“I have news. I thought about including it in a report since I know how much you love those…” He eyed the pile on Brantford’s desk and gave his head a small shake.
Brantford steepled his fingers and watched the other man with great care. “I thought you were out of it?”
Kerrick’s mouth twisted downward. “I am, but one of my contacts finally got back to me with some information. Information you’d want to know since it might concern Rose.”
Brantford couldn’t hold back the annoyance that spiked whenever he heard Rose’s name on the other man’s lips, but he did everything in his power to hide it.
“By all means,” he said, waiting for Kerrick to continue.
“It concerns Standish.”
That caught Brantford’s attention. Before Worthington’s confession, Kerrick had told him Standish was somehow involved in this whole mess. He’d been seen arguing with Worthington, and soon after Rose’s father had confessed to treason. But they’d been unable to find any proof that Standish was involved in selling secrets to the French.
“You can connect him to Worthington?”
Kerrick shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Not yet. The man is more slippery than an eel. But my contact discovered some information about his background that his father had tried to conceal.”
Brantford waited patiently for the other man to continue.
Kerrick’s mouth turned down in disgust. “I don’t know if you recall hearing about the death of his cousin years ago, when the old earl was still alive and Standish had yet to reach the age of majority.”
Brantford nodded. It had been a messy business. The young woman had just come out, but sometime during that season she’d been found dead. Murdered, apparently, but her killer had never been identified. It seemed, however, that was no longer the case.
“Standish?”
Kerrick nodded. “He didn’t just kill the girl. He raped her first, then strangled her.”
Disgust and anger churned in Brantford’s belly as he contemplated how black a man’s soul had to be to commit such a crime. “So the man is a murderer and his father hid the scandal.”
“Yes. He had Standish shipped off to the continent. Paid and threatened anyone who could testify as to his son’s whereabouts at the time of the crime. Most of them disappeared, never to be heard from again.”
“Until now.”
“Yes, but don’t expect Standish to pay for that crime. My contact tells me the person he spoke to is terrified of Standish and what he’ll do to his family.”
“Understandably so,” Brantford said. “If the man had no qualms about killing his own cousin, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to hurt a stranger.”
“Yes.”
A thought that had been niggling at the edges of his mind finally took shape. “Didn’t the old earl die under mysterious circumstances?”
Kerrick nodded. “We can only speculate, of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Standish had a hand in that as well.”
Brantford ran through the ramifications of these new revelations, but they still didn’t connect the man to treason. “He’s quite wealthy now. He certainly doesn’t need to sell secrets to the French.”
“Not for money, no. But it would appear he might have a more personal reason for betraying the country.”
“Don’t make me ask,” Brantford said when Kerrick didn’t continue. He hated it when his agents tried to play guessing games with him. Then again, it was possible he was overreacting, not that he’d ever admit it. He still hadn’t quite forgiven Kerrick for getting so close to Rose Hardwick.
“It appears that Standish’s mother is French.” At Brantford’s raised brow, he continued. “Not the woman who raised him. The old earl’s wife couldn’t give him an heir, but his mistress fell pregnant and produced a son. A son that the earl passed off as being borne by his wife.”
Brantford could see it all now. “By all accounts, the countess hated her son. Or, rather, hated the boy she’d raised as her son.”
“Yes,” Kerrick replied. “Can you imagine being raised by a woman who hated the very sight of you? Not that it excuses any of his crimes, but we can be certain the man has no notion of what family—or love—would look like.”
They had that in common. Not the active hate part, of course, but Brantford had also been raised in a household devoid of familial warmth. That lack certainly didn’t excuse Standish’s actions.
“So you believe that Standish is selling secrets to the French… Why, exactly? As some kind of retribution against his pretend mother? Or against the man who’d taken him from his real mother and raised him in wealth and security?”
Kerrick burst from his chair and began to pace. “It’s possible.”
It was indeed, but they both knew they’d need more than that to connect him to Worthington’s confession of treason.
