Prince of Swords

by Anne Stuart

  But she couldn’t help but wonder if the Earl of Glenshiel was one of Sally Blaine’s invited guests.

  It had been a simple enough matter, in the end, for Alistair to secure an invitation. While he had no particular interest in traveling down to Sevenoaks for a house party of unremarkable men and women who would doubtless game poorly and indulge in tedious flirtations, the presence of Miss Jessamine Maitland and her younger sister would go a great way toward making up for any inconvenience. He didn’t have to thank a lucky providence for coming by that information—the ever-useful Nicodemus Bottom imparted that juicy tidbit in the dark hours before dawn, along with other, more dubious warnings.

  “You ought to keep away from her, yer worship,” he said, pocketing Lady Barbara’s rubies. “You’ll have nothing to fear from her exposing you to Clegg, at least not for the next week or so. She’ll be safely in the country, doing the pretty with the other nobs.”

  “I hardly think she suspects me of nefarious doings,” Alistair said lazily.

  “She’s a sharp one. Clegg wouldn’t be using her if she wasn’t, and you know it. If you keep sniffing after her, she’ll see right through you. Have a care. You’re the best thing that’s happened to my pockets in years—I’d hate to see you take a dance at the end of a rope.”

  “Do they hang peers?” Alistair murmured, unmoved at the prospect.

  “They’d hang you, me boy, have no doubt of it. And that girl would have a hand in doing so.”

  “Then I think it behooves me to throw her off the scent, don’t you think? Besides, I’m in the mood to rusticate. A week in the country sounds like just the thing. And Kent is so conveniently close to London.”

  Nicodemus stared at him suspiciously. “What’s going on in that fiendish mind of yours, yer honor?”

  “That nothing would please me more than to spend some time with Miss Maitland in a social situation. And if, during my period of rustication, the Cat chooses to strike again in the heart of the city, then it would surely absolve me of any culpability.”

  “And how will you manage that?” Bottom demanded suspiciously.

  “With a fast horse and a great deal of daring, my dear Nicodemus. Do you think I can’t carry it off?”

  “I think you’re too wild for my good,” he said gloomily. “Have a care. Clegg wants you badly.”

  “Fortunately he has no idea it’s me he wants.”

  “Not unless Miss Maitland manages to put two and two together.”

  “In which case I’ll simply have to take steps to make sure she doesn’t divulge her prowess in sums,” Alistair said gently.

  “I can make the arrangements,” Nicodemus said unhappily. “It wouldn’t cost much, and the body would never be found. It’s not the kind of work I like to take care of, but...”

  “I don’t want to kill her, my dear fellow,” Alistair said. “There are much easier ways to silence a woman.”

  “Yes, but you have to keep her silent.”

  “Trust me. Miss Jessamine Maitland is the least of our worries. With a little energy and invention I intend to enchant her with my charms and convince her there’s no way on earth I could be a notorious felon. And if Clegg has been relying on information she’s given him, then he too will be convinced.”

  “For the time being,” Nicodemus grumbled.

  “Nothing lasts forever. I can’t see myself as a fifty-year-old burglar, climbing over walls. We’ll end with a final, triumphant theft, something so extraordinary that everything afterward would seem unbearably tepid.”

  “I can’t imagine it, yer lordship.”

  Alistair smiled, his eyes half closed as visions of jewel-encrusted gold glowed in his mind.

  “I can,” he said softly.

  Eight

  When Jessamine Maitland looked out the window on that gray November day, it was all she could do to ignore the air of foreboding that settled down over her.

  “Do you suppose we’ll be riding in a crested carriage?” Fleur asked, peering out the window beside her.

  Jessamine allowed herself a maternal glance at her younger sister. There was very little money left now—almost everything had gone into Fleur’s new wardrobe. There was enough to keep the small household for a few weeks, enough to pay for a maid-companion to keep the reclusive Mrs. Maitland company while her daughters enjoyed a visit in the country. But when they returned, if Fleur was still unattached, their situation would be dire indeed.

  If worse came to worst, Josiah Clegg would be waiting.

