Jackal (Regency Refuge Book 2)

by Heather Gray

  Owen, who had been sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap, smiled. It was a wolfish smile, predatory and cunning. It reminded Rupert of himself fifteen years younger.

  "Splendid. We shall draw him in until he slits his own throat."

  Rupert stared at Owen for a moment, contemplating the wisdom of allowing the younger man so close to Juliana and the girls. He had no doubt Owen would be ruthless when it was called for and knew a sense of satisfaction that such ruthlessness would be employed to keep his family safe. "There's something else I'd like you to look into."

  "Of course."

  "The duke and duchess had a guest by the name of Devin. I asked Tobias to investigate, but he could learn nothing. The man in question is no longer staying with them, but I'd still like to learn more about him. I don't want to leave it to chance that he may be involved in all of this somehow."

  "Last name?"

  Rupert shook his head. "I don't know."

  "Wasn't the duke just here? Why didn't you ask him?"

  "I'd rather not give him cause to worry if I can avoid it. It may be nothing."

  "Your penchant for protecting others may well be your downfall."

  Rupert was adamant. "The less the duke knows, the safer he will be."

  "I think you underestimate the duke, but I'll do as you wish and quietly see what I can learn."

  It would have to be enough. The ruthless glint in Owen's eyes would serve them both well. They were going to have to be unrelenting. If the younger man couldn't learn anything quietly, perhaps a more direct approach would be called for. There was a lot at risk this time. Rupert wouldn't hesitate to kill The Hunter if it came to that. He had more to protect now than he'd had in Austria.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  February 28, 1817

  Rupert sat in the study, staring into the fire. Despite their best efforts, they'd yet to draw The Hunter out into the open. He let his mind wander back to all those years ago when he'd first seen Juliana and her sisters, to the day he'd made The Promise.

  The wind was harsh, and the rain fell in icy rivulets against which no umbrella could protect. Rupert stood at the back of the small gathering, which left him partially concealed next to an overgrown shrub. He wore a heavy trench coat and kept his hat pulled low. Any curious onlooker would find him indistinguishable from the other guests – of little notice.

  Uncle Fitz's haggard face was drawn into a deep frown. He'd lost his wife a few years prior, and now his sister and brother-in-law. Rupert had ridden night and day to be there. Uncle Fitz and Cousin William were all the family he had left, and their pain was his pain. There were other distant cousins, sure, but none he'd ever met. Nobody understood him, or the life he'd chosen, quite like Fitz.

  There was a young woman standing between William and Fitz. She was tall and graceful. Not even her palpable grief could hide her beauty. She held the hands of two young girls – maybe five and six – who clung to her as if she were their whole world.

  The graveside service ended, and people began to hurry away. The heavens opened even further and poured forth enough rain to quench a desert nation. Here at Chakal Manor, where the ground was already soaked with far too many tears, the rain had nowhere to go. It pooled on the ground, ran down the hills, and ate at the greenery that was supposed to make the small private cemetery look less like death.

  Fitz spoke to William and the girls, shook the hands of people who demanded the attention, and then slowly made his way to where Rupert stood, still partially concealed by the shrub. The two embraced. "I'm sorry." The words were inadequate, but they were all Rupert had to offer.

  With a nod, Fitz said, "I love you like a son, but you can't ever come back here."

  The words were a blow for which Rupert hadn't been prepared. "I don't understand."

  "You know I retired when William was born."

  Rupert nodded.

  "I have a house full of wounded people. They've suffered too much death. Poor Juliana – she's now twice lost a mother – and those little girls… I can't risk it. You're a man of honor, Rupert, and I'm proud to call you family."

  Fitz broke off, took out his kerchief, and wiped at his face despite the futility of the action in the downpour. "I can't take the chance that death will follow you. You've chosen a dangerous life, and I have to protect these girls and William. You can't ever come back here. Write me anytime you like, and if you need to meet, let me know, and I'll come to you, but stay away from Chakal Manor."

