More than a Mistress/No Man's Mistress (36 page)

Jocelyn made her a bow, resisting the urge to don his usual expression of cynical hauteur. At least the woman
had enough integrity not to be rubbing her hands with glee at the thought of netting the Duke of Tresham for her goddaughter.

“Enlist the help of your solicitor by all means, ma'am,” he said. “In the meantime I will be doing my own part to clear the name of my betrothed and to release her from the bonds of an inappropriate guardianship. Good day.”

He left her standing straight and proud and hostile in the middle of her drawing room. Someone to whom he could quite safely bring Jane. A friend at last.

J
ANE REMAINED IN HER
bedchamber for a whole hour after Jocelyn had left, doing nothing but sit on the dressing table stool, her slippered feet side by side on the floor, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes glazed as they gazed unseeing at the carpet.

Then she got up and removed all her clothes, everything that had been bought for her. She took from her wardrobe the plain muslin dress, the serviceable shift, and the stockings she had worn to London and dressed again. She brushed out her hair and braided it tightly so that it would fit beneath her gray bonnet. She pulled on the bonnet and matching cloak, slipped her feet into her old shoes, drew on her black gloves, and was ready to go. She picked up her bag of meager possessions—and the priceless bracelet—and let herself quietly out of her room.

Unfortunately Phillip was in the hallway below. He looked at her in surprise—she had never been out before, of course, and she was very plainly dressed.

“You are going out, ma'am?” he asked redundantly.

“Yes.” She smiled. “Just for a walk and some fresh air, Phillip.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He hurried to open the door for her and looked uncertainly at her bag. “Where shall I tell his grace you have gone, ma'am, if he should return?”

“That I have gone for a walk.” She retained her smile as she stepped out onto the doorsill. She immediately felt the panic of one who fears falling off the edge of the world. She stepped resolutely forward. “I am not a prisoner here, you know.”

“No, of course, ma'am,” Phillip was hasty to agree. “Enjoy your walk, ma'am.”

She wanted to turn back to say a proper good-bye to him. He was a pleasant young man who had always been eager to please. But she merely walked on and listened to the sound of the door closing behind her.

Like a prison door.

Shutting her out.

It might have been just oversensitive nerves, of course. She realized that as soon as she sensed less than five minutes later that she was being followed. But she would not turn around to look. Neither would she quicken her pace—nor slacken it. She strode along the pavement at a steady pace, her back straight, her chin up.

“Lady Sara Illingsworth? Good afternoon, my lady.”

The voice, reasonably pleasant, not raised, came from close behind her. She felt as if a reptile were crawling up her spine. Terror attacked her knees, nausea her stomach. She stopped and turned slowly.

“A member of the Bow Street Runners, I presume?” she said just as pleasantly. He certainly did not look the
part. Neither tall nor large in girth, he appeared like nothing more than a poor man's imitation of a dandy.

“Yes, my lady. At your service, my lady,” the Runner said, looking steadily at her, not making any obeisance.

Jocelyn had been wrong, then. He had not succeeded in lifting the watch on her house. He had described the Runner as shrewd, but he had not guessed that the man was too shrewd to allow himself to be ordered away from his prey when he knew she was close.

“I will make your task easy,” she said, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. Indeed, it was amazing how terror receded once one had faced it head-on. “I am on the way to the Pulteney Hotel to call upon the Earl of Durbury. You may escort me there and claim all the glory of having apprehended me, if you wish. But you will not come closer or touch me. If you do, I shall squawk very loudly—there are any number of carriages and pedestrians in sight. I shall make up every story I can think of to convince my audience that you are stalking and harassing me. Do we have an agreement?”

“It is like this, my lady.” The Runner's voice sounded pleasantly regretful. “Mick Boden does not let criminals escape him once he has them in his sights. I don't foolishly let them off the leash just because they are ladies and know how to talk sweet. And I don't make bargains with them. You come quiet after I have tied your hands behind you under your cloak, and you will not embarrass yourself. I do know that ladies don't like to be embarrassed in public.”

