Trevor stalked toward the door. “You are being fanciful, my lady. You ask why I did not burden you with the details of a small misadventure, and this is exactly why. You are overreacting and flinging wild fancies about, heedless of whom you insult. I will leave you to regain your… your… to collect yourself.”
He had about half the library yet to cross, and Jeanette was not overreacting. She took out her knife, rose, and threw it such that it bit into the door at shoulder height.
His lordship stopped short.
“Insult me like this again, Trevor, and we will have words such as you cannot imagine. You are upset to think that Jerome might have involved you in an intolerable situation, and you thought to protect me from fretting over his difficulties. You are also protecting him, a grown man nearly three years your senior, resplendent in his town bronze.”
Trevor’s gaze went from the knife to Jeanette, something cool and appraising in his eyes. “I have not even discussed this situation with Jerome. The idea that I have been the target of malice meant for him never occurred to me.”
“But you must admit that theory makes sense. Sycamore Dorning saw the connections immediately, and if you can’t respect my opinion, you should respect his.”
Trevor pulled the knife from the door and examined the blade. “He said nothing to me about Jerome being the intended victim. This is a peculiar sort of knife.”
“The design is specifically for throwing, not for hand-to-hand combat, or for any kind of practical use. This blade is smaller and lighter than other knives, fashioned to suit my hand.”
Trevor palmed the knife. “Fashioned by Sycamore Dorning?”
“Yes.”
He passed the blade back to her. “I do not want to argue with you, my lady—Jeanette. But allow me to point out that regarding a matter involving your personal safety, you went to Dorning rather than to me, and I am both the head of this family, despite my lamentable youth, and somebody who would be devastated should harm befall you. You have not been forthcoming with me, and yet, you castigate me for exercising some gentlemanly discretion. There is reason here for more than one party to be hurt.”
Good heavens. Trevor had delivered that set-down in perfectly measured, calm tones. He’d been honest with her, not the condescending aristocrat and not the whiny adolescent.
Jeanette wrapped the knife in her handkerchief and returned it to her pocket. “You are correct. I kept my own counsel about being followed because I did not want to be told I was overreacting and behaving like a hysterical female. For all I knew, some journalist was doing a piece on titled widows and nosing around in hopes I’d create a great scandal in my spare time. When Sycamore told me what had happened to you—told me in the last hour—I put aside my doubts and confronted you with the situation.”
Trevor regarded her for a long moment, his blue eyes giving away little. “What is it you want from me, Jeanette?”
“The truth. I will keep you informed should I sense any threats to my wellbeing, and I hope you will do likewise for me. I cannot battle a foe who hides behind your gentlemanly sensibilities, Trevor, and you cannot protect me from an enemy I refuse to discuss with you.”
He ambled toward the door this time, no sweeping off the stage in high dudgeon. Surely that was cause for encouragement?
“Do you ever consider leaving London?” he asked. “Just bowing out of the whole social whirl for a few months?”
“The spring Season is the whole social whirl,” Jeanette said, “and I would not abandon you here to the matchmakers and Aunt Viola’s schemes.”
Trevor scrubbed a hand over his face. “Auntie is quite determined. If you should take a notion to rusticate, I would be happy to escort you from Town. I have no wish to return to university, but spending my mornings lounging from one print shop window to the next, lunch at the club, fencing in the afternoon… I could put it aside to see you safely to Tavistock Hall.”
“And Viola would descend with your cousins within an hour of our arrival.”
He paused at the door, his hand on the latch. “I’ve thought about getting rooms at the Albany. That address is the height of fashion for bachelors of means, and Jerome would keep me company.”
Jerome would whizzle free room and board for himself and half his loutish friends. “You must do as you see fit, though I cannot endorse a move to the Albany.”
Trevor tossed her a smile over his shoulder. “I can’t very well abandon you here if somebody is skulking through the bushes making you fretful. The Albany isn’t going anywhere, and Jerome would probably never come up with his half of the rent anyway.”
“And I would miss you.”
Trevor slipped out the door without offering Jeanette any reciprocal assurances.
Chapter Ten
Sycamore had a knife in his hand before he found his balance. The blow to his chin had been stout and completely unexpected, but the follow-up fist to the gut never happened.
He faced a man—a gentleman down on his luck, based on the fellow’s attire—of substantial height and even more substantial bad humor. Ill-will rolled off the fellow in a palpable wave, as did the crisp scent of lavender.
Sycamore’s assailant was a tower of contradictions. Lavender was a clean scent, while this man’s boots were dusty and worn. The second button on his morning coat was coming loose, and his hat needed a good brushing. He wore a patch over one eye, as if his demeanor generally wasn’t piratical enough. His hair was dark and badly in need of a trim, while his eye was the blue of bachelor buttons
