Her Notorious Viscount

by Jenna Petersen

  A strangled sound of pain echoed from her lips as she backed away from him, staggering around furniture as she put as much distance between them as was possible in the small room.

  “You knew for nearly a month and you said nothing? I asked you how your investigation was progressing and you lied. You made love to me, even as you knew the most important secret of my life.” She shook her head. “How could you? How could you?”

  He held his hands up helplessly. Every time he moved toward her, she darted farther away. Her hands were balled up as fists and he could see she wanted desperately to use the skills in fighting he had taught her against him. Perhaps he deserved it.

  “At first it was because I couldn’t fully prove what I had uncovered,” he explained, though every word seemed hollow. “And later it was because you were so happy.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You thought I would rather have the frivolity of a few balls than know the truth about my brother?”

  “Of course not,” he said, feeling the weight of her accusation. “I knew you would want to know, that you deserved to know—”

  “And yet you did not tell me.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You have tried to control and smash your joy for so long. I knew once the truth came out that you would find none for a long time. I wanted you to have a little time, Jane, that is all. A little enjoyment before the bitterness.”

  She stared at him, her blank expression censuring him silently.

  “And when did you intend to tell me?” she asked, low. “For it certainly wasn’t tonight. You hid the letters from me and tried to keep me from uncovering the truth. So when did you plan to share this knowledge?”

  He drew a long, harsh breath, and this time he moved toward her until she had backed herself into the wall and had nowhere else to go.

  “I wanted to wait until after we were married,” he said softly.

  She opened her mouth to retort, but then she stopped.

  “M-married?” she finally repeated.

  He nodded. God, he hoped she would hear him past her emotional fog. He needed her to hear him.

  “I brought you here tonight, not to tell you about your brother, but because I intended to ask you to marry me.”

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry case. When he opened it, he revealed the delicate golden ring within. A dark blue sapphire decorated it, surrounded by two diamonds that twinkled in the candlelight.

  Jane seemed stunned into silence. All she could do was stare from the ring to him and back again.

  He took advantage of the rare silence to continue, “You have been the most important friend and partner of my life, Jane. I know we could be happy together, despite what has happened tonight. Please, say you will be my wife.”

  She shook her head slowly as she lifted her gaze back to his face. “How long after we married would you have told me about Marcus?”

  “Jane—” he began, still holding out the ring.

  “How long?” she repeated, her tone icy cold. It cut through him like a dagger.

  He snapped the jewelry case shut. “Not long. When the time was right, I would have found a way.”

  The words sounded so foolish, and she gave a derisive snort.

  “After I discover you have been lying to me for a month, you want me to enter into a lifelong bond with you? How am I to know you aren’t lying about other things? How am I to know that you won’t continue to lie? How can I ever trust you again?”

  “People make mistakes, Jane,” he said softly as he edged toward her. Reaching out, he stroked her face with the back of his hand, brushing her hair away. He had a little hope when her eyes fluttered shut. “Your father lied to you out of love. Your cousin out of the same.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “So you are trying to excuse your behavior because others who I loved betrayed me, as well?”

  He drew a breath. “No, I—”

  Her eyes snapped fire as she ignored him. “You see, the key difference is that I never thought you would lie to me. After everything we went through, after everything I saw, I believed in you. I loved you so much for all I thought you were. And I trusted that you wouldn’t lie to me. But you did. And I don’t know if I can forgive that. Perhaps from anyone else, but not from you.”

  “Jane,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said, pushing past him and making her way to the door. “I’m going home, Nicholas. I don’t know if I’ll want to see you again. Please don’t pursue me.”

  “Don’t do this, Jane,” he said, moving toward her.

  But before he could reach her, she was out the door, slamming it behind her and leaving him alone.

  “Fuck!” he bellowed, and threw the ring box with all his might. It bounced off the wall and skittered across the floor.

  That was it. She was gone. And it was only in that horrible moment that Nicholas realized that Jane had said she once loved him.

  And that he had lost that, too.

  Jane didn’t actually have a plan when she staggered up the stairway to her cousin’s London home. All she knew was that she had to see Patrick, even if that meant following after him to the countryside.

  She pounded on the door, trying to find some semblance of calm as she did. The last thing she wanted was to appear hysterical in front of her former servants. Of course, as the door finally opened to reveal the butler in his dressing gown, she realized it was probably too late for that.

  “Miss Jane?” her old butler said, concern plain in every word. “Dear heavens, come inside, child. Is everything well? Are you hurt?”

  “No, Jenkins,” she said with as much brightness as she could. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I must find Patrick. Please, will you tell me where he has gone?”

  “I’m here, Jane.”

  She looked up the staircase at the end of the foyer to find her cousin himself, coming down the stairs at a rapid pace. He, too, was in a dressing gown, and his hair was mussed from sleep. Of course it was three in the morning, so she wasn’t entirely surprised.

  “I only returned a few hours ago,” he explained. “What has happened?”

  “I—” she began and then stopped.

