The Rogue (36 page)

That
went deep, like a spear to his gut. He gave no sign of it. "I am
what I am."

She
shook her head sadly. "Life is not a game you have to cheat at
to win."

He
pulled away from her touch. It took all his strength. "It is
when the cards are stacked against you."

She
raised a hand to his cheek. He flinched and she lowered it, just as
he'd meant her to.

"Ethan,
my lost friend… don't you see? There are no cards. There is
only the coin within you that is of any value. How you choose to
spend that, or waste it, is the only challenge that exists."

"Then
how do I win?"

"There
is no win or lose. There is only the question— what do you want
to gain with that coin? What sort of man do you want to be?" She
turned then and left the room, leaving the sweet burn of her touch on
his skin and a riot of confusion in his chest.

Something
tore deep in his chest as he watched her go. "You're wrong
there, Janet," he whispered to the wisp of her scent that still
clung to the air. "There is definitely a high chance of loss."

The
hall clock chimed in the silence. It was time to go back to
Maywell's.

As
Ethan approached Maywell House for the second time that day, he was
definitely feeling like some sort of puppet on a string. It was a
sensation he loathed from deep in his past.

This
time, however, there was an entire handful of puppet masters twanging
his ties.

After
he was admitted into the house by a very distracted Simms, the first
member of the family he encountered was Serena. She was perched
halfway up the stairs, dressed in her night rail and wrapper, sitting
on the step with her knees drawn high like the child she still
sometimes was.

Her
eyes were red and her face was so long that Ethan went to the railing
and folded his arms on it casually. "What is the matter, pet?"
he asked gently.

Serena
shot him an angry glare. "It's all your fault."

"What
is, little one?"

She
rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand. The gesture reminded
him of Jane.

"You
took Jane away," Serena accused.

Ah.
Ethan nodded carefully. "Yes, I did. Your father felt she needed
treatment." He felt low for feeding Serena such a load of
codswallop, but he could hardly tell her the truth, that her father
was a—

"I
think Papa is doing something wrong," Serena whispered, her
round face a mask of pain. "I think maybe Jane was right."

Damn
you, Maywell, for doing this to your family
!
Jane was right about that as well. This mess was his lordship's
doing, of his own free will.

"Are
you bad too?" Serena's heartbroken question cut through Ethan
like a knife blade.

"I—I
try not to be." It was the best he could give her.

"Can
you find Jane? I think she's lost."

Ethan
went still. "Lost how? I took her to the hospital myself."

Serena
shrugged. "I don't know," she said miserably. "I just
heard Papa shouting, 'How could they lose her?', and then the little
man came out and asked us all questions." She sniffled. "He
wasn't nice at all."

The
tears were falling again. Ethan could hardly bear her crumpled little
face. "Serena, don't worry. I—I don't know what happened
at the hospital, but Jane is very smart. She can take good care of
herself."

Serena
blinked, as if she had not thought of that. "Jane is clever,"
she said slowly. "So you think she got herself out and ran
away?"

"Ah—"
That was a bit too close to the truth for Ethan's comfort. "If
she did, do you think she would want you to tell?"

Serena
sat up a bit straighter. "No." She sent Ethan a watery
smile. "I don't think you're bad," she said shyly. "I
think you're very kind."

He
ought not to have tried to comfort her. Damn, the tears did it to him
every time. "Go on to bed, pet," Ethan said. If she was
asleep, she couldn't talk too much.

She
nodded and ran up the stairs, her braids flying.

Ethan
made his way to Maywell's study unannounced. When he entered, he saw
his lordship at his desk with his head in his hands.

"My
lord?"

Maywell
looked up. "Ah, Damont," he said in weary greeting. "Our
problem has bred a litter of brand-new problems."

"Do
you mean your niece, my lord?"

Maywell
nodded. "I thought she was far too curious from the start, but
her coming here was so good for my own daughters. I thought there was
no possible way she could have been reached by the opposition. She's
been locked away in the north for ten years, for pity's sake!"

Maywell
toyed with some papers on his desk. Ethan recognized Jane's concise
and complete letter to "Mother."

"I
ought to have been reading all her mail," Maywell muttered. "But
the first dozen or so were all so bloody boring…"

Clever
Jane. "What is the problem now, my lord?"

Maywell
pursed his lips. "Let me see… first, Jane is not in
Bedlam any longer. Oh, yes, I know, you delivered her just as I
asked. I confirmed that personally. Somehow or other, she escaped.
The bloody hospital tried to pawn some poxy ladybird off on me! As if
I don't know my own niece!"

His
lordship took a breath, visibly calming himself. "And now that I
have made inquiries, I find that Jane's mother is deceased and has
been for many months." He picked up the letter. "I
underestimated her because she was just a girl. That mistake may cost
us everything, Damont."

With
relief, Ethan realized that Maywell did not suspect him in the least.
And why would he? If Ethan had wanted Jane, all he would have had to
do was ask.

"My
lord, I came this morning to give you my answer. I accept your
offer."

Maywell
gave a grant of dry amusement. "I'm sorry, son. It seems that
your reward has been returned to her previous owner."

