The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(61)

‘Thank you, my maid will order. Please wait in the anteroom for a few minutes, Faith.’ She closed the door almost on their faces and whirled on Jared. ‘Who was that and what the devil is going on?’

‘My sister-in-law and nothing is going on.’

‘No? When you are as cold as one of Gunter’s ices? When you won’t talk to me other than to my lady me? When you are told in the street that your brother has died and you walk on as though nothing has happened?’

‘I am not cold, I am concentrating on doing my job and keeping you alive.’

‘Yesterday you were in my bed.’

‘And I should not have been. You want me to be warm? You want me to flirt with you? You want my focus off whatever is attacking you?’

‘And you cannot be a normal, feeling human being and concentrate?’

‘Do you think I want to take the risk?’ He was not cold now, she thought with a shiver of something that was not quite alarm. ‘Yesterday I left my damned weapons in the study and that door was unlocked and the staircase unguarded. And my mind, what little I appear to have left of it, was entirely focused on what we were doing on that bed. I do not know what is wrong, but somehow you have turned my brain to mush.’

‘So it is my fault is it?’ Guin demanded.

‘No,’ he snarled back. ‘It is mine.’

There was such bleak despair in the amber eyes that Guin caught her breath. He has just heard that his brother is dead and I am railing at him like a Billingsgate fishwife. ‘Of course you are right.’ She kept her voice low. ‘We were careless, both of us. We will not be so again. But, Jared – your brother. I am so sorry.’

He had his composure again, the long-fingered hands were steady. But his eyes still betrayed him. ‘I had not spoken to him in eleven years.’

‘And it was he who lied about you, hurt you.’ He half-shrugged one shoulder. ‘She is beautiful, your sister-in-law.’

‘Bella. Yes.’

‘And very well dressed.’ And there had been both a liveried footman and a smart maid following her, Guin realised. ‘Wealthy. Just who are you, Jared Hunt?’

‘The man I have made myself,’ he said and opened the door. ‘Faith, wait in here with your mistress and lock the door behind me. I am not leaving the building. Open only to me.’

‘Jared, come – ’ The door closed leaving Faith, bewildered, on the inside. ‘– back. Oh damn. Lock the door, Faith.’



Jared strode into the main taproom. Several tables were occupied, a bar maid was serving and the landlord was at one end of the bar polishing glasses and keeping an eye on what was going on. He put down the cloth as Jared approached him.

‘I hear Ravenlaw is dead. When did that happen?’

‘A month past, near enough. A fall from his horse – herd of bullocks spooked it, he fell, got trampled. Nasty business.’

Nasty business. Jared slammed a brake on his imagination. William. My brother. He waited a beat until he was certain his voice would be under control. ‘And his father?’

‘Bearing up, they say. He’s taken it hard though, that’s for certain.’

‘Ravenlaw will have a son to inherit. The old man will have to take him in hand.’ He had never once yielded to the temptation to open that thick red tome, look at the list of names that would, surely, be growing beneath the entry for William and Bella, under the heading Huntingford.

‘No.’ The man picked up the cloth and began polishing again.

‘What do you mean, no?’

‘Three daughters, no sons. There was some scandal, years ago now, not that I recall the details, but there was another son of the old man’s. Dead now, I suppose, nothing’s been heard of him, so they say. They’ll find some cousins somewhere in the family tree to inherit.’

There was a buzzing in his ears, like that time he’d been shot in India and he hadn’t realised how serious it was until Cal was shouting at him, catching him as he fell. Hell. Jared clenched his fist until the short nails cut into his palm and the pain steadied him.





Chapter Twenty


‘The maid ordered refreshments?’ He sounded quite steady Jared noticed with the part of his brain that still seemed to be functioning normally.

‘Yes, sir. The girl will be along directly.’

He went back to the private parlour, scratched on the door, and, when Faith opened it, waited until the servant brought a loaded tray.

Guinevere was pale, but she ate, making inconsequential conversation, apparently for her maid’s benefit, or perhaps so that she did not have to talk to him about anything that actually mattered.

They finished the meal, still both painstakingly polite to each other, then Jared enquired whether Guinevere wished to walk up the long flight of steps to the church and abbey. ‘The view is very fine.’

‘Perhaps another day. I believe I would like to go home now.’

They walked back to the carriage in silence to find the coachman, groom, both footmen and Dover lounging around it finishing off pies and gossiping. There was a concerted scramble to stand and brush off crumbs and generally look as befitted the escort of a titled lady, but Guinevere said nothing to them, simply got into the carriage.

‘Ride inside,’ Jared ordered Dover and unhitched his horse from the back. On horseback he did not have to speak to anyone.