Jackal (Regency Refuge 2) (16 page)

"Yes, m'lord?"

Juliana and Barrows spoke at the same time, but the butler's words stood no chance of being heard over the strident tone of her vehement irritation.

Weeks had passed, and nothing had happened. Juliana had expected this Hunter person to show himself. She'd expected there to be a duel or some such – with Rupert the victor, of course – and for matters to be resolved quietly and with utmost haste.

A month of non-activity had made it clear her expectations had been a travesty, an exercise in non-reality. Apparently the world did not revolve around her timetable. Nor did it wish to cater to her desire for a satisfying conclusion. She stomped her foot in frustration as she took in Rupert's appearance.

"You look like death's less attractive cousin. Are you going to tell me what has you in such a dither, or shall I go away so the two of you can keep even more secrets?"

Rupert, who'd been staring at her slack-jawed since she'd compared his smell to that of a pub, snapped his mouth closed. "By all means, Juliana, please come in." His words were carefully modulated, their tone neutral, but Juliana didn't miss the clenching of his fists or the stiffness with which he swept his arm out to invite her into the study. Turning to Barrows, he added, "A decanter may have shattered in the general vicinity of the fireplace. Give us a bit of privacy for now, but see it gets cleaned as soon as we vacate the study."

"Very well, m'lord."

With a smart military turn, Barrows stepped away from them. Juliana even heard him snap his heels together.

Avoiding the fireplace and the seats surrounding it, Rupert marched over to the window and remained standing, back straight and cane clutched white-knuckle tight in both hands. Juliana, not sure what to say now that she had him alone, settled primly in a chair near his desk and wished he hadn't turned to face her. Everything about him unsettled her these days, from his darkly handsome looks to the brooding intensity in his eyes.

"What?" His voice was as raspy as the day-old whiskers he sported on his face. Gone was the rich sound that reminded her of smooth dark honey.

"Are you well?"

He offered an ungentlemanly
harrumph.

"Have you been drinking, Rupert?"

"You think so little of me that you believe I would turn into a blithering idiot when you and your sisters depend on me for protection?"

Juliana pulled a long draught of air in through her nose and held it as she counted. Ten wasn't quite enough. By the time she got to twenty-five, she was lightheaded but no less irritated than before. She released the air as slow as she dared. It wouldn't do for Rupert to know how much he'd vexed her.

"There's a smashed decanter over there, and you smell like…" Juliana let out a weary sigh. "You smell like alcohol."

Rupert glanced toward the fireplace where shards of glass could be seen. "I haven't imbibed. I don't even drink the stuff."

Credulous, she asked, "Then why have it in your house?"

Mirthless, Rupert made a sound that might have passed for laughter at a meeting of the undertaker's guild. "It's not my house, remember? It came furnished, and that included the drink."

Juliana clenched her fists. "Has there been any word on The Hunter?"

"Yes, yes, of course there has. That's why we're still sitting in this house doing absolutely nothing to bring him to justice. Because we know precisely where he is but have chosen to give up and let him march in here willy-nilly and slaughter everyone in their sleep."

Her shocked intake of breath drew Rupert's eyes to her face.

"Ah, blazes… I'm sorry Juliana." He paced in front of the window. "I'm being ghastly, aren't I?"

"I was thinking monstrous, but ghastly will do. As a rule, you're quite cordial, which is the primary reason I didn't hit you over the head with the fireplace poker a quarter hour ago."

The corner of his mouth tilted up. "You weren't even in here with me a quarter hour ago."

"I would have been if Barrows hadn't waylaid me before I could barge in on you while you ranted and threw things."

Rupert's large hand worked its way through his hair, catching on tangles along the way. "No one who's been around me of late would accuse me of being a gentleman, I suppose."

"Right you are, but can you tell me why? I care a bit more about that at present than I do your boorish behavior."

He sighed. "There's been no sign of The Hunter, no word of him anywhere. We've spread rumors telling where I would be, laid traps in the likely and unlikely locations, and done everything humanly possible to draw him out. With no results to show for it."

