by Kay Hooper
She was standing by the window when the door opened to admit Robert Collins. She gazed wryly at his sheepish expression. “Robert, you know I am terribly fond of you and it’s always delightful to see you, but what are you doing here?”
He grinned. “I just stopped by on my way to Scotland, Jenny.”
“Scotland? Why on earth are you going to Scotland?”
“I’m not planning an elopement with Meg, so you can stop looking at me like that! By the way—whatever happened to ‘Hello’ and ‘How are you’?”
“Hello, how are you, and why on earth are you going to Scotland?”
Robert chuckled at her exasperated tone. “I’ve been called back to the ancestral home. My uncle has died and left me everything—isn’t that wonderful?”
Jenny stared at him. “Yes. That is—I hardly think your uncle would feel that it’s wonderful.”
He chuckled again. “You’re wrong there. My uncle was nearly ninety, had a bad case of the gout, and hated every living creature. He was probably glad to go.”
Jenny sat down and gestured toward a nearby chair. “Sit down, Robert, and tell me why your uncle left you everything.”
Robert sank into the chair and grinned, his blue eyes alight with laughter. “The letter didn’t explain, but I think he made me his heir because I didn’t care a bit more about him than he did about me. At least that’s what one of my aunts told me years ago.”
Jenny blinked. “Well, it certainly seems strange.”
“It wouldn’t—if you knew my uncle.” He sobered abruptly. “Don’t you see, Jenny? At least now Meg’s husband won’t be penniless. I don’t know exactly how much the estate is worth, but my uncle was thought to be well off. I’ll be able to support Meg, if not in luxury, then at least in comfort.”
She smiled gently. “I’m very happy for you, Robert. I know how worried you were about your ability to support Meg, and I’m delighted that things have worked out so well for you.”
Robert held up a cautioning finger. “We’d better wait until I’ve seen the estate. The old man may have left me nothing more than a rickety house and a few suits of tattered clothes.”
Jenny chuckled. “How long do you expect to be in Scotland?”
He shrugged. “I really don’t know; I’ve never had to settle an estate before. A month—perhaps longer. As soon as I know, I’ll send word to you and Meg.” He shot her a penetrating look from beneath his brows. Of course, you may have a different address by then.”
She looked startled. “The Season has only just begun, Robert; we are fixed in London for quite some time. How would I have a different address?” For one dreadful moment, she thought that he had discovered her identity as the Cat, and was trying to hint that she would soon be residing in prison. But his next words showed her how far off the mark she was.
“I thought perhaps you might be thinking of getting married yourself,” he responded casually.
Jenny frowned. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Isn’t that the sole reason for young ladies to come to London? To find husbands?”
“You know very well why I came to London. Because Mama found out about you and Meg.”
He grinned. “Perhaps. So who was the dashing blade I saw you riding in the park with a couple of hours ago?”
“Oh. That—that was the Duke of Spencer.”
Robert lifted an eyebrow as a slight flush rose to her face. “A duke? I can see that you’ve been very busy since coming to London. Are you quite certain that you’re not planning to change your address?” His voice was teasing, but Jenny refused to rise to the bait.
Calmly, she replied, “Quite certain. The duke is merely an acquaintance. We met at a party last night. He has no special interest in me—or I in him.”
Hard on the heels of her statement, the door opened and Somers announced, most inopportunely, “The Duke of Spencer.”
Chapter Fourteen
Spencer entered the room to see a young blond gentleman struggling to rise to his feet while being consumed by an alarming fit of laughter. He turned pained eyes to Jenny, only to find that she was similarly afflicted. In a resigned voice, he said, “I suppose I should understand why my entrance would cause such hilarity, but I confess the reason is beyond me.”
Jenny gave a gasp and tried to still her laughter. “Oh, Nick. I’m sorry.” Her eyes dancing with amusement, she managed to say, “Nick, allow me to present Robert Collins—Robert, the Duke of Spencer.”
