“I don’t understand,” she murmured, dejected. “He was never like this before.”
Raven replaced the veil over her head. “Try not to hold on to this visit, little professor. Time in confinement will change any man. Some are hardened, while others break.”
She nodded, taking comfort in his presence here with her, but not without a degree of guilt. After all, according to Bill-Jack’s account, Raven had firsthand knowledge about time in confinement.
She swallowed down the tightness collecting in her throat as he drew her down the hall and toward the stairs. “I apologize for my part of this wasted morning. I truly thought he would know something, otherwise I never would have subjected you to coming here. I understand how you must abhor places like this. No wonder you were so gruff when I first arrived. Though, I wish you’d told me beforehand. I never would have put you through this.”
“I wanted to do this for you,” he said quietly as they approached the gatehouse, curling his hand over hers. “But my mood, such as it was, had nothing to do with being here and everything to do with a rumor I heard before I left Sterling’s earlier this morning.”
She lifted her face to his with inquiry and alertness, only to see him shake his head.
“Not yet,” he said with a discreet nod toward Bill-Jack up ahead.
He waited until they bid farewell and the gate closed behind them. Then, once they were next to the hackney, he continued. “Late last night, there were some gents in the card room talking about the Earl of Warrister’s return to London.”
Jane gasped. “Do you think it’s true?”
“They seemed convinced of it.”
“Then he must not be as ill as we feared,” she said in a rush, her spirits leavened by the news. “And you know what this means, don’t you? There will be a caretaker or a housekeeper we could apply to for a tour of the house.”
Raven made no comment, but she distinctly heard a grunt of interest escape his throat as he tried to appear aloof.
She smiled at this and slipped her hand in his with a tender squeeze. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“I’m not,” he said too quickly. Then he looked down at her through the veil and expelled a sigh as if he knew he wasn’t fooling her. “Not much.”
When he handed her inside the carriage, she worried that he might simply send her home without even considering it. So she tried harder to persuade him.
“No one would ever have to know. And”—she paused, hoping to incite his interest—“from what Ellie’s aunts have said, his lordship has quite the extensive library.”
Raven’s expression remained unchanged.
In that instant, she began to fear that his stubborn resolve would mark the conclusion of their quest. After this failed visit with her uncle, their final avenue had reached a dead end. There was no reason to further their acquaintance.
Without his willingness to proceed—begrudging or otherwise—this truly would be the last time she would ever see him.
In the silence that stretched on between them, she knew that they both realized it.
He disappeared from the doorway, taking with him the only thing that brightened this dreadful morning. A bereft breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t prepared herself for goodbye. There was nothing in her reticule for this.
Jane sank back in the seat, the veil hiding the tears collecting along the bottom rim of her eyes.
But then something unexpected happened. Raven returned and, as he climbed inside, called up to the driver, “St. James’s Square.”
Chapter 18
Raven didn’t know how long he’d been sitting inside the carriage, peering past the window shade at the town house. But it was long enough that the driver banged his fist on the hood.
“In circumstances such as this,” Jane said with a teasing tone from the other bench, “one usually walks up to the door and knocks. After all, if there is a housekeeper or caretaker inside, it is highly doubtful that he or she is privy to our thoughts and hopes of entering the house.”
He slid her an unamused look. “I’m taking note of the surroundings. It’s important to keep a watchful eye no matter where you are.”
She nodded thoughtfully and pursed her lips. “I see what you mean. That scullery maid who just passed by, carrying the market basket, is clearly about to make turnips today, and that is a dreadful crime. No one likes turnips.”
At the sight of her disarming grin, he instantly felt more at ease. He also felt like a fool for admitting to her earlier that he was nervous, but he could tell that she had known it anyway. Jane had an uncanny ability to see right through him. And for some reason that thought helped him breathe easier. The roiling sea inside his stomach faded to a gentle lapping wave.
Exiting the carriage, he handed her down and paid the driver, bidding the man once more to wait. But as he reflexively reached for Jane’s hand, she withdrew and shook her head, moving further away.
He frowned and advanced to her side.
“It wouldn’t be proper in this circumstance. Additionally,” she added, “you cannot call me Jane. When in the presence of others, you must refer to me as Miss Pickerington. Using my given name suggests an intimacy of close acquaintances, an understanding between us, or—in your vernacular—that you have claimed me.”
“I think I would have remembered that,” he said, flashing a devilish grin.
When he faced forward, he saw that they were already at the steps. She’d done it again, distracting him just long enough to keep him from second-guessing, or wondering what he was going to say if someone opened the door.
Climbing the short rise of stone stairs, he felt her warm gaze on his profile and heard the tender smile on her lips when she whispered, “You’ll do splendidly.”
Straightening his shoulders, he drew in a deep breath and rapped his knuckles on the door.
It opened almost instantly. Unexpectedly. And by the very same woman who’d crashed into him on the street the other day.
“Dear me! I’m supposin’ you’re real after all,” she said, though her doubtful expression and shake of her head seemed to contradict her statement. “Well then, you’d best come inside before there’s a spectacle. Rumors’ll be flyin’ across chimney tops by day’s end.”
Confused, Raven looked over his shoulder toward the street but saw nothing amiss. Then again, this woman seemed to have a few dice missing from her cup.
“Are you the housekeeper?” he asked as they entered.
She bustled around them in a flurry to close the door. “Mrs. Bramly, at your service.”
“We’d like a tour of the house,” he said, getting straight to the point. But when Jane cleared her throat beside him, he added, “If that would be acceptable, ma’am.”
He knew this wasn’t going to work. After all, if some strangers had asked to take a look at his house, he’d be the first to show them the pavement instead. Then he’d leave his boot print on their arses.
But this skittish woman surprised him by saying, “Right this way, sir, miss.”
Taking Jane’s hand, he settled it over his sleeve. Before she could balk, he said to her, “There’s no telling what condition these floors and those stairs are in. I could be saving your life.”