“And I am a fool.” I thought only of protecting Jessie.
Dehaan echoed Harry’s thoughts. “Is Lady Jessica hurt?”
“She’s secure.” But I can only protect one person at a time.
“Good. Better I am harmed than her.” Slowly, shaking, Dehaan sat up, touched his battered face, and winced. “He’s good. I was careless.” He glanced about at the wreck of the room. At the hiding place beneath the sofa cushions where the lockpick kit was visible, at the overturned chair where the knife had once been hidden. “Be wary. He knows who you are.”
Harry helped him off the table. In the doorway of the bedchamber, Dehaan’s knees collapsed, and Harry was forced to carry him. Because of Harry’s past, his strong, annoying, romantic, vigilant valet had been attacked and brutalized. Harry hoisted him on the bed. “Rest. I’ll take care of matters.”
Dehaan watched as Harry retrieved a loaded pistol from the dressing room and a small sword from the desk. “Lady Jessica,” Dehaan said.
“I’ll make sure she’s safe.” Harry tied a dark cloth around his throat to cover the white of his cravat, tied so precisely and with such hope just an hour ago.
“My lord…” Dehaan groaned, for he saw the harsh truth on Harry’s face.
“Rest.” Harry went swiftly into the fog. He couldn’t bear for Jessie’s joyous spirit to be exposed to the ugliness of the world. He was part of that ugliness.
After this was over, he would never see her again.
Nine
Jessie paced across to her closet. When Harry came back for her, she must be ready to go. When Harry came back for her…
She tried not to wonder where he had gone, how long he would be gone, why he was acting so mysteriously, who he really was…
No. No, she couldn’t think of those things now. She needed to prepare for… for what? Travel, he said. Flight, she guessed. She stripped off the light blue lawn morning dress, and donned her dark wool traveling clothes. She removed her beribboned, satin slippers and laced on her black, ankle-high boots. She pulled on her plain dark bonnet and her sturdy black riding gloves.
After her flurry of activity, she had nothing to do. So she sank down on a chair, picked up her book
, and stared blindly at the lines of black letters marching across the white page.
What had happened in the dining room this morning? She didn’t understand. Harry hadn’t liked Lord Granville, and surely that was good. After all—the letters grew blurry as she remembered—she’d just spent the night in Harry’s arms. Which had not ended in a marriage proposal. Not that she wanted or expected one, but—she snapped her attention back to the present. Had she heard something outside the door? Yes, the rustle of petticoats.
Her chaperone rapped on the door. “Jessica, are you in there? Lord Granville is waiting for you on the veranda. He wishes to escort you for a walk.”
Jessie remained still, frozen by the memory of Harry’s warning.
“Jessica? Remember, your father wants you to get married, and the other two suitors are gone.” Miss Hendrika knocked harder. “You must admit, Lord Granville is quite handsome.” She thumped at the door. “He is your last chance.”
Jessie put her hand over her mouth. Lord Granville was her last chance. What was she doing?
Miss Hendrika snuffled about, and Jessie imagined her looking in the keyhole, imagined opening the door and having her fall in, imagined her own satisfaction…and Harry’s displeasure. Jessie hunched her shoulders and sat still, out of the line of sight.
“Where is that girl?” the old woman muttered, and shuffled away.
Jessie thought it was foolish for her heart to pound so hard at the sound of Miss Hendrika’s voice. The woman meant her no harm, yet Harry had been so precise in his instructions. Perhaps the one she should be afraid of was Harry.
She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. She was so confused!
What could be wrong with Lord Granville? Her father had sent him as a suitor, and Harry was acting as if Lord Granville were a villain. She stood up. She ought to go down to the veranda right now, place her hand on Lord Granville’s arm, and walk with him!
She sank back down. Except she’d promised Harry she would remain in her room, and she wouldn’t break her promise.
A single, quiet knock sounded at the door. “Jessie? Come out.” Harry’s voice.
She rushed to the door, put her hand on the key. Yet he had spooked her. Or perhaps she sought a little revenge for her fright. “How do I know it’s really you?” she asked softly.
He had the nerve to sound amused. “I know the location of the mole on your thigh.”