  Rupert almost argued. Grief was controlling Fitz's words, though, and once that grief abated, surely the moratorium on his presence at the manor would be lifted. He could bide his time until Fitz changed his mind. "If that's what you believe is best."

  "It's not you, Rupert. You know that, right?"

  Rupert nodded. "I understand."

  "I have to protect this family from suffering any more loss, and I need your word that if anything should ever happen to me, you'll step in and do the same, even if that means walking away from the life you now have."

  The weight of the words rested on Rupert's shoulders, but he was confident he could handle it. "I promise."

  The fire came back into focus, but the tranquility it offered taunted Rupert. He stood and began pacing. He had failed Fitz. From the moment he'd recognized Juliana on his doorstep, he'd known. Even though he'd stayed away all those years – because Fitz had never changed his mind – Rupert's work with the War Department had brought more death and sadness to the Clairmont sisters. Now here he was, trying to bring an end to it all, and The Hunter remained hidden. He'd failed Fitz in the worst way, and he continued to fail the sisters he'd promise to protect.

  The credenza stood before him with a variety of beverages left by the previous residents. Rupert reached out and grabbed one, blindly hurtling it toward the fire.

  ****

  "Saints alive!" A crash echoed in the hall outside the study.

  Juliana, who had been about to raise her hand to knock, hesitated. Barrows approached from her left and asked, "May I be of assistance, m'lady?"

  She looked at him. Another crash came from inside the room, but the stalwart Barrows gave no indication of having heard it.

  "Would you fancy tea in the salon?"

  She frowned at Barrows, whom she'd finally accepted was no mere butler. "I'm worried about him."

  Still no flicker of emotion. "I'm sure his lordship is quite well."

  The study door was yanked open. "Barrows!" Rupert stood there, disheveled and…

  "You smell worse than the taverns we stayed at on our journey to London. What on earth have you been doing?"

  "Yes, m'lord?"

  Juliana and Barrows spoke at the same time, but the butler's words stood no chance of being heard over the strident tone of her vehement irritation.

  Weeks had passed, and nothing had happened. Juliana had expected this Hunter person to show himself. She'd expected there to be a duel or some such – with Rupert the victor, of course – and for matters to be resolved quietly and with utmost haste.

  A month of non-activity had made it clear her expectations had been a travesty, an exercise in non-reality. Apparently the world did not revolve around her timetable. Nor did it wish to cater to her desire for a satisfying conclusion. She stomped her foot in frustration as she took in Rupert's appearance.

  "You look like death's less attractive cousin. Are you going to tell me what has you in such a dither, or shall I go away so the two of you can keep even more secrets?"

  Rupert, who'd been staring at her slack-jawed since she'd compared his smell to that of a pub, snapped his mouth closed. "By all means, Juliana, please come in." His words were carefully modulated, their tone neutral, but Juliana didn't miss the clenching of his fists or the stiffness with which he swept his arm out to invite her into the study. Turning to Barrows, he added, "A decanter may have shattered in the general vicinity of the fireplace. Give us a bit of privacy for now, but see it gets cleaned as soon as we vacate t
he study."

  "Very well, m'lord."

  With a smart military turn, Barrows stepped away from them. Juliana even heard him snap his heels together.

  Avoiding the fireplace and the seats surrounding it, Rupert marched over to the window and remained standing, back straight and cane clutched white-knuckle tight in both hands. Juliana, not sure what to say now that she had him alone, settled primly in a chair near his desk and wished he hadn't turned to face her. Everything about him unsettled her these days, from his darkly handsome looks to the brooding intensity in his eyes.

  "What?" His voice was as raspy as the day-old whiskers he sported on his face. Gone was the rich sound that reminded her of smooth dark honey.

  "Are you well?"

  He offered an ungentlemanly harrumph.

  "Have you been drinking, Rupert?"

