Tears filled Jane’s eyes. “Nicole.”
It was like a blow to his gut, and he could not breathe. Jane turned away from him, shoulders slumped. Defeat etched her posture. He forgot himself. In that moment he wanted to go to her and cradle her and comfort her against his big body. But he didn’t move. “I will go to Brighton and get her. Where are they staying?”
Jane snapped around. “No! I will go! You wait here!”
She was afraid of him still, and he did not understand why. Nor did he care anymore. He only wanted to see his daughter. “You perform tomorrow,” he said coldly. “You cannot go. I will leave immediately. Where are they staying?”
“No, no, no!” Jane cried.
He was tired of her games, and he moved past her and down the hall. Brighton wasn’t large and he would find them. She ran after him. “You can’t go at night!”
He didn’t bother to reply.
She stumbled on the stairs. “Can’t you wait until the morning? We can go together!”
He paused in the foyer. “And what about tomorrow’s engagement?”
“I will cancel it,” she said frantically.
He took her chin in his hand and held her face immobile. He squeezed only enough to apply pressure that indicated his mood. Her lips parted on a breath.
“Do you think I want your miserable company another minute?” He snarled. “Like all women, you are a selfish liar. I can’t stand the sight of you.” He released her. “Stay away from me,” he warned. “And I mean it, Jane.”
He flung open the door and disappeared into the night.
His words immobilized her.
I am not selfish, I am not a liar, she thought, the tears falling again. She sagged against the banister, her strength suddenly gone. And then the truth of his words hit her with such force it was painful. She had lied, she had been selfish. She had cheated him of his daughter.
“God forgive me,” she whispered.
And then her urge to protect her daughter took over.
She had to stop him. She had to stop him from finding Nicole. He would take her and she would never see her again—especially the way he felt about her now. There was the heartbreaking pain again, that he should hate her so, but she shrugged it off. He had never cared for her, not ever—in fact, if she collected all her memories it was as if he had always hated her. So what did it matter that he hated her still?
Only Nicole mattered.
Jane grabbed a cloak and ran outside. Once she was on the deserted street she realized her predicament. She would have to walk a good distance to a major thoroughfare to find a hansom at this time of night. And she was a woman, alone. At this hour only thieves and prostitutes were about, and the homeless. Her neighborhood was a decent one, with no such riffraff, but a few blocks away were the worst dregs of society. Jane hesitated only briefly.
Her daughter gave her courage.
As she walked, half running, she thought frantically of how to stop the earl. She must go to Brighton directly, take Nicole and run. But she did not have enough money, she needed help. She thought of Robert and dismissed him. Gordon would cave in to the earl easily. All along he had disapproved of her keeping Nicole a secret from him. Lindley. Lindley was big, strong, and not afraid of the Earl. And he was rich enough to help her.
It was frightening traveling through London on foot at night. She passed prostitutes on street corners and beggars asleep or passed out on front stoops. She stopped once to hide from a gang of unruly, roughneck teenagers intent on vandalism, her heart in her throat. And she passed two burglars picking the lock of a mercantile shop.
Where were all the Bobbies this night?
Finally she found a cab, and an hour after she had left her home, she arrived at Lindley’s.
Jane did not pause despite the fact that it was two in the morning. She banged on the massive front door, pulling the bell repeatedly, creating a racket. From around back, dogs started barking. Lights came on. First in an outer wing, then upstairs, then all around the house. Jane kept banging. She realized she was starting to cry. She prayed that Lindley was at home. The door was opened by a sleepy-eyed, consternated servant, his jacket unbuttoned as he’d shrugged on his clothes with haste.
“I must see the earl!” Jane cried, barreling past him. And then she saw him, trotting down the stairs in a wine-colored, paisley men’s robe.
“Jane!”
“My lord, forgive me, this woman—” the servant began.
But Jane had rushed to Lindley, and he swept her into his arms. She clung. “What is it? What’s happened?” Lindley cried.
