Rowan nodded in greeting to the marquess. “A pleasure to see you again, my lord.”
“Cam.” Cambourne lifted his glass to Rowan in toast. “My friends call me Cam.”
Kilmaire gave a short laugh. “Or Satan Reynolds. I’m rather disappointed I don’t have such a frightening nickname. I find it quite unfair. After all, I look much more dangerous,” he ran a fingertip down the scar, “than you. I had to tolerate the incessant chatter at Lord Swit’s dinner last night. His wife and her friends lamenting over your angelic good looks nearly made me ill before dessert was served.”
Cambourne glared at his friend. “Do shut up, Colin.”
“I am Kilmaire.” He completely disregarded Cambourne’s annoyance. “Do you possess a scandalous past or perhaps a terrifying nickname? One must if you are to sit at this table.” The dark eyes twinkled. “All the ones referring to Old Scratch are taken, so we’ll need to come up with something else.”
“He does not. Malden is my betrothed’s cousin.” The duke rolled the dice. “You have been so kind, Malden, in your attention to your father’s garden, particularly the trellis, I thought we would start with dice tonight.”
Rowan tried not to look too surprised that the duke had found him out.
His Grace lifted his glass in a silent toast to Rowan, nodding as he did so.
“It is a shame that you lack a shocking distinction, but there is still time,” Kilmaire continued, speaking to Rowan as he took up the dice. “There are plenty of wicked things in London.” The scar gleamed a stark white against his lightly tanned skin as he quirked his lips. “So perhaps you will cause a scandal and thus receive a nickname. You are in the right company, after all, for such to happen.”
“So, I am given to understand.” Rowan chuckled, taking his seat. His mother, of course, knew all the gossip. Horrified to the core that her son would spend the evening carousing with a trio that thetonreferred to as The Wickeds sent her to her bed early. “I was an ill-mannered child so perhaps I just need a bit more time to do something dreadful.”
Kilmaire burst into laughter, handing Rowan the dice. “I believe it's your turn, Malden.”
25
Jemma was running, running across the bluff behind Sea Cliff, trying to get away from Augie. Her dress was torn, and she kept tripping over rocks in her path, lamenting as she lost her shoe. Desperate to find Nick, she called for him over and over to find her. Then Augie appeared, standing over her, grabbing her by the elbow. Terrified, she tried to push him away but her arms wouldn’t move.
“I see you are finally waking up. Goodness, I feared he'd put too much on the cloth and you were dead. That wouldn’t do us any good now would it?”
The lids of Jemma’s eyes felt as if they were weighted and her temples ached. Struggling to open her eyes, she made to rub them and found her hands firmly bound at her sides. She tried to speak but something foul tasting had been shoved into her mouth. Terror gripped her as she remembered the trail at the park. The man’s voice.
Augie.
Struggling against the ropes at her wrists, she blinked in an effort to clear her vision.
“That won’t do you any good, I’ve tied them extra tight.” A voice mocked, a voice she recognized.
Slowly, and with much effort, she opened her eyes. A dimly lit room greeted her along with a fetid odor as if there were rotting fish nearby. A lone candle sat on a small table next to what Jemma took to be a bed but more resembled a large, lumpy mattress covered by a filthy looking coverlet. Peeling wallpaper hung from one corner, though the room was too dark for her to make out the pattern. She heard the tinkling of a piano somewhere below her as a woman began singing off-key in a raspy voice. The aroma of sour wine reached her nostrils as the sound of a woman’s skirts came from behind her.
“You were so busy thinking aboutthat man,” the wine-laden whisper said, “that you followed that boy without question. Lord, you are like a bitch in heat and stupid as well.” Lady Corbett rounded the chair in which Jemma sat.
Jemma struggled more fiercely against her bindings. My God, Lady Corbett and Augie were both in here, in London.
The Governor's wife, resplendent in a plum colored taffeta gown shot through with silver threads, looked as if she were about to attend the opera or perhaps a ball, rather than participating in abduction.
Curling her lip, Lady Corbett peered down at Jemma. “So blind to your lust for that man, I could have told you to hop a ship to the Indies and you’d do it if you thought he awaited you. George will be so distressed to find out that the Devil of Dunbar still lives. He was so very certain that he was dead.”
She paced back and forth in front of Jemma as if attempting to solve a difficult problem. The black jet earrings hanging from her ears whipped against her neck as she shook her head. “Of course, the knowledge that he failed may just give George that final fit of apoplexy. One can only hope.”
Still surprised by Lady Corbett’s appearance, Jemma tried to make sense of the woman before her. All her life, Lady Corbett had been motherly, meddling and if Jemma were honest, a bit of a dimwit. Certainly, Jemma had been hurt to know the Corbetts’ affections were less for her than for Sea Cliff, but she never suspected they were this desperate.
Jemma tried to spit the gag out of her mouth and failed.
“Oh, do stop wiggling around, Jane Emily.” Lady Corbett stopped pacing and stared at her. “You’ll wear yourself out and not have the energy for your upcoming nuptials.”
Jemma shut her eyes, willing herself to wake up from this terrible dream. She’d always considered Lady Corbett to be no more than a nuisance and Augie a weak-willed gambler who coveted her father’s estate. After what happened in Hamilton, she thought them capable of many things, but kidnapping?
“You were always so full of sass. It's unfortunate you couldn't have been more like my darling Dorthea. She did what she was told, even though it meant marrying a second son, but I had a plan for her, just as I have for you. Peter’s elder brother is consumptive and won’t last too many more winters and my Dorthea will be a Countess.” Lady Corbett placed a finger against her chin. “That will be lovely.”
The matter of fact way in which Lady Corbett spoke of her husband’s fate and that of her son-in-law’s brother chilled Jemma to the bone. How could I have known her my entire life and not suspect her true nature?
