Jackal (Regency Refuge Book 2)

by Heather Gray

  He didn't move. "My lord's orders, I'm afraid, Miss. You and your sisters are to be accompanied at all times."

  Oh dear. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

  "I'm sure I wouldn't know. Following orders, I am."

  She should have noticed it sooner. The footman's eyes were too keen for his accent. His physique was too muscular for standing in service at mealtime.

  "Her grace hired you, did she not?"

  He nodded. She stared, and he didn't flinch.

  Juliana spun back toward the desk. Pulling out paper and quill, she began making the list of Uncle Fitz's references to a hunter, the hunted, and anything else she could think of. Once she was done, she pulled out another sheet and started writing down the questions she had for Rupert. There was much more going on than the feckless Stanwich brothers, and whatever it was, she wondered if she and her sisters had reason to be afraid.

  She wrote for some time, abbreviating when possible so she could get it onto a single sheet of paper. After all, she was the only one who needed to know what the words meant. More than once, she caught herself staring off into the distance, biting her bottom lip, worry ebbing and flowing with each beat of her heart. "I'm not doing a very good job of protecting my sisters."

  "Pardon me, Miss Clairmont. Did you say something?"

  She hadn't meant to mutter those words out loud. "No, no, everything's fine. I need to speak to my lord. Is he still in his study?"

  Before she had a chance to stand, Rupert entered the library and dismissed her guardian with a nod.

  The footman slipped out, and Rupert shut the door behind him. Juliana drew in a surprised breath. Their conversation was going to be a serious one if the look on his face was any indication. She eyed the closed door. They shouldn't be alone together, and she shouldn't be so distracted with his presence that she couldn't recall a single one of the questions she'd written down.

  Yet they were, and she was, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Juliana watched him with wide eyes. He would have been content to sit and gaze into their grey depths indefinitely. Rupert bit back his impatience. Why did life have to intrude in such an ugly manner on one as beautiful as she?

  He took a seat in a high-backed chair near the writing desk. "May I have a word with you?"

  She didn't acknowledge him, not even with a nod, but her eyes never left his face. He had the feeling she wanted to see deep down into his soul, and it both comforted and left him disconcerted.

  "There is much I need to say to you, but for the safety of the girls, I think it's wise they not be included in the conversation. Can you keep what I tell you between the two of us?"

  Juliana tilted her head to the side as she scrutinized him. Then suddenly, as if she willed it to be so, the tight lines of her face softened, and she nodded. " I don't understand what's going on, but I trust you with it. It pleases me to know you trust me as well."

  Don't make me regret it. The words echoed inside Rupert's head. She hadn't said them. If her expression was anything to go by, she hadn't even thought them. His conscience had spoken up on her behalf. Could she be putting her faith in him so completely? Without reservation? Rupert's heart thumped out an erratic beat.

  "I dare say I muddied everything a bit. Despite my compulsion to do so, I should never have suggested that book."

  "The Turkish Spy?"

  He nodded.

  "Are you a Turkish spy?"

  He didn't smile at her jest, and her eyes again grew wide. Was it shock? Disbelief? Revulsion? Fear? No, not fear. In the whole myriad of emotions swirling through the grey pools that were her eyes, he didn't see any hint of fear.

  Before she could ask the next question, he began his tale.

  "Many years ago a sultan's son did a favor for a prince of England. The sultan's son overheard some men from another country speaking and shared the information he learned with the young prince. There was to be an assassination attempt against the King. The sultan's son helped the young prince thwart the attack and save the king. It was all quite fantastical."

  Juliana's hands were folded primly in her lap as she listened, her eyes keen.

  "You have to understand, this was the younger son of a sultan. Not the youngest – but one of the many younger sons. He had no future in Turkey. He would never be able to take his place in his father's government. Most of his brothers were already married and producing heirs of their own. The court was overcrowded to the point where no son's life was safe."

