The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(76)

The chill that traveled through her had nothing to do with the weather.

“Don’t worry,” Dorling said. “Once she’s mine, she won’t have any way to kick up a fuss.”

The cold that had worked its way into Jane’s fingers seemed numbing. She had thought that her aunt only wanted her married off. But the truth was far worse than that. Now she could see the plan. If Jane married, she would no longer control her fortune. All those threats she’d made to Titus were worth nothing if she could not act. They meant to make her helpless, to strip her of all support. She would be alone.

“We could end this tonight,” Dorling said, “after the assembly, if you’d just let me into her room like we talked about before.”

Jane had been cold before. She was ice now. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to believe her ears.

“And I told you,” her aunt snapped with some asperity, “I refuse to feel dirtier about this than I must. It’s a filthy business as it is. I won’t countenance rape, not for any purpose.” There was a pause. “Besides, I doubt she cares for her reputation that much.”

Jane clutched the trunk of the tree and silently thanked her aunt. She was rude and awful, yes, and she was conspiring against her. But for that, Jane could have kissed her.

“I won’t need that,” Dorling said. “I can be very persuasive. Trust me on this.”

No. Don’t trust him with anything. But Jane didn’t get a vote.

“I…well…” There was a long silence.

No, Jane wanted to scream. Don’t hesitate, not on that front either.

“I’d need your promise,” her aunt said slowly. “Your promise that you’ll persuade only.”

Jane couldn’t bear to listen to the details. She didn’t want to know what they would plan. Slowly, as quietly as she could, she backed away from the clearing.

Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves, made her imagine enemies coming for her. By the time she reached the city streets, her hands were shaking.

She had to get out of this place, had to go find her sister. Damn Titus’s guardianship—she should never have respected it. He couldn’t put Emily away if Jane made off with her first.

They could be on a ship by…

No. If she disappeared without explanation, her uncle would have a telegram on his desk before Jane could arrive in Cambridge. He would never let Emily out of his sight.

Sometimes, it felt impossible to get ahead. She’d come to know Oliver Marshall and he’d left. She’d made friends with Genevieve and Geraldine, but she’d been sent away and they’d gone on to London. Now she was just beginning to make friends with a few ladies here, but she was being ripped away from them… And Emily, the one person she’d believed she could count on, was in danger.

Companionship was an illusion, one that could be snatched away at any moment. She’d been fooling herself. She stopped in the street, her hands shaking.

She was alone, all alone.

No. The thought came to her on a whisper of warmth. You aren’t.

That thought brought back a rush of memory—of Oliver’s hands, his eyes. Of the heat of his mouth. She’d tried—and failed—not to think of him in the months that had passed. It wouldn’t do any good, she’d told herself. She would never see him again. Thinking of him was a weakness.

So why, now, did thoughts of him make her feel strong?

For one glorious moment, her heart skipped a beat. The cold extremities of her fingers tingled with new life. You’re not alone.

It wasn’t rational thought that brought her down the street to her bank. It was a warm well of certainty. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to be. She smiled at the clerk, who knew her well. When she wrote out the amount she wanted withdrawn, his eyes widened. But he didn’t argue. He simply counted the bills.

Maybe it was foolish. She surely didn’t need him. Still, her next stop was the telegraph office. It was not far from the bank. It shared space with a confectioner, in fact, since neither were terribly busy, and the same round, jovial woman ran them both.

She didn’t need him. But she wanted, oh, she desperately wanted, to believe she wasn’t alone.

Jane was filling out the form, dreaming foolish, ridiculous dreams of Oliver Marshall thundering in on a white horse—what the horse had to do with anything, she didn’t know—and sweeping her away.

The store bell rang; the door opened. And Dorling walked in.

Her dreams vanished like popped soap bubbles. Her palms went cold. The little pencil she’d been holding fell to the floor, her nerveless fingers no longer able to grasp it. He looked about with purpose; when his eyes lit on her, he smiled quizzically as if surprised to see her.

Of course he had come here. He’d come to send the telegram she had feared—the one to her uncle, the one letting him know that Jane had fled and that he needed to keep watch on Emily.

“Miss Fairfield,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Jane set her hand over the paper she had been filling out and nudged the pencil under the display with her foot.

He rubbed at his sideburns. “I, uh, I encountered your aunt this morning. She said you had gone missing.”

Jane looked George Dorling in the eyes. She imagined that he was Oliver Marshall. That was the only way she managed to manufacture a smile for him.