The two men shook hands, and Jenny gestured for them both to be seated. Feeling a need to explain Robert’s presence, she told Spencer, “Robert is unofficially engaged to my stepsister.”
“Indeed?” Spencer smiled easily at the younger man. “Do you plan to be married soon?”
Robert flicked a glance at Jenny and replied, “I’ve just come into some property in Scotland. Meg and I may be able to set a date once I see how I stand.”
Jenny smiled at the duke. “I didn’t expect to see you again today, Nick.”
Spencer smiled at her. “I found your whip in the park,” he said, “and thought I’d bring it by.”
Jenny dared not look at Robert; after her statement that she and the duke were totally uninterested in one another, to have him come calling with such a flimsy excuse was almost more than her sense of the ridiculous could stand. It was flattering, of course, but highly amusing all the same.
She got to her feet rather hastily and went to pull the bell. Turning back to the two men, who had stood when she did, she smiled at Robert and said, “I’m sure you would like to say good-bye to Meg.”
The young man’s eyes lit up and he grinned happily. “I certainly would.”
The door opened to admit Somers, and Jenny said, “Show Mr. Collins to the Blue Saloon, Somers, and then tell Miss Meg that she has a visitor.”
Robert bowed to Spencer and then shook Jenny’s hand with a great deal of enthusiasm before preceding the butler from the room.
Spencer waited until Jenny sat down before seating himself and asking quizzically, “Am I never to know why my entrance provoked such laughter?”
Jenny flushed slightly. “It was nothing—really.”
“Something amused the two of you.”
“Robert was just—telling me a funny story, that was all.” Taking pity on her obvious discomfort, Spencer merely nodded and changed the subject. “I gather from Collins’s air of gratitude that you are supporting the young lovers?”
“Yes. Meg’s father isn’t the most even-tempered of men. When he becomes angry, which is quite often, he roars like a bear. Poor Meg cannot tolerate loud voices and arguments; I honestly believe that a marriage to Robert—even though she is very young—would be the best thing for her.”
“How does your mother feel about it?”
Jenny smiled ruefully. “Mama says that Meg is too young. That’s why she sent us to London—so that Meg could grow up a little.”
“And possibly make a more eligible match?”
“I’m sure she hoped that would be the case. Unfortunately for Mama, Meg believes that the sun rises and sets on Robert. She isn’t likely to form another attachment.”
Without warning, the duke asked, “Jenny, are you quite well?”
Silently cursing his uncanny perception, Jenny said lightly, “Yes, of course I’m well. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You look pale.” He frowned, then asked abruptly, “Was it Stoven?”
Caught off guard, Jenny exclaimed, “Good heavens! How did you know about him?”
Spencer smiled grimly. “He arrived in London this morning; at White’s, I overheard him boasting that you were going to marry him.”
Jenny’s voice was wry. “I must admit he had some justification for saying that. He and my stepfather made an agreement months ago. Stoven and I were supposed to be married this summer. I, of course, was not consulted.”
“The man’s old enough to be your father. What was your stepfather thinking of?”
&nbs
p; “Settlements,” she replied flatly. “But I refuse to be sold to the highest bidder. Within the year I will be twenty-one and my own mistress. Sir George can go hang if he thinks that I will marry anyone while I remain beneath his guardianship.”
Ignoring the unladylike aspects of this statement, the duke assumed a judicious expression and said, “What a leveler!”
Jenny looked startled. If he meant what she thought he meant—
In a mournful voice, he went on, “Here I was dreaming of a wedding in June and a honeymoon in the country, and now you tell me I’ll have to wait a year. Really, Jenny, you could have warned me before I lost my heart.”
The light note in his voice convinced Jenny that he was only flirting with her—though it didn’t seem at all like him. Entering into the spirit of the discussion, she lifted an eyebrow and spoke disdainfully. “What makes you so certain I would even consider marrying you?”
He dropped his head into his hands. “I knew it! You were only playing fast and loose with my affections. Jenny—how could you?”
