The Rogue (8 page)

Of
course, he'd hated every minute of it, except for the reward he'd
received from Collis's dear old Uncle Codger. And except for every
minute he'd spent in Rose's company, of course. He'd taken a fancy to
the extraordinary Rose but, as usual, it had been Collis who got the
girl in the end.

Later,
Ethan examined himself in the cheval mirror in his dressing room.
Jeeves tied a mean neckcloth, that was certain. Ethan could find no
fault in his butler's arrangements. "I could seduce a widow at a
funeral," Ethan marveled.

"A
worthy pursuit, I am sure, sir." Standing behind him with a
clothing brush at the ready, Jeeves betrayed no sign of irony.

Ethan
pointed one finger at him. "Don't disparage my methods, O Butler
Mine. You'd be surprised at the gratitude one can inspire at such
moments."

"I
am in no doubt, sir. It sounds like the true path to happiness
indeed." Jeeves put away the unchosen garments with blinding
efficiency. "May I inquire as to your destination tonight, sir?"

Ethan
tugged at his cuffs. "Not to Maywell's, that is certain,"
he muttered resentfully.

Jeeves
blinked mildly. "Indeed, sir? Did his lordship not invite you
for cards this evening?"

"He
did." Ethan blew out a breath, then turned to his butler.
"Jeeves, have you ever been forced to do something you don't
want to do?"

"Daily,
sir," was the prompt reply.

Ethan
blinked. "Really? What is that?"

"I
very much dislike dusting, sir. It makes my eyes water."

Ethan
narrowed his eyes. "You're fishing for more servants, aren't
you?"

"No,
sir. I am simply answering your question."

Ethan
closed his eyes. "Very well, Jeeves. You may bring in a
housemaid."

"Thank
you, sir," Jeeves said mildly. "However, I'd prefer to
bring in a footman. A young fellow about the place would be most
useful."

Ethan's
lips twisted without humor. "Reluctant to bring a young girl
into the house? Which is no reflection of your opinion of me, I'm
sure."

Jeeves
did not respond, but only kept his gaze level.

Ethan
gave up. "Very well. I assume you have one in mind?"

"Yes,
sir. It happens I do. A very sturdy young man by the name of Uri."

"Does
this mean I may drink in my study again, now that you have Uri to
roll me up the stairs?"

Jeeves
went very still. "If the master insists, sir."

Ethan
sighed. "Oh, never mind. I'll keep the brandy in my sitting
room."

Nothing
actually resembling relief crossed Jeeves's face, yet Ethan had the
distinct impression the old fellow had dodged a near bullet. Why were
Ethan's drinking habits of such importance to him?

"I'm
off, then." He took his hat and gloves from Jeeves's ready hands
and donned them in front of the mirror. At the very last, he flicked
his hat with one finger to add just the right jaunty slant to the
brim.

"Have
a very enjoyable evening, sir," Jeeves said. "Oh, sir…"

Ethan
paused. "Yes, Jeeves?"

"I
always find the best path to take when someone is trying to force my
hand is to do precisely what I would have done had they not attempted
it."

Ethan
was startled. "Good God, Jeeves, did you just offer me an actual
personal opinion?"

Jeeves
only gazed at him serenely. "Why would I do that, sir?"

Ethan
shook his head. "Right. Sorry. My mad imagination at work, I
suppose. Besides, I cannot go to Lord Maywell's. I did not accept the
invitation."

"Have
no fear, sir. I took the liberty of accepting it for you."

Ethan
closed his eyes briefly. "That doesn't mean I'm going, Jeeves."

"Of
course not, sir. Have an enjoyable evening, sir," Jeeves said
calmly.

The
hired carriage stood outside, as ready as if it were his own. Truly,
Ethan had never commanded such service before he'd hired Jeeves. The
man was, indeed, a treasure, just as advertised by his previous
employer, Miss Lillian Something-or-other.

Ethan
wasn't one to look a treasure in the mouth.

Settling
into the seat, he gave his gloves a final tug and pondered his
evening. He'd half-decided to try his luck at the Liar's Club tables
tonight, just to show that lot that he couldn't be railroaded into
anything—but Jeeves's words kept floating through his mind. "
Do
precisely what I would have done had they not attempted it
."

And
the fact was, if Etheridge had kept his annoying gob shut, Ethan
would have at this moment been on his way to answer Maywell's
challenge and take some more of his lordship's lovely money.

With
swift decision, Ethan rapped on the ceiling of the carriage. The
small trap flipped open. "Maywell's, in Barkley Square!"

The
carriage paused, then the driver began to turn. Ethan slouched back
onto the emerald velvet seat. He would go to Maywell's and do his
best to get thrown out. That would show those manipulative bastards
what!

Jane
took a bit more care than usual with her hair tonight. When she was
done, despite the fact that she'd been dodging Serena's elbows for
brief glances in the looking glass over the vanity, even she had to
admit that she looked especially fine.

Every
hair was in place, bound by strings of tiny pearls and ribbons so
sheer one could see right through them. The length was twisted
elegantly into a knot high on her head, which showed off her neck to
great advantage.

