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“I know who you are,” she said, shocked to her core.
“It would be best if you could honestly say that you didn’t see me,” he growled. His voice was dangerous. She had never experienced this side of him, which gave her a delicious chill.
“The Duke trusts you.”
“He’s stupid enough to trust most people. It’s why he’ll never catch me.”
“You said you’d help me,” she reminded him, now seeing how conveniently he’d placed himself.
“Yes,” he said, outlining his plans, quickly. Leah listened, half in awe, half in shock at what he was planning. “Do you agree?”
“I agree,” she said, feeling a little like she was making a deal with the Devil himself. It was worth it, though. It was all worth it.
He laughed. “No one will ever find out that we conspired.”
“No, no one, My Lord,” she said, “And no one will hear of my involvement, at all, in the event that you are caught?” That was what she feared, the most. A lady didn’t conspire with evil individuals on such matters. A lady didn’t creep out of the house for dark deeds in the middle of the night.
“Not a soul, My Lady. Close your eyes,” he said. She closed her eyes as he stepped forward, pressing his lips roughly to hers. She moaned as a flash of desire filled her. She kissed him back.
Then, he was gone. When she opened her eyes, she was alone. She turned toward home, a smile spreading slowly across her lips.
I will have everything that I want—and more.
* * *
The next day dawned bright and clear. Jasper dressed and breakfasted, a note for Lady Selina in his pocket. He would leave it for her, downstairs. The direction was in Stephen’s hand, but the contents were in Jasper’s.
He rode Pilot along the road that ran in between Gillingham Manor and Kirby Hall. He was going to talk to Lady Leah and put an end to it all. He felt free and light. Soon, it would be over. Then, Lord Windermere would be willing to help him meet with Selina.
Not being able to see her at all over the past few days had been interminable torture. He missed her. She was all that he could think about. He’d pored over all of his memories of her—pale substitutes for the real lady.
He turned a bend in the road. Pilot came to a stop, tossing his head. Jasper sat back, tugging gently on the reins as he beheld two riders, their horses stopped in the center of the road.
They were both dressed in dark clothing, hoods pulled up over their heads. They wore dark cloth masks, which covered their faces. Here they were, at last—two of the demons who had plagued Gillingham County.
One pulled out a pistol, pointing it in Jasper’s direction.
“What’s this?” Jasper demanded. He wasn’t going to cower in front of them. He would not. His own pistol was holstered at his hip. He cursed himself for not pulling it sooner.
“Get off your horse,” the one ordered.
“Absolutely not.”
“Get down, or he’ll shoot, Your Grace,” he said. Jasper didn’t recognize his voice. He wondered if he was speaking lower than normal, affecting that Northern dialect, which was uncommon in Gillingham County.
His pulse raced, at the same pace as his mind—looking for anything that he recognized of them, he slowly got down. As he did, he slipped his hand to his pistol.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I carry nothing of value.”
“We want you dead, Your Grace.”
Ice filled Jasper’s veins. If he didn’t shoot first, he was going to die. Before the one spoke again, he pulled his pistol in one quick motion, aiming not at the armed man’s horse, but near enough to spook it. The horse reared, dumping his rider, who pulled his trigger. The shot went into the sky.
Jasper shot in the direction of the other horse, who took off. Jasper quickly got back onto Pilot’s back, turning his horse back toward home in a gallop. He should never have gone alone.
He recalled the man’s words—for that was no gentleman—We want you dead, Your Grace. He was being targeted.
* * *