“You’ve given me much to think about,” Brantford said, meaning it. The one thing they hadn’t had was a reason for Standish to commit treason. Kerrick might just have uncovered his motive.
Kerrick stopped his restless movements and turned to face him. “I think Rose might be in danger from him.”
His stomach actually dipped at those words. “Standish prefers his women to be fair-haired.”
“Yes, and we both know he had his sights set on my betrothed. He gloated as much when he maneuvered me into the appearance of having compromised Rose. He was quite pleased with himself when I was forced to announce our engagement. With me out of the way, he thought he’d be able to get Catherine in his clutches. He wouldn’t have, of course. Overlea is almost as fiercely protective of her as he is of his wife, and as her brother-in-law he has the means to keep Standish at bay. But Rose thwarted his plans when she told anyone who would listen that she’d broken our short-lived engagement.”
Ice slithered through his veins. “And Standish isn’t a man to be thwarted.”
“No,” Kerrick said. “Worthington confessed to protect his family. We can’t prove that, but I feel it in my bones. But his confession might not be enough to protect Rose, not if Standish blames her for the fact that Catherine and I are now engaged. And if history is anything to go by, Standish will lash out when denied what he feels is his due.”
Brantford said nothing, but he stood, shook Kerrick’s hand and thanked him for his information. The other man searched his expression, and Brantford must have betrayed more than he’d intended.
“I know you’ll watch out for her,” Kerrick said before exiting the room.
Brantford sank back into his chair, his emotions in tumult. He wanted to hit something, preferably Standish’s face. He was sorely tempted to sweep the stack of reports from his desk, imagining the satisfaction to be gained from watching the paper scatter in every direction.
Instead, he clutched his hands into fists and closed his eyes, working to control his breathing and, with it, his temper. He made a silent vow to get to the bottom of this matter personally. He’d ensure Rose Hardwick remained safe.
Brantford glanced down at the hastily scrawled note his butler had handed him as he made his way to his study and allowed himself to scowl as he read it.
Planning to visit shortly with C, Lady O, and RH. The last wants to take you up on your offer to help.
— Kerrick
He dropped the note into a bin—wishing it wasn’t too warm for a fire so he could burn the thing—and lowered himself into his desk chair. When he realized he was still scowling, he smoothed his brow.
Rose Hardwick was coming to his home. He didn’t know why that idea unsettled him so much, but he wouldn’t dwell on that now. Kerrick had kept Rose from visiting her father that morning. Maybe he’d be able to go one step further and convince her to join her mother in the country where she’d be safe.
Almost immediately he stood again. There was no point in pretending he was otherwise occupied when they arrived. He made his way to the drawing room where he summoned a footman and instructed him to b
ring refreshments as soon as his guests arrived. He wondered if Kerrick had known about this visit when they spoke yesterday. If so, he needn’t have gone to the trouble of keeping it secret since Brantford wasn’t about to turn Rose away. He doubted she knew anything about her father’s dealings, but he wouldn’t dismiss the opportunity to question her.
Perhaps this time she wouldn’t be quite so angry with him. He had no reason to believe her waspishness toward him was personal. He imagined she was just lashing out and, given the amount of gossip and speculation swirling around her family at the moment, he couldn’t blame her.
He wanted to pace, but he resisted the urge and lowered himself into an armchair. It took far more concentration than he would admit to keep his attention focused on the newspaper.
He only had to wait ten minutes before his butler answered a knock at the door. He set aside the Times and rose to his feet only when the small group entered the room.
After greeting his guests, he waited for the women to take their seats on the settee before sitting again. Kerrick took the other armchair in the room.
“I wasn’t expecting such charming company this morning.” He couldn’t stop his eyes from settling on Rose as he spoke. She’d gotten some rest since he last saw her, for the circles under her eyes were gone, but he could see signs of strain in the way her mouth tightened and in the stiff set of her shoulders. He tried to assess her mood, but she wouldn’t look at him directly. It appeared he’d have to wait a bit longer to discover whether she was still taking her frustration out on him.