  Rupert paused and contemplated the window, lost in the memory of a tale told to him from the time he'd been in the nursery. Back then it was nothing more than a story. Later in life, he learned the truth of it.

  "The prince and the sultan's son came to an understanding. The prince's father would never confer a title to a foreigner, but the prince made a promise – land, castle, title – and the sultan's son decided to stay in England. He served the prince, listened closely to what went on around him, and informed the prince whenever he heard of unrest or injustice among the people."

  Rupert smiled as he remembered the many times he'd listened to this story. "After the prince's coronation, he quietly provided an estate and title to the sultan's son. Now that he was king, their relationship needed to be pushed away into the shadows. The new king couldn't be open about their close friendship, not with the sultan's son having such strong ties to an exotic and little-understood foreign land."

  Juliana leaned forward. "But they remained friends, didn't they?"

  Rupert nodded. "They continued to be the best of friends, and the two learned to communicate with each other through covert means. Coded messages, secret names, that sort of thing. The sultan's son continued to inform the king of nefarious plots whenever he became aware of them."

  "What were their secret names?"

  Rupert smiled at the eager curiosity in Juliana's voice. He remembered asking the same question as a child, awaiting the answer with anticipation, even after he knew the names. "The king's name is a carefully guarded secret that I cannot share."

  "And the sultan's son?"

  "He became known as Jackal. Nobody who knew him would have ever suspected that he led a double life. In fact, the sultan's son fell in love with an English beauty. Her father would have forbade the match, except his coffers were bone dry, and the sultan's son offered a large incentive."

  Anticipation in everything from the glimmer in her eyes to the taut line of her shoulders, Juliana asked, "Did she love him, too?"

  He nodded. "Aye. They had a glorious splendid marriage filled with love and children. The sultan's son saw to it that his daughters were raised to be proper English misses, but his sons were brought up to serve the crown, which they did faithfully for many years, even after another king sat on the throne. From that time forward, the sons were always raised to live their lives in service to the crown, and the daughters were kept in the dark about the family's secret livelihood."

  "Are you a son of this family?"

  He nodded.

  "And Uncle Fitz?"

  He nodded again.

  "Do you answer to the king?"

  Rupert shook his head. "Policy in England has changed over the years. The story of the young prince and the sultan's son has been forgotten. We still serve king and country, but we no longer report directly to the reigning monarch."

  "Was Uncle Fitz still…? Is that why he died?"

  A shake of the head was again her answer. "Uncle Fitz retired when William was born. He had lost his father at a young age and didn't want the same for his son."

  "Did he train William? Was William a… what exactly do you call yourself?"

  "William was not as involved as I, but he was good at being unobtrusive enough to be able to listen in on all sorts of conversation without notice. He reported back to the War Department whenever he heard something amiss. After his military commission, he would have made the choice about whether he wanted to commit his life to serving the crown or to marrying an
d raising a family. There are not as many of us in this world as there once were."

  "You live a dangerous life." Juliana, her hand fisted in her lap, asked again, "Is that why Uncle Fitz died?"

  Rupert combed his fingers through his hair. "I suspect he was poisoned. Mercury. It makes a person act in the strangest ways, and it affects the skin, too. You and your sisters have mentioned Fitz's mental unbalance, as well as flushed skin and profuse sweating. Those are all hallmarks of mercury. As for the night he died, I'm not sure we'll ever know exactly what happened, but the fault of his death lies with whoever poisoned him."

  "And you know who that is?"

  He nodded. "There is a mercenary who gathers intelligence for foreign governments. He works for the highest bidder and often plays one government against another. It's been a few years since he was last active, but he's known as The Hunter. Can it be a coincidence that Jaeger served at Chakal Manor, then disappeared immediately after Uncle Fitz's death?"

  Juliana's distress showed in her trembling lips and blinking eyes. "He was killing Uncle Fitz the entire time he worked there? And we didn't know it? We could have saved him! He didn't need to die!" A cloud of grief passed over her face, and tears began to fall.

