She looked up at him thoughtfully. “You’re hard against me. I know that’s because you’re a man. It feels very nice, Jason. When can we marry?”
He groaned, there was nothing else for him to do. “Jesus, as soon as I can manage it. But first we must discover the truth of things and you know it.”
“Yes, I know. Don’t you want to shout at me just a bit more, like you did at Thurston Hall? It would make me feel less low, less like a blind worm.”
“Go ahead and feel guilty, if you wish. Doubtless it will make you all that more admiring of me.” He kissed her hard and deep, then gently set her back into her chair. “I can’t think with you so very close to me. And both of us must think. Now, your other evidence is conversations Pottson related to you, conversations with Damien?”
She was breathing hard. There he was just standing there, looking as if nothing at all had occurred between them and she was having trouble breathing. It was odd and it was exciting. “Yes,” she said. “And, of course, the fact that Damien was, at the last moment, ordered to lead that cavalry charge. Pottson said Damien knew it was on purpose, that he knew he was going to his death. He didn’t want to, but it was his duty, he accepted it.”
Jason shook his head. “I simply can’t imagine that Sir William has the kind of connections in the ministry to direct Damien’s orders like that.”
“Then who, for God’s sake, sent Damien out of the country with such speed? Who could have directed his activities with such a close hand? Who could have sent him on all those dangerous missions, then sent him to certain death at Waterloo?”
“That’s precisely what I intend to find out, Hetty. Now, sweetheart, I must leave. To erase all doubt in our minds respecting Sir William’s involvement with Damien, I shall search out his lordship this afternoon. I wish to converse with him, in private, about his entanglement with Harry’s Isabella.”
“You swear you’ll keep me informed?” she said, rising. “About everything?”
“I swear. No, don’t get close to me,” he said. “I can’t take it. Yes, I’ll be back this afternoon and tell you what I’ve learned.”
He said softly, squeezing her fingers, “Believe me, Hetty, I wish to finish this damned business as quickly as possible. Then, we will speak of the future, our future.”
“And you’ll kiss me as much as I wish?”
“At least. Trust me.”
She watched him stride to the door, his legs long and strong and he was so certain of himself and of his abilities and she supposed that she had to be as well. “Jason,” she called after him, “do take care, else Lord Harry must needs come rescue you.”
He cocked a black brow and was gone.
Chapter Thirty-two
Toward the middle of the afternoon, the Marquess of Oberlon walked into the gaming room at White’s. He hoped that Sir William Filey would be here, he usually was. He had scarce time to begin his search when his attention was caught by a loud commotion and the rising of angry voices. Intrigued, he walked unobtrusively toward a far corner of the salon, where a small knot of gentlemen formed a wide circle.
He drew up short at the sound of Sir William Filey’s voice. “Go lick your wounds in private, Brandon. If you’re not enough of a man to hold the lady’s affections, then go back to the infantry where you belong. Country girls, I understand, like young rustics like you trying to raise their skirts. Don’t come whining to me about it being all my fault.”
Damnation and hellfire, the marquess cursed silently. He could readily have strangled Harry Brandon for interfering in his plans. He moved quickly forward, edging his way through the circle of gentlemen.
Sir Harry Brandon stood facing Sir William, his hands balled into fists and his face red with rage.
“You old lecher,” he shouted, “Isabella is not for the likes of you. She’s young and innocent. You’ve pulled the wool over her eyes with your damned flattery. You’ve bribed that wretched mother of hers, haven’t you? I demand satisfaction, do you hear?”