If the Viscount Falls (5 page)

He nodded and gestured for her to precede him toward an open door down the hall. The second they entered, he wished he'd chosen another room. Jane looked so lovely against the backdrop of gold and red silk that his blood ran hot.

“What the blazes are you doing here?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “How delightful to see
you,
too.”

Damn, he hadn't meant to sound annoyed. “Forgive me. I'm merely surprised to find you still in Yorkshire. I assumed you'd be well on your way to London by now. Weren't you supposed to leave by packet boat the day before yesterday?”

“The spring rains washed out the bridge on the road to Hull, so I had to return to Rathmoor Park.” Something indecipherable glinted in her eyes. “I was unaware you were paying such close attention to my schedule.”

Blast. He hadn't meant to give that away. “I pay attention to everything regarding my estate and those in my charge,” he said smoothly. “Which includes any visitors to the dowager house.”

Was that disappointment in her face? No, surely not.

“I see,” she said in a colder tone. “Then it's a pity you haven't been around the past two days. Because while you've been gone, one of those ‘in your charge' has gone missing.”

“Who?”

“Nancy. According to the servants, she headed off alone on the mail coach to York to visit her great-aunt, Mrs. Patch, directly after I left for Hull. Nancy told
them she was going only for the day, but she hasn't returned.”

He let out a breath. Was that all? “York is only half a day's journey from Rathmoor Park. Nancy probably decided to remain in town a day or two with her aunt, and since she assumed you were on your way to London, she didn't bother to inform anyone at the estate.”

“Well, she
did,
actually. Indeed, it's what is in her letter to the housekeeper, which arrived late in the evening on the day she left, that alarms me.”

She held out the missive and he moved close enough to take it from her, which, unfortunately, was also close enough to smell her lavender scent. God, why must she still be wearing lavender after all these years? It conjured up memories of their far-too-brief kisses under the arbor behind her uncle's house, the ones he'd refused to think of in their years apart.

Determinedly he retreated out of smelling distance and forced his attention to the letter. Obviously Jane thought she had cause for concern, though he couldn't imagine why. She probably wouldn't even have known Nancy was gone, if not for having missed the packet boat to London.

With one look at the letter, he had memorized it, part of his peculiar talent for remembering words and images at a glance. He gave it back to her. “This only proves that she's not missing at all. She writes that she's decided to travel with her great-aunt to Bath.”

“Yes, but that's not true!”

This got more perplexing by the moment. “How do you know?”

“Because I sent an express to Mrs. Patch to ask if Nancy wanted her maid to join them, and
this
is what I received in reply early this morning.”

Jane jerked another letter from the pocket of her riding habit and thrust it at him. It was written with a formality that Nancy's had lacked:

Dear Miss Vernon,

I believe there has been some misunderstanding. I have not had the pleasure of my dear Nancy's company since before her husband's demise. She is certainly not here, nor had we made any plans to travel anywhere. Have you perhaps confused me with another relation of hers?

If I can be of any further assistance in this matter, do let me know. I would be very happy to see you when next you are in York.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Mrs. Lesley Patch

A twinge of unease slid down his spine. “Blast it all.”

“Exactly. And you read Nancy's letter. She was clearly referring to her great-aunt in York.”

“One of them must be lying.”

“Yes,” she said in a tone of pure exasperation, “but what reason would Mrs. Patch have for doing so? From
what I understand, Nancy has been visiting her for years. They are very close.”

“And what do they do when she visits?” he asked, falling easily into his role as investigator, though it had been months since he'd had anything to investigate other than what crops worked best in Yorkshire soil.

“I don't know.” Jane tapped her foot impatiently. Obviously investigative techniques were rather lost on her. “Gossip. Discuss their dogs—between them, they have seven. I think one of the footmen said they used to go shopping together. According to him, George encouraged Nancy's trips when he was alive. He even let her use the carriage, which is why it's so odd that she took the mail coach this time.”

“She didn't have a choice,” he pointed out. “I've got the phaeton, and I assume you took the family carriage to Hull the day she left.”

“I did, but why didn't she just wait to set off for York until you were back or the family carriage had returned? For that matter, why not just get off at the village here while on her way, so she could get the phaeton from you? Nancy doesn't like being crowded, so why go all the way to York in the mail coach? She had no reason to rush if this was just some little shopping venture.”

“Perhaps it was more than that. You said she went without her maid. Is that usual?”

“I don't think so, but Nancy's regular maid, Meredith, left service for a while to help her ill papa in London, and the present maid hasn't been with her long enough to go on one of her jaunts. I don't have any first
hand knowledge about the York trips, because Nancy has never taken one, with or without me, while I was at Rathmoor Park.”

How peculiar. “Why not?”

“How the devil should I know?”

Why were his perfectly logical questions annoying Jane? She eyed him as if he were a half-wit.

“But don't you see?” she went on. “This visit is clearly different. Her going off on the mail coach, and without her maid. Her letter to the servants about her supposed trip to Bath, which didn't mention any requests for clothes. Or, for that matter, her dogs.”

“You expected her to take her
dogs
?”

“Absolutely. She never leaves them at home for days at a time. They go everywhere with her—to London, to Brighton, anywhere she travels. At the very least, she would have mentioned them in her letter. The fact that she didn't is worrisome.”