  Rupert moved from his seat and pulled Juliana into his arms. He took his place on a settee and settled her into his lap, as one would hold a distraught child. Her sobs echoed in the room as he drew his hand up and down her back, soothing her.

  Juliana's tears slowed to a stop, but she remained in Rupert's arms. He felt the exact moment she realized her position. Her body stiffened, though she didn't pull away. "I'm sorry. I don't typically forget myself so."

  He traced his fingers along the side of her neck, toying with a stray strand of hair that dangled there much to his delight. "Aye. Loving someone enough to grieve for them is such a shameful thing."

  She sighed, and her shoulders again relaxed. "Are you sure you didn't go to butler school?"

  With the slightest pressure, he turned Juliana to face him. He bent down and brushed his lips against hers, capturing a kiss he'd not been given permission to take yet had been unable to resist. Rupert pulled back before he gave in to the urge to deepen the intimacy of the kiss.

  Juliana remained where she was, a faraway look on her face. Then she shook her head, and her expression cleared. "Do they teach that in butler school, too?"

  Before he could answer, she gasped. "Chakal Manor! Chakal means Jackal. What's your secret name?"

  He acknowledged her acumen with a slight nod. "I'm not the first Jackal, and I won't be the last."

  Juliana looked like she was ready to say more, but instead of speaking, she scrambled from his lap, rushed to the desk, and tore a piece of paper from its surface. Shoving the paper at him as if it had somehow offended her, she said, "Here! It's everything Uncle Fitz told me about hunting, hunters, or being hunted. Everything I recall, in any event. It means nothing to me, but I thought you might find it of use."

  Rupert took the paper and treasured it for the gift it was. Even before he'd taken the time to tell her the story, she'd made the choice to trust him and be a helpmate. And she hadn't jumped out of his lap because he'd kissed her. That helped, too.

  "When this is over, Juliana…"

  A knock interrupted him. He bit back his frustration and composed his features. Tucking the note into the pocket of his waistcoat, he strode toward the door. If Juliana noticed his cane tapping out a louder-than-usual beat of irritation, she said nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  "The duke is here to see you, my lord. I showed him into your study." Barrows' words were clipped.

  Before leaving, Rupert walked back over to Juliana. He traced his thumb down the side of her face and brought his fingers around to gently cup her chin. "We're not done here. I'll answer your questions another time. Will you be alright until then?"

  She nodded, leaning in to his touch.

  Rupert brushed his lips against her forehead before turning to walk away.

  Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath before opening the door to the study.

  Thomas gave him a smug look. "Is everything alright?"

  Puzzled, Rupert questioned, "What makes you ask?"

  The picture of feigned nonchalance, Thomas clasped his hands behind his back and roamed around the room.

  "Thomas?"

  Staring at the cornices in the room, the duke replied. "It's nothing, honest."

  Rupert snorted, and Thomas whirled to look at him, his mouth open in surprise.

  "Grace insisted I come, and now I see her assessment was accurate."

  "How so?" Rupert knew Thomas well enough to know the man took his time to get to the point whenever he wished to avoid a conversation altogether.

  The duke's heartfelt sigh proved his theory. "My wife insists there's something different about you. First you wanted to escape the public eye. Then you started going to every ball you could find." Thomas waved in Rupert's general direction and added, accusation in his voice, "And sometimes you even smile. What's happened to you?"

  A smile chose that exact moment to slip past Rupert's defenses and shape his lips.

  "Egads, man! Are you in love?"

  "Is it such a terrible state then that you cannot recommend it?"

  Thomas grimaced. "You know that's not what I mean. I wouldn't trade what I have with Grace for anything. The problem is that you were my valet, and then a steward, and now you're an earl. There's not a more deserving man out there, trust me, but I kind of miss the Rupert who used to stand there and react to nothing. I'd throw things across the room in a fit of fury, and you'd look on as if you hadn't seen a thing and ask if I wanted kippers with my eggs on the morrow. Or I'd rant about parliament, and you'd stare at me without a single muscle moving and ask if wished to have tea or chocolate with my tantrum."

