knew in an instant it was the earl. "Now."
Relief made her eyes fill with tears. Blackwood was here. Everything was going to be all right.
Another guard was with him, she saw as the man slid a long brass key into the lock, turned it, and opened the heavy wooden door, this one wearing clean clothes, his hair neatly trimmed, his manner a little more refined.
"Are you all right?" the earl said, brushing past the guard and striding toward her.
She nodded, tried to be stoic, but a lump formed in her throat. Tears welled and began to slide down her cheeks. Blackwood came forward and wrapped her in his arms.
"It's all right. Don't cry." She could smell the starch in his shirt, feel his heart beating more rapidly that it should have been. "They've released you into my custody. I'm taking you out of here."
Jillian clung to him, her knees threatening to give way any minute. He reached out, smoothed back a long strand of hair, tucked it behind an ear. "They didn't hurt you?"
She shook her head. "I was just . . . I was just so frightened."
He watched with eyes full of turbulence and something else she couldn't quite read. "Come on. Let's get out of here." The formidable look on his face gave her the strength she needed. With his hand wrapped firmly around her waist, they started forward. When she walked out of the cell, she saw a small square of light at the end of the passage, and with every step toward it, more of her courage returned.
By the time they emerged from the prison and walked out into the courtyard, she was steady on her feet. They didn't stop until they passed through the heavy iron gates and crossed the cobblestone street out in front, and she spotted the Blackwood crest on the earl's expensive black carriage.
"Thank you for coming." Her legs felt shaky as he helped her inside. She settled herself on the seat but instead of seating himself across from her, Blackwood sat down beside her. He handed her a handkerchief and she used it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. "I wasn't sure you would."
A black brow arched. "Weren't you?"
She swallowed. Perhaps in her heart she had known he would come. She wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it had to do with duty and honor and being a military man used to fighting for those less able.
"What am I going to do?"
He glanced down at the hands fiercely clasped in her lap. "Nothing for the present. I've hired a barrister. A friend of mine. His name is Garth Dutton. He accompanied me to the magistrates' office and helped arrange for your release into my care. You may thank the Duke and Duchess of Rathmore, as well. I'm not sure we would have succeeded without their support."
"The duchess was there when they came for me. She was . . . very kind."
His mouth faintly curved. "Kassandra is any number of things. I suppose kind is one of them."
"You like her."
"I like both of them. I'm fortunate to call them friends."
"It would seem I am also fortunate, having made a friend in you."
His eyes locked on her face. "Perhaps in time, Jillian, we'll be far more than that."
She refused to think what the words implied. Certainly, he didn't speak of marriage. Not to the impoverished former ward of the Earl of Fenwick, now under suspicion of murder.
He reached over and took her hand. His was long-boned and elegant and she remembered the heat of it, curved round her breast.
"Garth has asked that the trial be postponed and since you've the support of a duke and an earl, they've agreed. Also, I've done as Howard Telford did and posted a reward—this one for any information leading to the man who murdered the earl."
"But I can't afford—"
"Consider it a loan," he said, interrupting her protest. A dark glint appeared in his eyes. "We'll work out repayment when all of this is over. In the meantime, I'll send a footman to Fenwick's to fetch your things. I'm sure you'd prefer your own clothes."
She stiffened at the reminder that the clothes she now wore belonged to his mistress. "Yes, most
Relief made her eyes fill with tears. Blackwood was here. Everything was going to be all right.
Another guard was with him, she saw as the man slid a long brass key into the lock, turned it, and opened the heavy wooden door, this one wearing clean clothes, his hair neatly trimmed, his manner a little more refined.
"Are you all right?" the earl said, brushing past the guard and striding toward her.
She nodded, tried to be stoic, but a lump formed in her throat. Tears welled and began to slide down her cheeks. Blackwood came forward and wrapped her in his arms.
"It's all right. Don't cry." She could smell the starch in his shirt, feel his heart beating more rapidly that it should have been. "They've released you into my custody. I'm taking you out of here."
Jillian clung to him, her knees threatening to give way any minute. He reached out, smoothed back a long strand of hair, tucked it behind an ear. "They didn't hurt you?"
She shook her head. "I was just . . . I was just so frightened."
He watched with eyes full of turbulence and something else she couldn't quite read. "Come on. Let's get out of here." The formidable look on his face gave her the strength she needed. With his hand wrapped firmly around her waist, they started forward. When she walked out of the cell, she saw a small square of light at the end of the passage, and with every step toward it, more of her courage returned.
By the time they emerged from the prison and walked out into the courtyard, she was steady on her feet. They didn't stop until they passed through the heavy iron gates and crossed the cobblestone street out in front, and she spotted the Blackwood crest on the earl's expensive black carriage.
"Thank you for coming." Her legs felt shaky as he helped her inside. She settled herself on the seat but instead of seating himself across from her, Blackwood sat down beside her. He handed her a handkerchief and she used it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. "I wasn't sure you would."
A black brow arched. "Weren't you?"
She swallowed. Perhaps in her heart she had known he would come. She wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it had to do with duty and honor and being a military man used to fighting for those less able.
"What am I going to do?"
He glanced down at the hands fiercely clasped in her lap. "Nothing for the present. I've hired a barrister. A friend of mine. His name is Garth Dutton. He accompanied me to the magistrates' office and helped arrange for your release into my care. You may thank the Duke and Duchess of Rathmore, as well. I'm not sure we would have succeeded without their support."
"The duchess was there when they came for me. She was . . . very kind."
His mouth faintly curved. "Kassandra is any number of things. I suppose kind is one of them."
"You like her."
"I like both of them. I'm fortunate to call them friends."
"It would seem I am also fortunate, having made a friend in you."
His eyes locked on her face. "Perhaps in time, Jillian, we'll be far more than that."
She refused to think what the words implied. Certainly, he didn't speak of marriage. Not to the impoverished former ward of the Earl of Fenwick, now under suspicion of murder.
He reached over and took her hand. His was long-boned and elegant and she remembered the heat of it, curved round her breast.
"Garth has asked that the trial be postponed and since you've the support of a duke and an earl, they've agreed. Also, I've done as Howard Telford did and posted a reward—this one for any information leading to the man who murdered the earl."
"But I can't afford—"
"Consider it a loan," he said, interrupting her protest. A dark glint appeared in his eyes. "We'll work out repayment when all of this is over. In the meantime, I'll send a footman to Fenwick's to fetch your things. I'm sure you'd prefer your own clothes."
She stiffened at the reminder that the clothes she now wore belonged to his mistress. "Yes, most
Similar Books
