Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

Lady Jane Pagett was not having a good day. Ever since the night at the Carrimores’ ball she’d been in a terrible state of upheaval. Half the time she didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. Despite Miranda’s warnings, all she wanted to do was think of the tall man who’d kissed her, and wrong as it was, she wanted to lie in bed and touch herself through her fine lawn nightdress and pretend they were his hands on her body. She didn’t want to think about Mr. Bothwell and his chaste, dry kisses, she didn’t want to think about her future life in the dreary north. She wanted to dream of pirates and smugglers and wicked licentiousness that nevertheless felt so good.

Because the truth was, all her life, beneath her timid exterior, beat the heart of an adventuress. She wanted to travel to strange and distant places, she wanted wild adventures and passionate love. Instead she was marrying Mr. Bothwell because no one else had wanted her.

She was tall and thin and plain and shy, doomed to an ordinary life with an ordinary man, and just once she wished she was brave enough to have even the mildest of adventures. The kiss in the dark had been a taste of all the richness life offered and she was denied.

The fact that she hadn’t been able to get the blasted diamond ring off her finger didn’t help matters. Nothing worked, not soap or duck grease or sheer force. It seemed stuck for good, and she didn’t dare return home to her family with it adorning her hand like a blazing sign of her wickedness.

She’d summoned up enough courage to have Miranda ask the Earl of Rochdale about it but he’d denied any knowledge of jewel thieves, and she was half tempted to believe him, if he weren’t known as the Scorpion, with the reputation to match. A pirate indeed, but a little too frightening even for Jane’s wild fantasies. She wanted the man in the dark.

Author: Anne Stuart

On top of everything else, she had the beginnings of a putrid sore throat, and she planned to spend the day in bed, nursed by Miranda’s most excellent lady’s maid.

But Brandon Rohan had made such a row she’d had no choice but to get up and put her best face on, listening to him as he stalked around the dining room, ranting about some wicked crime that Lucien de Malheur hadn’t done. To be sure, the scarred man unnerved her, and she would have warned Miranda to beware. If she hadn’t seen the way he looked at her, when he thought no one would notice. It didn’t matter how much Brandon ranted and raved—Jane knew people, and always had. She’d seen the way the earl looked at Miranda and known she was safe.

Of course, hours later she was rethinking that. It had been a dark, gloomy day, and Miranda had taken off on foot, anger vibrating through her, gone before Jane could offer to accompany her. Brandon had finally taken himself off to his club, but Jane had no idea whether he was coming back to spend the night or, having delivered his warning, considered his duty done and was devoting himself to the pleasures of town the way any normal seventeen-year-old male would.

And there was the damned ring. Trust Brandon to notice it. “Did old Bore-well give you that diamond?” he’d asked with an appreciative whistle. “He must not be the nip-farthing, cold fish he seemed to be. ”

She’d said nothing, of course. What were the chances a boy like Brandon would remember what ring his sister’s friend was wearing? Normally nil, but the way her luck had been running there was no guarantee.

It was getting late, and there was no sign of Miranda. Apparently the footman had returned hours ago, alone. Cousin Louisa lay ensconced on the divan in the morning room, nibbling on fresh-baked almond biscuits and trying to convince Jane there was absolutely nothing to worry about. As long as Louisa didn’t have to move she was the most placid creature in the world.

It took Jane another hour to screw up her courage. Something was wrong, something was off, though Jennings assured her that Miranda had arrived safely. She was probably worrying about nothing. Jane had joined the earl and Miranda on several occasions, having wonderful conversations, and Jane hadn’t seen her friend that animated, that happy, in years. Everything was perfectly fine.

But it was late, cold and dark, and Jane could either think about her mysterious encounter in the darkened bedroom or she could worry about Miranda. Miranda won.

She was going to go about it in a perfectly respectable way. No haring across town in a rage, she would have the carriage brought round, be driven to the earl’s house on Cadogan Place, keep Jennings and perhaps even a maid with her for propriety’s sake. But just as she was about to order the carriage Brandon came stomping back in, and she had no choice, grabbing her coat and her reticule and sneaking out a side door into the garden, then through the gate into the rain-slick street.

She’d never hailed her own hackney before, but luck was on her side, though the driver expressed doubts about taking a “nice young lady like yourself” to that part of town. She wasn’t quite sure how to depress his pretension since he was clearly just an overprotective male, but after his first warning he drove in silence, through the darkening evening.

The first thing that met her eye wasn’t the dark, gloomy house. It was the large traveling carriage that was standing in the front portico, a matched set of six black horses, no less, waiting and ready. She told the driver to let her down at the end of the square, which he did after expressing one more warning, and then she started back toward the house, keeping to the shadows, astonished at her own bravery. She was half tempted to call the hackney back, but he’d already disappeared in the fog.

Jane straightened her shoulders. She had to be brave. This was for Miranda, after all, and Miranda would face an army for her.

Her nose was beginning to run from the cold, wet air, and she struggled in her reticule for a handkerchief. Her throat was worse, and she wasn’t sure whether she was cold or hot. She only knew she’d probably been an idiot to come out in weather like this when she was clearly coming down with something.

Two uniformed servants came up the side alley that lay next to the earl’s townhouse, so busy talking they didn’t notice her hasty move back against the wall. “Wish ‘e’d give us some warning. Why would ‘e want to go off on a night like this, when he’s got a nice warm bed at home if he wants to tumble her?”

“Don’t let ‘im hear you talkin’ like that. This ain’t one of his society whores, mark my words. If I were you I’d keep me trap shut and do what ‘e says. ”

The other man responded with a cheerful profanity that nevertheless seemed to signify agreement. They moved past the coach to where three other men stood talking amidst themselves. There was a beautiful thoroughbred horse, saddled and ready, and she assumed Lord Rochdale was going to be riding. So who was traveling in the carriage? And where the hell was Miranda?

She straightened her spine, starting for the front door, when it opened, and panic swept over her. The door to the carriage stood open and waiting, the steps were already down, and she didn’t stop to think. She simply scrambled inside, crouching down in a far corner and pulling a heavy fur throw over her. With luck no one would notice.

It took her only a moment to realize her instinctive movement was mad. The earl had most assuredly sent Miranda home, and right now was planning on an assignation with his current mistress, who would find a strange young woman hiding in the carriage and Jane’s embarrassment would be monumental. She started to push the throw aside when she heard voices, the earl’s deep one, warm and caressing. “Try to sleep,” he was saying, and Jane felt the coach sway as someone climbed up into it. “You’re going to need your rest to keep fighting me. ”

“I’m not fighting you,” came Miranda’s calm voice, and Jane almost swooned with relief. “I have no choice. ”

“Very true, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Have a peaceful journey. We won’t be making many stops. ” And she heard the door close, plunging the interior of the carriage into darkness.

Jane didn’t move. If she did she might startle Miranda into making a sound, and then they might drag her out of the carriage, and she couldn’t allow them to be separated. She held herself very still, barely breathing as she felt the carriage begin to move forward, smoothly with the skill of an experienced driver.

Miranda wasn’t making any sound at all, and Jane scrunched down in the corner, trying to decide when to announce her presence. Her body took care of that decision, with a loud, uncontrollable sneeze.

“Who’s there?” Miranda demanded, her voice edgy but calm. “Please show yourself. I’ve had a very difficult day and I’m not in the mood for playing games. ”

Jane pushed the cover off her head. The interior of the carriage was very dark, but she could see Miranda quite clearly, and the expression on her face terrified her. “Just me,” she said brightly, sneezing again, and she climbed onto the seat next to her dearest friend. “So … are we being abducted?”