Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(56)

And that was how she knew he was coming back. Jenny didn’t know whether to weep or rejoice.

SOME HOURS LATER, after Jenny sent away a former client, she was forced to face one dire fact of reality. With Madame Esmerelda firmly out of the picture, she needed money. And soon.

So she donned the finest dress she’d owned before Gareth’s gifts—a faded blue muslin—and left the house. The noon sun shone in the distance, unhindered by gathering storm clouds. The air was light, and a breeze blew toward the river, bringing with it the smell of fresh-baked bread. It seemed incongruous that mere hours after making love, Jenny should be setting off on a quest to break one of her long-standing rules.

She was headed for her banker on Lombard Street in order to withdraw money rather than deposit it. For eight years, she’d scrimped and saved carefully. Every month, her balance grew and her sense of stability and independence increased. The knowledge that she need never depend on anyone or anything calmed her even now.

She’d returned Ned’s shillings. And a mere hour earlier, Mrs. Sevin had arrived for her usual appointment. Jenny had looked in the woman’s eyes and confessed her fraud. Another half guinea forgone, but despite Mrs. Sevin’s pallor, the confession had felt cathartic.

Catharsis, however, paid no quarterly rents. And as the sum was coming due in a few days, Jenny had a journey to make.

The day was pleasant and muscles she had long forgotten were sore from last night’s exertion. The walk was long enough to leave her invigorated, but not so long that by the time she turned onto Lombard Street her apparel had wilted from humidity.

She ducked inside the doors of the joint-stock bank that kept her funds. It was halfway through the noon hour. At this time, only a few lowly cashiers were present. Luckily, their number included the man who had helped her arrange this account.

Unluckily, Jenny recalled with a sinking in her stomach, that man was one Mr. Sevin, who had ostensibly arranged the account as a favor to his wife.

Most unluckily of all, the woman appeared to have come here to consult with her husband immediately after her interaction with Jenny. Man and wife stood in close proximity to each other. They did not touch—that would have been uncouth—but from the way they leaned toward each other when Jenny walked through the door, there was little doubt as to the topic of their conversation.

Mrs. Sevin gripped her reticule and glanced away. But it was her husband who minced forward, curtly motioning his wife to follow. She trailed behind him, her eyes down.

“Madame…Esmerelda.”

Mr. Sevin turned his head, his gaze darting up and down as he took in her demure dress. The skin around his eyes crinkled. But he did not remark on the change in her attire from tawdry to tasteful. Instead, his lip curled in the pretense of a smile.

Jenny had long suspected that he disliked her. That he feared her supernatural powers. It was only now, seeing the smug satisfaction that lit his face, that she wondered if his cloying willingness to help had been motivated by fear. He’d thought she had seen his darkest secrets. It wasn’t hard to guess at them; the scraps of information that his wife disclosed about their married life had been troubling.

“And how are you?” His voice boomed in the small room, a bit too jocular, a bit too loud. The polished wood of the empty desks reflected the sound back at him, and a few of the other employees looked up, idly. He puffed out his chest, a boy announcing while walking through a forest at night that he was not afraid of bears. “My wife, she reports an interesting conversation with you.”

His chin lifted in infuriating bravado. Mrs. Sevin shrank back, crouching behind her husband.

Jenny gave the man her best pretense at a smile. He flattened his ink-stained hands against the top of his desk in response, a flash of triumph in his gaze.

“As it happens, Mr. Sevin, I am withdrawing from the business of fortune-telling.”

Officious delight lit his face. “Yes. And that is because…?”

He knew, the terrible man. But he had to draw it out of her, a cat playing with a mouse. Confessing her sins to the quiet, calm Mrs. Sevin had seemed only right. But her domineering husband seemed another matter entirely.

If she lied to this man now, would he lift his hand against his wife? He’d done it before as punishment for embarrassment and perceived disloyalty. There was no longer room for lies or half-truths. No mysterious statements could hide Jenny’s perfidy. She just had to tell the truth, and quick, like drawing out an infected tooth. Eventually, she would find a way to win respect without lies.

Jenny took a deep breath. “I am quitting because I cannot tell the future.”

He reached up one hand and pulled at his ear. “You mean, that the spirits no longer talk to you.” He glanced at his wife. “Your powers might return?”

One nod of her head, and Jenny might be an object of pity instead of the target of scorn. But she couldn’t do that to Mrs. Sevin.

“No,” Jenny whispered, “I mean, that I never had any powers. It was all a—a—fabrication.”

Her stomach dropped as she spoke. Everything she’d worked for—a position where some people gave her at least a modicum of respect, however ill she deserved it—was vanishing. Even this stomach-turning toad looked down on her now.

Mr. Sevin nodded slowly. “My wife, of course, never questioned your ability. I should have known better than to trust a woman’s judgment of character.”