Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4. Bronwyn Scott

demeanour changed as she shoved the money inside her bodice.

      ‘I understand completely, sir. I’m so sorry if I misunderstood, only his father was a gambler, and a drinker, and all but ruined us, forcing us from our home and into the filth of St Giles.’ Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her faded dress. ‘When Adam started going out at night and coming home with money, I worried he was turning out like his father. I followed him here last night, heard the men talking about their wagers and I thought for sure I’d lost him.’

      ‘Your son is one of my best footmen.’ Jasper wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders. ‘But if the wrong people find out about this place and shut it down, he’ll lose his good wages.’

      She peered up at him with round and worried eyes before her gaze darted to the watching men as she realised her mistake. ‘I won’t tell anyone. You can count on me. His wages keep me and his sisters from starving and allowed us to move out of St Giles. I assure you, I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to jeopardise this place, Mr...?’

      ‘Patrick,’ he lied. She knew too much already.

      ‘Mr Patrick. Thank you for all you’ve done for him. I’m so sorry for thinking so little of you.’ She kissed the back of his hand, grateful in a way he didn’t deserve. He smiled and accepted it despite the urge to climb in the carriage and be alone with his shame. When at last she took her leave, hurrying off even faster than she’d approached, Jasper strolled to his carriage to appear to all as if nothing was amiss and give no one a reason to consider the matter.

      The men went back to their work and Jasper stepped into his carriage. Once inside, the vehicle set off and he sagged against the squabs, breathing for what seemed like the first time in days. ‘It’s all right.’

      Except it wasn’t. There’d been a moment when he’d feared her accusations would rise and the woman would announce to the entire wharf what took place above stairs at night. If too many people learned of it, then it would only be a matter of time before word spread and he could no longer keep this place a secret from his family. They’d already put him on a ship once and sent him off believing they’d never see him again. To be in London and banished from their circle would be worse, especially if he dragged Jane down with him.

      The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the Charton house. Jasper climbed out and jogged up to the front door, hoping no one was about. He needed peace to think and cursed again the repairs to the town house. When he’d first arrived home, the noise of his nieces and nephews, the talk of his parents and the continued comings and goings of his sibling had been a welcome relief after the deathly still of Savannah. Today, they would be an annoyance.

      ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ Alton, the butler, asked when he pulled open the front door. The thin man with the wide nose had been with the family since Jasper was a little boy. He knew Jasper as well as his old nurse, forcing Jasper to lie to him the way he lied to everyone else.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ He made for the stairs, eager to reach the solitude of his room before anyone else noticed he was home. He didn’t make it.

      His mother came out of the front sitting room, concern furrowing her brow at the sight of him. ‘Jasper, you seem troubled. Is anything wrong? Perhaps something you’d like to discuss with me about your evenings?’

      She studied him the way she had when he was a boy and she used to summon him to her dressing room to interrogate him about what he’d been up to in the street. The vague notion she might know about the hell drifted through his mind before he dismissed it. If she had learned of it, she’d never be this coy in approaching him about it.

      ‘No, nothing.’ Jasper flashed the widest smile he could muster, feeling like a fool and a charlatan. But they were the ones who’d sent him away to learn his uncle’s trade, even if they’d been ignorant of what it’d really involved. With all the subtlety and finesse of a fifteen-year-old, he’d railed at them for their decision and done everything he could to make them change their minds. They’d remained firm in spite of their own doubts and love for him, believing Uncle Patrick would provide their second son with the best opportunity to make something of himself.

      His tension softened as he took in his mother’s concerned face. They hadn’t known the truth and they still didn’t. If they ever learned about it, their guilt would be as great as his. They’d done what they’d thought best for him. Now, he would do what he thought best for them by allowing them to remain ignorant of the real consequences of their decisions and his. ‘I’m fine. I had trouble sleeping again last night.’

      ‘The dreams again?’

      ‘Yes.’ It was the reason he’d been giving for weeks to explain his long nights out. There had truly been nightmares when he’d first come home, but now they’d faded. Sadly, his need to use the excuse had not. ‘After I woke up, I went to the theatre, and then to Mr Bronson’s. I needed to be around people and I didn’t want to disturb anyone here.’

      ‘Of course,’ his mother agreed with some hesitation. Then she reached up and took him by the chin, turning his face side to side to examine him. ‘You look like you did when you first came home.’

      He knew exactly what she meant. It was the reason they’d given him three months of peace before announcing his return. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well.’

      His mother removed her hands from his face and clasped them in front of her. ‘I think Jane will be good for you. She’ll help you to deal with many things and perhaps forget some of your old experiences.’

      Jane. He glanced at the side table in the entrance hall and the blue German glass pitcher the same deep azure as her eyes. It wasn’t only the risk of discovery he’d faced today, but the very real threat of violence. If Adam’s mother had had the chance to remove the pistol weighing down her bag, and Jasper and Jane had already wed, Jane might be a widow and left to deal with the revelations about Jasper and his club. He had too much honour to foist his embarrassments and troubles off on someone else the way Mr Robillard had done. ‘I must see her this morning. There are matters we need to discuss.’

      ‘Of course.’ His mother patted his hand. ‘Be good to her, Jasper. She deserves it and you deserve her care.’

      ‘Yes, she deserves the best.’ Sadly, it wasn’t him.

      Jasper removed his hand from hers and made for outside, refusing to hail a hack or summon the carriage again. He needed the brisk walk as he made for St Bride’s Lane.

      The surety with which he’d pledged himself to Jane began to dim in the bright daylight. He’d had doubts once about what he did in Savannah and he’d ignored them, blithely carrying on until they had destroyed people. That had garnered his attention. He’d had reservations about bringing Jane into this sphere, but he’d ignored them, too, insisting the best course of action was to link her life with his. This morning’s encounter made him doubt his decision. It was one thing to burden her conscience with a few of his secrets. It was another to place her in real danger or set her up for potential embarrassment the way Milton had done. He couldn’t allow Jane to be hurt.

      * * *

      It wasn’t long before Jasper reached the junction of St Bride’s Lane and Fleet Street. He stopped at the opening of the lane. It was calm compared to the bustle of the main thoroughfare. He should keep walking, go to his town house and make sure all was on course with the repair work to welcome them after the wedding, but his feet wouldn’t move. With the practised skill of a man always betting against others, he weighed his risks against the odds. Leaving her now would certainly hurt her and turn her against him for good. The risks of his lifestyle were less clear, but potentially more deadly. He didn’t want to deliberately hurt her, but he didn’t want to see her wounded because of his more illicit life. Perhaps, if she understood something of the danger, at least as much as he was capable of telling her, she might help him decide. It was a gamble he didn’t wish to take, but he couldn’t ignore his intuition this time.

      * * *

      A sick feeling swam in the pit of Jane’s stomach