The man might be shrewd, but he certainly was not wise. He took a purposeful step toward Jane, one hand disappearing inside a deep pocket. She opened her mouth and screamed—and screamed. She startled even
herself. She had never been a screamer, even as a child. The Runner looked both startled and aghast. His hand jerked out of his pocket, clutching a length of rope.

“Now, there is no need to take on so,” he said sharply. “I'm not going to—”

But Jane never did discover what it was he was not going to do. Two gentlemen rode up at a smart trot and proceeded to dismount from their horses. A hackney coach stopped abruptly on the other side of the street, and its burly driver jumped down from the box while shouting directions to a young sweeper to hold the horses' heads. An elderly couple of respectable middle-class demeanor, who had passed Jane a few moments before, turned and hurried back. And a giant of an individual, who looked as if he might well be a pugilist, had materialized seemingly from nowhere and hugged Mick Boden from behind, pinioning his arms to his sides. It was this action that cut the Runner's sentence in half.

“He accosted me,” Jane informed her gathering rescuers. “He was going to tie me up with
that
”—she pointed one genuinely shaking finger at the rope—“and abduct me.”

Everyone spoke up at once. The pugilist offered to squeeze harder until the villain's stomach came spurting out his mouth. The coachman suggested taking him in the hackney to the nearest magistrate, where he would surely be sentenced to hang. One of the gentlemen riders gave it as his opinion that it would be a shame for such a slimy toad to swing before his facial features had been rearranged. The elderly gentleman did not know why such a villainous-looking thug should be allowed to roam the streets of a civilized city, terrorizing its
womenfolk. His wife set a motherly arm about Jane's shoulders and clucked and tutted with mingled concern and outrage.

Mick Boden had recovered his composure even though he could not free himself. “I am a Bow Street Runner,” he announced in a voice of authority. “I am engaged in apprehending a notorious thief and murderess and would advise you all not to interfere in the workings of justice.”

Jane lifted her chin. “I am Lady Sara Illingsworth,” she said indignantly, hoping that none of the gathered spectators had heard of her. “I am on my way to visit my cousin and guardian, the Earl of Durbury, at the Pulteney Hotel. He will be very vexed with me when I confess that I came out without my maid. The poor girl is nursing a chill. I should have brought a footman instead, of course, but I did not understand that desperate men will accost ladies even in broad daylight.” She drew a handkerchief from the pocket of her cloak and held it to her mouth.

Mick Boden looked reproachfully at her. “Now, there was no need of all this,” he said.

“Come, my dear,” the elderly lady said, linking her arm through Jane's. “We will see you safely to the Pulteney Hotel, will we not, Vernon? It is not far out of our way.”

“You go on, my lady,” one of the riders told her. “We know where to find you if you are needed as a witness. But I've a mind to do the law's work for it without bothering any magistrate. You go on.”

“Now see here,” Mick Boden was saying as Jane took the offered arm of the elderly gentleman and proceeded along the street, protectively flanked by him and his
wife. Under other circumstances she might have been amused. As it was, she felt a mingling of boldness—now at last she was
doing
something—and apprehension. He had been going to
tie
her hands.

She thanked her escort most profusely when they arrived before the doors of the Pulteney, and promised that never again would she be foolish enough to step out alone onto the streets of London. They had been so kind to her that she felt guilt at the way she had deceived them. Although she was, of course, no thief and no murderer. She stepped inside the hotel.

A few minutes later, she was knocking on the door of the Earl of Durbury's suite, having declined the offer to have his lordship informed of her arrival while she waited in a lounge downstairs. She recognized her cousin's valet, Parkins, who answered her knock, and he recognized her. His jaw dropped inelegantly. Jane stepped forward without a word for him, and he jumped smartly to one side.

She found herself in a spacious and elegant private sitting room. The earl was seated at a desk, his back to the door. Despite herself, her heart was thumping in her chest, in her throat, in her ears.

“Who was it, Parkins?” he asked without turning.

“Hello, Cousin Harold,” Jane said.

J
OCELYN INTENDED TO WASTE
no time in taking Jane to Lady Webb's. It really would not do for her to remain where she was for a moment longer than necessary. He would have Mrs. Jacobs accompany her in his carriage.

