Far Too Tempted (23 page)

Alex was another matter.

Dear God, if the thought of never seeing his teasing smile made her stomach twist in stabbing pain, then she was in real trouble already.

“Jessica?”

She managed to smile. “If your husband is a soldier, one must face the realities, I guess.”

“Speaking of such things, where
is
Alex?” Ariel looked almost too carefully bland as she got to the question at hand. “He told Marcus he was taking you to Braidwood. I was very surprised when you arrived back here this morning.”

“No one was more surprised than myself. And I have no idea where he is.”

“Right behind you.”

The assertion in a deep familiar voice made her jump. Jessica whirled around, splashing sherry on her lap. Alex stood behind the bench. One look at his face told her that her questions of earlier would go unanswered again if repeated. Somehow he just looked grim as he dug in his pocket, produced a handkerchief, and handed it to her. “Sorry to startle you, Jess.”

She took the offering, a bit bemused, and dabbed at her skirt.

His blue eyes glittered and his gaze moved to Ariel’s face. “Where’s Marcus?”

“He went to visit his banker.”

“What? Hellsfire, he said he was staying home. I told him not to leave the house.”

Ariel blinked in obvious surprise. “You told
him
? Your older brother? Alex—”

“What banker? Where?” As Jessica watched, her husband ran his fingers raggedly through his hair. There were lines by his mouth. His lean body looked tense under his tailored clothes.

“Alex? You’re acting very odd.”

His eyes narrowed. Jessica felt as if he didn’t even see her sitting there. She and Ariel locked glances in mutual confusion. He asked curtly, “Just tell me. What banker?”

“Fletcher. You know him.” Ariel supplied the answer very slowly. “Bond Street.”

“Thanks.” As Jessica watched, he swung around on his heel and left. Again. Her second abandonment in just a few hours.

Ariel’s green eyes were wide and puzzled. She took a gulp from her glass and asked, “Now, what is going on here?”

The night before—and the romantic interlude that morning—might have been a mystical dream. All the tenderness, the whispers and secret touches, all of it. Jessica swallowed hard and looked down at the glass in her hand. She hadn’t even been married twenty-four hours and already her new husband was breaking promises and keeping secrets.

It did not make for an auspicious beginning.

She said in all honesty, “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Chapter Twelve

His hunch was right dead on target. Crouched in the ill-smelling, narrow alley, Alex heard faint voices through the back wall of the shop. Considering the poor quality of the building materials and the general aura of decay, something must have been done to soundproof the interior for he couldn’t make out a single word. Apparently, he thought grimly as he watched a huge rat scamper past and disappear into a pile of ill-smelling garbage, the Committee kept their secrets.

Secrets or not, he had a fair idea what they were discussing behind that wall. Flatterly’s death.

The problem was, if he could so easily guess there might be an emergency meeting called to talk about the murder of yet another member, so could the killer.

“Damn fools,” he muttered out loud. Since they left these confounded meetings individually at intervals for the sake of discretion, it was like an invitation to be picked off one by one. He would have thought Marcus, at least, to be smarter than to put himself in such danger.

After what felt like an eternity, the hum of voices lulled, and Alex knew they must be leaving. He should have sent word to O’Brien, he mused as he crept around the edge of the building and ducked into the shadowed alcove of a closed butcher shop. He couldn’t follow seven men by himself. Hopefully Tolley was doing his duty and was somewhere about, keeping an eye on Pickford.

If he had his own duty, it was to his brother, wasn’t it? Slumped in the doorway and trying to look like a drunkard about to collapse, he watched as the first member appeared, an elderly lord, incongruous in baggy old clothes, stepping out of the bookshop and glancing up and down the street. His hand stayed in the pocket of his coat, and Alex hoped fervently the man had sense enough to be holding a pistol.

