If the Viscount Falls (6 page)

But it would be so much easier to stand firm against him if he'd grown a paunch and his hair had thinned in the past twelve years. Instead, he'd gained a rakish scar and a broader chest than she remembered.

And he wasn't even a tiny bit gray! His hair was still as black as his iron heart, which seemed unaffected by their past together. Meanwhile, just being this close to him had revived her own cold, dead heart.

She'd have to make sure he couldn't tell. He used to be wickedly good at reading her emotions, and she would
die
before she let him see how vulnerable she was to him after all these years.

“So without having any facts to support your theory you've decided that Nancy ran off to meet a paramour,” she told him. “Aren't investigators supposed to consider all the evidence before they jump to conclusions?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I'm not jumping to anything. It's the explanation that makes the most sense.”

“To you, perhaps. But if Nancy had a lover, I would know, I assure you. The woman is incapable of that level of deception.”

“Is she?” His eyes were cold and brittle as green glass in the morning light. “Perhaps you don't know your cousin as well as you think.”

A pox on him! Was he alluding to the subterfuge he and Nancy had pulled off that horrible night at the Blakeborough ball? Because if so, he ought to come out and say it.

Then again, he was unaware that she knew the truth. He still thought she'd
believed
their nonsense. And at first she had. She'd assumed Dom was a villain, that somehow she'd missed a serious flaw in his character.

But as the years had passed and he hadn't married any heiresses or become the subject of gossip about fortune hunters or even attempted to push his way into other society functions, she'd grown suspicious. By then, Nancy had been wed to George for a few years and the bloom of her marriage had withered. She'd been lonely enough to want to share confidences with Jane again.

It hadn't taken much to get the truth out of her—that Dom had set up the entire thing. That the arrogant
wretch had deliberately made Jane think he was a fortune hunter just to force her to jilt him.

He hadn't even given her a choice! He'd placed her in a position where her pride demanded that she break with him, because he'd known exactly how she would react to seeing him make advances to her cousin. Because he'd known exactly where to insert the knife.

He'd gotten away with it, too. It still infuriated her every time she thought about it. Of all the pompous, unfeeling—

Jane gritted her teeth to silence the hot retorts she wanted to throw at him. After their encounter last year at George's town house, she'd decided that if Dom hadn't loved her enough to fight for her back then—or come back to fight for her later, when he was more financially secure—then he wasn't worth the years she'd wasted on him.

The only thing she wanted now was for him to confess what he'd done and why. For him to admit that it had been a mistake. That he'd ended up alone without her because of his foolish pride and his assumptions about her character. The dratted man owed her that, at least.

Unfortunately, she wasn't likely to get any such admission. Dom the Almighty had clearly grown even more arrogant now that he'd gained his inheritance and become Lord Rathmoor. Like Papa with Mama, he thought his opinion was the only important one, which was clear from his dratted elucidation of all the reasons Nancy was some sort of devious harlot.

Well, Dom could sling as much mud at Nancy as he pleased—Jane knew the truth. Simply because he'd once manipulated Nancy into a deception didn't mean she was capable of adultery. If he intended to argue that, he'd have to provide evidence, not just vague insinuations.

“Actually,” Jane said, forcing sweetness into her tone, “I know my cousin
quite
well. I can't imagine why you would think otherwise. Do you have any particular instance of deceptiveness you're alluding to?”

When his eyes darkened at her aggressive pursuit of the matter, she added, “Because if you're hinting at how I found the two of you together at the Blakeborough ball, I happen to know that Nancy didn't want you to kiss her that night. It was perfectly clear from what I overheard.”

Wriggle out of
that
,
Dominick Manton!

A shuttered look crossed his face. “I'm merely falling back on my years of experience as an investigator, which tell me that something other than a kidnapping is at work here.”

His voice was cool, remote—a far cry from the warm one she remembered from her youth, whispering sweet compliments in her ear.

It saddened her. When had he become so unfeeling and controlling? She remembered him as an amiable gentleman, who loved books and music and dogs and spoke to her with perfect candor. Now he was autocratic and dictatorial.

Had something happened to him during his career
as a Bow Street runner to turn him into this rigid fellow without a heart? Or had he always been that way and she just hadn't seen it, blinded by love?

“Very well,” she said. “You have your theory of what happened to Nancy, and I have mine. But either way, you have to go look for her.”

Stubborn to a fault, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“Because I can't go looking for her alone, of course. You know perfectly well it would be improper for me to wander the streets of York asking questions. Besides, even if it weren't frowned upon, investigation is
your
particular skill, not mine. So you have to help me search for her.”

Irritation furrowed his brow. “What I meant was, why must
anyone
look for her? She's a grown woman. If she wishes to run off, that's her affair.”

“But you aren't sure that's what happened!”

He pointed to the letter from Nancy, which Jane clutched in her hand. “I'd swear that her missive isn't forged. So she made her own choice to leave and to hide her reasons for it. We should respect that.” He searched her face. “Unless there's something you're not telling me.”

Drat the man. How was it he could always read her so well? She'd better take care or she'd wind up spilling the secret Nancy had made her swear to keep some days ago. After all, Nancy wasn't certain of anything yet. No point in stirring things up until she was.

But that didn't mean Jane would give up on looking for her cousin.

“I'm merely anxious about her, and you should be, too. You're her brother-in-law; she's your responsibility now. Even if you're right and she ran off with a paramour, that doesn't mean she's safe.” Mama hadn't even been safe with her own husband, for pity's sake.

She shoved thoughts of her long-dead parents from her mind. “Men do take advantage of widows with dower portions, as you well know. So don't you think you should at least attempt to protect her, if only from herself?”

