As a peer, Geoff would be tried before the House of Lords. How many members of the peerage had seen Geoff dancing attendance on Mary? How many of them had attended their disastrous wedding? True, those of them who knew Geoff would know that he wasn't the sort to murder his wife—but what was the sort to murder one's wife? They would waggle their double chins and speak wisely of young men being driven to madness by love. Tristan and Iseult would be mentioned, and that earl, two Seasons ago, whose wits had been so weakened by amour that he had gone so far as to marry his mistress. Someone would undoubtedly quote from Romeo and Juliet.
There would be wagging of heads, and reminiscences over past scandals, and the long and short of it would be that Geoff would stand condemned, hoist by his own love poetry.
Jasper wielded his whip with a self-satisfied slap.
"Bring out the black cap," he said cheerfully.
Since there didn't seem to be much point in trying to curry favor, Letty spoke as she felt. "You really are revolting."
Jasper glanced over at Letty, his handsome features arranged in a parody of sympathy. "Come, come, my dear girl, you must get some little pleasure at being the downfall of the man who ruined your reputation."
There was something fundamentally flawed with Jasper's logic, and Letty didn't have a hard time identifying just what it was. "I'd rather be ruined and live."
Jasper shook his head. "Just like a woman to reject the chance of a glorious death."
"Fine. You take death. I'll take dishonor."
"Don't worry, my dear," said Jasper, baring all his teeth. "I'll have a charming picture of you placed in the gallery of Sibley Court. I'll even tell the artist to paint out those freckles."
That did it. "If you are so keen on killing me, why haven't you just shot me already?"
"It might stain my clothes. Do you know how much this waistcoat cost?"
Letty was relieved to know that he had some scruples, even if they didn't necessarily stretch to the sanctity of human life—hers, for a start.
"Most forms of murder are messy," said Letty very seriously. "And no matter how hard you try to scrub at a bloodstain, you never really get the marks out of the fabric."
"Exactly," said Jasper. "That is why I am going to drown you in the Liffey instead."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Letty scarcely knew what she was saying. She was too busy casting about for escape plans. She had no hope of anyone riding to the rescue. Even if Geoff, on a very rare chance, had seen Jasper carrying her off, he had the demolition of the rebel stronghold to take care of. The life of a wife—even if he was glad he knew her—ranked fairly low next to the safety of England. "Water stains silk."
"I wore wool."
Thank goodness she knew how to swim. Not well, but enough to keep her from sinking straight to the bottom. Wearing men's clothing, she stood more of a chance than she would have in skirts. She would just have to pretend to go under and swim furiously toward the other bank.
"And don't think you'll be able to swim," advised Jasper, clearly deriving great pleasure from Letty's discomfiture. "Swimming ought to be quite difficult after a blow to the head."
"Blows to the head bleed badly," countered Letty, pressing back against the side of the wagon. The vial of sleeping potion was still in her waistcoat pocket, but there was no way she could administer it. As for the whistle, she could blow until she was blue in the face; no one would hear her above the rattle of wheels, and even if they did, no one would care. That left only the embroidery scissors. Embroidery scissors. She had as much hope of storming a citadel with a thimble. "If you won't think of me, think of your waistcoat. It's too fine to mar."
With a particularly unpleasant smile, Jasper leaned forward. Reversing his grip on the gun, he raised it high above her head.
"That's a risk I'll just have to take."
Letty was right; Jasper's sideburns were unbecoming.
They wouldn't be all that was unbecoming by the time Geoff was through with him. Jasper was long overdue for a damned good thrashing. Geoff charged toward his horse, before being brought up short by the realization that he hadn't brought one. Damn. He had no hope of catching them on foot. For such a rickety vehicle, Jasper's wagon was receding at an alarming pace. Ahead of him, children and livestock played in the street, carts rumbled past on their way back from market, and weary laborers trudged home from work. The throng of early traffic had slowed Jasper's progress, but it had not stopped him.
Geoff stopped a man leading a tired-looking nag. Whatever the animal's usual function was, it was not a riding horse.
"Here," said Geoff, tossing him a handful of coins without bothering to see what they were. "Buy yourself another horse."
Keeping hold of the bridle, the man tested a coin with his teeth, saying laconically, "I dunno, sir. She's a fine animal, sure and she is…"
Up ahead, Jasper drew something that glistened darkly in the summer sunlight before disappearing again below the level of sight.
The small form next to him went very still.
Fear such as he had never felt before froze through Geoff's veins like congealed January.
Swinging up on the surprised animal's bony back, Geoff lobbed his entire purse at the man with the precision that had made him the toast of the fourth-form cricket team. "Here. This should do."
The heavy pouch whapped the man straight in the chest. Staggering back, he released his grip on the bridle. With one swift kick, Geoff was away, guided by a single, overwhelming imperative: to catch up with his cousin and apply that gun where it would hurt the most.
"You coulda had 'er for a shilling!" floated down the street after him.
Leaning low over the nag's neck, Geoff wove around a dog-cart, a man with a wheelbarrow, and a remarkably unconcerned pig, taking a brief detour into the gutter as he skirted impatiently around a carriage that refused to grant him the right of way.
Jasper was making north, toward the river. Toward the river and the suburbs beyond? The area to the north of the city was still largely undeveloped, a perfect place to cache an unwilling hostage, far away from the great throng of humanity, and the last place anyone would think to look. That must be what Jasper was planning to do, stow Letty away somewhere and use her as a bargaining chip for whatever his latest selfish scheme was—a commission in a better regiment, his debts paid off, his allowance increased. Jasper's desires ran along fairly predictable lines.
But that gun made Geoff nervous. Very nervous. Even if Jasper didn't actually intend to use it, the lurching of the wagon on the uneven surface of the paving stones made its going off a deadly probability. One jolt of the wagon, one inadvertent flex of the fingers…
Geoff was gaining, but not quickly enough.
Why in the hell hadn't he sent Jasper packing back to England the moment he had turned up in front of St. Werburgh's the week before? He ought to have shoved two months' allowance into his hand, marched him straight down to the docks, and personally supervised his removal.
He hadn't thought. He hadn't been thinking. And if he had thought, he would have assumed that the very circumstances of his union with Letty would protect her. The prospect of heirs might well spur Jasper to violent action—Jasper had been holding his creditors at bay for years on the strength of his expectancy in the Pinchingdale estate—but who was less likely to produce heirs than an unwanted wife? As far as Jasper knew, Geoff was courting the favors of Miss Gilly Fairley, which was not a course of action conducive to the begetting of legitimate heirs.
Unless Jasper had seen through the ploy. Indolent Jasper might be, vindictive and venal and selfish, but he was not without a certain raw cunning. And he had known Geoff for a very long time. Those summer holidays they had been forced to spend together at Sibley Court, "playing nicely," had left neither unscarred.