Chapter 12
“Jeremiah was killed before the carriage caught fire,” Romney stated flatly in answer to Jericho’s query. The two men sat in the viscount’s study at his London home. “He was thrown across the carriage when it turned over. I heard his neck break,” he added bleakly.
Jericho had wasted little time once he reached Pomeroy House, only taking the time to bathe and change his clothing before leaving the house to visit Romney.
To say he was shocked by his friend’s appearance would be an understatement. Romney’s previously long dark hair was now shaved close to his head. No doubt much of it had been burnt away as result of the fire, giving him a much harsher appearance than before. He had suffered serious burns to one side of his face and neck, resulting in livid red and still-healing welts. Jericho believed those physical scars would remain with Titus for the rest of his lifetime.
It was the inner emotional scars, not visible but revealed by the bleakness of his friend’s previously lively blue eyes, that concerned Jericho the most.
“Stonewell’s letter gave me the impression it was not an accident,” he prompted.
Romney nodded. “I doubt the fire could have been predicted, but examination of what was left of the carriage showed one of the back wheel fastenings had been tampered with. I was also shot at as I attempted to leave the burning carriage to check on Lady Prudence. I could do nothing for Jeremiah.”
Worthington’s death was a personal blow to all The Sinners. More so for Romney, who had been at Worthington’s side when he’d died.
“There was no hope of apprehending the person who shot at you?”
Romney shook his head. “There was only the one shot fired, and I had enough on my hands trying to prevent Lady Prudence from entering the burning carriage in search of her sister.”
“Was she aware you had been shot at?” At this point, the less people aware they were looking for a traitor the better.
Romney winced. “She was too distraught about her twin to think of anything else.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you back in London?”
“I wanted to see you,” Jericho responded heavily.
“And Lady Jocelyn?”
“Safely ensconced at Pomeroy House.” He had instructed Soames, his butler there, to ensure Jocelyn did not leave the house while he was gone.
Jocelyn had been very quiet on the two-day journey to London and their overnight stay at a coaching inn, her conversation when she did speak kept to a polite minimum.
As was Jericho’s own. There seemed to be nothing more to say between them, on any subject, that would not lead to further disagreement and accusations.
“Is she guilty?” Romney’s voice was harsh.
Jericho grimaced. “I still have no positive proof either way.”
“Your gut feeling?”
It was a feeling, an instinct, all The Sinners had developed to a high degree as agents for the Crown. But in Jocelyn’s case, Jericho admitted his instinct, and his opinion, was no longer impartial in regard to the person under his investigation.
If it ever had been.
He had been reluctant to carry out investigating Jocelyn from the start and had put it off for as long as he possibly could, because he had an affection for his ward, if nothing else. His actions at Pomeroy Cottage meant he no longer had a shred of impartiality left where she was concerned.
Only the suspicion that had been her objective all along.
He breathed in heavily. “Jocelyn is my ward.”
Temper glittered in the other man’s eyes. “That is no answer, and you know it.”
“I truly cannot decide either way—”
“You’ve fucked her.” Romney’s gaze was accusing as he rose abruptly to his feet. “She might be the traitor, may have aided in Worthington’s demise, and you’ve bloody well fucked her!”
Jericho rose more slowly, knowing that an argument between himself and Romney served no purpose for either of them. “I have not fucked her,” he stated truthfully, even as an inner voice taunted him with the knowledge he had done everything but that. “Nor do I approve of you talking about my ward in that crude manner. Most especially,” he continued firmly when Romney would have interrupted, “when all I am doing is reserving judgment until I have definite proof either way. It is a serious accusation, Titus,” he reasoned. “With serious repercussions.” The last traitor to England had been hanged.
The viscount continued to glare at him for several long seconds before crossing the study to stand in front of the window, his back toward the room. “She refuses to see me,” he said quietly.
“Who does?”
“Prudence Germaine,” Romney stated with feeling.
Jericho frowned at the rigid set of the other man’s shoulders and back, unsure of what to do or say in response to this statement. “You have tried to visit her—” He broke off as Romney turned sharply, his expression fierce.
“Of course, I have tried,” he spat. “Several times. She steadfastly refuses to see me,” he acknowledged bitterly.
Jericho winced. “It must be difficult for her to have lost her twin—”
“And is it not equally as difficult for me to have lost one of my best friends?”
