Anne Barbour (15 page)

She frowned. Was it possible that his arrival in the city was not coincidental? But that was absurd. She had heard nothing from him since she had fulfilled her obligation to Beth. Even when Beth had died and she had sent a note of condolence, he had not responded. Why then, after all these years, would he seek her out?

So intent was her concentration on her problem, that when a voice at her elbow called her name, she whirled with a start. She stared at Jack Crawford as though her worst nightmare had suddenly materialized in front of her.

Chapter 11

“Alison! Are you all right? I did not mean to startle you.” Jack Crawford’s face reflected only a sincere distress as he took Alison’s hand and led her away from the group with whom she had been chatting.

Alison had gone rigid at the sound of his voice, and knew the color must have drained from her cheeks. Feeling remarkably foolish she replied, “No, no, of course not. I—I was a little surprised to find you so close behind me.”

“Again, I apologize. It is such an infernal squeeze here, that I very nearly had to pounce on you to get your attention. May I accompany you on a turn about the room?”

Alison suppressed the flutter of unease that gripped her. “Why, yes, that would be, um. very nice. Meg tells me that she saw you yesterday in town,” she continued as she took Jack’s arm.

When he did not reply, she glanced at him questioningly to find that his gaze was lowered and an air of preoccupation lay on his features. She sensed a certain tension in the young man, which transferred itself immediately to her. Jack looked up then, and laughed ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I—I have had rather a lot on my mind of late.” He stopped suddenly in their perambulation of the room and faced her. “Alison, I must talk to you.”

Alison forced a smile to her lips. “Go ahead, Jack. I’m all yours, at least until Lady Edith requires my attention.”

“No, no. Not here. I must speak to you alone.”

Alison stiffened. “I do not know what you could possibly have to discuss with me. Jack, that would require privacy. At any rate, I do not see how we can be private together. I cannot very well bar Lady Edith from her own drawing room when you call.”

“No. No, of course not. But are you never at liberty? Surely Lady Edith allows you some time for your own?”

“I’m afraid—” began Alison quickly.

“Please.” Jack interrupted, his fingers gripping her arm. “Meet me tomorrow morning in Sydney Gardens. Surely, if you leave the house early, you can return before you are required. Lady Edith need not even know you have been gone.”

“It is not my practice to deceive her ladyship,” Alison responded sharply, and Jack’s features suddenly relaxed in a coaxing smile.

“Of course not, but you have become so terrifyingly proper, I would not like to see you compromised in any way with your employer.” He emphasized the last word as though to affirm the businesslike relationship between Alison Fox and Lady Brent. “Moreover, I do not think you would like others to be party to what I have to say to you.”

There was not the slightest hint of menace in Jack’s tone, but Alison felt herself grow cold. She could not bring herself to consider what Jack might want of her.

“Very well.” Her voice came out in a rasping whisper. “I shall meet you at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

For the rest of the day and into the evening, Alison somehow managed to attend to her routine duties and to take her usual part in the activities of Lady Edith’s household. But below this amiable surface, a turmoil of apprehension raged. She heartily wished she had not agreed to meet Jack, but felt she had been given no choice. The knowledge that he would not scruple to use her fear of him in gaining his ends only served to increase her unease. To her relief, Lord Marchford did not join them for dinner, and the evening passed in placid tedium. When, at last, Alison donned her nightdress and sank into bed, she lay sleepless for many hours, staring at the ceiling and wishing for all the world

that the morning would never come.

* * * *

A lone street sweeper was the only witness the following morning as Alison slipped through the Great Poultney Street gate into Sydney Gardens. Was she to make this a habit, she wondered—sliding through this gate to clandestine meetings with men whose presence in her life could cause her undoing?

A hint of mist floated at her feet as she settled onto the same bench where she had previously confronted Lord Marchford. Like the mist, her thoughts drifted aimlessly, finally settling, against her will, on the earl. Confound the man! What had possessed him to linger in Bath? The date of his planned departure had come and gone, and his only explanation for continuing his sojourn here had been a brief remark that he had found something of extraordinary fascination in the city. His glance had flickered in her direction as he spoke, and in his eyes Alison had noted a disconcerting message. Her thoughts skittered nervously in another direction.