He eyed her closely. “So, what are you saying, Jane?”

“Something dreadful must have happened to my cousin. She obviously had a mishap between here and York.”

“And then wrote a letter to lie about being off on a jaunt to Bath?”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “The letter has to be forged, don't you see? Nancy wouldn't create such a tale out of whole cloth. She isn't capable of perpetrating such a falsehood.”

He bit his tongue to keep from admitting that Nancy had been more than capable of perpetrating falsehoods
twelve years ago. But Jane didn't know about that, and now wasn't the time to tell her. First he must soothe her concerns.

“Do you have any reason for thinking that the letter is forged?” he asked. “Is there anything in the handwriting that you find suspect?”

“Not to the naked eye, but—”

“So you assume that a master forger has learned to copy Nancy's hand well enough to fool her own cousin.”

A look of desperation flickered in her eyes. “It's possible, isn't it?”

“Possible? Yes. Probable? No.”

“Why not? I read about kidnappers in the paper all the time!”

“Yes, and they have reasons for their actions.” He fell back on what usually worked with sensible people whose panic kept them from thinking straight: simple logic. “What would be a kidnapper's purpose in sending a forged letter?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “To put off anyone who might grow alarmed when she didn't return. He had to throw possible pursuers off his trail.”

Dom flashed her a tight smile. “This mysterious kidnapper already had a day's head start. By the time the servants grew alarmed enough to head to York after her, he could be in another county. So why trump up some tale about her traveling to Bath?”

“I don't know!” Her cheeks bloomed a fetching shade of pink. “Sadly, my education didn't include how to think like a kidnapper.”

“Ah, but mine did. Some of those cases you read about in the papers were ones I solved.” When that made her frown, he softened his tone. “This isn't how kidnappers operate. If a man carries off a woman, it's usually for one of three reasons: to elope with her, to force himself on her, or to ransom her off.”

Her lips began to thin ominously, but he pressed on, ticking each reason off on his fingers. “In the first case, Nancy can marry whom she pleases, so there's no need for evasive letters. In the second, he'd simply force her; again, no reason for evasive letters. In the final and most rare case, which you seem to be considering, the only letter he'd send would be a ransom request. Have you received any?”

“Not yet,” she said sullenly.

Clearly, she wasn't fond of simple logic. “Kidnappers don't generally send evasive forged letters in the victim's hand and then notes of ransom. They want to strike fear, not confusion, into the hearts of the family.”

She thrust out her chin. “I'm beginning to remember how sanctimonious you can be.”

He regarded her coldly. “I'm being logical. You simply don't like my logic.”

“Because you keep dwelling on what
couldn't
have happened. I need to know what
could
.”

“Fine. Instead of conjuring up criminal assaults, you should consider the possibility that Nancy merely wanted to get away. She did just lose her husband, after all.”

“That makes it sound as if she misplaced him some
how, instead of his being killed by your half brother.” When Dom tensed, she let out an exasperated oath. “I realize that Tristan was merely defending himself. If anyone is aware of how vicious George could be, it's me. I'm simply . . .”

“Angry at me because I'm telling you what you don't want to hear.”

She advanced on him with a dark light in her eyes. “And what exactly is that? Your theory that Nancy merely wanted to get away? Why should that bother me? Unless you're implying that it was
me
she wanted to escape.”

“Certainly not. She thought you were gone off to London and unlikely to return anytime soon.”

“Well then, according to your logic,
whom
might Nancy have been trying to escape?” She started ticking possibilities off on her fingers, mimicking him. “The servants? The villagers? The tenants?
You,
perhaps?”

Her rapid-fire questions unnerved Dom. He wasn't used to this new Jane, who threw his logic back in his face and didn't simply accept his opinions. She was maddening.

She was magnificent.

Damn her. “Don't be absurd—you know perfectly well that I never see Nancy. She would have no reason to escape me. But that's not the point.”

“Oh? Then what
is
the point, Lord Rathmoor?”

Her use of his title added to his irritation. Officially he wasn't even viscount yet, although everyone behaved as if he were, since George had sired no sons. “I never
said she was trying to get away
from
anyone. It's more likely she was trying to get away
to
someone.”

That stole the color from Jane's face. “
To
. What do you mean?”

“Come now, you aren't a girl anymore. After several years of marriage, Nancy has, well, certain needs. Her husband is dead, and she's alone. Since either you or I have been at Rathmoor Park from the day George died, this would have been her first chance to get away to be with someone.”

Jane just kept gaping at him as if he were some foreigner newly alighted on English shores.

“It would explain her mysterious jaunts to York,” he went on. “And why Nancy concocted her ruse of a trip to Bath and left her maid behind. She wants to preserve her reputation before her staff, which is perfectly understandable.”

Thunderclouds wrought her brow. “Are you saying that my cousin would be so unprincipled, so shameless, so
deceptive,
as to run away to consort with a . . . a . . .”

“Paramour. Yes. It's the only thing that makes sense. Nancy has obviously been having an affair.”

2

J
ANE WANTED TO
throttle him. How dared he? She didn't remember his being so cynical. So ungentlemanly.

So handsome.

Curse it, she didn't find Dom at all attractive anymore, for one perfectly good reason. He'd thrown their future away, and she could never forgive him for that.