She was here in this damned castle for Jane’s sake and would remain, but presently, she longed dearly for her shared room and shared bed in Bluebell Lane, and the comfort of her sisters’ embraces.
 
 -23-
 
 Jem
 
 “The arrangements are made?”
 
 “Aye, with Bell’s assistance I’ve managed to isolate Davy’s gas, and the balloons are filled.”
 
 It was clear from the way Linfield peered at Jem down the length of his slender aristocratic nose that what Jem had taken to be a question had in fact been a statement, and one with an unexpected bite.
 
 “But…” he blurted, at once enraged and agitated to the point of smashing the back of his hand against the sideboard. His knuckles stung, but rather than rub them, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Safest place for them, else he might use them to throttle the life out of his host. “You agreed to try it. You promised that you would.”
 
 “And I will.” Linfield’s grin was all teeth and malice. “Shall you uphold your promises too, Jamie dearest?” He reached out to Jem, prompting him to flinch away.
 
 “Don’t touch me.”
 
 Linfield only laughed in the mean way of school yard bullies, but then Linfield was exactly the sort of spiteful miscreant to sneer down his nose at people and make their lives living hell. It was exactly what he was doing. He bore no real affection for Jem. He merely revelled in the control he had over him. Also, why did he insist on that pet name? Jem had never been Jamie, always Jem. Even Linfield had called him that until recently. Now suddenly it was Jamie this and Jamie that in an increasingly wheedling voice.
 
 “Lady Linfield has agreed to your proposal?” he asked. Excuse him for questioning the likelihood of that considering how distraught the lady had been after catching Linfieldin flagrante. It seemed highly illogical that she’d create such a fuss over a man fornicating with his mistress to being agreeable to him bringing his male lover into their marriage bed. One could only assume that Linfield had been deliberately vague over the particulars.
 
 “What exactly has she agreed to? What did you tell her?”
 
 “That I require your presence. That it is no way negotiable, but that you will not touch her or address her, and that the matter can be conducted in the dark so as not to offend anyone’s sensibilities.”
 
 So, exactly as he’d expected, vague. No doubt the spiteful turd was relying on the fact that his pizzle would already be seated in his lady’s garden to hide the fact that he needed to be simultaneously buggered in order to spend to pass unnoticed, or at least unremarked on until after the fact. And if Jane objected then, well, it was done, and who gave a shit? The seed was sewn, and if God was in any way merciful, well and truly planted. None of them would have to go through the deplorable experience again. The earl would get his grandson, and he’d put as much distance as he was able between himself and Linfield for the rest of his goddamned days. Not that it would matter, for the damage would already be done. Jane was bound to tell Eliza what had occurred, wasn’t she?
 
 Or might she hold her tongue for fear of the scandal it would cause if word were to get out?
 
 “You’d better use the bloody gas, and you’ll make a damn good show of it before I agree to come anywhere near you,” Jem insisted through gritted teeth.
 
 Linfield produced a child-like pout. “Jamie…Jamie, always so cross, when you used to be such fun.” He ticked Jem on the cheek, making him flinch away. “Haven’t I already said I’ll breathe your vapours? I do hope they won’t snuff me like a canary. That would be most unfortunate for us both. I’m sure you don’t want to hang, Jamie mine.”
 
 “I’m not yours.”
 
 “You’re mine if I say you’re mine. And I do.” Linfield caged him against the wainscotting to prove the point. “Best be mindful of the repercussions if you’re about to contradict me.”
 
 Lord God, he hated him.
 
 He hated every foul inch.
 
 Hated himself too, for ever allowing himself to become ensnared in Linfield’s sticky web.
 
 In the whole of their blasted acquaintance, he’d never wanted to punch the supercilious sneer from Linfield’s face more. He hoped all of Bell’s leeches escaped and feasted on his tenderest flesh. That the Cedarton ghost scared him out of his wits and set his fucking bed alight so that he fried to a toasty crisp. That his goddamn cock shrivelled up and dropped off and he never managed to sire another dim-witted, blue-blooded, small-minded nob like himself. That, dammit, the bastard expired right here and now before Jem was forced to do something he absolutely did not want to do.
 
 The nitrous oxide wasn’t the answer.
 
 They both knew how the night would end. He’d perform, like the trained monkey he was because the alternative would be so much worse. But worst of all, he knew he would do it because some impossible, nonsensical part of him was actually enthused by the idea.
 
 It was a sickness. He probably needed locking away. Bedding Linfield and his lady wife was no substitute for the man and woman he wanted to take to bed. But that was never happening.
 
 Linfield continued to regard him like he was a bug he was considering squashing, but then something shifted in his visage, and his hand dropped from where it had rested by the side of Jem’s head to lie on Jem’s hip.
 
 “You want it.”
 
 “I most certainly do not.”
 
 Linfield’s smile only broadened. “Such lies you tell. To me. To her. To yourself. If you’re so sure you don’t want it, then if I reach across, I won’t find you stiff as a ramrod beneath your falls. Except,” he wetted his lips, “we both know that you are.” He leaned closer, so his lips caressed Jem’s ear as he spoke. “Aren’t you, my Jamie? What is it about the notion of buggering me while I’m inside a woman that makes you so cockish?”