  "You think so little of me that you believe I would turn into a blithering idiot when you and your sisters depend on me for protection?"

  Juliana pulled a long draught of air in through her nose and held it as she counted. Ten wasn't quite enough. By the time she got to twenty-five, she was lightheaded but no less irritated than before. She released the air as slow as she dared. It wouldn't do for Rupert to know how much he'd vexed her.

  "There's a smashed decanter over there, and you smell like…" Juliana let out a weary sigh. "You smell like alcohol."

  Rupert glanced toward the fireplace where shards of glass could be seen. "I haven't imbibed. I don't even drink the stuff."

  Credulous, she asked, "Then why have it in your house?"

  Mirthless, Rupert made a sound that might have passed for laughter at a meeting of the undertaker's guild. "It's not my house, remember? It came furnished, and that included the drink."

  Juliana clenched her fists. "Has there been any word on The Hunter?"

  "Yes, yes, of course there has. That's why we're still sitting in this house doing absolutely nothing to bring him to justice. Because we know precisely where he is but have chosen to give up and let him march in here willy-nilly and slaughter everyone in their sleep."

  Her shocked intake of breath drew Rupert's eyes to her face.

  "Ah, blazes… I'm sorry Juliana." He paced in front of the window. "I'm being ghastly, aren't I?"

  "I was thinking monstrous, but ghastly will do. As a rule, you're quite cordial, which is the primary reason I didn't hit you over the head with the fireplace poker a quarter hour ago."

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. "You weren't even in here with me a quarter hour ago."

  "I would have been if Barrows hadn't waylaid me before I could barge in on you while you ranted and threw things."

  Rupert's large hand worked its way through his hair, catching on tangles along the way. "No one who's been around me of late would accuse me of being a gentleman, I suppose."

  "Right you are, but can you tell me why? I care a bit more about that at present than I do your boorish behavior."

  He sighed. "There's been no sign of The Hunter, no word of him anywhere. We've spread rumors telling where I would be, laid traps in the likely and unlikely locations, and done everything humanly possible to draw him out. With no results to show for it."

  "Maybe there's something you haven't tried yet."

  "I've put in time at White's, made a newsworthy scene at the House of Lords, given an interview about the Stanwich brothers, maneuvered myself into an audience with Prinny, and more. I've done everything in my power to drive The Hunter out of hiding, to taunt him into coming after me."

  "Okay." Juliana frowned at him. "You have done everything you can, so maybe it's time you try something a little different."

  "What? Do you have some grand idea?"

  Juliana bit her bottom lip, knowing how Rupert would react. "I've given it a bit of thought." His eyebrow rose, but at least the glint in his eyes had warmed.

  Considering her options, she rose and approached him. Rupert would likely only let her say it once, so she needed to make sure he was listening to her suggestion. He eyed her warily as she drew closer to him. When she was only inches away, she reached out and placed her hands on either side of his waist. She'd never touched a man other than her father so intimately before, and hugging one's father hardly compared to this.

  Rupert's muscles tensed under her touch, and she fought to keep her curious hands where she'd rested them. She wanted to move closer. The urge to move her hands along his torso and feel the intoxicating lines of his masculine strength was almost overwhelming. What had she gotten herself into? Leaning in closely, her attention on his lips more than her own words, she uttered the last coherent thought she'd had before Rupert's proximity had stolen her sense. "You should use me and the girls as bait."

  "Never!"

  The force of his roar pushed Juliana back. She blinked away the consuming fog that had filled her senses only seconds ago before pressing on. "Not Eudora and Eleanor literally, but if you found two people of similar size to dress up in the girls' clothes and wear oversized bonnets, you could take us for a ride in Hyde park. Borrow the Duke of Sheffield's phaeton. I'm sure he'd let you. It seats four, and the back seat is covered, so that would keep whoever is in the backseat well concealed."

