by Jenny Brown
The nabob stood up. “That’s all I’ll say. Now get out. I have no more wish to ever set eyes on you. If I find you on my property an hour hence, I’ll set my dogs on you.”
Trev sped to the room where he’d left Temperance, his mind racing. One by one, he went through the arguments he’d used to convince himself of her innocence and one by one they failed him.
What evidence had she given him to convince him that Snake’s note wasn’t exactly what it looked like. Nothing. She’d merely reminded him of her vow to tell the truth. Had that vow just been part of an ingenious strategy to make him trust her? It was all too possible. For if the note had been so innocuous, why had she been so quick to burn it?
And why was he so sure she wouldn’t give herself to Sir Humphrey if it served her purposes to do so? It wouldn’t have been for the reward he’d promised but to get her hands on the jewel. She had given him her body that first night, in spite of his barbarous cruelty. Had that brazen act of hers been, after all, what he’d originally thought it was?
After that first tryst, he’d convinced himself she couldn’t be working for the Weaver because she had turned down his invitation to go to the nabob’s with him. But did that argument hold water? She might have been playing an even deeper game than he had thought. For the course she’d taken after refusing his invitation had resulted in her accompanying him to the nabob’s—with his suspicions disarmed.
Had that been her intent all along? If so, she had succeeded brilliantly, for his trust in her had made him so careless he’d even revealed to her when he really would be embarking for India. Had it been that discovery that had forced her to make her move this morning? He remembered her coldness the previous night and the abyss that had opened between them after he’d revealed his true plans.
It was all too possible. And he had nothing to set against these arguments except his feelings, which were too treacherous to be trusted. And added to this was that last, excruciatingly painful bit of evidence. When he had demanded the nabob give him proof, he had given it. Sir Humphrey had seen her mark.
Trev called his man to him and sent him out to arrange for their transportation back to London. Then he turned his attention to gathering up their things. She’d left the book he’d given her lying facedown on a small table, open to a page that described a nautch girl’s performance. Seeing it, he thought for a moment that she might have chosen that particular page to send him a coded message, but he rejected the idea immediately as the product of an overheated imagination. It was only as he was preparing to leave, that he saw the object she had left behind to deliver her message. It lay on the floor, glittering on the cold hard tile.
The ring. The ring he’d given her as a pledge of their love.
He bent to pick it up. It was scratched and dented. The image leapt into his mind of her tearing it off her finger and stamping on it with her foot. So much for what he had thought it had meant to her.
He’d been her dupe. She’d been just what Fanshawe said she was. She’d wormed her way into his heart and used the weaknesses he’d revealed to her to do what she’d set out to do from the start. It was only his desperate need to believe that she loved him that made him refuse to admit it. That and the pain that overwhelmed him as he faced the fact that she had gone off, whatever her reasons, without leaving him a single word of farewell.
Chapter 18
The nabob confined Temperance in a small room in the back of his harem, leaving her in the custody of a turbaned guard, who regarded her balefully through dull blue eyes and refused to answer a single question. Then, just as night was falling, when she could no longer stand to spend a single moment more in the company of her own tormented thoughts, he went off, just like that, leaving the door open behind him.
She waited, counting slowly to a hundred lest this prove to be a trick. But when she finally found the courage to crack open the door and peer into the passage, she saw no one. As she stepped out into the passageway, the hairs on her arms rose. Surely she would hear the sounds of pursuit behind her. But all remained silent, and when she reached the back door, it opened easily at her touch.
She wasted no time questioning why but raced out into the cold night, speeding down the long avenue that led from Srinagar Mahal as if pursued by all of its inhabitants. At length she came to a road, and, after a mercifully brief wait, a passing drover pulled over and offered her a lift.
“Nasty bit of work, Sir ’Umphrey,” the carter said.
She couldn’t agree more. But he was an amateur compared to the lying seducer who had torn open her heart and made her love him merely to fulfill his superior’s command.
The drover was headed for London. When he said she was welcome to ride there with him, she almost refused his offer. London meant Snake. He’d know by now that she’d defied him, for she hadn’t sent the response he’d demanded in his last note. He’d already given her more chances than she’d expected, so she knew what would happen if he got his hands on her now. She would not last long if she returned to the streets of London.
But what alternative did she have? She had no money, and she wouldn’t be safe anywhere near the nabob’s domain, either. If only Becky hadn’t abandoned her for the luxuries of Lady Hartwood’s Refuge. Her erstwhile friend had a good head on her shoulders, and perhaps the two of them could have come up with a scheme that might have got her to safety.
But just as Temperance began to feel the wave of the resentment that usually gripped her at the thought of how the noblewoman had stolen away her friends, it occurred to her that as annoying as the lady astrologer might be, she was not in the Weaver’s pay. And her husband was a lord, a powerful man—powerful enough, perhaps, to keep her safe until she could find a way to earn the money that would take her at last to America.
She could think of no better alternative than to apply to the lady astrologer for help, so she climbed into the cart and made herself a comfortable nest amid the bags of onions that filled it. When, hours later, the drover set her down in London’s West End, she turned her steps toward the Refuge, hoping her faith in its eccentric patroness was not misplaced.
