“Thank you, my lord, but that will not be necessary.” Her cheeks darkened with what he first took for embarrassment, then realized was rage. “I have no intention of allowing a moment’s weakness to lead to a lifetime of regret.”
Sebastian could think of nothing more horrifying than finding himself united in unholy matrimony with the daughter of Lord Jarvis. But the code of honor he lived by was rigid in such matters. He said, “If we had died on cue as expected, it would have been unnecessary. Since, however, we did not die, it is now—”
“Lord Devlin. I told you before that I have no intention of ever marrying. What happened yesterday has not altered that.”
She stared at him with her frank, faintly contemptuous gray eyes, and he found it virtually impossible to reconcile this icy, self-possessed gentlewoman with the frightened and very real woman he’d held in his arms less than twenty-four hours ago. He said, “There could be consequences.”
Her head jerked up. “There is no reason anyone need ever know. My identity was never revealed to our rescuers. I was able to reenter my home without attracting undue attention. And I trust I may have full confidence in your honor as a gentleman that you will never speak of it to anyone.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her eyes widened in a way that told him this aspect of yesterday’s interlude had yet to occur to her. She said, “Fate would not be so perverse.”
“Nevertheless, you will tell me?”
She brushed past him, headed for the door. He reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her back around. “Miss Jarvis, I must insist.”
Fury and scorn blazed in her eyes. She dropped her gaze to his hand on her arm. He let her go.
She said, “I have no desire to speak of this again. I trust that you, as a gentleman, will respect that wish.” She turned once more toward the door.
“Nevertheless, you will tell me. If there are consequences.”
She checked for the briefest instant, but kept walking.
As soon as they were all once again assembled in Gibson’s sitting room, Miss Jarvis said tartly, “Considering the fate of my wounded assailant, I don’t think Hannah should stay here.”
“What ’appened to ’im?” asked the irrepressible Hannah.
“Someone broke his neck.”
Hannah’s hand crept up to gently cradle her throat. For a moment, the animation seemed to drain out of her, leaving her bleak and frightened.
Sebastian said, “I can ask Jules Calhoun to take her to his mother. Calhoun is my valet,” he added by way of explanation when Miss Jarvis threw him a questioning glance.
“You would send her to your valet’s
“I ain’t goin’ to nobody’s bleedin’ mother,” said Hannah. “She’ll make me feel like some bleedin’ cockroach or somethin’. It’ll be worse than the Quakers.”
“You’d rather have your neck snapped?” said Sebastian.
Hannah opened, then closed, her mouth.
“Besides,” said Sebastian, “I think Grace Calhoun will surprise you.”
This time, Hannah’s mouth fell open and stayed open. “
“You know her?”
“Get on wit’ you. Ev’rybody knows Grace Calhoun.”
“Who is Grace Calhoun?” whispered Miss Jarvis to Paul Gibson.
But Paul Gibson only said, “Not someone you want to know.”
Nobly volunteering to escort Hannah Green to Brook Street, Paul Gibson went in search of a hackney.
“Aw,” said Hannah Green, casting a long, wistful look at the curricle and pair of blood chestnuts waiting with Tom across the street. “I was ’opin’ maybe I’d get t’ride in yer curricle. I ain’t never ridden in a rig like that afore.”
While Miss Jarvis turned a laugh into a cough, Sebastian said to his friend, “Tell Calhoun I should be there shortly. And don’t let her out of your sight until you turn her over to him.”
“I ain’t gonna pike off,” said Hannah from the depths of the hackney, both hands once again wrapped around her throat.
“Not if you want to live, you won’t,” said Sebastian, stepping back. Gibson scrambled in behind her and the hackney started with a jerk. “And I must say, I am surprised at you, Miss Jarvis,” he added, turning to her. “Laughing at the enthusiasms of those who are less fortunate than we.”
“I wasn’t laughing at Hannah,” said Miss Jarvis, opening her parasol against the noonday sun. “I fear I was overcome by the mental image of you driving that vision in pink-and-white stripes and burgundy plumes through the streets of London. It’s why you sent her with Gibson, isn’t it?”
“I sent her with Gibson because it is my intention to seek out Spencer Perceval and warn him of a possible plot to assassinate him. Just as soon as I drive you home.”
