“I’ll be fine,” Jane said, hoping she was right. The woman had plumped herself down on the seat opposite her, and when Neddie closed the door behind her the carriage was plunged into gloomy darkness.

Not for long. The woman rifled in her basket and a moment later came up with a tinder box. The two candles on the walls were lit, and she sat back to survey Jane.

“You’re a plain little thing,” she said frankly. “Oh, you’ve got pretty eyes and a nice mouth, and your skin and teeth are good, but in fact you’re quite ordinary, and the king has had some of the most extraordinary women in England. What does he see in you?” Before Jane could come up with an answer the woman thrust a basket in her hands. “I’m Gracie, by the way. I run yon ken—at least, the parts that they let me. And I’m wondering what would make King Donnelly give up everything, hand it over to an upstart like Jem Beesom with not so much as an argument. Mind you, Jem was making moves to take it over anyway, and he’ll be a good enough master around here. But for Jacob to simply hand it over fair makes one think, and I had to see the lass what made him do it.”

Jane just stared at the voluble creature across from her. “I didn’t make him do anything,” she said, bewildered.

“No, I ‘spose not. He’s been restless for the last year or so. I’ve seen signs of it meself, and so has Jem, which is why he was ready to make his move. You should have seen his face when Jacob told him he was leaving and giving the leadership over to him. He looked ready to cry. Nothing like girding your loins for battle and having your enemy surrender. Not that Jacob and Jem are enemies, though let’s hope Jacob doesn’t change his mind, because Jem doesn’t give up what’s his easily. And of course you made him do it. He’s got a thing about you. He guards you like some precious treasure—he’ll be that mad when he finds out I came out here….”

Jane blinked while the girl continued to talk. Gracie had a thick accent, and for a moment she wondered if she was misunderstanding what she was saying. Gracie leaned forward and patted her hand. “Not much for conversation are you, Miss Pagett?” she said, ignoring the fact that she didn’t allow much room for it. “That’s all right—Jacob will take care of that. He’ll get you to talking, right and tight. There’s food in yon basket—Jacob said you were that hungry. And I’ve packed some of me own dresses for you, though you’ll hardly fill them out. You’re a skinny little thing, aren’t you—though Jacob says you’re tall. Are you in love with him?”

Jane was following all this silently, and she wasn’t expecting the sudden question. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, Miss Pagett. Are you in love with him? Ah, it’s a daft question—most women are. All he has to do is look their way and they fall at his feet, me included.”

Jane was tempted to tell the woman that it wasn’t any of her business, but there was only so far her courage could take her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said faintly.

“Ah, you do indeed, Miss Pagett.” She reached out and grasped Jane’s wrist in a painfully tight grip. “Are you in love with him?” She squeezed tighter. “The truth now. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“You’re hurting me!” She couldn’t bring herself to meet Gracie’s eyes. “Of course I’m not in love with him. I barely know him. He’s simply been very kind to me, but he doesn’t care about me and I certainly am not in love with him.”

Gracie released her wrist, and Jane rubbed it. There was a dawning smile on Gracie’s face, and she nodded. “You’ll do. I told you I’d know if you lied, and you just lied to me. You never once said he was beneath you. I think he’ll do right well with you.” Before Jane could say anything Gracie opened the carriage door and scrambled down the steps. She looked back. “Mind you, if you break his heart you’ll have me to answer to.”

“But he doesn’t love …” But Gracie was already gone.

She’d left the food behind, and the candles expelled some of the gloom. There was always a chance that Gracie was a madwoman who’d poisoned her, but at that point Jane was so hungry she didn’t care. The bread and cheese weren’t what she was used to—the bread was dark and dense, the cheese strong, and she ate every bit, loving it all.

It was getting darker outside, and when she heard someone at the door she drew back, afraid of another visit from Gracie, when Jacob Donnelly put his head in. “We’re ready to go, lass, if you’ve still a mind to.”

He smiled up at her, that rakish, charming smile that matched his kiss. She shouldn’t be thinking of that. “Yes,” she said in a steady voice. “I have to save Miranda.”

“Well, as to that I’m not sure her ladyship is going to need saving, but I’m at your service.” He held out his hand, the strong, well-shaped hands that had once touched her quite indecently in the darkness, and she wondered if they’d touch her again. “I’ve got a smaller, lighter carriage waiting for us, and since you’ve expressed such doubts about my driving ability I’ve got a professional to drive us. If you’ll come with me.”

