The Devil's Gift Page 7

  Jack paused. He wondered if she realized how fascinating she was. He wondered if she ever regretted the bargain her father had made with the Earl of Devlin to marry her to his heir.

  He wondered how much she had to do with Shad’s murder.

  Jack felt the bitter ache slam against his heart and listened for any sound coming from below. When he heard nothing, he left his room and made his way down the flights of stairs that would lead him to the first room he intended to search.

  He opened the door to one of the sitting rooms, not his first choice of rooms in which to begin. He’d rather have started in Baron Kingston’s study or his private rooms, but Jack didn’t know the house well enough yet to begin his search in a section of the manor house where he’d never set foot. Until he knew the habits of the house better, he couldn’t risk being discovered and evicted before he’d spent his first full night beneath its roof.

  Jack stopped and looked around. This room was no doubt Miss Kingston’s favorite room. He could smell the perfume she wore—a blend of roses and lilacs.

  The aroma had an intoxicating effect on him as he’d discovered repeatedly this afternoon when he was near her.

  More than once she’d stopped during her instruction to ask him if she was explaining things too fast.

  He’d assured her she wasn’t, that he was keeping up just fine, but didn’t tell her that having her in the same room was bloody distracting. She smelled good enough to kiss.

  He couldn’t tell her that, though. One word along those lines would bring that spitfire of a maid back to watch over her mistress. She guarded Miss Kingston more closely than any matronly chaperone he’d ever encountered.

  Bloody hell, what did the maid think he might do? Ravish Miss Kingston?

  Jack caught a laugh but quickly stopped it from escaping. The idea of battling the ferocious Maggie while trying to steal a kiss from the delectable Miss Kingston hit him like a splash of cold water against his heated skin.

  He hadn’t found anything to laugh about since Shad had been murdered almost four months prior. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to find humor in being with the girl whose father had more than likely been behind Shad’s death.

  Jack pulled his thoughts back from Miss Kingston and began his search of the room. He methodically examined every drawer and cabinet and shelf on the wall, hoping to find something to link the baron with his brother’s death. But there was nothing of any interest.

  Not even the vases and china curios were of much value, which only reinforced the fact that if Baron Kingston had once been a wealthy man, he wasn’t now.

  When he was satisfied there was nothing in this room except reminders of the lovely Miss Kingston, Jack snuffed out the candle he’d lit upon entering and walked to the door.

  Before he stepped into the hallway, he opened the door and looked both ways. All was silent. Jack stayed in the center of the hallway to avoid the small decorative tables that lined the walls. The last thing he wanted to do was knock over one of the flower vases or trip over one of the many chairs positioned outside the rooms and alert the whole house.

  The chairs were there for several reasons, he’d found out today during his lessons. He’d always assumed they were outside most of the bedrooms so the husband of the house had somewhere to sit when his wife locked him out of her bedroom. Or he had something on which to sit until his wife had readied herself for an intimate evening. Now he knew they were more likely to be positioned outside the master’s or mistress’s bedroom as a courtesy for the footmen so they didn’t have to stand for hours on end.

  He made a mental note to check when he returned to Devlin Downs and make sure there was a chair beside every bedroom and sitting room door.

  His mind was jammed full of mental notes already, in the scant twenty-four hours he’d been living ‘behind the scenes’.

  A pox on it all. He had no idea a butler was responsible for so much. Actually, he’d never considered who did what in any house. He just took the well-run Devlin houses for granted when he was growing up. Then later, he didn’t give it one thought. What young man cared who was responsible for making sure someone answered the door and determined which guests were admitted or turned away? Or that the wine cellar was adequately stocked with the preferred selections. Or that the—

  Jack stopped. He had to make sure he didn’t learn his lessons too well or too fast, or his time here wouldn’t be long enough to give the house a thorough search. Perhaps in a week or so he’d suggest Miss Kingston include training as a footman. He would suggest that in the real world of London, it was possible he wouldn’t find a position as a butler immediately and would have to settle for a lower status.

  Jack smiled. It was impossible for him to believe that Miss Kingston actually thought she could make a difference to London’s poor. She was undoubtedly one of the most naïve young ladies Jack had ever encountered. The thought of Shad being married to her was almost laughable. Jack’s brother had been far too much a man-of-the-world to have been content with someone so sheltered she saw the world in such rosy terms.

  It was plain that Miss Jenevieve Kingston had grown up a pampered only child with far too much freedom. What father would allow his daughter to run the countryside at all hours of the night? Or take in strangers off the streets of London, even if she did consider her act a good deed.

  Unless no one knew what she was doing.

  The possibility that neither her father nor her stepmother knew was ludicrous. They had to know. Lady Rutherford had mentioned that Miss Kingston had been helping deserving young ladies for nearly two years already. How could she have concealed strangers for that length of time within the household without anyone discovering their presence?

