Page 14 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
“From his accomplices who won’t want him to talk.”
“He might recover.And then what?You’ll be in London, and he’ll be here, trying to escape.”
Shaldon raised an eyebrow.“You wouldn’t mind subjecting him to the cruelty of a bumpy road, Lady Jane?”
Guilt gnawed at her.That bumpy road would be dreadful for a wounded man.Still, she needed Sir Richard’s pack of guards gone if she had any hope of leaving without interference.
She handed Kincaid his napkin.“You’re dribbling on the sheet.”
Kincaid grunted again and mopped at the stains.
“Sir Richard might recover,” she said again, “And the condition of Lady Perry’s neck persuades me that, bumpy roads or smooth, he should travel down to London for a trial.I’ll have nothing to do with nursing him.”
Kincaid’s spoon paused midair.“She makes a fair point.”
A frown spread across Shaldon’s face.“It’s a damnable revenge,” he muttered.
The Spy Lord had a conscience?
And so did she, but dammit, she also had a responsibility to be in London with one thousand pounds.She lifted her chin.“Not revenge, my lord.Justice.”
“Bring Fergus MacEwen back from that inn.”Kincaid’s spoon rattled in the empty crock.“I’ll make the arrangements for Sir Richard’s transport.”
Shaldon looked pointedly at Kincaid.
“Aye,” Kincaid said, “Mac’s doing good work, but if I know him, he’s got himself far too cozy with the innkeeper’s girl, all without ferreting out any more details about John Black’s operation.”
Hearing the ins and outs of these men’s seductions was too much.She picked up the tray.“I’ll send Ewan up to help you wash.”
When the doorclosed on her, Shaldon pushed away from the wall and loosened his neckcloth.“I’d best go and see to my own packing.Come up to town when you know that wound won’t open.You’ll be in good hands with Jane.”
Kincaid’s brows knit together.“She’ll bolt.”
“Bolt?”Shaldon fiddled with his neck cloth again, considering.
No.Kincaid was wrong.Jane was proper, calm, a rock.“In spite of her help last night, in spite of what happened between…me and Lady Jane, she’s not the impetuous sort.”
“No?”
The raised eyebrow made his stomach churn again.He pulled the neckcloth off and mopped at his head.The cloth came back stained.Blast it, he was bleeding again.
“Have her look at that,” Kincaid said slyly.“Mayhap she’ll get impetuous and convince you she’d make you a proper wife.One not so impetuous as to switch out a counterfeit painting for your ransom.”
An ache started up in his shoulder.“Enough.”Kincaid’s experience of women—of one woman—had soured him about matrimony.In any case, he wouldn’t allow anyone to speak ill of his dead wife.
Theirs had been an arranged marriage—Felicity had been set to marry his brother the earl, and whenhe’dupped and died she’d settled for the spare, tolerating his refusal to give up his work for the Crown.Felicity had always loved a good flutter, a hell-for-bent ride, and her own way in things, but she’d done right by the estate and the children.He’d been gone much of the time, and when he wasn’t, they’d rubbed on well enough together.
The ache crept up and gripped the back of his neck.
But sending the counterfeit painting—he’d never have judged her capable of that.
Still, he had no need for a wife now, placid or otherwise.
It wasnear dark when Jane left the kitchen, her candle held high, lighting the shadowy servants’ staircase.She’d left Jenny and Ewan to see to the men coming in for their dinner.Cup after cup of tea had kept her awake while she bided her time until the house was quiet.
Passing the dining room, she peeked in.A few last rays of late summer sun eked in through the westerly window.The table had been cleared of all but a brace of candles and the white tablecloth, and a few of the fiddleback cherrywood chairs sat pulled back, as if the men had left hurriedly.In the far end of the room, the sideboard loomed in the shadows, two more branches of half-burned candles at the ready.She stepped closer and let out a long breath.
The canvas still lay there.
