He let his head fall back against the squabs. “Yes. I told you I’d had enough of it, that that was one of the reasons I left.”
And hadn’t intended coming back. Clarice remembered. “The Cowley chit? You’d met her before.”
His expression grew grimmer. “Before, she and her aunt were my absolute last straw.” In a few words, he told her how they’d tried to entrap him. Even without him stating it, she could see what a near-run thing it had been.
“Dreadful! And then to so brazenly approach you again?” She narrowed her eyes. “I wish I’d known.”
He chuckled rather tiredly. “Perhaps it’s as well you didn’t. The ton’s focusing on you enough as it is.”
After a moment, she murmured, “I’m sorry. Helping me has put you back in the matchmakers’ sights.”
His lips twisted; he reached for her hand and closed his about it. “No matter. You saved me. And in the main, you and the unmarried young darlings don’t move in the same circles.”
Clarice nodded and let the subject die, distracted by yet another revelation, with trying to make sense of yet another unforeseen reaction.
She’d been perfectly prepared to socially annihilate any lady who had attempted to pressure Jack, to force him to interact with them and their charges. It was indeed fortunate she hadn’t known about the Cowleys at the time; heaven only knew what she might have done, how she would have made them pay. Faced with her determination, all the ladies had backed down, more than anything out of confusion; they were unsure what to make of her relationship with Jack. Unlike the more discerning males and the more experienced hostesses, most matrons saw her as unmarriageable, too old. So they’d bide their time and try again to engage Jack, who didn’t want to be engaged.
It was her reaction to their aggression that surprised her, that left her off-balance. He—males of his class, his type—were the protective obsessives; why, then, did she suddenly feel the same?
What made the feeling even stranger was the edge of possessiveness that had crept into her thoughts, into the way she thought of him. That, too, she’d thought was an emotion peculiar to him, to males like him. But she was too attuned to her own desires, too used to acting on them not to be aware that she wanted him, wanted to secure him, hold him, keep him—possess him, too.
It was all very unsettling.
Especially when combined with the prospect of having to choose another road.
What if the road that opened at her feet didn’t include Jack?
At Clarice’s suggestion, they detoured via the park; from the safe confines of the hackney, they scanned the carriages lined up along the Avenue, but saw no sign of Moira.
“Something is definitely wrong.” Clarice slumped back as Jack gave the order to return to Benedict’s.
Her premonition seemed to be correct. The instant they swept into the foyer of the hotel, the concierge hurried forward with a note.
“My lady.” The concierge bowed deeply before Clarice. “The marquess was insistent this be handed to you the instant you walked in.”
Clarice took the note. “Thank you, Manning.” Using the knife he offered, she broke Alton’s seal, then handed back the knife, and dismissed the concierge with a nod.
Opening the note, she scanned it, then held it for Jack to read.
The note was short.
Dean Samuels is here at Melton House. He came looking for you and Warnefleet—there have been developments in James’s case. Come as soon as you read this.
A.
Jack glanced at Clarice.
She was frowning. “What developments? The case is over, isn’t it?”
“Apparently not.” Taking the note, Jack folded it and handed it back to her. “We’d best go and find out.”
The hackney hadn’t yet left. The driver was glad to take them up again; adjured to hurry, he whipped his horses up and they swung through the streets to Melton House.
Alton and the dean were waiting in the library. Both rose as Clarice swept in. “What is it?” she demanded without preamble, waving them back to their seats.
Swinging her skirts about, she sat in the armchair opposite the dean. Jack fetched a straight-backed chair and set it beside her.
“It’s nothing to do with the case against James per se,” the dean hurried to assure them. “A mere technicality, a slight holdup, nothing more.”