Marcus was next to last to emerge. His disguise was the same cheap, ill-fitting coat as before, his face obscured by a dilapidated hat. Unfortunately, he did little better than Lord Flatterly had at disguising his aristocratic bearing. Being the vaunted heir to a dukedom from the day you were born must just breed that somewhat arrogant walk right into you, Alex thought with a glimmer of amusement. He followed once Marcus was a bit ahead, taking care to make sure his own progress was marked by exaggerated staggers and a good deal of weaving. Once, his brother glanced back but seemed to not assess him as a threat, for he simply walked on at the same pace. If he were at all nervous about the possibility that someone might want him dead, he didn’t show it.

That was just fine. Alex was worried enough for the both of them. As he kept his brother in sight and tried to stay unnoticed, he also scanned the street for any sign of danger—not a simple task. Deliberately shuffling through a puddle, he almost slipped and fell to his knees.

Which was why he didn’t see the two men coming out of the alley. Marcus gave a shout, quickly cut off as one of the attackers whipped his arm around his neck. Recovered from his clumsy stumble, Alex sprinted forward, horrified to see the second man step in front of Marcus, the gleam of a knife in his hand. Fear and rage spiked through Alex’s body, giving him impetus. The man with the knife barely had time to whirl around when he realized someone was coming up behind him.

Alex parried a vicious slash at his stomach and sent his fist crashing into the man’s jaw. Marcus took advantage of the interruption as well, and Alex heard the man holding his brother give a howl of pain but didn’t have time to look. Avoiding another wicked jab and delivering a solid kick to the groin, he watched as the knife-holder crumpled to his knees, dropping his weapon and groaning. The man holding Marcus apparently decided to cut his losses for he took off at a run, leaving his prostrate companion behind.

With wary caution, Alex bent over to scoop up the knife and shoved at the crumpled man with his muddied booted foot. “Get up.”

Sniveling, still holding his crotch, the man obliged. He was small and wiry, with the beady eyes of a ferret. Neither his clothes nor his person had seen water in quite some time. Under the grime on his face he was pale. He whined, “Don’t hit me again, will ye? Yer half a head taller than me.”

Aware that Marcus stared at him, no doubt wondering just what in the hell was going on, Alex demanded, “What were you doing?”

Marcus explained, “They wanted my purse.”

“Are you sure?” Not taking his eyes off the little man, Alex lifted the knife and pointed the tip meaningfully at the thief’s scrawny throat. “Who hired you?”

The man’s eyes widened in true fear. “Hired me?” It was a squeak.

“To kill him.” Alex nodded his head toward where Marcus stood.

“Yer daft.” The man stared at the knife, and his obvious terror made him shake. “Me and Bobby just needed some coin for a pint, that’s all.”

Since this scruffy specimen could hardly be
El Diablo
, it was probably the simple truth. He should have known. It would have been just too fortuitous to be able to capture the killer so neatly. Disgusted, Alex said, “Get out of here. Now.”

The little man scampered away and ran down the street. Alex watched him go, but it only put off the inevitable for a few seconds. When he finally did glance over at his brother, he saw Marcus assessing his rumpled, plain clothing with a lifted brow. His mouth was tight with growing anger. “You followed me.” It was a flat statement and there was accusation in his brother’s blue eyes. “What’s more, it looks very much like you
planned
to follow me, and in disguise, at that. What the devil do you think you’re doing, Alex?”

“I didn’t expect you’d see me. And speaking of disguises, it seems to me you have no room to talk.”

“
I
have no room? I wasn’t the one sticking my nose into someone else’s business.” Marcus sounded half-choked with indignation.

Alex said with resignation, “Before we begin shouting at each other in the street, an exchange of information is in order.”

“I’d say.”

He glanced around at the dirty street and sagging buildings. “Can we do it somewhere else?”

Jessica entered the room hesitantly. She felt a little as if she were the accused on the dock about to be handed down the verdict.

Rebecca Greene stood by one of the long windows. She wore the yellow dress they had laughed so over a few months ago…was that possible…so recently? Her dark hair was neatly coifed, her posture tense. There was no smile on her usually animated face. When she heard the door softly close, she whirled around in a flurry of lemon skirts. “Jess.”

