Page 104 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“I don’t know. I have yet to be officially contacted.”

“There is danger involved?”

“Obviously to some,” Heath answered, choosing his next words with care. “Napoleon in exile can only hope for discord between the world powers. Europe is unsettled. The unemployed are massing to our borders.”

“And treasuries are drained.”

“Why are we even talking of politics when you have woman troubles, Grayson?” This was Heath’s way of saying he would not discuss the subject further. “Truthfully, between war and courtship, I am not sure which is easier to win.”

Grayson grinned. The truth was he looked forward to this uncertain future with Jane. “You may be right, although there is more pleasure in my battling. I promise you that.”

“Then I can only wish—”

Heath was out of his chair, a pistol drawn from the desk, before Grayson had even reached the sideboard. A commotion had erupted in the entrance vestibule, footsteps echoing, a woman shouting, horses snorting in the street.

“Who in God’s name is that at this hour?” Grayson demanded, following his brother to the door.

The wall sconces in the vestibule had already been extinguished for the evening. At first the two brothers had difficulty recognizing the unlikely arrivals who stood before them, one a rather nondescript young man in a brown greatcoat, the other a woman in a fur-lined mantle, her body in the full blossom of a healthy pregnancy.

“There is the scoundrel, Nigel, skulking about in the dark as scoundrels are wont to do,” she announced in a crisp voice as she removed her gloves and tossed them to the stunned butler, who was well trained enough to hold his tongue.

“Oh, my God,” Grayson said to Heath. “That is the voice of my nightmares.”

“And mine,” Heath said, amused and appalled at this development. “What do you suppose she wants?”

“I . . .” Grayson hesitated, raising his gaze to the top of the stairs where Jane stood peeking down in her lawn nightdress. “Well, that might be our answer there.”

Esther Chasteberry, now Lady Boscastle, whose keen eyes had never missed a social aberration once in her career as a governess, gave a gasp. “In her nightrail, Nigel! He isn’t even subtle about it. The world has gone to Hades, I tell you. She is absolutely ruined!”

Nigel looked up at Jane in slack-mouthed astonishment. In all their years of friendship he had never expected to see his kind, generous Jane come to this. Worse, he knew he was responsible. If he had married her, they might have been miserable together, but at least they would have been respectable. To be sure, she would not have become a rake’s mistress who greeted people on the stairs in her nightwear.

“Oh, Jane,” he said quietly, shaking his head in despair. “How could you? And with my own cousin.”

“It is not her fault,” Esther said indignantly, moving down the hall like a royal barge on the Thames. “She has been taken advantage of by that”—she pointed accusingly at Grayson—“naughty boy.”

Heath started to laugh.

“I think,” Grayson said, finally recovering from his surprise, “that there has been a misunderstanding.”

Don’t let him intimidate you, Nigel,” his wife said. “Do something.”

Nigel swallowed, rousing himself into action. Truth was, he was intimidated by his dear wife, but Grayson had always scared him a little, too, with his Boscastle temperament backed by physical prowess. He had seen Grayson knock out an opponent with the first blow. He steeled himself as Esther reached back and grabbed his arm.

“Are you going to do something or am I?” she demanded.

Heath’s eyes glistened with humor. “Watch out, Gray,” he said, “she might have brought her rod.”

Nigel stepped forward. He was at least a head shorter than his cousins, with thick, wavy brown hair, the start of a double chin, and a pleasant if not handsome face. Even now he looked more like the humble baronet he was than a valiant defender of despoiled young ladies.

Except, blast it all, Jane wasn’t just a ruined woman. She was his best friend, a courageous spirit who had sacrificed so much for him. Anger surged through his cowardly hesitation. When he found his voice, it sounded so gruff and manly that he almost frightened himself.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sedgecroft. What is the meaning of this? Answer me this instant.”

Grayson was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Only out of a residual fear of the family governess did he manage to respond without laughing. “I should be asking you that question, Nigel, don’t you think?”

“Well, I—”

“Unbelievably selfish of you to leave your betrothed to the wolves, dear cousin,” Grayson said with a little frown at Jane before she vanished back up the stairs, presumably to don presentable attire. “It was a bit of a scandal you left me to clean up for the family. Not that I minded. Not that it hasn’t been a highly entertaining scandal. But, well, it was a scandal.”