Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(90)

“A whore?”

Mrs. Davenport sniffed. “Language! A soiled dove.”

“She’s spent the last twelve years pretending to be a mystic with the power to foretell the future.”

Mrs. Davenport raised a hand to her mouth, the proper picture of horror. “Not exactly a life of virtue. How do you know her?”

“My cousin went to see her. I believe that over the course of their acquaintance, he paid her a good bit of money.”

The woman’s face grew gleefully gluttonous. She clutched at her handkerchief. “Fraud! A felony, to be sure. Will she hang? Be pilloried? Transported?”

Gareth glanced down at the paper in his hand.

14 August 1815. JK told two lies and shirked washing behind her ears.

He flipped through more pages, all filled with minor infractions. Some did not even count as that.

12 May 1820. JK, sick with fever, infected three other girls. Likely intentional.

Gareth had suffered his grandfather’s cold and cutting comments. But underneath his grandfather’s chill, there had always been high expectations. He’d always assumed that Gareth would, and could, perform his duties as capably and honorably as every Blakely before him. Money and rank had bought him every privilege.

But Jenny had grown up in this cold place. Instead of a mother, she’d had this frightening woman who whispered lies about her, ostracizing her from the only companions who could bring her comfort. How desperate for affection must she have been, when she ran away at eighteen?

And how devastated when she discovered that first lover, like the rest of the world, valued her at nothing? No wonder she’d turned to fraud.

“Lord Blakely?” Mrs. Davenport intruded on his reverie. “Will there be a prosecution?”

“Silence,” he snapped. “I’m thinking.” Gareth stood up and paced in front of the fire.

There was more to it than mere devastation. For all the coldness of her upbringing, it had been Jenny who’d seen the best in those around her. It had been Jenny who’d seen Ned’s clever loyalty, Laura’s quiet strength. She’d even seen something good in Gareth, for God’s sake.

With no reason to hope ever given her, she’d hoped. And if she’d been unwilling to take that last step—if she’d been unwilling to need him, to love him, when he’d thought to relegate her to the cobwebbed corners of his life—how could he blame her? Nobody had ever valued her as she deserved. Least of all Gareth.

Gareth was a scientist. When the evidence came together, sometimes, it showed truth so clearly that no rationalization could deny it. Now, in this lifeless room, with a horrid harridan watching him think, bloodthirst shining in her oh-so-proper eyes, Gareth realized the truth.

Jenny wasn’t his equal. She was his better.

And he was the world’s most gigantic ass. An ass, and an idiot. Because Jenny had seen the best in herself, too, and he’d denigrated that, because he’d not wanted to admit that anyone could be his superior. Least of all the woman he needed.

Everything receded from him, like a tide traveling out to sea. He’d held on to his superiority as justification for every solitary year of his life. But what if he wasn’t superior? The thought had once felt threatening. But now…If other people were better than him, he was not nearly so constrained by Lord Blakely as he’d thought. He was free. He could have everything he’d once wanted and shoved aside. Lord Blakely shrank in importance until he became a tool and a title, not an impenetrable barrier.

If any of this was going to work, it had to start with one person. Jenny. His Jenny.

Gareth’s limbs stung, as if his blood had suddenly returned to circulation. He stopped pacing and fixed Mrs. Davenport in his sights.

She rubbed her hands greedily. “Will she hang? Have you decided what to do?”

“Yes, I know what to do.” Gareth hefted the records in his hand. “I’m going to make sure you never speak of her again.”

He crossed to the fire and tossed the papers on before she could protest. The dry paper ignited. Mrs. Davenport’s faint cry made Gareth smile in satisfaction.

Jenny didn’t need his money. But if there was one thing Gareth was good at, it was wresting respect from others. He could give Jenny that protection. He’d be damned if he ever let anyone denigrate his Jenny again.

“Listen to me.” His voice dropped a register. “Whatever you think of Jenny Keeble, you will keep to yourself. If I hear you have breathed one word of the woman, I will destroy you. I will ruin this school and destroy the bank that holds your pension and bribe a magistrate to send you to Australia in a prison hulk. In the men’s prison hulk. Do not doubt I can do it.”

She shrunk away from him. “I thought you were going to give that Jenny Keeble what she deserves!”

Gareth thought this over. “As it happens, I will.”

But first he had to get back to London. Now.

IT TOOK GARETH a frustrating forty-six hours to travel from Bristol to London. Despite his dust, he didn’t stop by his home to change. Instead, he ordered his driver to go directly to Jenny’s house. A thousand tremulous wings flapped in his chest as he jumped from the carriage. He banged on her door with his fist.

No answer.

“Jenny,” he called. “Jenny, are you there? Jenny!”

No answer.

Perhaps she had gone shopping. Perhaps—he looked at the door more carefully—damn it. She hadn’t removed the knocker from her door because she was out buying gloves. As if to underscore this point, the door above his head opened.