown dress. She could only hope to get out of sight
before anyone thought to turn around.

Her
heart was pounding with fear and tension and she thought she just
might vomit from the strain of seeing Ethan held at gunpoint, but all
in all she was doing quite well. Finally she was able to put a small
grove of ornamental trees between her and the torches in the
clearing. When they blinked out of eyesight, she ran for her life.

She
stumbled and fell, rose and ran on. She was less worried about noise
than she was about getting as far away from Lord Maywell as possible.
There was no time to worry about trying to find Ethan in the
darkness. She had no idea which way he'd run in the confusion.

Although
the park was cultivated and not very wild at all, the trees were mere
dark trunks against deeper night She was repeatedly slapped across
the face by low-hanging branches, but she only ducked and ran on,
sweeping her hands before her in the darkness.

Then
she heard splashing and the sleepy clucks of waterfowl ahead of her.
She tried to remember her excursions to the park. Had she made it to
the Serpentine already? She slowed, listening.

The
ducks and swans seemed to settle, which only made her wonder what had
disturbed them. Her own headlong passage? Ethan? Her heart leapt,
then she halted warily. What if it was something more sinister?

For
a long moment, the only sounds were the final flutters of sleepy
birds and her own labored breathing. Jane turned in a careful circle,
all her senses straining. There was no sound of pursuit, no outraged
roar from her uncle, no light from hunting torches… there
seemed to be no one else in all the world.

Jane
let out a slow, even breath. For lack of anywhere to sit, she dropped
to her knees right where she stood. She let herself simply breathe
for a moment, then she pressed cool palms to her hot cheeks.

She
had to think. How was she to get herself out of this? Where was she
to go? Her uncle would assume she would try to find Ethan, she was
sure of that. For her part, she had no objection to doing just that.
The only problem was, she had no idea where to look. Ethan was too
clever to return to his house now. He would know Maywell would be
watching it.

Scratch
.
Jane jerked back as a small flame flared within feet of her. Blinking
against the sudden glare, she scrambled backward, away from the small
man who held a burning stick high to light his face.

Jane
scrabbled backward over the damp grass until her back came up.
against a tree. The little man came no closer.

"Oy,
there, milady," he said gently. "No need for that. I'm on
the right side, I am."

"Everyone
thinks they're on the right side," she pointed out.

The
fellow chuckled rustily. Then the small light went out, accompanied
by a heartfelt curse from the little man. Taking advantage of his
distraction, Jane began to rise, working her way around the tree
trunk as she slowly crept to her feet.

Then
the small light flared again, catching her in mid-creep. She dropped
her hands in frustration. "How do you keep doing that?"

The
tattered little man smiled shyly. "The bloke what made 'em calls
'em 'frickshun' matches." He shrugged. "I don't know what
that means, but they sure light up a treat!"

Then
he looked around them warily. "I don't like making so much light
out in the open. Will ye come with me? I've got a place for you to
hide."

Jane
hesitated. The little man was strange indeed, with his tatters and
his sweet, broken-toothed smile and his seemingly magical matches—but
somehow she was finding it difficult to be frightened. She reminded
herself that he could have already alerted Maywell if he'd wished,
yet he hadn't. Now he was offering safety.

She
bit her lip, but to be truthful, she didn't really have anywhere else
to go. Slowly, she nodded. He gave her a quick encouraging nod back,
then reached for her hand. "I've got to lead you, my lady.
Sorry, my hands are dirtyish."

Jane
nearly laughed at his gingerly concern, when her own hands were
filthy from her own crawling escape. She smiled carefully instead and
tucked her hand into his.

He
blew out the match, which had been burning much too close to his
grubby fingers. "That's a relief, that is," he said
conversationally in the darkness. "My 'ands are my trade, so to
speak. Wouldn't want to dull my fingers with burns."

Jane
followed him carefully. She didn't know how he did it, but he managed
to lead her without causing her to encounter so much as a fallen
stick with her sore banged toes. They moved toward the water, as
evidenced by the sponginess of the soil and the small wet sounds of
the man-made lake lapping gently at its bank.

The
man lifted the hand he held, showing her the obstacle before them.
They ducked under something about waist-high. He released her hand
and encouraged her to crawl beneath it.

Then
he scratched another friction match to life to reveal where they
knelt in the mud. "You can wait here while I fetch yer chariot."
He blinked hopefully at her. He really was quite dear.

Jane
looked about her in approval. "We're under the footbridge! How
clever."

She
could have sworn the little man blushed as he pulled a stub of candle
from his pocket and held it out to her. "It ain't likely to be
seen, if you're afraid of the dark."

She
almost reached for it, then shook her head. "No, we had best not
take that chance. I shall be fine. I'll stay here and rest until you
come back."

He
nodded in approval, then blew out his match once more. "I'll be
comin' right back for ye, I promise, my lady."

She
heard him crawl out from under the footbridge, but then he was gone
as soundlessly as he'd come.

Jane
wrapped her arms over her drawn knees and dropped her forehead down.
She was exhausted, her wrists throbbed, and she was fairly sure she'd
just crawled through swan droppings.

But
she was safe, at least for now. She only hoped Ethan was doing as
well as she was.

By
the time Kurt was out of his nightshirt and the assembled Liars were
armed and gathered, Stubbs the doorman stood waiting in the alley
behind the club with the reins of several horses held in his blunt
fingers.

Ethan
blinked at the assembled mounts. "We have horses?"

Dalton
nodded as he mounted a black gelding. "After those carriages
nearly lost the day for us last time, I looked into buying our own
hostelry." His grin sliced the darkness. "It lies a few
streets over, looking like any other. We actually make a bit of money
from renting the lesser horses out."

Ethan
gave his mount a sour glance. "Even the horses have secret
identities. You lot are mad, through and through."

Dalton
tilted his head. " 'You lot'? Don't you mean 'we Liars'?"

Ethan
only turned his mount away to join the others trotting from the
alley's mouth. As the group took to a canter through the dark
streets, Ethan bent low over his horse's neck and kept to the fore.
He didn't want Lord Etheridge's camaraderie. All he wanted was large
numbers of men and arms to throw at anything that stood between him
and Jane.

"We
Liars."

How
seductive that phrase was. It was almost enough to make Ethan
believe, for just a moment, that he was not alone.

Can
you not feel them at your back? You could be one of them if you
wished it. This is what it feels like to belong to something larger
than yourself.

The
siren call of that bond pulled at him. Ethan shut it down cruelly.
They did not truly want him, and if they knew how close he'd come to
joining Maywell, they would likely kill him.

Yet,
for the first time in his life, he did understand what drove men like
them. Having a higher goal made everything so clear for the first
time in his life. He knew precisely what his purpose was. Jane must
be kept safe. And because Jane loved England, Ethan would do whatever
necessary to keep England safe.

There
were no shades of gray any longer.

Jane
looked dubiously at her chariot. Her tattered savior had pulled up a
moment ago in a squeaking pony cart. In the back of the cart sat a
large shabby trunk, the sort that one might take on a long voyage…
if one were inclined to pack one's things in a filthy container that
had apparently taken part in the fine art of chicken farming. Small
downy feathers still clung to the whitish droppings that dotted the
interior.

"Swan
droppings, chicken droppings," she murmured to herself as she
climbed in. "I suppose I should be grateful you didn't hire it
from an elephant keeper."