“Don’t take on so,” Jenny advised him kindly. “It isn’t you personally—my husband will have to be as rich as Croesus. I have a fancy to live on the moon, you see.”
“The moon?” Spencer wore a doubtful expression. “I suppose it could be arranged but—Jenny, are you quite sure? It’s awfully far from town.”
She gave a gasp and tried to steady her voice. “Oh, yes. It—it must be the moon. I will settle for nothing less.”
He appeared to be considering the matter carefully. In a voice of doom, he finally spoke. “And I suppose you want a star or two thrown in for good measure?”
“Certainly. As a matter of fact, I have decided to have a summer home built on a nearby star. It would be so romantic,” she said soulfully.
The duke sighed. “Are there any other requirements for your future husband?”
“Well—” She looked thoughtful. “Of course he would have to be a very patient man—I’m not at all easy to live with—and he would have to shower me with gifts. Diamonds and emeralds. And take me on trips all over the world.”
Again, the duke appeared doubtful. “There’s the war, you know,” he said apologetically.
“Oh, the war won’t last forever.”
“Yes, but while the war is continuing, it isn’t wise to do extensive traveling. Couldn’t we wait a year or so?” There was a pleading note in his voice.
“Certainly not. My husband will be brave enough to—to fight his way through anything.”
The duke sighed.
Jenny smiled encouragingly. “No need to fret. There are plenty of other women in the world.”
“Not in my world,” he responded sadly. “In my world there is only one—a golden-eyed, raven-haired beauty with an odd liking for robbery.”
Jenny rose hastily to her feet and wandered aimlessly toward the fireplace. His voice had been just a shade too serious for her peace of mind. Deliberately, she changed the subject and began to talk about Lady Jersey’s party.
Spencer, a cautious hunter, allowed his quarry to slip from his grasp. There would be another time—he would see to that.
The two Runners stared rather warily at the imposing portals of Lady Beddington’s house on Berkeley Square. The shorter of the two men grunted and nudged his companion.
The taller man frowned. “No we can’t come back another time. What’s wrong with you, Sam? We got our orders. Somebody thinks that Jennifer Courtenay is the Cat, and we got to check it out.”
Another grunt.
“I don’t care how you feel about it. An’ don’t tell me again that it don’t make sense, because we’ve been all over that. If she is the Cat, she’s bound to have a reason—maybe the tradesmen are dunnin’ her for something. All I know is we have a dooty—we got to ask her some questions.”
A questioning grunt.
“I told you before, Sam—no, we ain’t got no proof. ’Less she confesses, we ain’t got a hope in hell of convictin’ her.”
A querulous grunt.
The taller man heaved an exasperated sigh. “Sam! I told you why we got to question her. ’Cause it’s our dooty to, that’s why! Now stop askin’ stupid questions an’ come with me.”
He managed to take two steps before his agitated companion grabbed his arm and grunted insistently.
“All right, Sam—I’ll do the talkin’. You just stand quietlike an’ you an’ me might just brush through this thing with both our skins.”
Resolutely, the Runners trod up the steps and applied the knocker vigorously. The door was opened by a stone-faced butler who looked at them with chilling indifference. “Yes?”
The taller man held out a rather grimy card. “We come to see Miss Jennifer Courtenay.”
The butler accepted the card reluctantly and stared at it for a moment. Lifting cold eyes to the Runners, he said, “Miss Courtenay is entertaining a guest at the moment. It would be more convenient if you came back another time.”
But the Runners were not to be fobbed off. “Now look here, you!” the taller one exclaimed. “You go an’ tell Miss Courtenay that we’ve come to talk to her, and don’t dillydally around. Step lively, now—we ain’t got all day.”
With offended dignity, the butler allowed the men to step inside. He closed the door behind them and told them to wait there while he went to inform Miss Courtenay.
Leaving the Runners standing uneasily in the hall, Somers went to the door of the Green Room and knocked softly. Hearing an acknowledgment from inside, he entered to find Jenny and the duke standing before the fireplace.