She would go anywhere with him, she knew that to her everlasting shame. Gracie had seen the right of it: sensible or not, she’d fallen in love with the man, and she should just stop fighting it and spend her energy learning how to deal with it. How to keep from showing it, how to live without him. Because that was the way it was going to be. She wasn’t for the likes of him. She wasn’t for the likes of anyone.

But for a few brief days she could turn her back on common sense and self-respect. She would be with him, and that was enough.

She put her hand in his, and went.

24

All right, so this wasn’t working out as well as she’d planned, Miranda thought, sitting at the newly polished and tuned piano, her hands motionless on the keys early the next morning. The house was too big to drive Lucien crazy—if she was being bright-eyed and amenable, he could always simply walk away. She’d kept him from her bed last night by the simple expedience of asking when he was coming back and that she’d enjoyed it “oh, ever so much!”

She wasn’t quite sure if he knew the truth. He said he knew women’s bodies, knew her body better than she did, and from his astonishing mastery over her she suspected he was right. She could try to work harder on her flippant attitude. If he decided he wanted her again, which seemed unlikely considering the wide berth he was giving her, she would try telling him she found it tiresome. If he persisted she could keep talking as he touched her, even sing in her unfortunately off-key voice as he … as he …

No, maybe she couldn’t manage that. It was far too overwhelming. In fact, she hadn’t quite made up her mind about the whole thing. With Christopher St. John it had simply been nasty. With Lucien it was … demoralizing. Upsetting. All-consuming. It stripped her soul even as he stripped her body, leaving nothing left. Both times she’d somehow had to pull herself back together, and each time it had been harder.

It had nothing to do with the emptiness she’d felt after Christopher St. John had taken her to bed.

With Lucien, she felt too full, too overwhelmed, in a very real sense. She could shrug off St. John’s clumsy pawings, the hurt he’d dealt her.

Lucien would be a different matter entirely.

She ran her fingers over the keys, launching into a Bach prelude she’d memorized last year. She loved Bach, the mathematical precision of him, the joy and lightness. She played with great force, hoping to annoy Lucien wherever he was in the house. It was a challenging piece, and she tended to miss notes, but she still enjoyed herself tremendously.

“Please stop.”

She let out a shriek, crashing her hands onto the piano and turning to glare at him. “You frightened me,” she accused him. “Must you sneak up on one like that?”

“You were playing so loudly I doubt you would have heard a dragoon of soldiers if they marched in. If you must torture a composer why don’t you choose one of his more lugubrious pieces—perhaps a fugue? Surely your repertoire must include pieces that don’t have to be played quite so loudly? One that you might, perhaps, know better?”

He was dressed in black, as always, and sunlight shone in on his scarred face. His pale eyes were unreadable as he watched her, and she could only hope she was equally inscrutable. Because she looked at his ruined beauty and her heart ached.

“I’m afraid it’s not the knowledge that makes me hit wrong notes, it’s the level of skill,” she managed to say sweetly, pulling herself together. “People say I play with great abandon.”

“Yes. Abandoned to all sense of musicality.”

“I suppose you can do better?”

“I can. I won’t. Please yourself, but a little more quietly, if you will. I have the headache.”

She hit a chord on the piano, quite loudly, one note deliberately off, watching him wince before she left off and rose from the bench. “So tell me, at what time are we leaving for our visit?”

“As soon as you’re ready. I assume you’re longing to get away from here and back into company—you should enjoy yourself extremely.”

That soon. “Actually I’ve been very happy here,” she said brightly. “I like having my own house, and I enjoy having it to myself. But I’m perfectly happy to go wherever you wish. I’m looking forward to meeting your friends.” She summoned her dazzling smile, the one that didn’t reach her eyes. “My darling, I’ll do absolutely anything you wish me to.”

His expression, cynical as always, did little to ease her anxieties. “I was hoping you’d say so, my dearest. I have great plans for you.”

She could stab him, she thought dreamily. If he thought she was going to have anything to do with his nasty little friends she would have to disabuse him of the notion, but she didn’t quite believe he meant to go through with it. He was a man who valued his possessions, and a wife was, unfortunately, a possession, assuming he still meant to marry her. She couldn’t see him lending her out to his friends.