The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,128

had only met that night. It was fortunate that I had a few minutes alone with Fenwick while I patched him up. By the time the sheriff arrived we’d set our stories straight and agreed to pass off his injury as a nick from the same bullet that passed through Norland.”

“You showed great presence of mind getting me out of there, Jago.”

Jago shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if she’d been discovered there. “I don’t even like to think about that,” he said quietly.

She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.

Jago groaned at the erotic gesture. “Wicked, cruel, temptress.”

Benna smiled. “Finish telling me about the Home Office.”

“There isn’t a whole lot more to tell. It was a deeply unpleasant experience. The whole time I was there I felt ashamed, as if I had been involved in the sordid enterprise. The diary actually wasn’t as damning as I’d feared. It turned out that Fenwick had shown Cadan the worst of it. The agent wasn’t convinced they were involved, at all. It was Bligh, and the agent had apparently found evidence to prove it.” Jago shook his head. “What my brother and Brian and Bligh did was unforgiveable. I am so fortunate the authorities believed me, Benna. If they hadn’t …”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure that you coming forward with the information was a point in your favor.”

“Yes, they said as much,” he agreed. “I hope at the very least that they’ll be able to find Bligh and get some justice for their murdered agent.”

“Poor Jago, you did nothing to deserve all that.”

“No, lucky Jago. Because I had you to look forward to at the end of it all.”

He saw the slight tightening around her eyes and frowned. “What is it, love? Why do you look anxious?”

Benna’s eyes moved to something beyond the terrace and Jago turned to see her sister approaching.

Her resemblance to Benna was startling at first glance, but the closer she came, the more he saw it was superficial.

She was shorter—although still tall at perhaps five feet eight or nine inches—and her hair was a golden blond rather than Benna’s striking silver. Her features were softer, and, objectively, Jago supposed, she would be considered prettier than her older sister.

Like Benna, she wore a simple white muslin gown.

Benna took her hand and smiled—the gentlest expression Jago had ever seen on her somewhat severe features. “Have you come to meet Lord Trebolton?”

Gilly nodded, but stared at the ground.

Benna turned to him. “My lord, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to my sister, Miss Gillyflower Danvers. Gilly, this is Lord Jago Trebolton.”

Gilly dropped a shallow curtsey but did not offer her hand. “A pleasure,” she said in an almost inaudible voice.

“The pleasure is mine,” Jago assured her, bowing low. “I hope you will do me the honor of calling me Jago.”

Her lips quirked slightly and she nodded. “But not until next month, when you become my brother.”

Jago turned to Benna and gazed into her bottomless blue eyes. “Yes, that’s very proper, Gilly, er, Miss Danvers—since I shan’t be your sister’s husband for another long, endless, thirty days.”

He added in a far softer voice, for Benna’s ears only, “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Wake House

1817

That same night …

Benna had dismissed her maid fifteen minutes ago and had been pacing ever since. She was about to go down to the conservatory and look for Jago herself when the door opened and the man himself slipped into the room.

Benna had seen him only an hour earlier, down in the library where they had sat after dinner with Gilly, but she was still robbed of breath by the sight of him. His coat and pantaloons were a sinful black, his waistcoat a creamy ivory, and his cravat snowy white. He wore no jewelry except for the gold and onyx signet.

She gave a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to worry.”

He pulled a wry face. “I’m ashamed to admit I got lost.” He held out his hands as he strode toward her.

Benna took his hands and squeezed them. “Let me remind you that it was you who insisted on staying in the Dower House, rather than here at Wake House.”

“It would hardly be decent to stay under the same roof as my betrothed before we are wed.”

“Oh? Does that mean you won’t be staying the night?”

“Ha! I’m definitely staying the night. But I shall quietly scuttle away unnoticed before first light.”

“Are you really going to scuttle back and forth for