  “I can’t imagine why we should. Ermy’s sister didn’t marry anyone with a title,” Jessamine replied, smoothing the gray silk of her altered dress with a nervous hand. It had been one of her mother’s, and it had taken the dressmaker’s best efforts to transform the large, stately gown into something resembling a young woman’s dress a la mode. Her efforts hadn’t been an entire success. To be sure, at least Jessamine’s breasts weren’t crushed flat beneath a too-tight bodice. But with the drab color, high neck, and modest skirts, she looked like a boring governess.

  It was just as well—it made her a perfect foil for Fleur.

  They’d managed to afford three new day dresses of flowered silk, two evening dresses, and a new bonnet. Their finances hadn’t lent themselves to a riding habit, but Fleur cheerfully announced that she’d simply say she didn’t ride. And if an occasion called for a different sort of clothing, she would plead a headache and retire to her room.

  Jessamine peered back into the rainy morning. “I didn’t think you cared about crested carriages,” she said, trying to shake off the peculiar edgy feeling that assailed her. She hated premonitions. Her gift with the cards was a gift and a burden, enough to fill her life. The odd feelings that sometimes crept in were almost more than she could bear.

  “I’ve decided I ought to enjoy the finer things in life, since I intend to marry them.”

  There was a faint troubling note beneath Fleur’s carefree voice, though when Jessamine turned, Fleur flashed her a dazzling smile. “You don’t have to,” Jessamine said soberly.

  “If I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in Spitalfields, I do,” Fleur said cheerfully. “Besides, didn’t Marilla always tell me it was just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man? I’m a practical creature—I intend to fall in love with a very wealthy man with all due haste. Making certain, of course, that he’s equally enamored of me.”

  Jessamine managed a faint smile. “That sounds most convenient. I can only hope fate decides to cooperate.” She turned her gaze back into the dark London street as a carriage pulled up in front of the house.

  “We have a week to make it happen, Jess,” Fleur said with a confidence that was almost believable.

  “I believe our carriage is here, Fleur.” Jess pulled away from the window. “We should—” She stopped, perplexed. “Who in heaven’s name is that man?”

  Fleur peered out the window beside her, then drew back in sudden shock. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered, her face pale.

  Fleur had no talent for lying. She seldom even attempted it, particularly with Jessamine, and it made the failure all the more apparent. Jessamine didn’t say a word, she simply looked hard at her younger sister for a moment. “Then we’d best see who it is,” she said calmly enough as a firm rap was sounded on the front door.

  “You do it,” Fleur said breathlessly, racing for the narrow stairs. “I’m going to see that Mama has everything she needs before her companion arrives.”

  She disappeared up the stairs in a flurry of skirts before Jess could utter a protest. The knock sounded again, firm but not peremptory, and Jessamine moved to open it, steeling herself for what she might find.

  The tall, loose-limbed man who stood there looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite remember where she might have seen him. He was quietly dressed in plain dark clothes, he held his hat in his hand, and his hair tumbled above his clean, rumpled collar. “Miss Maitland?”

  It was a northern accent, a co
untry one, that conjured up memories of hay fields and horses and bright hot sunshine. But the man in front of her had the city in his eyes. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to escort you to Blaine Manor. My name’s Brennan. Robert Brennan.”

  He hardly seemed the type to socialize with Ermintrude, but he was, on closer examination, an extremely handsome man in a rough-hewn sort of way. She’d seldom seen such clear blue eyes. “Are you one of the guests, Mr. Brennan?” she asked.

  “No, miss. I’m a Bow Street runner. Hired for the occasion, to provide protection for the guests.”

  She couldn’t control her little start of shock, but she hoped he wasn’t sharp-eyed enough to notice her discomfort. “Are the wilds of Kent that dangerous, Mr. Brennan, that we need a bodyguard?” she asked lightly.

  “Not likely, miss. Most of the highwaymen in the area are an incompetent lot, and they’re unlikely to be out and about in such nasty weather. Mrs. Blaine is concerned about thieves. In particular, the Cat.”

  “Then why did she invite him, Mr. Brennan?” she asked innocently.

