Chapter Nine
She had believed Wycomb was involved with unsavory creditors or a business arrangement that soured, predicaments solved by money and time. But this no longer appeared to be true. There was more, much more, or Jones would not be searching the room on behalf of his “superiors” and Wycomb would not be hiding documents behind a secret panel.
Gripping the edge of the desk, Cat let fear and panic run their course, the emotions solidifying inside to form a ball in her stomach. When it had hardened, when she could control both, she looked back at Jones.
A stranger. Handsome with his lean features and sharp cheekbones, even with the serious expression he always seemed to wear. She could not trust him, but her options were limited at the moment.
“Am I in danger?” she asked, letting the darkness quiet the words. “Real danger?”
“I do not know, my lady. Not for certain.” He shoved his hands into his breeches pockets, and though she heard regret in his voice, she did not see it in his broad shoulders or resolute face. “I’ve already taken some measures to protect you.”
“Measures?” The word felt comforting, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
“A watch.” Jones paused, looking around the study at the combination of her uncle’s and father’s possessions. “When you leave this house, I or one of my watch will follow.”
“Your watch.” Not a guard, but a watch. It was not a guarantee of any protection. “What of my uncle?”
“If you were in danger from Wycomb, my lady, he would have struck earlier.” His face was very grim, the full lips turned down and brows angling in. “I doubt there is concern from that quarter at present.”
He sounded as though he were attempting to convince himself as much as her. In the end, though, they both knew there was no protection from her guardian inside the walls of Worthington House.
“And the men he has dealings with?” That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Where and when would she be safe? “The one who abducted me on the street?”
“I don’t know.”
“I could leave.” Whirling away, Cat stalked the shadowed corners of the room. She needed the privacy those shadows would afford her, if only to mask the burgeoning terror in her. “I could hide. I own hundreds of acres with cottages and villages. I could go anywhere in the world.”
“You could hide.” He didn’t disagree and his voice held no reproach. Nor did he admit doing so might alert her uncle, though she guessed he understood that as well as she.
She felt the censure nonetheless—not from Jones, but from herself. She could not run. Doing so might protect her life in the short term, but it would not protect her lands or people, nor would it end whatever was happening here. And of course, Wycomb had every right as her guardian to force her to return, should he find her.
Staying was the only choice she could make.
“I have no method of defense, Jones. Even if I should take to carrying a knife or a pocket pistol in my reticule, I have no experience using them.” She turned to face him as she came to terms with that. When she could be certain her shoulders would be straight and her chin could be lifted, she did so and looked through the gloom toward Jones. “But I am not defenseless. I have my own weapons. My eyes and ears, my knowledge of his habits and access to his life within these walls.”
Jones was silent as he leaned over to stir the coals again. Something caught and flared in the fireplace so that the room began to glow more brightly. When he stood, the light gilded wide shoulders and a strong jaw. He still did not speak, but only watched her, waiting for her to finish.
“Jones.” Cat said it decisively, knowing that if she made this pledge, she would have to stand by it. “I will give you any information I can learn or discover in exchange for what you know.”
“No.” The word did not come out of his mouth harshly, but she flinched nonetheless. “I cannot make that bargain, my lady, nor will I lie to you about it.”
Her inhale was very, very controlled. She restrained any impulse to blurt out an answer, choosing her response carefully. “What is your offer, then, Jones? Because I will not provide what I know without reciprocation.”
“I will tell you as much as I can.”
“That is not good enough. Not nearly good enough.” The moment hung suspended in time, their gazes piercing the pale light to meet.
“I will give you the information that will keep you safe, and more where I am able.” He pushed away from the desk to stand straight again. “I will not do anything to subject you to danger, and I will protect you with my life if need be.”
Cat could not think of more to ask from him, nor could she accept such statements as false, as this man had shielded her once already.
Would it be enough?
“I appreciate that you did not lie or make a promise you did not intend to keep.” That would have to hold her, she supposed. “But I have much to protect. I will not leave my lands, my title, and my people in jeopardy.”
“And yourself?”
“Protecting my life is what will protect the rest.” She ran a finger along the edge of the drawer with the secret compartment. “How will I contact you, Jones?”
“You cannot. You will have to wait for me to find you.”
“When?”
“As often and as safely as I can.”
It did not seem like enough, but she chose to accept it for now. It was too late, too unsafe, to continue here. She took a step backward toward the door, her nightshift billowing around her, and she suddenly realized she had been wearing next to nothing during their exchange. The very idea heated her skin in an oddly delicious way. “I suppose I should say good night.”
“I suppose so.” He smiled, his lips tipping in a way that was intimate and amused all at once. “I bid you farewell, my lady.” He bowed, quick and efficient, without flourish despite his flowery words, then turned toward the windows.
When he twisted the lock and pushed open the casement window, Cat realized what he must be doing.
“Lock the window behind me,” he said, before slipping over the sill into the darkness beyond and lowering himself a few inches.
Cat strode toward the opening and looked out. His face, pale in the light of the slivered moon, seemed to hang suspended in the night. Squinting into the darkness, she saw his fingers scrabble along the brick and stone, his boots wedged against the lip at the top of the window of the floor below. She curled her fingers around the edge of the windowsill.
“You are three levels above the ground!” she whispered as he began to scale the side of the building.
“Lock the window behind me.”
As she watched, heart in her throat, he pressed himself against the brick. A moment passed, then another. He seemed to draw from some well of quiet stillness before he moved his feet again and began a steady descent.
“Good night.” Her whisper floated into the darkness.
She wondered if he could hear her.