Jack.

Lord, what could he want with her? The only thing she could bring to mind made her shudder with apprehension. Please God he did not still look on her as an emergency source of income.

She shook herself. She was being absurd. Jack Crawford had made his way alone—with reasonable success, by the looks of it—without relying on her help at the gaming tables. It was to be hoped that he had not again found it necessary to steal to cover his losses. Then, what—?

The crunch of approaching footsteps jerked her from her unpleasant reverie and she looked up to behold Jack Crawford doffing his hat in an exaggerated gesture and smiling his charming, practiced smile. He inspected the bench carefully before seating himself next to her, whisking the tails of his morning coat behind him.

“ ‘Morning, Alison—beautiful day.”

Was it her imagination, or was his manner a trifle less respectful than it had been?

“Bath is a restful place, is it not?” he continued. “Particularly before the hustle and bustle of the city cranks up.”

He studied his legs stretched before him and looked about with satisfaction.

“Please get to the point. Jack,” said Alison sharply. “What is it you want?”

He turned to look at her, and in that instant she knew she had not been mistaken. His manner was almost insolent, and bordered on the familiar.

“You’re not being very friendly,” he said plaintively.

“No, I am not. I do not consider myself your friend.”

He sighed in mock disappointment, but almost immediately his determinedly pleasant expression slipped, like new paint on a badly primed surface. “As you have apparently surmised,” he said brusquely, “I have come to ask a favor.”

She rose swiftly, as though stung by an importunate insect, but Jack was there to lay his hand on her arm. He did not relinquish it when she sank slowly back onto the bench.

“Please, Alison.” He had reverted to his former cajolery, trying out another charming smile. “I wish I could say that I reformed after your... great sacrifice on my—-on Beth’s behalf, but I can’t. I’m afraid I’m simply your basic, nonreformable wastrel.” He assayed a rueful chuckle, which dissipated quickly in the face of her chill response. “The fact is,” he continued, all business now, “I need money. Not very much,” he added hastily. “Five hundred pounds would do it. But, I need it rather badly, and I need it now.”

As he spoke, all trace of his former bonhomie had vanished, to be replaced by a frown of what looked very much like desperation.

“You see, I made a rather serious blunder recently. I lost money to the wrong man. I did not know until I was down nearly a thousand quid to him that the fellow has some powerful connections with some very nasty people in London. I was able to scrape together part of what I owe him, but now I’m tapped out. And if I do not pay up by the end of the month, I shall be properly in the suds.”

As he finished, his voice rose in a painful effort at lightness, but the fear that lurked in the back of his gaze was unmistakable. Alison almost regretted that she could feel no pity for him.

She drew a deep breath. “I am sorry for your predicament, Jack, but I do not see what it has to do with me.”

“Do you not, indeed?” he asked querulously. “Then you are being peculiarly obtuse.” With an obvious effort, he continued in a more conciliatory vein. “Please do not make this any more difficult than necessary, Alison. For either of us. I am asking you, of course, to help me recoup my losses.”

“No.” The word burst from her lips without thought. She had known, though. She had known all along what he must want. “No,” she repeated in a tone that was quieter but no less firm.

“You cannot say no without giving the matter any thought, Alison.”

“Yes, I can. Jack, and please accept it as final. I do sympathize with your plight—though not very much, if truth were told—but I refuse—

“You refuse!” Jack rose to his feet and faced her, his dark eyes filled with anger. “Did you not understand me? If I do not hand over four hundred pounds to Gi—to a certain person--in three weeks, I’ll be ruined! And very possibly dead!”

Alison’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, Jack! Surely not! What kind of people are you involved with, for heaven’s sake? Surely, if you ask for more time—

Jack seated himself again, and took both Alison’s hands in his. His voice grated with the effort to speak calmly. “No, my poor, simple dear, I cannot ask for more time. I have used up my grace period. As for what kind of people they are, let me assure you they are not proper English gentlemen. They are brutes and murderers who would just as soon cut one’s throat as pass the time of day.”