“Of course, it is,” Jericho soothed. “It is hard for us all. It is only… Twins have a certain…bond, I am told. I certainly do not remember ever seeing one of the Germaine sisters without the other being at her side,” he added with a frown.
Romney nodded. “They are a pair of ninny-headed— They were a pair of ninny-headed chits,” he corrected harshly.
“And yet…?” Jericho prompted curiously.
“Also beautiful and warm, with never a harsh word to say about anyone,” Romney stated. “I cannot believe…” His lips flattened. “Where are you going when you leave here?” He changed the subject abruptly.
Jericho sensed his friend had suffered a sea change in regard to the Germaine twins. That Romney might even have developed an interest, possibly an affection, for one of them, whether for the dead Priscilla or Prudence, he had no idea. Whichever it was, in view of Jericho’s softening feelings toward Jocelyn, Titus had his full sympathy on the matter.
“I have arranged to meet Stonewell at our club for luncheon,” he answered. “Come with me,” he added.
The other man nodded. “I think I will. God knows I am heartily sick of staring at these four walls.”
“I still cannot believe Priscilla is truly gone,” Prudence muttered in a choked voice.
Jocey admitted to finding the Germaine household strangely quiet and subdued without Priscilla’s bright and giggly presence in it, so she could not even begin to imagine how Prudence must feel at the loss of her twin. Poor Prudence had burst into tears and thrown herself into Jocey’s arms the moment the butler had shown her into the sisters’ private parlor. A parlor which now, markedly, belonged solely to Prudence.
Jocey had been standing at the top of the staircase at Pomeroy House when Jericho departed earlier. She had felt refreshed, stronger, after bathing and changing into some of the clothes she had left at Pomeroy House at the end of the Season. But she had stepped back into the shadows when she overheard Jericho instructing his butler that his ward was not to leave the house in his absence.
The instruction had infuriated her, to a degree Jocey had absolutely no intention of adhering to it. She wished to see Prudence, to offer her friend her emotional support, and that was what she had decided to do. With or without Jericho’s permission.
Having stayed at Pomeroy House for the past three Seasons, Jocey knew the house and household very well. Consequently, it had not been too difficult for her to leave unobserved by way of the servants’ entrance at the back of the house. She had been unable to be accompanied by a maid, unfortunately, as she dare not alert anyone to the fact she was going out.
Having escaped successfully, and once far enough away from Pomeroy House, Jocey had hailed down a hackney carriage and requested the driver take her to Germaine House.
If Jericho returned in the meantime and discovered her to be missing, then he could make of that what he would. No doubt he would anyway. Jocey’s only concern was to visit Prudence as soon as was possible, to assure herself of her friend’s well-being, and to ensure Prudence knew she was back in London and was here for her, day or night.
“Mama and Papa are beside themselves with grief,” Prudence sobbed.
Jocey’s arms tightened about her distraught friend. “Of course, they are. You all are.”
“One minute, she was here and the next…gone.” Prudence shuddered.
“Lord Worthington too.”
Prudence stiffened before pulling out of Jocey’s comforting arms as she sat up.
Jocey frowned her concern at this unexpected reaction. “What is it?”
The other woman drew in a shuddering breath. “It is only… I am sure that Lord Worthington and Viscount Romney must somehow be involved, if not wholly responsible, for what happened. We did not— I never felt Priscilla and I were ever in the least danger until those two gentlemen took an interest in us. He has called several times since the accident—Romney,” she explained at Jocey’s questioning glance. “I have refused to see him.”
Jocey felt torn, between telling Prudence the truth of what she knew of Worthington’s and Romney’s sudden interest in the twins, and only adding to her friend’s burden of grief.
It was Jocey’s belief that Worthington and Romney had behaved in the same underhand manner toward the Germaine sisters as Jericho had her in their search for the traitor to England. Nor did she believe for a single moment that either of the twins was any guiltier of treason than she was.
Confiding The Sinners’ suspicions to Prudence, that those gentlemen believed one of the twins or Jocey to be a traitor to England, would perhaps only succeed in making the situation worse. If it could be made any worse.
But not telling her friend left Prudence vulnerable to Romney’s continuing investigation.
