Page 14 of Mistress of Sins

Greystone almost laughed out loud. While she had displayed the cards, Jennet’s interpretations of them came more from the Hardiwick girl’s reactions. She still possessed the uncanny ability to judge people by their expressions, which she demonstrated just as admirably with the next four guests who sat down for a reading.

“She is a marvel, your girl,” Arthur Pickering murmured as he joined him. “I believe I will ask her to marry me again before we return to London tonight.”

“She is not my girl, and you are wed to your work.” Greystone considered clouting his companion on the ear, and then realized what he had said. “I am riding with you now?”

“London sent word. They intercepted a message that contains a mention of Renwick and the Raven,” Pickering said in a lower voice. “I expect the French have already sent hunters to search for the black bird. Perhaps even that bastard Ruban himself.”

The most infamous criminal in England, Ruban had never been seen by any man still breathing. Those who encountered the Frenchman in person had been murdered before they could identify him. Others in pursuit of him had suddenly gone missing without a trace, including one of Greystone’s oldest allies, now presumed dead.

“I should very much like to stay,” Greystone said through his teeth, “that I might greet him in the flesh.”

Pickering made a tsking sound. “There you go, thinking only of yourself and your wonts, you selfish prig. You forget that I am but the messenger. I will need you to watch my back.”

“Very well.” His gaze went back to the women at the table. “I will do as you say. Only leave Miss Reed alone.”

“How intriguing. I recall you saying she is nothing to you.” Through his mask Pickering’s placid brown eyes turned as sharp and clever as a fox’s. “After all this time and distance, the flame of true love yet burns.” He laughed.

Greystone saw Jennet turn her head toward the sound to regard them both. “You’ve made her notice us.”

His partner in crime elbowed him neatly. “You did that when she arrived and you nearly devoured her hand, you idiot. Jennet Reed can never be yours. Remember that, and your purpose.” He strode toward an older couple. “Lord Kellworth, quite delighted to see you. Might I steal your lovely wife for the next dance?”

Pickering’s warning of Jennet Reed, can never be yours, blurred into Lady Greystone’s soft voice saying Remember your choice.

Greystone met Jennet’s gaze, which had not wavered from him. He realized that he had somehow stepped out of the shadows without being aware of his own movement, and now he was walking to her. Her brows arched as he approached, but otherwise she remained still and watchful. He took the chair across from her, and gestured toward the cards in her hands.

She took in a quick breath and then scowled. “I have no need to deal the cards for you, sir,” she said crisply. “You are as transparent as water to me.”

Greystone barely heard her, entranced to be close enough to touch her again. He could smell the sweetness of rose water and almond oil from her skin, and beneath that her own intoxicating scent. The glow from the hearth made her hair look like banked embers coming to life again. Her eyes shone with the cool green of priceless jade and the growing heat of anger. By God, she was all fire and beauty, as alluring as if their years apart had dwindled to as many days.

He could say nothing. If he spoke, she would know him.

Jennet slapped down the deck. “As you have nothing to say, permit me to offer you some advice, sir. Lying jackals always come to bad ends. If one particular cur, whom I will never forgive, chose to pointlessly beleaguer me, I should kill him dead.”

Greystone watched her rise and march out through the garden doors. Pickering was right, he thought as he stood. He truly was an idiot.

Chapter 8

Jennet stopped at the glass doors at the back of the reception room, and looked out at the terraced gardens. The fury she felt did not want to subside. Indeed, it still swelled in her breast like some internal fire stoked by the outrageous desire she had seen in the straw man’s dark green eyes. The shadowy emerald shade of his gaze had been unmistakable, and brought back an echo of something he had said once to her.

We will have green-eyed children, I expect. May our girls be as bewitching as their mother.

You will change your mind on that, she had told him, when our daughters come of age.

Even after all he had done to ruin her life and trample her heart and destroy her innocence, William Gerard had returned to Renwick—and he still wanted her. She knew she should summon a carriage and go home before she did something she would genuinely regret. She did not wish to join the dismal ranks of the legendary mistresses of Dredthorne and go mad.

Oh, but she could beat that horrid, spiteful swine of a man until his skull cracked, and never lose another moment’s peace over it.

Yanking open the door, Jennet walked out into the cold night air. It made every breath she took too sharp for comfort, but she welcomed the chill. Hopefully it would erase this blazing flush that had crawled up her neck into her face. Quickly she marched down the steps, determined to put as much distance between her and her tormentor as she could until she calmed.

How could he do this to her? She had been finished with him. Done. He had been forgotten entirely.

You came here hoping to see him, her sensibility whispered. Admit it.

Jennet came to the end of the paved pathway sooner than she expected, and stopped to survey her surroundings. Idly she fanned herself as she considered her prospects. She might continue through the fields beyond, for the moon had bathed them in silvery light. The shadowy outlines of a small building to her right suggested it to be a hot house, where she might conceal herself until her temper subsided, and she felt more like herself again. Even now her nape tingled madly, as if he were standing just behind her–

Jennet spun around to see the straw man striding rapidly toward her. She would have to keep up the pretense another moment, it seemed.

“Return to the ball, sir,” she told him, closing her fan with a snap. She felt proud of the haughty indifference in her tone. “I have finished with readings for the night.”