  She expected annoyance. Instead, a gleam of amusement lightened his clear blue eyes, and the faintest trace of a smile tilted his mouth. “If anyone knew who the Cat was, Miss Maitland, then he wouldn’t be free to accept invitations and continue his thieving.” He glanced around the empty hallway. “Where’s your sister?”

  Jessamine didn’t need the cards in front of her to see the truth. Indeed, Fleur’s sudden appearance at the top of the stairs, the narrowing of Brennan’s eyes as he caught sight of her, told her far more than she particularly wanted to know.

  “I’m here,” Fleur said breathlessly, descending the stairs.

  “This is Mr. Robert Brennan. My sister, Fleur Maitland. Mr. Brennan is a Bow Street runner who’s been hired to protect Mrs. Blaine’s house party from stray felons. We’re lucky enough to have his protection for our trip to Kent.”

  She watched as her sister lifted her clear, lovely eyes to meet the solid blue ones of the man who towered over her. “Miss Fleur,” he said politely, seemingly impervious to her astonishing beauty. If he really had no reaction to it, he would be the first man to prove resistant. “Miss Maitland, I realize this is an imposition. If you would rather, I could ride outside with the coachman.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Brennan,” Fleur broke in, breathless. “It’s a wretched day, and Jess and I would be glad for your company. Wouldn’t we, Jess?”

  Jess would have been entirely glad for Robert Brennan to have fallen into the Thames and stayed there, but she said nothing, summoning a faint smile as she felt her world and her plans begin to crumble around her. “Of course, Mr. Brennan,” she said. “We would have it no other way.”

  Brennan was a very large man indeed. When he climbed in opposite the two sisters, the carriage seemed unbearably crowded. The huge man sat across from them, his greatcoat damp with cold rain, his untrimmed hair sodden. Jessamine wondered if there was any way she could change her mind about this ill-advised journey. It was too late to turn her ankle climbing up into the carriage—perhaps a sudden convincing indisposition... ?

  The carriage started with a jerk, flinging them back against the thinly cushioned squabs, and the die was cast. She glanced over at Fleur, horrified to see the faint, hopeful smile that flitted around her perfect mouth. At least Brennan seemed impervious to Fleur’s perfection. His expression was bland, polite, everything that it should be. And yet Jessamine didn’t believe it.

  He settled his large body into a corner of the carriage, obviously trying to make himself inconspicuous. A goal that was doomed to failure, given the sheer size of him. It took Jessamine a moment to realize that he wasn’t going to intrude on them, wasn’t going to speak unless spoken to, and she knew she should breathe a sigh of relief.

  But she’d been in Spitalfields too long, and Robert Brennan, for all that he represented a greater threat to their future than Clegg himself, reminded her of decent people and the countryside, two things she missed very dearly, and she couldn’t bring herself to snub him as she knew she should.

  “Have you lived in London long, Mr. Brennan?” she murmured with all the manners Marilla had drummed into her.

  Brennan smiled, and Jessamine could have cursed herself. The man was attractive enough in a rough sort of way when he was looking stern. When he smiled, even Jessamine could feel an answering warmth. As for Fleur, she was sitting in her own corner, peeking at him, obviously besotted.

  “How could tha’ tell I’m nought from around these parts, miss?” he said, letting his Yorkshire accent broaden even further. “After twelve years in this city I would have thought I’d sound like a native.”

  “I doubt you’ll ever sound like a Cockney, Mr. Brennan,” Jessamine said.

  “It was foolishness that brought me here,” said Brennan wryly. “A boy’s desire to do good and make a difference. When you’re nineteen you don’t realize you can do just as much good on your father’s farm by Robin Hood Bay as you can chasing criminals in London.”

  “Your parents were farmers?”

  “Aye,” Brennan said. “They had their own land, and a place big enough to support a growing family. But I was too wise to realize how little I knew. As for my parents, I expect they thought I’d be dead in a matter of weeks. But here I am, twelve years later, hale and hearty.”

  “Don’t you miss the countryside, Mr. Brennan?” Fleur asked in her soft voice, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I know I do. I would give anything to return.”