  How in the world could she even start? She still wasn’t sure she trusted Patrick, yet if she had been wrong about him all this time she owed him so many apologies. And then there was the issue of Nicholas.

  “Please,” he said as he touched her elbow and turned her toward a parlor. “Come sit. Jenkins, go back to bed, it is all right.”

  The butler gave Jane a quick glance. “I do hope you are well, miss,” he said before he scurried back up the stairs toward the servants’ quarters.

  Jane allowed Patrick to take her into a parlor where the fire was still embers from the night before. He threw a few logs on to warm the room and quickly poured brandy into a glass.

  “Drink this,” he ordered. “And then tell me what has happened. It is the middle of the night and you are distraught. I must know.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry to come so late. But I—”

  Still struggling for words, she finally reached into her reticule and withdrew the papers she had received from Nicholas. When she held them out, Patrick stiffened.

  “I see,” he said softly. “Tell me.”

  So she did. Slowly, she poured out the entire story of going to meet with Nicholas and his revelation of her brother’s fate, and her father’s and Patrick’s part in keeping the truth from her.

  The only thing she left out was how much more betrayed she felt by the man she loved. That her father and Patrick would lie stung her, there was no denying that. But that Nicholas would do so…well, it was so painful she could hardly breathe.

  “Oh, Jane, I am sorry. I hoped Lord Stoneworth would find a better way to reveal the truth,” Patrick said softly. “But I am glad you know. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded. “And I am for yours, Patrick. I know you loved my brother
like he was your own. And I-I, oh, I am so sorry for ever implying you could have hurt him. I didn’t want to believe he was dead. My father’s final words encouraged me to do so. I behaved reprehensively toward you.”

  Patrick shrugged as if she had only tugged his hair or stuck out her tongue, rather than treated him like a pariah for more than a year.

  “There were many things that happened during that time. We cannot change them now, so do not worry yourself. We will start anew.”

  She nodded. “I will try.”

  “But as your last living relative, there is something else I must discuss with you,” he said, and his tone was very serious.

  “What is it?” she asked, dread tightening her chest at the thought that there might be more secrets.

  He cleared his throat. “You said that you went to Nicholas’s house tonight and that is when you discovered this.”

  She nodded before the full recognition of what she had confessed hit her.

  “So you snuck to his home in the middle of the night,” her cousin continued. “Without a chaperone. Jane, you are ruined. Even if nothing happened tonight, I doubt I am wrong in thinking that it has before.”

  She turned away with a blush and remained silent.

  “My dear, you must marry him,” he said. “Or marry someone.”

  “But no one knows but you,” she said, shaking her head. “And it will not happen again.”

  Because every time she thought of the fact that Nicholas had withheld the truth from her for a month, it hurt more and more. The idea of marrying him, which would have made her joyful a few hours before, was now an impossibility. She loved him, yet she didn’t trust him. How could that be overcome?

  “But I know, Jane,” Patrick said. “And you know, as does he. I cannot forget that. He told me he intended to marry you. Has he not asked you?”

  She swallowed hard as she thought of the beautiful ring Nicholas offered her. She had to force the steel back into her heart before she whispered, “Yes.”

  “Then we must go back to him tomorrow and you will tell him that you accept,” Patrick said. There was a tightness around his mouth, and Jane wasn’t certain if it was annoyance or something else that caused it.

  She shook her head. “But he knew about this for so long and he didn’t tell me, Patrick. He lied to me. How can I ever trust him again? I love him, but that makes it worse in some ways. I feel betrayed. I feel embarrassed. I feel hurt.”

  Patrick shut his eyes. “But you are compromised. You must marry.”

  Jane shook her head. Everything was so overwhelming right now, she could hardly think straight.

  “You cannot ask me to go back and look at him,” she pleaded, running a shaking hand through her hair.

  “But you care for him, you love him. You said you did,” her cousin reasoned.

  “Patrick, I have spent the past few years being lied to by everyone I loved. Knowing that makes me sick to my stomach.” She clenched a fist against her chest. “I cannot bear the thought of going forward with the rest of my life being lied to as well. I cannot.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” He sighed. “In good conscience, I cannot let you continue on without a marriage. But you refuse to go back to him, and after all these years of hating me, I don’t want to force you. How will you have me handle this?”

  Jane shook her head. Her cousin had always been a stickler for propriety. Even if no one in the world would ever know, he wasn’t going to let the subject drop.

  She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Patrick,” she groaned. “How did everything become so tangled and destroyed?”

  He smiled sadly. “With good intentions. Isn’t that what they say the road to hell is paved with?”

  She looked at him through her fingers. To her horror, tears slid hot against her skin. Her cousin’s face softened.

  “Jane,” he breathed on a heavy sigh. He took her hands and held them gently. “This has been a very emotional and trying day for you. Perhaps I am wrong in demanding an answer from you immediately. Why don’t we give this a few days’ rest? We can discuss it again then.”

