Chapter Twenty
Jocelyn sank back against the seat of her carriage, watching as Sebastian’s building narrowed to a mere dot in the distance, overwhelmed by all the thoughts and emotions racing through her head. Her carriage had arrived promptly at nine, as she’d asked, but it had taken every bit of her strength to leave Sebastian’s side, despite their rather squalid surroundings and the way they’d parted.
Last night had been the single most eye-opening, exciting event of her life.
All she wanted to do was repeat it as often as she could.
In his arms, she didn’t feel like the good girl she’d always worked to be, the stickler for rules and etiquette. She didn’t feel like she had to please everyone else. She need only please herself and her lover, and the entire world could go hang.
Being with him was selfish and perhaps even foolish, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. He made her happy when her life had become such a dark and sorrowful place. She couldn’t regret a moment she spent with him.
She hated that she’d hurt his feelings in the end, and she knew she had to find a way to make him understand that her aversion to marriage had nothing to do with him. If she were ever going to shackle herself to a man again, it would be him.
But why should she have to? As long as they were careful, she could continue to see him. She liked the way things were. She didn’t know why he’d gotten so upset. Men weren’t supposed to truly want to be married, were they?
For a few minutes longer, she let her mind drift back to the bliss she’d found with him, dreaming of when they could do it again. But finally, she forced herself to think about all the other things she’d abandoned last night.
She had a son to see to. And she had to check on Abbie.
The realities of her world came crashing back down upon her before his flat was even completely out of sight. She was not some worldly courtesan who could sleep all day in her lover’s arms. She was a mother, a countess. A thousand duties and responsibilities were waiting for her.
With a sigh, she pulled the lap blanket tighter around her, shivering in the February cold now that Sebastian was not here to warm her.
She still couldn’t believe she’d gone so many hours without thinking of Evelyn. Guilt welled up within her once again, despite Sebastian’s words, but on the heels of the guilt came a surge of fury as well.
She had no doubt that Sebastian, Drake, and Quinn were doing their best to catch the bastard who had murdered her sister, but if Sebastian’s suspicions were right, if The Viper was Viscount Danbury, his hands were tied. All of theirs were.
Mortimer was not only Drake’s brother, but he was a viscount, a member of Parliament. He probably wouldn’t even consent to speak to Sebastian, and without a confession, there really wasn’t enough evidence against him to make an arrest.
He would talk to me.
The thought took hold and circled wildly around and around in her brain. He’d been overly solicitous of her at the funeral, insisting she call upon him if she needed anything. She had no doubt if she went to his home, he’d agree to see her.
What would he tell her if she asked the right questions? Could she get him to admit that he’d had something to do with Evelyn’s death? Could she at least get him to admit that Evelyn had turned down his proposal all those years ago?
If he really was The Viper, it would be very dangerous. But she’d take Thomas and her driver, Jarvis, with her. He couldn’t very well kill her with her servants waiting outside. In fact, she’d tell them to insist upon seeing her if she wasn’t out in thirty minutes.
The idea of actually doing something, of making some progress on her own toward finding out who had done this to her sister, filled her with a sense of purpose that she’d been badly lacking since all this had happened.
A part of her wanted to have her coachman head there right now, but she was desperately in need of a bath and a change of clothes. And even she knew she wasn’t thinking clearly right now. No, she needed to go home, clean up, and perhaps take a nap. Then she’d very carefully plot out what she planned to say to Mortimer Blackstone when she saw him.
* * *
SEBASTIAN WAS LATE to the office that morning, which was quite unlike him, but he didn’t care. He’d been working long hours every day since he’d gotten this job. Seeing Jocelyn off after their night together was the least he could do. She’d obviously had not idea of the sort of hours he kept when she’d told her footman to come back for her at nine. Usually, he’d have been at work for hours by then. But how could she know, when she’d come from generations of people who’d never had to work a day in their lives? There was no way he was going to leave her alone in his flat with the sort of riff-raff who resided in his building, so he’d had to stay until she left. And then he’d had to spend an appreciable amount of time talking himself out of being hurt and furious that she didn’t want to marry him.
He’d known from the beginning what this was, so he had no idea why her words this morning had upset him so. He was so far beneath her socially that they should not have even met, let alone done all the sinful, beautiful things they’d done last night. He’d be a fool to let his stung pride keep him from arranging to meet with her again just as soon as possible.
As he settled behind his desk and stared blankly at the piles of paperwork in front of him, he thought about the realization he’d come to after the water closet incident. If he was going to continue his relationship with the beautiful widow, he was going to have to buy a house of his own. He wouldn’t ask her to keep coming to see him in his seedy little flat, to use the filthy communal water closet down the hall.
Of course, anything he could afford would be nothing like she was used to, but he did have a nice little nest egg saved up, and he could definitely entertain her somewhere far nicer than he had last night.
“Pond,” he bellowed.
Constable Pond came rushing in moments later, his face pale. “Sir?” he asked with a squeak.
“I need to talk to an estate agent. Would you arrange that for me?”
Obviously having expected something far more alarming, Pond swallowed visibly. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Inspector O’Brien phoned for you.”