Somers came forward apologetically. “I beg your pardon, Miss Jenny, but there are two—callers to see you.”
Immediately recognizing the butler’s way of announcing inferior persons, Jenny asked, “Who are they, Somers?”
Wordlessly, the butler held out the grimy card. Jenny stared at the card for a long moment before saying quietly, “Show them in.”
Spencer waited until the butler left the room. “Jenny? Who is it?” he asked concerned.
She flipped the card into the cold fireplace, and replied in a colorless voice, “A Mr. Simmons—from Bow Street.”
When Simmons and his partner entered the room, both were appalled to see the Duke of Spencer lift his quizzing glass to stare at them.
The hideously magnified eye and the unwavering stare reduced both men to a state of speechlessness. Simmons had the uncomfortable feeling that just so would the duke stare at a fly that had found its way into his soup.
Simmons was not a very brave man, and he withered noticeably under the duke’s cold eye. He desperately wished he had heeded his companion’s request that they come back another time. Even his superiors at Bow Street would understand his reluctance to question Miss Courtenay with the duke standing by.
His worst fears had been realized. The duke would not take kindly to having Miss Courtenay accused of being a thief. Simmons had seen the way the duke looked at her when they had been riding a few hours ago. No man would like the idea that his lady love might end her days on the gallows.
But there was no alternative but to continue. The duke showed no signs of leaving the room. In fact, he gave every impression of having just taken root—like an oak tree, strong and immovable.
Simmons’s attention was drawn away from the duke when the slender young woman with strange golden eyes spoke.
“You wanted to see me, I believe?” she asked.
Simmons struggled with himself and finally found his tongue. It had already occurred to him many times that this young lady simply did not look the part of a thief. Nor did she act like one. She seemed remarkably calm for someone who was receiving a visit from two Runners. But Simmons was grimly determined to do his duty. “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced rather nervously at the duke. “I think maybe—if you don’t mind—that we should talk alone.”
The duke dropped his quizzing glass. “Miss Courtenay may not mind, officer, but I assure you that I do.�
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Desperately, the Runner said, “It would be better, Your Grace, if we—”
“Better for whom, officer? For Miss Courtenay or for yourselves?”
Making a last effort, Simmons said, “Really, Your Grace, we need to talk to her, and she’d maybe like it better if it was just between us.”
“It will be between us, officer—the four of us.” Simmons looking pleadingly at the lady. “Miss Courtenay?”
She smiled calmly. “The four of us.”
Goaded beyond endurance, Simmons snapped, “Very well—Miss Courtenay, we would like to ask you a few questions. We have reason to believe that you are the Cat.”
Chapter Fifteen
Spencer’s voice was cold. “How dare you intrude into a private home, hurling accusations at innocent young women.”
The two Runners shifted uneasily. Simmons, his ruddy face deepening in color, spoke hoarsely. “No offense meant, Your Grace, but the young lady here fits the description of the Cat.”
“And what is that?”
Simmons cleared his throat and began to recite as if by rote. “A small, slender woman with black hair and golden eyes—strange golden eyes.”
From the corner of his eye, Spencer saw Jenny stiffen, but she remained silent. “That isn’t much to go on, Simmons.”
“Happen it’s not, Your Grace, but I’m sure the young lady wouldn’t mind answerin’ a few questions.”
Before Spencer could respond, Jenny spoke coolly. “Of course not, officer. I have nothing to hide.”
Simmons nodded and pulled a small black notebook from inside his coat. Muttering to himself, he flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Directing a piercing look at Jenny’s calm face, he asked, “Can you handle a gun, miss?”
Jenny smiled faintly, her wild golden eyes unreadable. “As a matter of fact, officer, I can. My father taught me when I was a child.”
“Are you a good horsewoman?”
She lifted an eyebrow in faint surprise. “Of course.”
“Now, miss,” Simmons turned the page of his notebook and shot another penetrating look at her, “do you own a black stallion?”