But getting his carriage necessitated riding through Hyde Park. And in riding through the park he came quite
coincidentally upon an interesting scene. There was a largish group of gentlemen on horseback some distance from the path along which he rode, several of them talking and gesticulating excitedly.

Some quarrel was brewing, he thought. Normally he would not have hesitated to ride closer and discover what was going on, but today he had more important matters to attend to and would have continued onward if he had not suddenly recognized one of the loudly gesturing gentlemen as his brother.

Ferdinand quarreling? Perhaps getting himself into deep waters from which his Dudley nature would not permit him to withdraw until he was in over his head? Well, the least he himself could do, Jocelyn decided with a resigned sigh, was go and lend some moral support.

His approach was noted, first by those who were not themselves involved in the loud altercation that was proceeding, but then even by its participants. The crowd turned as one man to watch him come and a curious hush descended on them.

The reason for it all was almost instantly apparent to Jocelyn. There they were at last, all five of them in a body together—the Forbes brothers. Terrified, no doubt, to show their individual faces anywhere in London, they were presenting a collective front to the world today.

“Tresham!” Ferdinand exclaimed. He looked about at the brothers in some triumph. “Now we will see who is a cowardly bastard!”

“Dear me.” Jocelyn raised his eyebrows. “Has anyone here been using such shockingly vulgar language, Ferdinand? I am vastly relieved I was not present to hear it. And who, pray, was the recipient of such an uncharitable description?”

Although he was a prosy bore in a pulpit, the Reverend Josiah Forbes, to give him his due, was no sniveling, sneaky knave. He rode forward without any hesitation until he was almost knee to knee with Jocelyn, made a grand production of taking off his right glove, and then spoke.

“You were, Tresham,” he said. “Cowardly bastard
and
debaucher of wedded virtue. You will meet me, sir, if you wish to dispute either of these accusations.”

He leaned forward and slapped his glove across Jocelyn's cheek.

“Gladly,” Jocelyn said with languid hauteur. “Your second may meet with Sir Conan Brougham at his earliest convenience.”

The Reverend Forbes's place was taken by Captain Samuel Forbes, resplendent in his scarlet regimentals, and amid the buzz of heightened excitement among the spectators, Jocelyn was aware that the remaining Forbeses were forming a wavering queue behind. He yawned delicately behind one hand.

“And you will meet me over the matter of my sister's honor, Tresham,” Captain Forbes said, and slapped
his
glove across the same ducal cheek.

“If fate permits me,” Jocelyn told him gently. “But you will understand that if your brother has spattered my brains across a field of honor before I am able to keep our appointment, I will be forced to decline your invitation—or at least Brougham will on my posthumous behalf.”

Captain Forbes wheeled his horse away, and it was apparently Sir Anthony Forbes's turn. But Jocelyn held up a staying hand and looked from one to the other of the three remaining brothers with careful disdain.

“You must forgive me,” he said softly, “if I beg to decline the opportunity of meeting any of the three of you on a field of honor. There is no honor in attempting to punish a man without first challenging him face-to-face. And I make it a personal rule to duel only with gentlemen. There is nothing gentlemanly about attempting to wound a man by killing his brother.”

“And nothing safe about it either,” Ferdinand added hotly, “when that brother can stand up to answer the cowardly trick for himself.”

There was a smattering of applause from the ever-growing circle of spectators.

“You three,” Jocelyn said, raising his whip and pointing it at each of the brothers in turn, “will take your punishment at the end of my fists here and now, though I suggest we move to a more secluded area. I will take on all of you at once. You may defend yourselves since I
am
a gentleman and would not take unfair advantage even of rogues and scoundrels by having you tied down. But there will be no rules and we will have no seconds. This is
not
a field of honor.”

“Oh, I say, Tresham,” Ferdinand said with cheerful enthusiasm, “well done. But it will be two against three. This is my quarrel too and I will not be left out of the satisfaction of sharing in the punishing.” He dismounted as he spoke and led his horse in the direction of the grove of trees toward which Jocelyn had pointed. Beyond it there was more grass but no paths, and so it was rarely used by those riders and pedestrians who frequented the park daily.