He muttered an oath under his breath. Oh, Dom the Almighty didn't like having his sense of chivalry used against him, did he? He prided himself on his character, and a responsible gentleman didn't allow a female relation to be misused.

She pressed her advantage. “If you won't help me, you'll force me to go alone. Either way, I'm not letting Nancy stumble into an awful situation where some deceptive fellow—”

“Fine,” he cut in. “I'll travel to York and make inquiries of this Mrs. Patch.”

“Right away?”

He raised his eyes heavenward. “If I must. But I have to return to the coast in time for my tenants' meeting tomorrow.”

“And you'll take me with you to York, right?”

“There's no need.” A flush darkened his angular features, making the scar he'd acquired in their years apart stand in high relief. “And anyway, you can't go riding the roads with me unchaperoned.”

“I'm nearly thirty, Dom—it's not as if I'm some schoolgirl. If we travel in your open phaeton, no one will suspect us of anything scandalous. I realize that York is a couple of hours away, but with the days lengthening, we can be there and back before dark. And you did say you must go on from here to Rathmoor Park for your meeting.”

He advanced on her with a fierceness that took her aback. “You're betrothed, or have you forgotten? What will your fiancé say when he hears you're running about the countryside alone with me?”

When he stopped just short of her, forcing her to look way up to meet his gaze, she glared at him. “He'll say that he trusts me. That he believes in me, no matter what. That he knows I'll always do what's right, regardless of the situation.”

And that's more than you ever did,
she nearly added. Because that was what stuck in her craw about how Dom had behaved in their youth. Without ever giving her a chance to prove herself, he'd simply assumed she couldn't handle the massive changes in his circumstances.

Dom stared at her, then slowly lowered his gaze to her lips. “That's what Blakeborough would say, is it? Somehow I doubt that.”

“Because I'm not trustworthy?”

“Because he's a man.” Something hard and hungry glittered in his eyes, putting her on her guard. “He knows we were once engaged, so he'll assume I'm still tempted by you.”

That took her by surprise. Lord help her, the covetous look he was giving her would stir the very marrow in a woman's bones. “And are you?” she managed to eke out. “Still tempted by me, I mean?”

Time halted as they stood there, with eyes locked and breaths mingling, so close that a mere lowering of his head would bring their mouths together, too.

Then he tore his gaze from hers and stepped away. “That's of no consequence. Blakeborough will think I am, which is all that matters. And I know you don't wish to spoil things with him.”

Vexed that he wouldn't reveal what he felt for her, she snapped, “Odd, how you always seem to ‘know' what I'm thinking or wishing.” When her sarcasm made him shoot her a veiled glance, she added, “In any case, no acquaintance of Edwin's is likely to see you and me in York, so there's little chance that news of our jaunt will get back to him. I, for one, am willing to risk it.”

“I, for one, am not.”

“You don't have a choice. You've never met Mrs. Patch, which makes it highly unlikely that she'd talk to you, especially with your being Nancy's estranged brother-in-law and the man partly responsible for George's death.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Have
you
met her?”

“Well, no, but you notice that she invited me to consult with her further if it became necessary. And I'm sure Nancy has spoken of me frequently enough for her to feel comfortable talking to me.”

For a long moment, Dom simply scowled at her, as if somehow that would frighten her into compliance.

It had been a long time since she'd seen that cutting frown. He'd only used it on her once—that day in her uncle's study when he'd tried to convince her to jilt him. She'd withstood it then well enough, so why he expected her to behave any differently now was beyond her.

“You refuse to leave this to me,” he finally said.

“If it was Lisette in trouble, would you leave it to one of your men? Or would you insist on handling it yourself?”

He hesitated. Then to her shock, he flashed her a rueful smile. “You know the answer to that.”

Of course she did. She could read
him,
too, after all. “Then I suggest that we leave at once. No point in letting the trail grow any colder.”

♦ ♦ ♦

T
HE ROAD TO
York was quiet—not surprising, since it came from the coast and encompassed only a few sleepy towns and estates along the route. Normally Dom would have enjoyed having just the steady clop-clop of the horses as an accompaniment to his reverie.

But normally Dom didn't have Jane bumping up against him on the seat. He didn't have her scent filling his senses, mingling with the smell of the spring grasses and wildflowers. He didn't have her arm within touching distance. Her very presence put him on edge, which made the silence between them unbearable.

How odd. Dom had never been a chatty sort, and in their youth he'd been happy to let Jane do most of
the talking. He hadn't always even heard what she was saying, too enthralled by the animation on her face to pay attention.

She used to have this way of imbuing every word with emotion. Judging from their argument earlier, she still did, even if the emotion was panic and concern. And accusation.

He scowled. The blasted woman had manipulated him into this trip quite well. It had been a masterful performance, but a performance nonetheless. Not for nothing had he spent the past years uncovering deceptions. Jane was hiding something. She wouldn't be this alarmed unless there was more at stake than she was saying.

He'd better find out what it was before this went any further. “So tell me, how was Nancy's mood when last you saw her?”

Instantly she stiffened, heightening his suspicions. “Why?”

“I merely wondered if there was anything to indicate why she would leave Rathmoor Park. Did she seem melancholy? Relieved by George's death? Angry?”

“Nancy is never angry,” Jane said.

“Unlike you. Who seem to be quite angry right now.”
At me, anyway.

“I'm worried, not angry.” Jane leaned away from him, putting the lie to her words. “Nancy doesn't do things like this.”

“You did say she's made these jaunts to York before.”

“Yes, but never for more than a day, and never
without telling anyone in the family. It's not like her.” She breathed deeply. “But to answer your question, she
has
seemed rather melancholy of late. That's not how someone who is racing off to meet a lover reacts, is it?”

“It depends. Perhaps she hadn't heard from him. Perhaps she thought he'd given her up, now that she was free. Perhaps—”