Lady Thief (3 page)

Miss Jenny was a lovely young woman of twenty, with cool manners and a quiet, well-bred voice. She bore no resemblance to her mother, either in looks or temperament; Lady Ross was a faded woman with a fluttery manner and nervous eyes.

It was Miss Jenny, rather than her mother, who tended the sick and injured among Sir George’s tenants. It was she who interceded, on the tenants’ behalf, whenever Sir George’s harshness escaped the bounds of reason. It was she who kept the manor running on an even keel. Many of the numerous servants had been heard to say that they would not remain above a day in the employ of Sir George were it not for Miss Jenny.

The local gentry had mixed emotions regarding Jennifer Courtenay. The gentlemen all said that she was an uncommon beauty and a bruising rider; their ladies agreed that she was lovely, and added that she did not give herself airs or put herself forward unbecomingly; and all the young bucks of the district had been, at one time or another, hopelessly in love with her.

But no one had been able to penetrate the shell she had erected about herself since her father’s suicide eight years before. She was always calm, always polite. And yet, more than one person had become very uneasy after gazing into the strange wildness of her golden eyes. She was an enigma.

 

 

Jenny had managed to avoid her stepfather for the better part of the day. She had no wish for a confrontation. She was still rather weary, and lacked both the strength and serenity to deal with one of Sir George’s famous—or infamous—rages.

She was slipping quietly past Sir George’s study, her arms full of linen, when she suddenly found herself jerked into the room. The linen went flying in all directions, and it cost her a severe inner struggle to keep from swearing.

She turned to see her stepfather leaning against the door, his clothes mussed and wrinkled, his eyes red-rimmed from drink and lack of sleep.

“Was there something you wanted, Sir George?” Her voice was cool and calm.

“You’re damn right there’s something I want,” Sir George answered harshly. “I want to know why you refused Stoven.”

Jenny clasped her hands before her and regarded him expressionlessly. “I have no wish to marry a man who is old enough to be my father. There are other reasons, of course, but that one will suffice.”

Sir George stepped forward, swaying slightly. “You fool. He’s rich.”

“I have no need of a wealthy husband.”

“You need what I say you need! And I say that you will marry Stoven!”

Jenny carefully gauged his mood and knew from the menace in his eyes that he would fly into a rage no matter what she said. “I will not marry Stoven. I will not, in fact, marry anyone while I remain beneath your guardianship.” She smiled coldly. “You will get nothing from me, Sir George. You will not benefit from marriage settlements, or anything else.”

Sir George clenched his fists, his face going red with fury. “You’ll marry him!” he bellowed. “I’ll not stand for any more of this willful disobedience! You’ll do as I say!” He took another step forward. “When I get through with you, miss, you’ll be glad to marry Stoven.” Suddenly, his hand lashed out to strike her across the face.

It was a heavy blow, with the entire weight of his arm behind it, and Jenny reeled. Her eyes watered from the pain, and she reached up a shaking hand to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. She raised her eyes just as Sir George drew back for another blow, and something in her gaze stayed his hand.

Sir George stared into the deadly fury of her strange eyes and felt a chill run down his spine. He had never before seen such a look of hatred in her eyes.

In a voice devoid of all human emotion, she said, “I won’t stand for any more of this from you. The next time you lay a hand on me, on Meg, or on my mother—I’ll kill you.”

Sir George’s hand fell to his side and he let out a laugh that, even to his own ears, sounded strained. “You wouldn’t dare. You don’t have the stomach to kill a man.”

“Would you care to bet your life on that, Sir George?” She smiled coldly. “I am a much better shot than you are. And I mean what I say. I
will
kill you.”

Sir George forced another laugh. “I’ll get you out of my hair one way or another. If I have to, I’ll have you arrested for threatening my life. What do you say about that, miss?”

“I say, Sir George, that you would be the laughing stock of England if word got out that you were afraid of a mere girl—and your stepdaughter at that. No, you won’t have me arrested. Who would believe you?” Her voice was mocking. “But you and I know the truth. And we both know that I mean what I say.”