  Rupert's lips twitched. "We can't possibly be friends, then, if we're on equal footing."

  Thomas sighed and threw himself into a chair. "See! That's what I miss. Frederick merely stares at me whenever I say or do something outlandish. And my new valet – don't get me started on him." Pausing not even a moment, the duke continued. "He thinks he has to agree with everything I say. Have you any idea how bothersome it is to be surrounded by such nonsense?"

  "Things could be worse, I'm sure."

  Thomas' spontaneous bark of laughter echoed in the study. "You've been a good friend to me, old chap, and even if Grace hadn't insisted I hurry over to check on you, I would have gotten around to it."

  Taking a seat behind the desk, Rupert agreed. "Aye. As I would come to stare at you and check you for fever should you ever start behaving out of character. Running around as a madman ranting about feelings, or some such nonsense."

  Thomas grinned, and he nodded. "Exactly. I'm glad you see my point."

  After a moment of silence, the duke spoke. "The gazette reports the week ahead of us shall be properly balmy, almost spring-like. I mentioned it to Frederick, and do you know what he said?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Nothing!"

  Thomas ranted a bit longer about the perils of being surrounded by an agreeable staff before taking his leave. Rupert let him carry on and commented in all the appropriate places. Meanwhile, Juliana's note weighed heavy in his pocket.

  ****

  Barrows had no sooner closed the door behind Thomas than a bustle coming from the direction of the kitchen heralded the arrival of a visitor via the servant's entrance. Rupert, who was at his desk reviewing the notes Juliana had jotted down, glanced up in time to see Owen close the study door behind him.

  "I arrived in town this morning and was giving my report to Tobias when your man showed up with his message. I came as soon as Tobias gave me leave. I am at your disposal until this matter is resolved."

  Rupert stared at Owen for a minute before refolding Juliana's note and placing it back in his pocket. He was loath to admit it, but having the younger man there would serve him well. It was imperat
ive he outsmart The Hunter, but that was easier said than done. How do you best a foe that already knows every one of your tricks? During his years with the War Department, Rupert had often tangled with The Hunter, but they'd never come face to face. They'd done nothing more than compete over information, trying to outmaneuver each other on a game board neither of them could fully see.

  Until The Hunter killed the Duke of Sheffield.

  The second he took the life of Thomas' father, Rupert's mandate had been made clear. Bring him to justice at any cost. Rupert had known he was supposed to kill The Hunter, but such an order couldn't be given openly. Nobody wanted to be remembered as the one who gave the order in case there was ever retaliation.

  As for Rupert – he had always managed to manipulate circumstances and events in such a way he'd never had to take a life. It was a miracle, all things considered. He had believed he could do the same with The Hunter. Let him weave the web himself until it was too late and he was trapped by his own words. The Austrians would have locked him away in a dank dungeon somewhere, or chosen to execute him. If everything hadn't gone horribly wrong.

  Dread snaked its way through Rupert's veins and colored his voice. "Tobias has been looking for the traitor."

  "Hmm?"

  Rupert's fingers drummed on the desktop. "The solicitor wasn't smart enough to track me down without help. He said he received an anonymous missive telling him of my location."

  Owen nodded his understanding. "Not many people knew of your location. It would be a short list of agents to investigate."

  The burning need for vengeance choked Rupert. "If he forced that information out of Uncle Fitz…"

  "You don't know that for certain, and even if you did, you won't be any good in this fight unless you keep your emotions under control."

  A derisive laugh slipped past Rupert's lips. Who would have ever thought the day would come when he would be lectured on self-control?

  The tightening of his lips was the only indication that maintaining his objectivity was more of a strain than it had ever been before. "I have a plan, but I'd appreciate your input. Let's assume The Hunter has been studying me and knows what I'll do upon learning he killed Fitz. I need to be unpredictable to keep him off-balance but predictable enough to make him feel safe so he lets his guard down."