  This was just another example of the freedom she’d been allowed. He’d already discovered early this afternoon that her stepmother had left and would be gone for up to a month. Although Baron Kingston’s name hadn’t been mentioned directly, he’d no doubt accompanied his wife and left his daughter in the country by herself.

  Jack had tried not to show his surprise when Benton informed him that Miss Kingston had been left in charge of the house.

  And that no one had been left to watch over Miss Kingston.

  Not one of his acquaintances would ever leave such a vibrant young unmarried female alone and without a chaperone. Although in this case he couldn’t be happier.

  It would be much easier to do his investigating if the only humans in the house were exhausted servants.

  And a very naïve and unsuspecting Miss Kingston.

  THE DEVIL’S GIFT by Laura Landon

  Chapter 6

  Jenna paced her bedroom from one side to the other and relived every moment of the previous day when she’d been with Jack Hawkins.

  He’d seen her arm.

  Why on earth had she allowed him to touch her sleeve? Had she wanted him to see?

  What if he knew her injury had been made by a whip? What if he realized she’d allowed her stepmother to abuse her so? He’d want to know why.

  She held her breath. Maybe he wouldn’t care, she mused, trying to convince herself that he wouldn’t.

  Of course he would, a louder voice countered. He was full of questions. She knew that from their conversation. Hadn’t he asked her any number of questions a servant had no right to ask? Hadn’t he tricked her into divulging information she should have known better than to share?

  Jenna picked up her pace as she stormed about the room. How on earth could she have allowed herself to be caught up in a personal conversation with a servant? It wasn’t until she’d revealed several personal details that she realized how much she’d already said.

  She clenched her hands into tight fists and stomped her foot. What had made her tell him about the lady with the hot fruit pies? And the wonderful impression she still cherished of riding into London for the first time? She tried never to think of that time. It had only been a week later that her mother had been hit and mortally injured by a
runaway carriage while crossing a street.

  Trying to relive the time before her world had changed forever wouldn’t make today and tomorrow any better. She still had her stepmother to contend with.

  And her father.

  Jenna grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She walked to the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  Maggie had refused to let Jenna leave her bed since she’d plastered the bruises with a poultice yesterday and Jenna needed to escape these four walls. She needed to be someplace where memories of her past didn’t haunt her and visions of her future didn’t terrorize her.

  She needed to go someplace where she felt close to her mother.

  Jenna knew her destination before she reached the bottom of the stairs. There was only one room that was still her mother’s. Only one room that her father had refused to let his second wife touch.

  She lifted the candle she’d taken from her bedside stand and made her way down the dimly-lit hallway. She didn’t slow until she reached the last door on the right.

  With a trembling hand she reached for the knob, then stopped.

  There was light beneath the door.

  She searched for a logical explanation. Perhaps a servant had left it burning? Except that wasn’t possible. The servants knew not to come in here except when she left orders for the room to be cleaned.

  And she hadn’t left orders for the room to be cleaned in over a week.

  Jenna hunted for another explanation, but couldn’t find one except...

  Jenna blew out the candle in her hand and slowly turned the knob. She had no intention of entering the room. Only a fool would take such a chance. But she couldn’t walk away without knowing who had broken into her mother’s study.

  She pushed on the door and was thankful it opened without making a sound.

  At first she thought she’d been correct in her assumption that the room was empty and a lamp had been left on by mistake. Until she saw movement.

  She opened the door a little wider and stepped inside to get a better view.

  “Would you care to explain what you’re doing, Mr. Hawkins?”

  The speed with which he turned, then bounded to his feet, was quite stunning. Jenna was impressed by his graceful movement. What didn’t impress her, but frightened her, was the speed with which his right hand reached into his pocket. As if he were reaching for a weapon.

  “Bloody hell, woman. Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a man like that?”

  “Oh,” she answered, feeling her temper rising. “Perhaps you’d have preferred it if I’d gone back to bed and let you burglarize my home.”

  “No, I’d rather you went for Benton instead of barging in here by yourself.”

  “I’ll just bet you would!” she said, getting even angrier. “That would give you plenty of time to take what you wanted and leave.”

  “I hardly intended to leave,” he said standing up and walking around the settee. “Unless you know many thieves who go around at night in winter with no boots on their feet.”

  Jenna looked down to where he pointed and saw his stockings. His holey stockings.

  He stepped back behind the settee but Jenna refused to believe it could be because he didn’t want her to see his shoeless feet. There had to be another reason.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What did it look like I was doing?”

  “It looked like you were rummaging through the—”

  Jenna stopped.

  “Yes?” he asked with a sharp arch of his brows. “What did it look like I was rummaging through?”

  Jenna realized how silly it would sound if she told him it looked like he was rummaging through the ashes in the fireplace.

  “If you must know, I thought I smelled smoke and came down to make sure the fires were all out.”

  Jenna wanted to believe him and yet...

  “Benton told me it was the butler’s duty to make a final check of the house to make sure all the fires were banked. When I smelled smoke I thought I might have missed one.”