She moved toward the door, scorn in her eyes. “Stay away from me—or you’ll be sorry.”

Sir George found himself almost nervously moving out of her path. He watched her leave the room, his brow dark with anger. One of these days, he thought, I’m going to give that young lady exactly what she deserves. On that dark thought, he flung himself into a chair and splashed whiskey into his glass.

Jenny slowly climbed the stairs, one hand against her bruised cheek. Her expressionless face concealed a rage as great as any she had ever experienced. Not even the memory of her father’s death had the power to arouse such fury in her.

She halted by her mother’s door and, after a moment, knocked softly and went in. Her mother was reclining in a lounge chair by the window, bundled in shawls and blankets, and holding her smelling salts in one slender hand.

Lady Ross looked up as her daughter entered. In a fretful voice, she said, “Jenny, you know how I hate to be disturbed. I need my rest.”

“Mama,” said Jenny, ignoring the petulant voice, “I cannot remain in this house.”

Lady Ross frowned. “What nonsense is this?”

Jenny lowered her hand, revealing the bruised cheek. “If I stay, Mama,” she said quietly, “you’ll be widowed for the second time.”

“Oh, Jenny,” her mother murmured, “what have you done?”

“I? What have I done? Mama, how can you ask such a question? When did he ever need a reason to strike me?”

“You must have done something to cause your father . . .”

“That man is not my father. Mama, how can you continue to defend him? He treats you despicably.”

“Jenny, he’s my husband. For heaven’s sake . . .”

“He’s an animal. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty. Mama, I mean what I say. If he touches me again, I swear I’ll kill him.”

Lady Ross sighed tiredly. “Stay away from him, Jenny. When this year is up, you will be your own mistress. Until then, just stay out of his way.”

Jenny studied her mother thoughtfully. “You didn’t seem at all surprised when I threatened to kill him. Why, Mama?”

“Because,” Lady Ross replied with a twisted smile, “you are exactly like your father was—strong enough to do whatever you feel you have to do.”

“You never talk about Papa.”

“I do not want to think about him. He killed himself, Jenny. Do you think I want to remember that night? I do not! All the good memories of our life, our years together, were wiped away by what happened that night.”

“Mama, he
didn’t
kill himself. I was there—I saw him murdered.”

Lady Ross shook her head wearily. “You were only a child, Jenny. You saw what you wanted to see.”

“I didn’t want to see him murdered.”

“You didn’t want to see him kill himself.”

“Mama—” Jenny sighed in defeat. “Never mind. You refuse to believe me, no matter what I say.” Turning to go, she continued quietly, “But one day—one day you’ll believe me.” She left the room as Lady Ross watched with troubled eyes.

 

 

Meg rode through the woods, giving her horse his head. She didn’t really feel like riding, but it was the only way she could escape from the manor. Sir George was still drinking and Meg was afraid to be near him. She was terrified that he would try to force her to marry Stoven—no matter what Jenny said.

She thought of Jenny and sighed. Meg loved her stepsister; she couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.

Deep in her reflections, Meg failed to notice that she had left the woods and was now crossing a field near the road. She also failed to notice a hare in her path. The tiny creature, frightened by the huge horse, darted toward the woods. Meg’s gelding shied violently, and she was thrown to the ground.

The next few moments were a confusing blur to Meg. Finding herself suddenly on the ground was enough of a shock, but then, to look up and see a large chestnut bearing down on her with a blond-haired gentleman on its back was too much. She fainted.

Moments later she came to, and gazed up at a strange face with concerned deep blue eyes. With a murmur of confusion, Meg sat up hurriedly. “Oh! What happened?”

The gentleman sat back on his heels and continued to look concerned. “You were thrown from your horse. Are you all right?” His voice was deep.

Meg smiled shyly, feeling oddly breathless.

“Oh, yes. I’m fine—really. But why did my horse shy?”

The gentleman smiled and nodded toward the woods. “I believe there is the culprit.”