As Trev endured his mother’s cheery greeting, he thought how mistaken he’d been when he’d seen her last, to think he was bidding her adieu. If only that had been all he’d been mistaken about. He struggled to be civil, but his demeanor was such that within a few moments, she stopped in the middle of recounting a tasty piece of gossip about the king’s latest attack on his wife to ask him if he was suffering from an attack of jungle fever. He assured her he was fine but took the first opportunity to flee to his room, uncertain how much longer he would be able to maintain that fiction.
He knew he should report to Fanshawe at once, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Perhaps he was being cowardly, but he needed a few hours to recover. He would need to find some last reserve of strength before he went to face the man’s contempt, even though he knew how richly he deserved it.
He picked at the plate of sandwiches his mother had sent up for him, and when he was done, he summoned his man, telling himself that perhaps if he cross-examined him more closely, he might learn something useful to bring to Fanshawe—something, perhaps, that would help them recover the jewel. He could not keep from hoping his man would mention some detail that had slipped his mind before—one that would point to some stranger being the thief rather than Temperance.
But his man had already told him all he knew. He had encountered no one suspicious among the servants, and there had been no one else visiting except themselves.
Trev was just dressing for his visit to Leadenhall Street when a footman brought him a note sealed with an impressive crest. It informed him that Lord Hartwood demanded his presence at once, and concluded with the statement that, unless Captain Trevelyan could give a satisfactory account of what had happened between himself and Temperance, he must prepare to meet His Lordship on the field of honor.
He could not ignore a challenge phrased in such a way.
His report to Fanshawe would have to wait until he had answered Lord Hartwood’s summons. He had no fear that His Lordship would carry out his threat since once Trev had informed him of the facts pertaining to the matter, he could hardly demand a meeting. But when he arrived at the Hartwood’s residence and was led into the presence of His Lordship and his wife, it took all his control not to turn around and head for the door.
For it wasn’t only the nobleman and his wife he found awaiting him there, but Temperance. She was seated demurely in the Hartwoods’ sitting room, dressed in a pale pastel gown of the sort favored by innocent virgins.
He marveled again at her ability to appear to be what she was not. Her eyes were hollow, as if she hadn’t slept any better than he had the past night, and when she recognized him, the faintest hint of tears welled up in them. He fought not to let himself be taken in again. She had stolen the jewel as she had always intended. He had incontrovertible proof of her betrayal. But even so, such was her power over him, even after all that had happened, that a pang of yearning filled him at the sight of her, and he had to struggle not to fling himself at her feet and beg her for the explanation that might allow him to love her still.
The hold she had on him sickened him. She’d made him unfit to pursue his livelihood. He didn’t have her ability to bend every emotion to serve her masters. Had she been working for the department rather than the other side, he had no doubt but that the jewel would now be on its way to India.
“Sit down, Captain Trevelyan,” Lord Hartwood said. It was a command. “Now, tell me what all this is about. I entrusted this woman to your care, only to have her return with a tale of nearly being raped.”
Trev froze. How much had she told Lord Hartwood? Had she shared with him the most intimate details of their relationship but subtly twisted them to put him in the wrong? Probably. Sir Charles had taught him long ago that the secret to spinning a believable falsehood was to stick as close to the truth as possible. But whatever she had told her noble protectors, she was lying, and she wasn’t going to get away with it.
He wheeled on her and demanded, “Where is the jewel, Temperance?”
“What jewel?” Even now she played the innocent so brilliantly.
But he was no longer taken in. “The Jewel of Vadha, which you stole from Sir Humphrey to give to the Weaver.”
He turned toward Lord Hartwood. “Are you aware that she has stolen a jewel of great value to His Majesty’s government, and that there is a price on her head? Or did she fail to mention it to you?”
“I didn’t know that.” Lord Hartwood fixed his gaze on Temperance. “This would seem to be a surprising omission. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Her look of confusion was a masterpiece. “I haven’t stolen anything,” she whispered. “And, Trev, I told you, I refused to go in with the Weaver’s scheme.”
How could she simulate such innocence? He choked back his rage. “You told me that when I caught you burning Snake’s note. But you ask too much when you ask me to believe you really told the truth about it.”
He turned back to Lord Hartwood. “I must explain the circumstances, Your Lordship. I’d been sent by the Political and Secret Department to retrieve a jewel that, if it is not returned immediately to its owner in India, will provoke a costly war. I’d been warned that a man they call the Weaver had sent out an agent to steal it. I had even been told that Temperance was that agent. But, to my eternal discredit, I gave in to my passion for her and allowed my emotions to overcome my good sense. Even when I found clear evidence that she was working for the Weaver, I turned a blind eye to it and chose to believe the lies with which she explained it away.”
“It was you who lied,” Temperance shot back. ”Don’t deny it. You told me we went to visit the nabob so you could interpret an ancient text for him, but that wasn’t true. You told me Mr. Fanshawe was the man who’d suggested you help him with his manuscript, but he wasn’t, was he? He was the man who sent you on this secret mission of yours, just as Sir Humphrey told me. You lied to me about when you were returning to India. You’ve pitched me too much gamon for me to believe another word out of your lying mouth.”