  Jane nodded, though in her heart she couldn’t imagine she would feel any different in a week or in a year. Marcus would still be dead. And the one man she had trusted more than any other, the one man she loved…he would still be a liar.

  Chapter 26

  Nicholas was wide awake when Gladwell came to his chamber door, despite the early hour. He had been awake all night, staring up at the canopy above his bed, thinking about Jane.

  And hating himself.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but Lord Fenton has returned,” his butler said, almost gently.

  Nicholas sat up and stared. “Fenton is here?”

  Gladwell nodded. “Yes. And he refuses to leave until he has an audience. He seems very upset, my lord.”

  “He should get in line,” Nicholas said, snorting out a humorless laugh.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was still fully clothed in the shirt and trousers he’d been wearing when Jane stormed out of his life and his home…probably for good. The scent of her perfume clung to them, and he was loath to remove them and lose that final part of her.

  If Gladwell was surprised that he was lying abed fully clothed, he said nothing about it. Instead, he murmured, “I will tell him you will be down in a moment, my lord, and put him in the south parlor.”

  “Thank you.”

  He expected his servant to go, but instead, Gladwell hesitated at the door.

  “What is it?” Nicholas asked, his nerves frayed to a near breaking point.

  “Sir, the servants all love Miss Jane,” Gladwell offered. “Henderson was her driver last night and noticed she was quite upset when she departed here. Is there anything any of us can do for her…or for you?”

  Nicholas stared at the man. Jane told him the gruff, judgmental man loved him, but he hadn’t believed her. Now Gladwell was looking at Nicholas with pity and understanding.

  “I’m afraid not, my friend,” Nicholas said softly, bracing his arms on the dressing table and examining his haggerd face in the mirror. “There is nothing that can be done, I don’t think.”

  “I’ve never approved of fisticuffs…especially in my sitting rooms, but it seems that you are a fighter, sir, in more ways than one. Perhaps one thing you could do is fight.”

  Nicholas jolted at his servant’s observation and turned his gaze on Gladwell. He stared back evenly and nodded before he stepped into the hallway and left Nicholas alone.

  As he quickly tidied his hair and girded himself in preparation for facing off with an apparently angry Patrick Fenton, he thought of what the butler had said. When it came to the fisticuffs his servant didn’t approve of, Nicholas was prepared. As he was for cards or knife fights or any other kind of illicit activity that required cunning and skill.

  But when it came to Jane, he was uncertain. Robbed of his normal weapons. Left bereft.

  He strode downstairs and drew a deep breath before he entered the parlor. Patrick Fenton was standing at the window as he entered, his broad back stiff with anger as he stared out over the street below. Nicholas sighed and closed the door behind him.

  The second the click of the latch echoed in the room, Fenton turned. He glared at Nicholas, then made his way across the room in several long strides. Nicholas could tell the other man was going to hit him. He knew the signs after so many fights. He could have blocked it, dodged it, even thrown his own punch first.

  But he didn’t. He stood stock-still and let the man swing.

  The punch connected squarely with his eye and he staggered back, but kept his feet.

  “Impressive,” he said as he lifted his hand to his blurry eye. That was going to blacken later, even if he got ice.

  Fenton stepped back. It didn’t seem as if he was going to swing again, and Nicholas found himself a little disappointed. At least the throbbing physical pain made him forget, even for a second, the ci
rcumstances that brought Jane’s cousin here.

  “You bastard,” the other man said with a disgusted shake of his head. “You were supposed to tell her gently.”

  “Like you and her father did, you mean?” Nicholas snapped. “How did you find out?”

  Patrick paced away and flopped into the nearest cushioned chair. “She came to me at three in the morning, practically hysterical. She choked out the whole story.”

  Nicholas pursed his lips as he took his own seat across from Fenton. Somehow he didn’t like it that Jane had gone to this man after she left him.

  “It wasn’t meant to happen this way,” he explained.

  Fenton shook his head. “I assume not. But she’s brokenhearted nonetheless. Not only does she have to face her brother’s death, but she is twisting herself in knots over the fact that the man she loves lied to her.”

  “Loved,” Nicholas corrected as he shot to his feet and made for the liquor cabinet. It didn’t matter that it was the ungodly hour of seven in the morning. He needed whiskey. “She told me last night that she ‘loved’ me. Not loves me.”

  “Pour me one of those and stop being an idiot,” Fenton said. “She loves you. Present tense. But she’s so jumbled and hurt right now that she is willing to do anything to push that feeling away.”

  Nicholas handed him the drink, and Fenton glared at him.

  “I told her that since she has been compromised, probably many times, that she must marry. But she is very resistant.”

  Those words were like a vise around Nicholas’s heart.

  Fenton frowned. “Do you love her?”

  Nicholas set his drink down. That was the question he’d been trying to avoid. Love wasn’t something he had envisioned for himself. It was a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford in the dangerous underground. And when he returned to Society he hadn’t been able to imagine himself liking, let alone loving the kind of women he saw flirting behind fans and playing coquettish games.