His terror was palpable, but Alison steeled herself. Jack had apparently ruined his life, but she was not going to allow him to complete the ruination of hers. She would help him if she could, but not if it meant sitting down to the gaming table again.

“Do you have any money at all?” she asked suddenly.

“What?” he asked blankly, then recovered himself as he absorbed what she had said.

“A few pounds only. Just enough to live on for a while. You see,” he continued eagerly, misreading her words, “it is not just the debt. I am totally at point-non-plus and must have something to sustain me until I can bring things round again.”

“Bring things round?” asked Alison, staring.

“Of course! All I need is a little of the ready. Enough for a small stake. I shall come about eventually. I always do.”

Dear God, thought Alison, the man was completely at the mercy of an addiction, and he was not even aware of the depths of his disease.

She gripped the hands that were holding hers. “Jack. Listen to me. It seems to me you have another option here. You can leave the country. I will lend you a hundred pounds.” She suffered a pang as she thought of the money so carefully saved. “You can go to France—or even America—make a new start.”

“Good God, Alison. I don’t want to go to France, and I’d turn up my toes for sure in America. Besides, there’s no need. I told you. Once I pay my debt, I’ll be free to start fresh. Why, within a month or two I’ll be able to pay you back—with interest.” He sat back, smiling in anticipation of her capitulation to this final inducement.

Alison wrenched her hands from his grasp in disgust. “Jack, I am sorry, but I cannot help you.” She attempted to rise, but he grasped her shoulders and pressed her back against the bench. So menacing was his expression that Alison shrank away from him.

“Who the hell do you think you are to speak to me so?” he growled. “You’ve landed on your feet right enough, haven’t you? That rich old crone is besotted with you, and so is her nephew, his high-and-mighty lordship. Oh, yes,” he sneered, in response to Alison’s outraged gasp. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. Have a fancy to become a rich man’s mistress, do you?”

“Jack!” She stared at him in outrage. Dear Lord, was this the man who had earned Bethie’s unstinting devotion? Had Alison realized his true nature all those years ago, she would have allowed him to rot in jail, convicted of theft, and thought her friend well out of a bad situation.

Seeing the condemnation in her eyes. Jack flushed and shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have let my worries carry me away. You just don’t realize what it
is to live in a constant state of panic.”

“Oh, but I do, Jack. It is a state I’ve become very familiar with since I won that four thousand pounds for you, and I have no intention of compounding my error.”

Jack sighed. “I see what you mean, I suppose.” He laughed shortly. “I don’t know why I expected any other reaction from you.” He sighed again and, straightening his shoulders, gave her a level look. “It appears it is time to play my ace. It truly pains me to have to do this, but I must. Alison, if you do not do as I ask, I shall tell Lord Marchford that you are the mysterious Lissa Reynard for whom he has been searching and that it was you who caused the deaths of his brother and sister-in-law—and, from what I hear, his father.”

Alison felt as if she were slowly turning to stone. Her heart, surely, had stopped beating and she felt cold as death inside. Her nightmare had become reality.

“But, I didn’t—” she whispered through lips numb with shock.

“Didn’t cheat Susannah Brent of her pin money?” Jack chuckled mirthlessly. “No, I don’t suppose you did, but that’s not important. What’s important is that Lord Marchford thinks you did. Fat chance you’ll have of hooking him for a protector if he finds out who you really are.”

“Good God, Jack,” she choked. “Surely, you can’t think ...” She realized the futility of her denial even as she spoke. To men of Jack’s ilk, the fact that Lord Marchford might be attracted to her could only lead to one result for one of her inferior status.

“Aside from that,” Jack continued, oblivious, “I’ve heard that he’s promised himself a royal revenge on Lissa Reynard. They don’t strip women naked and tie them to a pillory anymore, but I shouldn’t be surprised if my lord Marchford doesn’t have something equally unpleasant for you in mind. You’d be lucky if you don’t find yourself in prison—or transported.”

Alison choked, her eyes wide and terrified. “But I have broken no law!” she cried.