How cleverly she tried to turn the tables on him. And how effectively she could still work on his treacherous emotions. The way she looked now, so close to tears, still made him yearn to comfort her. But he must not. Whatever he’d been forced to keep secret, due to his loyalty to the department, it paled into insignificance besides the fact that she had stolen the jewel. He must not lose sight of that.
Lord Hartwood interrupted, “Captain, was it because you discovered she was working for your enemy that you offered her to Sir Humphrey?”
His hand went to his sword. ”I offer her to Sir Humphrey? I would never have done such a thing. By God, Hartwood. I would have given my life to protect her. I’d offered her marriage. Or did she forget to tell you that, too?”
Lord Hartwood’s expression was growing more perplexed. “Marriage? No, she hadn’t mentioned that, either.”
“It was a ruse,” Temperance protested. “His offer of marriage was just a way to keep me from leaving him, so he could bring me along to Sir Humphrey’s. The nabob told me he’d made a bargain with this Fanshawe: They would offer me to him as a gift in return for his handing over this cursed jewel. Captain Trevelyan had no intention of ever really marrying me.”
“I beg to differ,” Trev snarled through clenched teeth. “Your Lordship may judge of the seriousness of my intentions from this.” He reached one hand inside his tunic and pulled out the letter he had thrust there after finding it at his mother’s. “It’s a letter from Temperance’s father, responding to my request for his daughter’s hand. I had to secure his approval before we could wed, as she’s still underage. Would I have applied to him if my offer had been a mere stratagem?”
The look of pain that swept over Temperance’s face as he drew out the letter took him aback. It was so raw, he might well have believed his offer had meant something to her. He fought against believing it. Look where he’d got himself, falling for her displays of intense emotion in the past. Besides, she’d tossed away his ring.
He handed the letter to Lord Hartwood for his inspection. When the tall lord saw who had sent it, his pale eyebrows rose. He examined it and handed it back without comment.
Trev stood. “Your Lordship, I have conducted myself in an honorable fashion in this affair. If you choose not to believe me, I have no choice but to defend myself as befits an officer and a gentleman. Major Stanley will act for me. You can find him at the Phoenix Coffeehouse in New Street.”
“I am at a loss to know what to believe,” Lord Hartwood admitted. “Your argument is compelling but wholly inconsistent with the story the girl has told us, and yet, if she had stolen this jewel as you claim, and did it while working at some master’s command, I’m baffled as to why she would have turned to us for protection rather than those she serves.”
The same thought had crossed Trev’s mind as soon as he had seen her sitting in the Hartwood’s sitting room. Why hadn’t she fled back to the Weaver and his accomplices? But why waste time on attempting to untangle her reasoning? The jewel was gone, and all the rest of the evidence pointed to her having taken it. She had met with Snake at least twice. She was an accomplished thief. She had burnt that telling note, and—he could still barely bring himself to remember the most crushing piece of evidence against her—the nabob had seen the mark on her thigh that he could only have seen had she granted him her favors. Trev knew better than to look for complex explanations when a simple one would do.
Lady Hartwood’s voice broke through his reverie. “Would it help if I could tell you who stole this jewel?” she asked.
His heart stopped. “Did she confess her crime to you?”
“Of course not. But my Aunt Celestina taught me how to use an astrological chart to determine the identity of a thief. Since we have no other way of finding the truth, perhaps the stars will shed light on it.”
Trev had had enough. “I don’t have time to waste on medieval superstition. The fate of an army rests on the recovery of this jewel.”
Lord Hartwood stretched out a long, well-manicured hand to restrain him. “I also used to be a skeptic, but my wife has made a convert of me. Her charts are surprisingly informative. Give her a chance.”
“Why should I?”
“Why?” Temperance interrupted. “Because you swore you loved me. If that wasn’t just another of your lies, you’d welcome anything that might prove my innocence. Lady Hartwood’s skill is real. I tested her when first she took me in, and even though I misled her, her charts told her the truth. So I beg you. If you ever loved me, as you claim, give her a chance to find the real thief.”
He knew he should stop his ears to her entreaty the way Odysseus had stopped his to the siren’s song, but he was helpless against her plea. He had loved her, and he yearned to love her still. He would grasp at any straw that would let him believe she hadn’t betrayed him. Even this.
Lady Hartwood held out one small hand. “Do give me a chance, Captain Trevelyan. Only last month I found Lady Pemberton’s emeralds, which she thought her maid had stolen. The poor girl would have hanged for it had the chart not told us that Lord Pemberton had secretly gambled them away—and so it proved. Let me see if I can find your jewel for you. You have nothing to lose by letting me try.”
Temperance’s eyes were fixed on him, their gray now the color of tarnished silver. As he met them, her soul reached out from their depths and touched him once more in that inner place where he had always been alone—until he’d found her.
He turned toward Lady Hartwood. “How long will it take you to cast your chart?”
“No more than half an hour.”
