Page 60 of The Governess and the Rogue

Bea frowned. Was that a warning? It was difficult to tell. “He won’t be off this time,” she said.

“No, indeed,” Hannah agreed. “Not now he has you.”

Chapter Nineteen

James poured Jack a glass of brandy and motioned him to one of the chairs in front of the library hearth. A dwindling fire crackled in the fireplace, casting shadows over the dark, bookcase-lined walls and the red-and-gold carpeted floor. James lit a branch of candles on the mantlepiece before taking a seat himself. He didn’t beat about the bush.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Jack had been preparing himself for the question ever since he’d locked eyes with his brother on the docks. “My fiancée,” he answered.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Jack said. “And my answer should be enough.”

“Under normal circumstances.”

Jack took a grudging drink. The brandy burned his throat as he swallowed. “These are abnormal?”

“Where you’re concerned, yes. This all seems out of character.” James’s gaze was as incisive as ever. “Unless, it’s in character.”

Jack didn’t flinch. Naturally James suspected there was something more going on than a simple engagement. He knew Jack. Knew that he’d once had a fondness for high-stakes schemes. That didn’t mean Jack was going to admit to anything.

“Perhaps you don’t know my character as well as you think you do,” he said.

“I know you weren’t in the market for a wife.”

“I wasn’t. But things change. People change. I’m not a lad anymore.”

James didn’t reply straightaway. He let the silence stretch between them for several tension-filled seconds. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he inquired at last.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Jack asked in return.

James raised his glass to his lips. “Such as?”

Jack studied his brother’s face in the firelight. Once, his lack of expression might have stymied Jack, but no longer. “Something else Mrs. Rawson said in her wire, perhaps?”

“Ah. That.” Setting aside his glass, James stood and went to his desk. He opened one of the drawers, retrieving a telegram from within. He handed it to Jack. “It wasn’t Mrs. Rawson.”

Jack examined the telegram with a frown. It had been sent anonymously, but the office of origin was plainly marked. It had come from the railway station in Marseilles.

COLONEL BERESFORD ENTRAPPED BY ADVENTURESS. HONOR PREVENTS HIM EXTRICATING HIMSELF. IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE REQUIRED.

Jack lowered the telegram, outrage giving way to cold fury. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday. It arrived at the same time as the telegram from Mrs. Rawson.” James returned to his seat. “Any idea who it might be from?”

“A woman by the name of Mrs. Farraday.”

“Dare I ask?”

“She’s a lady with a marriageable daughter who has dogged my steps for more than a year.” Jack crumpled the telegram in his fist. “Who else knows about this?”

“No one.”

“Not Hannah?”

James retrieved his drink. “Not yet.”