It was a dilemma—
“His lordship the Marquis of Wessex is downstairs and asking to see you, Lady Prudence.”
Both women turned in the butler’s direction before rising to their feet, Jocey in alarm, Prudence with obvious surprise.
Admittedly, Jericho had not bothered to instruct Jocey directly this morning that she was not to leave Pomeroy House, but he had warned her before they left Pomeroy Cottage that she was to remain his captive once they reached London.
“Wait outside for a minute or two, would you, Parker?” Prudence instructed with obvious distraction.
“Of course, my lady.” Bowing, the butler stepped back into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him.
“Why is your guardian calling upon me?” Prudence frowned her puzzlement at the visit from a man she had hitherto only ever seen on the rare occasions the marquis deigned to appear in Society. Her gaze sharpened. “Could he be here at Romney’s behest, do you think? Because of my refusal to see the viscount since the accident?”
“No,” Jocey answered with certainty. She was sure she was the reason Jericho had called at the London home of the Germaine family. His request to see Prudence rather than Lord and Lady Germaine would seem to confirm that belief.
Jericho must have returned to Pomeroy House and discovered Jocey had gone against his wishes and left the house. That she had disobeyed him.
Jocey, and her still slightly red and sore bottom, knew exactly how Jericho chose to deal with his ward’s disobedience. She certainly did not want Prudence to know about that. It was too humiliating, as was her own reaction to that spanking.
The lover Jocey had known so briefly, for only a single evening and early morning, no longer existed.
“My guardian does not dance to anyone’s bidding,” she assured the other woman derisively. “He probably wishes to pay you his respects because his friend died in the same carriage accident as Priscilla.”
Prudence gave a distracted nod. “No doubt you are right.” She sighed heavily. “I do not wish to see him.”
“Then don’t.” Lord knows Jocey had no wish to see Jericho right now either.
She did not for a moment think he would verbally chastise her for her disobedience in front of the other woman. Jericho had better manners than that. But no doubt he would find a way of letting Jocey know of his displeasure nonetheless, and of the retribution she could no doubt expect to receive for that disobedience once they were alone together.
“I cannot refuse to see him when he is your guardian,” Prudence acknowledged, giving another heavy sigh as she crossed the room to open the door and instruct Parker to show the marquis up. “I confess,” she admitted ruefully as she straightened her already tidy hair, “the marquis makes me nervous.”
Jocey almost laughed, a self-derisive laugh, at how Jericho made her feel.
Traveling in the carriage to London with him for two days had been purgatory, their night spent at an inn even more so when she was so aware of Jericho in the adjoining bedchamber. Not that he had done anything untoward or attempted to enter her bedchamber. It was Jericho’s very presence that now unnerved her.
“The Marquis of Wessex,” the butler announced.
Jocey’s spine and shoulders tensed as she turned stiffly to face Jericho. He swept into the room, the usual expression of aristocratic disdain upon his face.
He did not so much as glance at her but immediately crossed the room to where Prudence stood in front of one of the bay windows. “Lady Prudence.” He took the gloved hand she held out to him, bending forward slightly to brush his lips across the back of that hand before releasing it. “Please accept my deepest sympathy on your loss.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Prudence stepped away to resume her seat on the chaise.
The marquis nodded. “Lord Romney also sends his regards.”
“Indeed?” Prudence’s voice sharpened.
Jericho immediately sensed the tension emanating from Lady Prudence at mention of his friend, seeming to confirm Romney’s opinion earlier that Lady Prudence was avoiding him especially. Unless Jocelyn had told her friend of The Sinners’ search for the traitor to England?
He was well aware of Jocelyn’s presence in the room. She was the reason he was here after all. For the moment, he chose to ignore her and concentrate on Lady Prudence. A little anticipation on Jocelyn’s part as to his reaction to her having left Pomeroy House would do her no harm whatsoever.
“If you ever have need of anything from any or all of Worthington’s friends, please do not hesitate to contact us,” he told Prudence rather than respond to her obvious aversion to talking about Romney. “But for now, I believe my ward has visited with you for long enough and it is time we both take our leave. Jocelyn,” he prompted in a hard voice.
Jocey wished she might refuse Jericho’s offer to escort her home. But as she obviously had no transport of her own waiting for her outside, she knew she would not be allowed to use that excuse for avoiding his company.