"Ooh,
Jane! You do look nice!" Serena blinked innocently at her. "Have
you set your cap for someone who is coming tonight? Tell me, please
do!"

Jane
paused in the act of applying finely ground rice powder to her face.
Set her cap? Is that what she was doing, setting her cap for Mr.
Ethan Damont?

That
was ridiculous, of course. Why would she be dressing up for some
gambling, womanizing rake?

If
not for him, then who?

When
she couldn't answer that question, even to herself, Jane pulled every
pin from her elaborate hairstyle. While Serena looked on in horror,
Jane brushed out the silken reddish-blond mass and twisted it up into
a simple knot on the back of her neck.

Passing
by the pale lavender confection of silk and lace that lay ready for
her across the foot of the bed, Jane went to the wardrobe and removed
the plainest gown available. Of course, the leaf-green silk was still
very fine and fatally elegant, but it was the least flirtatious thing
she had.

Now
dressed more befitting a casual dinner with family, Jane left Serena
to her primping. The male guests were already gathering in the
smoking room downstairs, so Jane went into the garden for a bit of
clear air and hopefully a bit of clear thinking.

If
Mr. Damont appeared this evening, she would not have much time to
discover whether or not he could be trusted. At any moment he could
say a few words that would destroy her chances to fulfill her
responsibility to Mother. Being revealed to the world as a hoydenish
wanton would most definitely get her sent away from here.

The
thought crossed her mind that she would then never be forced to dance
with any more clumsy young men—but that was not the point.
Mother had expectations of her. Jane wouldn't let Mother down for the
world.

"You
must never appear too obvious. Subtlety will get the job done where
candor will not."

Unfortunately,
she had not been very subtle last night— neither before the
rescue nor after. If Mr. Damont thought her wild and abandoned, he'd
have good reason to.

Jane
smoothed her plain skirts and took the path through the garden that
did
not
pass beneath the elm tree.

For
the second time in twenty-four hours, Ethan found himself making his
escape from Lord Maywell's. The smoking room was full of tender
youthful louts here to pay homage to one of the young marriageable
ladies of the house. Ethan had obviously been invited to keep his
lordship occupied with cards while the other fellows pursued their
marital goals.

They
might invite you to supper, but they wouldn't want you to marry their
daughter.

Not
that he was surprised, of course. Society had been this way since
time immemorial. Why would it change?

Ethan
closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the chilling evening air. He
toyed with a cheroot but did not light it. He did not so much smoke
them for his own enjoyment as use them as one of his many
distractions for his prey.

There
was no one here to perform for. No one but the sculptures and the
shrubbery to see him pass one hand over his face in weariness. So
tired of keeping up his game… so tired of being charming and
dashing and useless.

Then
join the Liars
,
said that voice from within.
Be
of use
.

Ethan
snorted at his own conscience—if indeed it was his conscience
and not the first sign of incipient madness— and replied out
loud.

"What
use would I be, a man who cannot be trusted?"

A
sound came from the garden at his words. No more than a rustle,
swiftly silenced, but enough to bring something into focus in the
darkness.

What
Ethan had believed to be another bit of shrubbery was in actuality a
woman in a green dress, standing against the deeper emerald of the
foliage. Her pale face shone dimly, as if it were nothing more than a
bit of marble statuary among the other figures that stood so
incongruously in this urban sylvary.

Ethan
rose slowly from his slouch against the wall, all the while keeping
his gaze hard upon the woman. It would not do to lose sight of
her—although he was not quite sure why it mattered so.

She
made no effort to escape him as he approached. Indeed, as he neared
her he was forced to reevaluate his assumption that she was trying to
remain hidden, for she was simply standing there in full sight. It
was a mere accident of coloration and light that had made her seem to
emerge from nowhere.

He
bowed courteously. "Good evening, ma'am. Ethan Damont, at your
service."

She
curtsied with all due politeness, but did not speak. Ethan peered
more closely at her, but for all of him he could not place her.

«
^
»

The
world seemed suddenly so quiet around them. Even the night insects
were quieted, with nary a flutter of moth wings to be heard. The
sounds of the male laughter faded and Jane became very aware of the
beat of her heart.

Her
pulse pounded, in fact. How silly. She was neither frightened nor
nervous. She willed her breathing to slow and her heart to follow.
Mr. Damont stood quite calmly before her, offering no threat. His
head was tilted slightly to one side as he waited for her to speak.
Surprisingly, he gazed at her with complete lack of recognition.

Could
that be? True, her hair had been hanging everywhere… and her
back had been to the dim light coming from the house.

Realizing
that made her suddenly loath to speak. He had heard her speak, and
Jane had been told more than once that her voice was quite
distinctive. It would be best to remain quiet for the moment, and it
might prove most interesting to see how such a man would behave in
the present situation. To be truthful, she was reluctant to condemn
him for his behavior last night, for she had been rude first.

Tonight
provided a fresh start. What would he say? How would he behave toward
her? So far, he had introduced himself—a social imposition, but
not one that she found important. After all, what was he to do upon
finding a strange woman standing alone in a garden at night—
ignore her?