Ethan
blinked. "So you believe that she was rescued by this person she
was writing to?" It was an excellent idea. One that Ethan should
implement immediately himself. Give Jane back to—

"Mother."
Maywell peered up at him. "I would very much like to know who
that is, Damont."

"So
would I, my lord. So would I."

«
^
»

Jane
sat curled up before the fire in Ethan's room. She had her own room
now, of course, but Ethan's room was comfortable and lived in. His
books were on the shelves, his razor was on the stand, his cream silk
sheets smelled like him…

Not
that she had been sniffing. She had simply happened to notice it when
she'd woken this morning.

Mrs.
Cook came bustling in with a tea tray. "There you are, my lady.
Why are you sittin' in the dark?"

Jane
looked at the motherly woman, missing her mother—both the
gently mad one and the one from before. "I think I've made a
terrible mistake, Sarah."

Mrs.
Cook smiled with sympathy. "There's only two times in a woman's
life when she says that, my lady. When she's married the wrong man or
when she's let the right one go."

Jane
rubbed her face with her hands. "What about when she's driven
the right one away?"

Sarah
patted her on the shoulder. "That counts too, love." Jane
leaned into that sympathy for a moment. Then Mrs. Cook straightened
briskly. "So—what are we goin' to do to drive him back?"

Jane
wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't know. He insists on
treating me like a lady."

"Oh,
my. That is bad." Mrs. Cook hissed thoughtfully between her
teeth. "Have you tried touching his face? That works a treat."

Jane
nodded.

"Hmm.
Have you tried kissing him?"

"Yes."

Mrs.
Cook pursed her lips. "Well, then. I'd say it's high time to
bring out the cannon, my lady."

Ethan
left Maywell's without much useful information for the Liars but
feeling reassured that his lordship had no idea that Jane was
ensconced in Diamond House.

He
had time, it seemed. Time to get Jane to tell him who her contact
was. She'd avoided that before, he'd noticed. If he could get her
back into the safety of her own fold, then he would not have to worry
about Maywell or the Liars taking her away.

He
wondered if he ought to tell Etheridge that there was a rival spy
network in London? What would Dalton make of that? He might already
know.

Yet,
somehow Ethan didn't think so. Jane acted as though there were no one
else in the world who could stop Maywell but her. Etheridge had
virtually said the same about Ethan. If the two spymasters were on
speaking terms, then surely they would be sharing information?

Bloody
black-and-white thinking—it was forever biting those blokes in
the arse.

When
the hack reached Diamond House, Ethan hopped briskly out, only to see
his doorway dark and unwelcoming. No Jeeves?

His
gut went to ice. Then he reminded himself of that afternoon's
singular lack of tea and news sheet. Likely it was only Jane,
distracting his servants with a game of hide-and-seek.

Except
that when he entered, the house was dark and far too silent. Servants
were always making noise—steps on the back stairs, footfalls in
the halls, Mrs. Cook's cheerful humming, Uri's tuneless version…

Swiftly,
warily, Ethan checked every room on the ground floor. No one.
Belowstairs was just as empty.

He'd
been wrong, oh, God, he'd been so stupid and wrong. Maywell had come,
or the "little man"—whoever that was—had come
and cut his servants' throats and taken his Jane away.

Ethan
grabbed a great carving implement from the knife block in the
kitchen. He climbed the stairs with soft, silent steps. The upper
hall was quiet and dark—

But
for the slight glow shining from beneath his bedchamber door.

Jane?
Full of fear, he burst through his own door with an outraged roar.

Only
to find the scene set for romance, with a fire glowing on the hearth,
flower petals on the counterpane, and one very lovely Lady Jane
Pennington asleep in his bed.

Oh,
thank God! He ran to the bed and swept her into his arms. "Oh,
Janet, I thought—"

She
blinked sleepily at him and draped one soft arm about his neck.
"Ethan? I'm sorry, I fell asleep."

Thinking
of his amateurish roaring entrance, Ethan shook his head, laughing,
"Janet, you sleep like the dead."

She
smiled sweetly and twined the other bare arm about his neck. "How
do you know?"

Her
skin was warm against his neck… and his hands? He looked down.

Abruptly
all the blood left his brain to head to other more useful parts.

Jane
was completely naked in his arms.

Ethan
forgot to breathe for one long sensuous moment. He spread his hands
open on her bare back, pressing her close while he took in her warm,
womanly scent. She responded like a sleepy cat, curling into the
shape of him, melting into him. God, she felt good—

No.
I vowed never to harm her.

He
pulled back from her, but her soft sleepy embrace suddenly turned to
iron. In his urgency, Ethan lost his balance and fell back onto the
carpet. Since Jane didn't let go, this had the added complication of
pulling her nude body free of the covers in order to plaster it all
over his on the floor.

"Jane,
no," he gasped. "This is—we cannot—"

She
writhed on top of him, fulfilling half a dozen fantasies on the spot.

"No."
It took all his will and most of his strength to unwrap himself, yet
somehow he managed it. Leaving her tumbled on the carpet, he
scrambled to his feet and backed away.