  His face remained stony, but Juliana pressed on. "If you used two of the women from the War Department or from the constabulary to fill the parts of the girls, it might work. I'd sit on the front seat with you, the girls would sit on the back seat, and we could go for a ride. Every day, if we have to. Eventually, he will come. He won't be able to resist."

  "I would never put you in a position of such vulnerability." Rupert's voice rang with finality. The look of resignation on Rupert's face didn't match the words he'd spoken, but Juliana decided to let it go. She'd learned a few things from her stepmother before the carriage accident that had taken her parents. Lesson number one when dealing with men: Lunge and disengage, lunge and disengage.

  Juliana's father had taught each of his girls to fence, something that wasn't considered acceptable in polite society. Her stepmother had never stood in the way of those lessons but had, instead, used them as a way to teach her daughters about the sport of being a woman. Eleanor and Eudora had been too young and didn't remember, but Juliana did.

  Womanhood is not a fair sport. It is not acceptable for a lady to engage her opponent face to face. You need to use much more finesse than that. While you hold the sword in one hand, you must hold flattery in the other. Use both in equal measure. Lunge. Then disengage and retreat. When the way is again clear, lunge then disengage.

  Juliana's father would hear what his wife was telling his daughters and throw his head back to laugh. "Is that how you keep me in line, dear wife? Should I worry about parrying an attack one of these nights whilst I sleep?"

  Her father and stepmother had been happy together. Life had been idyllic. A sad sigh punctuated the memory.

  She would find a way to get Rupert to agree with her. The Hunter needed to be brought to justice. Juliana owed it to her father and the woman who had treated her as a true daughter. She would do whatever it took to keep her sisters safe. Her plan was sound. It would work.

  Besides which, she could not sit idly by and watch The Hunter destroy Rupert. She feared for him. For his safety, of course, but also for his peace of mind. His eyes became more haunted with each passing day. A small part of her heart couldn't help but compare the growing strain on his face to the changes she'd seen in Uncle Fitz.

  Rupert didn't have the same wildness growing in his eyes as Uncle Fitz. Waiting for The Hunter to strike was changing him, though, aging him even. She needed to put a stop to it before he got so lost in the battle that he couldn't find his way back to her.

  Juliana made to leave the study. She would regroup and plan her next move.

  "I thought better of you." Rupert's words were hoarse. She turned to look at him. "Using your wiles to try to get what you want. I didn't think you had that sort of behavior in you."

  Juliana felt the word
s like a blow. "That's not… I didn't mean…" With a sigh, she said, "I'm sorry," then slipped from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "I think it's a good idea."

  "No!"

  Owen stepped back and gave Rupert room to pace, but he repeated himself. "She wants this over as much as you do."

  "I will not put her at risk where she can be shot on a whim." Rupert's voice was a low growl. He tried to hide his anguish, but it was too great. The thought of willfully putting Juliana in The Hunter's line of sight caused his gut to churn and his fists to clench. It was out of the question.

  "You've got this family here, and they're not even allowed to go into the garden. They're trapped, and they know it. Eudora and Eleanor are getting restless. Juliana wants to make sure the problem is contained so her sisters can be safe. They're going to leave this house someday. Would you rather it be in a controlled situation that might allow us to put an end to it all, or would you prefer to wait until one of them decides to sneak out in order to capture a breath of fresh air and is left entirely vulnerable in her innocent rebellion?"

  Rupert slammed his hand down on the table. "You go too far, sir!"

  Owen refused to back down. "You said you wanted me here because I think differently than you, and I could help you come up with a plan of attack that couldn't be predicted."

  Rupert's mouth was dry as cotton, and his chest tightened with anxiety at the mere thought of what Owen suggested. "Leave me."

  The younger man stood his ground. "Nothing you've tried has worked."

  "You don't think I know that?" Rupert resisted the urge to reach for another decanter, this time aiming it at Owen.

  "You've been to White's every Wednesday."