Page 19 of Stolen By the Rogue
“Miss Scott, what a delight. I am so glad you could make it tonight,” said Alice.
George took a respectable step back as their hostess came to greet her guest. Alice Steele held out her hands and drew a blushing Jane into a hug.
“Aren’t I supposed to be curtsying to you?” said Jane.
Alice laughed. “No, most definitely not. I wasn’t born a noble. My father is in textiles and shipping. I’m what you call ‘new money.’”
Harry appeared at her side and slipped his arm partway around his wife’s waist. His other hand rested protectively on her baby belly. He pressed a tender kiss on her cheek. “My wife is more noble than the rest of us put together. Now come. Let’s eat. I am starving.”
As they stepped into the dining room, George caught sight of the two other guests: Monsale and Lady Naomi Steele. They appeared to be having some sort of heated disagreement, but quickly drew apart as everyone else arrived. Naomi gave the duke a haughty huff then hurried over to Jane. Monsale shook his head and followed in Naomi’s wake.
Harry met George’s gaze and scowled. As Jane was his friend, it was up to George to make the introductions.
I just wish you weren’t all so friendly and welcoming to her. This will only make things that more difficult when the time comes.
George was now regretting not having told his fellow rogues of the road about his plans to steal the crown. Secrecy was usually his best professional tool, but in this case, it was fast becoming a liability.
“Your grace, may I present Miss Jane Scott. Jane, the Duke of Monsale,” he said.
Monsale gave Jane a chin tip—his usual curt method of greeting women. “Miss Scott, welcome.”
George was about to introduce Lady Naomi, but she pushed past him and took a hold of Jane’s arm. “Jane. May I call you Jane? Oh, good. Thank you. Now I want to hear all about life in the Ottoman Empire. It must be so much more interesting than dull old London.”
And that was pretty much how the rest of the evening went. George was left to talk business with Monsale and Harry while the women sat giggling over the rumors of what went on in the sultan’s harem.
“George, how are you going with securing funds for that proposed service through to Oxford? I think if we can get a new coach and driver, we could pick up some of the university student traffic. That route is a lucrative one we should be exploiting,” said Monsale.
“I am working on it,” replied George.
He stole a glance at Jane as he spoke. She was engrossed in a conversation with Lady Naomi, her eyes sparkling with mirth at some shared jest. As he took in the sight, the last remnants of George’s good humor flittered away.
I am a dreadful man. I don’t deserve a shot at a good life.
By the time a footman placed a large platter of fillet of roast pork in the middle of the table at the start of the second course, George had all but lost his appetite.
“Jane, how much longer is the Ottoman exhibition in London? I hear it has been exceptionally popular,” said Alice.
Jane dabbed at her face with her napkin. “It comes to a close in the next few days. We did extend it for a little longer, but with commitments in France, the items will have to leave England by mid next week.”
George picked up his wine glass and took a generous sip. The clock was ticking loudly on his plans to steal the crown.
“And will you be accompanying the items when they travel to the continent?” asked Lady Naomi.
George waved over a nearby footman, suddenly not wishing to consider what life would be like for Jane after he made a move to steal the crown.
What if they try and blame her for the theft?
“I will not. I shall be seeking a new position somewhere in London. The exhibition will eventually return to Constantinople, and I have no reason to go with it,” she replied.
“Don’t you have family to return to in the east?” asked Alice.
“No. No family.”
George pointed at the pork, sitting back in his chair intently watching while his plate was filled with meat and roasted vegetables. The last thing he wished to do was to look at Jane. He was convinced that if he did, she would see the wicked intentions which he was certain were written all over his face.
The footman worked his way around the table, serving each guest in turn. When he reached Jane, she took one look at the pork and waved it away. “No, thank you.”
“It’s good; you should try a piece. Our cook is particularly skilled at making roast meat juicy and tender,” offered Harry.