"Maybe there's something you haven't tried yet."

"I've put in time at White's, made a newsworthy scene at the House of Lords, given an interview about the Stanwich brothers, maneuvered myself into an audience with Prinny, and more. I've done everything in my power to drive The Hunter out of hiding, to taunt him into coming after me."

"Okay." Juliana frowned at him. "
You
have done everything you can, so maybe it's time you try something a little different."

"What? Do you have some grand idea?"

Juliana bit her bottom lip, knowing how Rupert would react. "I've given it a bit of thought." His eyebrow rose, but at least the glint in his eyes had warmed.

Considering her options, she rose and approached him. Rupert would likely only let her say it once, so she needed to make sure he was listening to her suggestion. He eyed her warily as she drew closer to him. When she was only inches away, she reached out and placed her hands on either side of his waist. She'd never touched a man other than her father so intimately before, and hugging one's father hardly compared to this.

Rupert's muscles tensed under her touch, and she fought to keep her curious hands where she'd rested them. She wanted to move closer. The urge to move her hands along his torso and feel the intoxicating lines of his masculine strength was almost overwhelming. What had she gotten herself into? Leaning in closely, her attention on his lips more than her own words, she uttered the last coherent thought she'd had before Rupert's proximity had stolen her sense. "You should use me and the girls as bait."

"Never!"

The force of his roar pushed Juliana back. She blinked away the consuming fog that had filled her senses only seconds ago before pressing on. "Not Eudora and Eleanor literally, but if you found two people of similar size to dress up in the girls' clothes and wear oversized bonnets, you could take us for a ride in Hyde park. Borrow the Duke of Sheffield's phaeton. I'm sure he'd let you. It seats four, and the back seat is covered, so that would keep whoever is in the backseat well concealed."

His face remained stony, but Juliana pressed on. "If you used two of the women from the War Department or from the constabulary to fill the parts of the girls, it might work. I'd sit on the front seat with you, the girls would sit on the back seat, and we could go for a ride. Every day, if we have to. Eventually, he will come. He won't be able to resist."

"I would never put you in a position of such vulnerability." Rupert's voice rang with finality. The look of resignation on Rupert's face didn't match the words he'd spoken, but Juliana decided to let it go. She'd learned a few things from her stepmother before the carriage accident that had taken her parents. Lesson number one when dealing with men: Lunge and disengage, lunge and disengage.

Juliana's father had taught each of his girls to fence, something that wasn't considered acceptable in polite society. Her stepmother had never stood in the way of those lessons but had, instead, used them as a way to teach her daughters about the sport of being a woman. Eleanor and Eudora had been too young and didn't remember, but Juliana did.

Womanhood is not a fair sport. It is not acceptable for a lady to engage her opponent face to face. You need to use much more finesse than that. While you hold the sword in one hand, you must hold flattery in the other. Use both in equal measure. Lunge. Then disengage and retreat. When the way is again clear, lunge then disengage.

Juliana's father would hear what his wife was telling his daughters and throw his head back to laugh. "Is that how you keep me in line, dear wife? Should I worry about parrying an attack one of these nights whilst I sleep?"

Her father and stepmother had been happy together. Life had been idyllic. A sad sigh punctuated the memory.

She would find a way to get Rupert to agree with her. The Hunter needed to be brought to justice. Juliana owed it to her father and the woman who had treated her as a true daughter. She would do whatever it took to keep her sisters safe. Her plan was sound. It would work.

Besides which, she could not sit idly by and watch The Hunter destroy Rupert. She feared for him. For his safety, of course, but also for his peace of mind. His eyes became more haunted with each passing day. A small part of her heart couldn't help but compare the growing strain on his face to the changes she'd seen in Uncle Fitz.

Rupert didn't have the same wildness growing in his eyes as Uncle Fitz. Waiting for The Hunter to strike was changing him, though, aging him even. She needed to put a stop to it before he got so lost in the battle that he couldn't find his way back to her.

Juliana made to leave the study. She would regroup and plan her next move.