  “Aye, I miss it,” he said, and Jessamine realized with a sinking feeling that he couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her sister either. But he’d had no trouble whatsoever meeting her gaze. “I’ll go back, I expect, sooner or later. Once I finish what I’ve set out to do.”

  “And what’s that, Mr. Brennan?” Fleur asked softly.

  “No Mister, lass,” he said, looking somewhere past Fleur’s shoulder. “Just Brennan will suit me fine.”

  “Do you plan to rid London of crime before your return to your bucolic existence?” Jessamine murmured.

  “Hardly, miss,” he said with a wry grimace. “I’d be here till doomsday. No, I’ve set myself a task, and once I’ve completed that, I’m free to leave. I want to catch the Cat himself. Once he’s brought to justice, I’ll return to Yorkshire. Find myself a good country lass to marry and raise children.” He deliberately looked away from Fleur. “A simple life but a good one, that’s all I ask.”

  “Well, then,” Jessamine said in a deceptively quiet voice, “we’ll simply have to hope you find your master thief as quickly as possible. Won’t we, Fleur?”

  “Of course,” Fleur murmured instantly, her voice lacking the ring of enthusiasm.

  A trail of alarm danced down Jessamine’s backbone. The danger was all around, but her first thought, as always, was to protect her family, and the rest could sort itself out. “And we’ll do our best to help you, Mr. Brennan,” she added generously. She would deal with Clegg when the time came.

  Fleur was staring at her, openmouthed in shock. “But, Jess, what about...?” Her voice trailed off before Jessamine’s fiercely silencing glare.

  “I’d be most grateful, miss, though I can’t imagine how you’d be able to help. I mean to catch him, and I’m not about to let anyone stand in my way. Not the Cat himself, not his accomplices, not the people he’s bribed or the thief-takers who want him themselves. I’ll catch him in the act, present him to Sir Robert, and turn in my pikestaff and pistol for boots and a pitchfork.”

  “I used to love it when they harvested the corn near our house,” Fleur said soulfully.

  “That’s not all you use a pitchfork for, miss,” Brennan said wryly. “There’s nothing to love about manure.”

  “Not so, Mr. Brennan. You’d have a poor crop without it,” she shot back.

  “True enough, miss. You might make a farmer after all.”

  The words fell into the carriage with shocking force. “I don’t thin
k that’s what my sister aspires to,” Jessamine said in a deceptively calm voice.

  Again there was that easy, polite smile. “I wouldn’t think so, Miss Maitland. When she marries a wealthy landowner, she’ll have more understanding for the tenants though.”

  Jess relaxed slightly—only slightly. “And what about you, Mr. Brennan? Will you be able to look back on your time in London with pride? Knowing you kept the city safe from twelve-year-old felons?” She couldn’t keep the faint hint of acid from her voice. Robert Brennan seemed a far cry from the odious Josiah Clegg, but if she had learned one thing over the last few difficult years, it was that looks could be deceiving, and she would be a fool to trust anyone.

  “No, miss,” he said. “But I’ll feel right pleased when the Cat comes to the end he deserves. Dancing at the end of Tyburn’s rope.”

  Alistair was not in a dancing mood at that particular moment. It was a dank, miserable day, he was up before noon, and he was soundly regretting his rash decision to spend the next week in company with an entirely odious bunch of brainless matrons and their docile spouses. He had to have been mad to come up with this latest notion. For all Miss Jessamine Maitland’s bizarre attractions, she was surely not worth the trouble he was setting himself. He could always blame it on his inability to resist a challenge. She’d set herself up as a woman who could see past masks and charades, who looked into her cards and divined the truth. If she had any talent at all, she clearly hadn’t bothered to ask the cards about him. He wanted to see how far he could push her. Whether she would stay oblivious, or whether she really had some supernatural talent beneath those witch’s eyes?

  And he wanted to bed her quite desperately. Desperation was not an emotion he was used to entertaining.

  He didn’t like to think himself ruled by his passions. The fact that he had a strong desire to tumble Miss Maitland of the mysterious eyes was nothing to worry about; the fact that he was willing to go to such lengths to do so was decidedly unsettling. He could tell himself her presence at this dratted house party was the least of his concerns, but he made it a point of honor never to lie to himself.