A Lady's Code of Misconduct (Rules for the Reckless #5)(6)
Now he meant to steal her father’s fortune. Not content with embezzling, he would wed her to Archibald, and have access to the whole.
Alas, Uncle Philip. You made one mistake: you forgot I had a brain.
*
Perhaps the clock was broken. Perhaps Mr. Pine had grown confused, and thought to meet at eleven instead of ten. There was still a way. Once he arrived, he could hire horses—
“He’s not coming.”
The smooth words came from behind her. Jane felt a horrible surprise, followed by a bolt of acidic nausea. Of course it would be Crispin Burke who caught her.
She kept her eyes on the old clock in the corner. The tavern was crowded, ruddy workmen slumped in exhaustion at the wooden tables around her. These same men—miners, farmers, decent men all—were made of nobler stuff than anyone at Marylebigh. They would find the energy to protest, should they see a young lady dragged screaming from the taproom.
“I tried to warn you.” Burke’s voice remained calm, low pitched. “I’ll do so again: don’t make a scene.”
She turned. Burke was straddling the bench on the other side of her table, a tankard of ale cupped in his hands. How had she missed his entrance, much less his passage to the bar? Nobody overlooked Burke. When he strode in, great dark coat flapping, the world itself paused. He was beautiful, the rippling waves of his dark hair and the strong bones of his face framing black eyes that shone with a dangerous intelligence. Beautiful as a cobra.
“Why should I not cause a scene?” she asked flatly. “Sparing you is no concern of mine.”
His gaze was dark, cold, and steady. “Then spare yourself. It won’t work.”
“Oh,” she said, struggling to keep her voice light, scathing, when it wanted to shake. She could not go back! “My uncle’s dog threatens to bite! Careful, sir. You will not want to injure the golden goose.”
One corner of his mouth lifted—the barest intimation of a smile. “Goose, indeed. If you wished to run away, you should have waited until your uncle went to town.”
Wait? She had already waited six years. If she waited any longer, she would . . . why, she would lose her mind. A woman could not pretend to be brainless forever without the charade becoming truth. Her wits were rotting by the hour.
But of course a man like Burke could not imagine what that was like. To live, day after day, as a shadow—to speak and be ignored, as though one’s words made no sound. To protest and be patted on the head, as though one’s concerns were a child’s. Her uncle had not burned the embroidery in an outrage, Jane thought suddenly, but in the righteous grip of moral duty. His niece’s role was to be used, not to think or speak or feel. And so, in the very act of communicating an opinion, she had committed the egregious offense of insisting on her humanity.
Burke glimpsed none of this. He barely knew her, for all that he was a regular visitor to Marylebigh. Nobody bothered to know her.
“You will have to tie me up and drag me back,” she said. “And I will make sure there are witnesses. Your political career will not profit from it.”
“Goodness. All for Mr. Pine?” He took a long swallow of his beer. “A heated passion, was it? Let me guess. He pledged his devotion while shoveling manure. Vowed to see to your comfort while mucking out a box stall.”
She refused to look away from him, though his dark eyes mocked her.
“How fierce you look,” Burke murmured. “If this is the face you showed your lover, it’s no wonder he chose to jilt you.”
She and Mr. Pine had never been lovers. Their agreement had been practical: an arthritic stable master with failing eyesight required money for retirement. An heiress kept prisoner by her family required a husband to access her funds. Voilà: the perfect match.
A terrible thought struck her. “What did you do to him?” She leaned forward. “If you have hurt Mr. Pine, I will make you regret it.”
He leaned forward, too. “Will you, now?” he asked in a warm and interested voice.
She clenched her jaw. He imagined her powerless—an heiress whose money was controlled by her guardian, and who knew nobody that her uncle did not introduce to her.
But he did not know everything. Sometimes, watching her family speak so cruelly of others, plot so mercilessly to exploit the world, Jane felt an intimation of that same wickedness in herself. Only she would use it for noble ends. Given a chance, granted access to her own money, she would punish those who amused themselves by making others’ lives harder. “Justice finds a way,” she said. “Even if it takes time.”
Mr. Burke’s smile displayed white, even teeth. He’d been raised in luxury, but he had the lounging, easy posture of a man bred to street brawls. “The mouse grows claws.”
“You mistake me,” she said. “I have always had them.”
His glance flickered briefly. At least she was surprising him. “I did nothing to Pine. Your uncle made him an offer, which he accepted of his own free will. By now, if he is wise, he will be on the road to somewhere far, far away. Wherever five hundred pounds will take him.”
Liar. “Five hundred pounds is nothing next to what I offered.”
Mr. Burke drummed his fingers atop the scarred wood table. The ruby cabochon on his middle finger glittered violently. “Cowards take what they can get.”
She drew a strangled breath and looked away, her gaze fixing on the fire, which grew blurry through the haze of rising tears. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to talk Mr. Pine into agreeing to her plan. A comfortable retirement in some warm, dry climate—absolute freedom to do as he wished. The prospect had finally won out over his fear of her uncle.