“Beck.” The nickname felt a little awkward. Jessica cleared her throat. “Why are you here?”

As they stared at each other across the same room where Nathaniel had so vehemently denounced her, Jessica saw his sister smile nervously. She chewed on her lower lip in a betraying mannerism. “I’m not supposed to be,” Rebecca admitted. “Nathaniel forbade me to see you.”

“I’m not surprised.” It was difficult to keep her tone even.

“Yet I came anyway. I had to talk to you, Jess.”

“About what?” Jessica could not temper the coolness of the question. The insults hurled at her by her former fiancé had cut deeply, but Rebecca’s absence from her wedding might have hurt even more. “Have you come to tell me that you, too, believe I’m a…a whore?” The word hung thickly on her tongue, like an unpalatable morsel of food.

Rebecca shook her head and her dark eyes showed misery and shock. “Oh, Jess, did Nathaniel say that? I’m so sorry. He’s my brother and I love him, but he can be so full of arrogant pride he practically chokes on it. When he first heard those awful whispers he flew into a violent rage, not for the insults to your honor, I’m ashamed to say, but for his.” There was an audible swallow. “I think you are much better off with someone like Alexander Ramsey. I can’t be more honest than that, and it costs to say it.”

Rebecca had ever been open and caring and generous. Jessica felt her anger and hurt dissolve in an instant. Ariel was wonderful, but she was older and had so many responsibilities, both as a wife and mother, not to mention as a duchess. Jessica needed a friend. Her throat swelled with emotion and she blinked back sudden unwanted tears. “Oh, Beck.”

Rushing across the room, Rebecca threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly. “I love you, Jess. Nothing would have kept me away from your wedding but Nathaniel intercepted your note and I didn’t know about it until it was too late. Forgive me.”

Jessica hugged her back fiercely. “I do. I just couldn’t bear that you of all people would have a low opinion of me.”

“I don’t.” The declaration was firm. “I told Nathaniel he was acting like a fool, believing backhanded gossip. And look what has happened. You’re now married to one of the most handsome, charming men in society. Nathaniel only betrayed himself with his lack of loyalty, and in doing so, lost you to another.”

When her visitor had been announced, Jessica had felt almost ill, expecting the worst. Now a warmth spread throughout her whole being, body and soul. She drew her friend toward the settee by the window open to the gardens. The breeze felt sweet and light. “Can you stay a few minutes? I’ll ring for tea.”

Rebecca sank onto the cushions and arranged her skirts. With a lifted brow, she said, “Of course. It sounds wonderful. And while we drink it, you know you have to tell me.” Rebecca leaned forward and dropped her tone. “How was it?”

Jessica blinked and then blushed. She could feel the heat rising into her face as surely as she could remember the feel of Alex’s body next to hers. His scent, the way his mouth moved against her skin, the taste of his kiss…he had taken care with her, she knew that. And then, that morning at dawn, it had been she who was wild his arms, seeking the incredible pleasure he’d taught her existed.

One dark brow slowly inched upward and Rebecca gave a low, unladylike whistle. “The look on your face might just be better than words.”

Jessica laughed, a hiccup of sound. “That’s good, because there are no words, Beck.”

“Here, we’ll start this way.” Marcus handed Alex a glass of brandy. By tacit agreement, they had ruled out a tavern room or their club as too public to have such a volatile conversation. Dressed once again in their regular clothes, they had arrived back at the Mayfair mansion and gone straight to Marcus’s study with nothing but a curt word to the butler that they did not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances.

Alex sank into a leather chair and watched his brother pick up a gleaming silver letter opener and stare at it, turning it idly in his fingers. Marcus set it down abruptly and said in his best lord-of-the-manor tone, “What were you doing there, Alex?”

“As you guessed, I was following you. Not, I may add”—Alex let the pause hang—“for the first time.”