"I thought better of you." Rupert's words were hoarse. She turned to look at him. "Using your wiles to try to get what you want. I didn't think you had that sort of behavior in you."

Juliana felt the words like a blow. "That's not… I didn't mean…" With a sigh, she said, "I'm sorry," then slipped from the room.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"I think it's a good idea."

"No!"

Owen stepped back and gave Rupert room to pace, but he repeated himself. "She wants this over as much as you do."

"I will
not
put her at risk where she can be shot on a whim." Rupert's voice was a low growl. He tried to hide his anguish, but it was too great. The thought of willfully putting Juliana in The Hunter's line of sight caused his gut to churn and his fists to clench. It was out of the question.

"You've got this family here, and they're not even allowed to go into the garden. They're trapped, and they know it. Eudora and Eleanor are getting restless. Juliana wants to make sure the problem is contained so her sisters can be safe. They're going to leave this house someday. Would you rather it be in a controlled situation that might allow us to put an end to it all, or would you prefer to wait until one of them decides to sneak out in order to capture a breath of fresh air and is left entirely vulnerable in her innocent rebellion?"

Rupert slammed his hand down on the table. "You go too far, sir!"

Owen refused to back down. "You said you wanted me here because I think differently than you, and I could help you come up with a plan of attack that couldn't be predicted."

Rupert's mouth was dry as cotton, and his chest tightened with anxiety at the mere thought of what Owen suggested. "Leave me."

The younger man stood his ground. "Nothing you've tried has worked."

"You don't think I know that?" Rupert resisted the urge to reach for another decanter, this time aiming it at Owen.

"You've been to White's every Wednesday."

"Because the minister puts in an appearance there every week on Wednesday."

"He hasn't shown yet, though, has he? Each time you've gone to White's, he's been conspicuously absent. Same when you raised that ruckus in the House of Lords. The minister could be on his death bed and not miss a meeting of parliament. On the day you show up, though, he can't be bothered to put in an appearance."

Rupert glowered at Owen. "I know all these things."

"The question then, is whether or not the minister is The Hunter. What say you?"

"You got a better look at him than I did all those years ago. Do you think it could have been the minister?"

Owen frowned. "I wish I could say conclusively one way or the other, but I can't. Do you think…?"

Rupert rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know. The evidence that says 'yes' is circumstantial. We're putting together a puzzle without all the pieces, and most of the pieces we do have are blank."

Crossing his arms, Owen leaned closer. "Juliana's plan may give us the answers we need to put an end to all of this."

"I forbid it! I'll not be responsible for putting Juliana at risk like that."

The irritated exhalation of breath told him Owen wasn't done with the conversation. Rupert, however, didn't care. He needed some time alone to ponder his options and his reaction. "Out." He raised his hand and pointed to the door.

Owen marched through, but not without muttering, "It's the best shot we've got."

Rupert shuffled over to the window, leaned his cane against the wall, and clasped his hands behind his back.

****

Alright, Lord. It's your turn. What do you have to say about it?

A man can't be rational when he doesn't sleep, and Rupert hadn't slept well in weeks. On those rare occasions that he did drop off, he woke a short time later from the nightmare. Sometimes he relived his Austrian confrontation with The Hunter. Other times, the sound of Juliana screaming roused him because, in his dreams, the fiend tortured her while forcing Rupert to watch.

Eudora and Eleanor were beginning to feel as restless as animals caught in a too-small cage. He saw it in their eyes. Thankfully, they hadn't yet figured out how to tell him what they were thinking. Their discontented grumblings grew in frequency, but they hadn't yet graduated to outright confrontation. They were smart enough to suspect something was wrong and, because he'd insisted they not be told, had begun to distrust him. That, too, was in their eyes. In pursuit of protecting them, he was on his way to destroying the very family he wanted to protect.

Juliana was another story. Strain showed on her face – or maybe impatience – and he wondered if she'd been sleeping as poorly as he. He may have been imaging it, but it seemed the glimmer in her eyes was getting dimmer. She didn't seek him out every day, but those times she did she said little things.