She gazed in the direction he indicated and saw a small brown rabbit looking at them inquisitively. “Well! I never thought that Prince would be so timid as to be frightened by a hare.”

“Perhaps he was startled.” The gentleman rose to his feet and offered her a hand.

As she allowed him to help her to rise, Meg thought what a handsome gentleman he was, and wondered why she had never seen him before.

Retaining her hand, the gentleman bowed low over it. “Robert Collins—at your service, ma’am.”

She blushed and smiled. “I’m Meg—Margaret Ross.”

Robert gazed down at her with a bemused smile. “Are you certain that you are all right, Miss Meg?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve taken tumbles before, you know.” She made no move to withdraw her hand from his grasp. Starry-eyed, she smiled up at him and said, “Do you live around here? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I am visiting a friend. I live in London.”

“London. Oh, how I envy you. I would like, of all things, to live in London.”

“Why? It’s nothing special, you know.”

“It is. All the things to do and places to go. The parties and balls—and the
theater
!”

He grinned at her, amused by her enraptured voice. “London is cold and wet in the winter, and hot and dusty in the summer. The traffic is terrible and the busybodies are worse.” He sighed dramatically. “Society watches your every move; if you step out of line, you’re ostracized for life.”

“Oh.” Meg looked sympathetic. “Did that happen to you?” She blushed suddenly. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

He chuckled. “That’s all right. Actually, my father was the bounder. He gambled away most of his fortune and left me without a feather to fly with.”

“How terrible for you.”

“Not really.” He chuckled again. “I do well enough. But society has a long memory, so I receive the blame for my father’s sins.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Society never claimed to be fair. In any case, it’s rather fun to be considered a bad sort. At least the matchmaking mamas don’t cluster round me like bees to a honey pot.”

“Then—then you’re not married?”

“No, but don’t let
that
frighten you. I promise I won’t bite you.”

She laughed. “How absurd you are.”

He smiled at her. “I made you laugh, anyway—and a very pretty laugh it was.”

She blushed slightly. “Well, no matter what you say about London, I’d love to go there.”

“Why don’t you? It’s only about forty miles or so.”

Her face fell. “I—I can’t. My father won’t allow it.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and turned toward her patiently waiting horse.

Robert stepped forward. “Wait, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Meg reached for her horse’s reins and then smiled at the concerned young man. “You didn’t upset me. But it’s late and I really must go home.”

“May I call on you?”

“Oh, I—my father wouldn’t allow it,” she said in a low voice.

Robert frowned. “But I
must
see you again.”

Meg looked up at him shyly, her cheeks rosy. “I—I could meet you someplace.”

He shook his head, a spark of anger in his eyes. “It wouldn’t be right. I want to court you properly.”

“Oh, Robert, I want the same thing. But Papa—he’d be furious. He’d send me away.”

Neither of them was aware of the exact moment that their relationship had changed from mere acquaintance into something deeper; they only knew that it had changed.

Robert reached out to take her hand. “There must be some way of convincing your father to allow me to call on you.”

She smiled suddenly. “I know. I’ll ask Jenny—she’ll help us.”

“Jenny?”

“My stepsister. She’s the only one who isn’t afraid of Papa. I know she’ll help us.”

“Do you think she can persuade your father to allow me to call?”

“If anyone can, it will be Jenny.” Meg laughed and said softly, “And if she can’t talk him into it, she’ll find
some
way of gaining his permission.”

Robert smiled wryly. “She sounds like quite a lady.”

Meg glowed. “She is.”

“Will she be willing to help us? She may not approve of me.”

“Oh, yes, she’ll help us. I’ll ask her and then we can meet here tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what she said.”

He frowned slightly. “I don’t like it, but it seems the only way I’ll be able to see you again. Very well then, we shall meet here tomorrow. May I escort you home?”

“Oh, I’d like you to—but no. If Papa should see you . . . The manor is just through the woods there. I’ll be fine.”

Robert helped her to mount her horse, and then gazed up at her with a smile. “Until tomorrow.”