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He stood up, turning to address the trio of witnesses waiting to see what would happen next. ‘Thank you for your assistance, madam and sirs. I hope I can be assured of your continued confidence.’ All three signalled their assent, the clinking of coins in cloth bags distinct in the quiet room. ‘I’m always pleased to reward those who have done me a service. I’m sure I don’t need to emphasise how important discretion is in this case.’

The warden shook his head, the bulky purse secreted in his inside pocket showing beneath his coat. ‘No, sir. No one will hear a word of what happened here unless you wish them to. You may be sure of that.’

Bewilderment growing, Meg didn’t speak. What plan was he referring to? Was he going to enlighten her, or would she have to sit there, staring like a simpleton, until he deigned to explain? As far as she could tell there was no strategy in place beyond their hasty marriage, only a desperate grab for redemption on both sides, and the feeling didn’t dissipate as Jacob escorted the witnesses from the room.

As soon as he closed the door behind them, she pounced.

‘What plan, Jacob? Have you some idea of how we ought to proceed? Married or not, I can’t just walk out of here. Surely the only way I can leave is if your brother decides not to pursue charges against me?’

Her wariness didn’t abate with his nod. ‘That’s correct. The same thought had occurred to me, which is why I made arrangements.’

‘What do you mean?’

Jacob paused beside the door. ‘Before coming here, I wrote my intentions in a sealed letter and gave it to one of Anthony’s servants, who I tasked with waiting outside the prison gate. If I didn’t emerge after a few minutes, he was to return to Wellbourne House with all haste and place the letter in my brother’s hand—which is exactly what he will now have done.’

Even without a mirror Meg knew she must have looked aghast. ‘So Anthony knows we’re married?’

‘By now, yes. I don’t imagine it will take him very long to come here to give us his best wishes. It’s what I asked for, anyway.’

He raised a darkly ironic eyebrow. To her amazement, he seemed perfectly calm— something she couldn’t say for herself.

Belatedly she realised she was wringing the hem of her shawl. By some hideous perversion of fate, the man who had wanted to kill her was now her brother-in-law, and the prospect of coming face-to-face with him made her feel like sliding off her chair.

Jacob was still at his post by the door. In the half-shadow of the frame he looked grave, but so handsome in his seriousness that Meg had to hold herself back from pitching into his arms. He had once been the person she’d run to for comfort and the reflex to do so again hadn’t entirely melted away…and, of course, they were now very much alone.

Despite the imminent terror of Anthony’s arrival, she couldn’t completely suppress that forbidden knowledge. If things had been different—if Jacob hadn’t disappeared from her life, only to return on the cusp of disaster—they wouldn’t now keep so chastely apart. He wouldn’t be loitering on the threshold and she wouldn’t be huddled in a chair, any distance between them closing the instant the witnesses had left the room. She would have been in his lap and his hands would have been in her hair, turning her face towards him so he could catch her in a kiss that would have put a bonfire to shame…

‘Why are you standing over there?’

Meg’s abrupt question came out more like an accusation, the necessity of distracting herself making her blurt out the first thing that came to mind. ‘You’re making me nervous, looming about like that. Will you sit down?’

‘It’s best I don’t. Anthony might arrive any minute and I want to be between you and the door when he kicks it down.’

At once he seemed to realise he’d said the wrong thing. The rush of dread that ran through her must have been obvious, although Meg knew the frightened pallor of her cheeks was rapidly replaced by a flush when he came to crouch by her chair.

‘Don’t be afraid. I’m more than capable of handling my brother. I won’t let him get close to you.’

His hand was on the arm of the chair, very close to hers. If she moved her finger even a little it would brush his, the warmth of his bare skin something she could still perfectly recall. She had touched him a thousand times when she’d been a girl and something inside her called out for her to do the same again now; but things were different, and that couldn’t be denied, no matter how much close proximity to his face made her want to trace the shape of his jawline.

She commanded herself not to waver and yet the memory of kissing that sculpted line still lingered. All she’d have to do was lean forward and their lips would meet, his position kneeling on the floor bringing him within perfect range. ‘Perhaps. All the same—’

A sudden commotion out in the corridor made them both whip round.

Rotting floorboards shrieked beneath rapid, heavy footsteps. Someone was storming towards the door and Jacob leapt up, quickly placing himself at the entrance to the room.

‘Is he in there? Get out of my way. I said move!’

The doorhandle rattled, and then blind terror flooded her as the door burst open, showing two men grappling on the threshold before the taller of the pair elbowed his way inside.

The prison warden, heavily out of breath, clung onto the doorframe. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t stop him—’

‘Stop me?’ Anthony Fernley, also wheezing, looked as though he’d never heard anything so offensive in his life. ‘Do you know who I am? I could have you horse-whipped at the click of my fingers!’

Meg cowered in her seat, but the threat didn’t seem to cause Jacob much alarm.

‘Good morning, Anthony,’ he said coolly. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly. Can I offer you some refreshment after your ride?’

The Viscount’s face, already a startling shade of puce, darkened. ‘Don’t speak to me as though we’re at a card party, Jacob. Where is she?’