  She held the front of her robe together beneath her chin. “What made you come in here?”

  “This was the only room I hadn’t checked.” He set his lamp atop her mother’s writing desk and looked around. “It’s a beautiful room.”

  “It was my mother’s study.”

  “She had excellent taste.”

  Jenna wasn’t given to tears, but without warning a wave of melancholy grabbed hold of her and refused to let go. She remembered the care her mother had taken in decorating this room. And how happy she’d been when her husband had complimented her.

  Jenna stepped to the mantel and lit the two candelabra on either end. For as much as she didn’t want him to see the dampness in her eyes, she was more desperate to have light in the room. She was uncomfortable in the shadows with him.

  “Couldn’t you sleep?”

  His voice was soft and gentle—thick and rich. It smothered her fears and calmed her inner turmoil.

  “I... No.”

  “How is your arm?”

  “It’s fine. The swelling has quite receded.”

  “And glad I am to hear it. But swelling like that doesn’t come from your run-of-the-mill bruise.”

  “Well,” she said, feeling the need to downplay the bruises that still ached. “It all appeared much worse than it is. Truly. It’s fine now.”

  “Excellent.”

  He took a step closer and appeared a little uncomfortable. With his hands clasped behind his back, he lowered his gaze before he spoke. “I want you to know I realize I was terribly forward this afternoon. I’d like to promise I will never be so outspoken again, but if my father were here he’d tell you I’ll probably need to be reminded several more times.”

  Jenna couldn’t help but smile. She imagined that he’d never spoken truer words. From what she’d observed so far, he possessed a strength of character she’d seldom seen in another. Even her father hadn’t been so strong. If he had possessed even a little of Jack Hawkins’ dominance he wouldn’t have—

  She shifted the direction her thoughts were taking. “What was your father like?” she asked, wanting to find something else on which to concentrate.

  He looked surprised. “He was a good and decent man. Undoubtedly the best father any child could hope for. But I imagine all children think that once they’ve reached adulthood.”

  Most might. She certainly did.

  “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I had a brother. He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The intensity in his eyes caused a stabbing of discomfort. Jenna moved to the settee to separate herself from his penetrating gaze and sat. “What about your mother?” she asked.

  “She died when I was young. Around the same age as you were when you lost your mother.”

  “Was it terribly difficult for you?”

  “Yes, but not as difficult as I’m sure it was for you. Mothers and daughters are much closer.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I know I don’t have the right, and tomorrow morning when we wake, we’ll both pretend this conversation never took place, but may I ask you a question?”

  Jenna studied him. His demeanor did not appear haughty, nor did he seem as if he’d intentionally posed the question to bait her. Or to see if she’d respond as she had this afternoon. But because he was genuinely interested.

  “Perhaps. If I may ask you a question.”

  He smiled, then nodded in agreement.

  Jenna sat back against the cushion and folded her hands in her lap. She imagined every topic he might choose to inquire about. But none of them were close to the question he asked.

  “Why have you never married?”

  Jenna clenched her hands tightly then gathered enough composure to close her gaping mouth. He’d moved to sit in front of her on the edge of the matching settee opposite hers. He looked a thousand times more relaxed
than she felt.

  “I was betrothed and intended to marry,” she finally managed.

  “Was?”

  “He died several months ago.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult for you. Did you love him?”

  “I’d never met him.”

  He appeared shocked, but that didn’t surprise her. Although arranged marriages weren’t all that uncommon, the engaged couple had usually met one another at least once.

  “How did he die?”

  “I’m not sure. I just received word that there’d been an accident and he’d been killed.”

  Jenna wasn’t about to tell him that upon hearing the news that the Earl of Devlin had died, her father had become overly distraught. Or that he’d become irrational in his accusations and even accused his wife of rejoicing over the news. Or that from that moment on, her father’s health had declined rapidly.

  “Is there someone else you’ll marry now? Someone for whom you’d perhaps developed a fondness years ago?”

  “No, there was never anyone else. And...” Jenna ignored the twinge of something that engulfed her with a strange emptiness. “...since you’re not familiar with the workings of Society, I won’t explain why marriage is no longer a possibility.”

  “But surely—”

  Jenna moved just enough that Jack Hawkins stopped mid sentence. It was as if he sensed her refusal to speak any further on the subject.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, Miss Kingston. I seem to have overstepped the line of acceptable servant behavior for the second time today.”

  For a few long seconds, Jenna sat on her mother’s floral settee and studied him. She observed several details about him she hadn’t noticed before—details that inspired more questions than answers.

  He had to know she was studying him, but instead of shifting uncomfortably, or lowering his gaze to avoid her scrutiny, he watched her as if he could glean as much information about her as she intended to gather from studying him.

  “You’re right, Mr. Hawkins. You have overstepped yourself again.” Jenna smoothed the edges of her robe over her lap. “I think I’ve divulged more information than is wise.”