“I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition,” Lady Overlea said.
“Not at all,” Brantford replied. Leaning back, he watched the group as the footman arrived, on schedule, with tea and a tray filled with an assortment of sweets.
“We all know why we’re here,” Kerrick said after Lady Overlea had poured tea for everyone. “Louisa and Catherine will stay here while the three of us discuss the reason for our visit privately.”
Brantford narrowed his eyes, assessing everyone in the room. It did appear that Kerrick’s betrothed and her sister were content to remain out of this discussion. But glancing at Rose, he realized he wouldn’t get much information from her with the other man present. What had started off as a pretend courtship between them—something that still irked him whenever he thought about it—had turned into Kerrick acting like a protective older brother toward Rose. He wouldn’t get far if the other man insisted on speaking for her.
“I think it would be best if Miss Hardwick and I spoke alone.”
Lady Overlea was surprised at his announcement. Catherine looked pleased, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Kerrick, however, was about to protest when Rose herself finally spoke.
“I think Lord Brantford is correct. I appreciate everything you’re all doing for me, taking me in and making sure I’m not harassed when I visit Papa, but you can’t continue to shield me.”
“Just so,” Brantford said, standing quickly before anyone could attempt to change her mind. “If you’ll follow me.”
Kerrick stood as well, his arms crossed. “Tread carefully,” he said as Rose followed him from the room.
Brantford ignored him. He’d set these events in motion when he’d asked Kerrick to investigate Rose’s father. He could hardly blame the other man for feeling some responsibility for the repercussions.
Brantford moved past his study—the last thing he needed was memories of Rose invading his inner sanctum while he was trying to work—and headed for the library. He allowed her to precede him into the room.
“We shouldn’t be disturbed here even with the door open.”
She gave a little shake of her head. “I have no doubt that my virtue is safe with you.”
It shouldn’t have struck him as an odd thing for her to say. She was, after all, alone with him, far enough away from her friends that he could do almost anything to her. What’s more, almost as soon as that thought occurred to him, he realized he was also annoyed. He might be known for his carefully cultivated reserve, but he was hardly a monk. And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit that Rose Hardwick would think she was safe alone with him.
In actuality, she wasn’t.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, waiting for her to choose one of the chairs in front of the window before sitting opposite her. “First, I should ask why you are here.”
“I think that’s obvious,” she said, her posture stiff as her eyes met his before gliding away again.
“I don’t suppose you have any evidence to share with me that supports your father’s claim that he has committed treason.”
He’d wanted to shake her, elicit some kind of emotion from her other than resignation.
She stood, fingers gripping her reticule tightly while she glared at him. “This was a mistake. You can’t help me.”
He rose swiftly, holding her gaze while he bade her to sit down again. When she did so after several seconds, he continued. “You would be surprised what I can do. But first I need you to talk to me. This won’t work if we have to talk through Kerrick.”
The air seemed to go out of her lungs, and she slumped down slightly. He waited.
“My father didn’t commit treason.” He was about to interject, but she spoke over him. “I know, he confessed. But he’s not guilty. He can’t be guilty.”
“All right.”
“All right? That’s all you have to say?”
“You still haven’t told me what you want from me.”
Rose let out a small huff of annoyance. “You’re insufferable, as I’m sure you are aware.”
He allowed himself a small smile at that, happier than he’d ever admit to seeing a small hint of Rose’s former spirit. “I may have heard that once or twice in my lifetime.”
She stared at him for several seconds, and he found himself wishing he could read minds. There was something in her expression when she looked at him that unsettled him. But almost as quickly as he’d seen it, the emotion was gone.
“I need your assistance in proving his innocence. I’ve been told that if anyone can help me, it would be you.”
He allowed her statement to sit there, heavy in the air, for several moments before replying. “What exactly have you been told?”
“Very little, actually.” It was evident to him that fact annoyed her. “Last week, when I saw you at Kerrick’s home, you wished me luck in exonerating my father. Well, you were correct. Papa won’t speak to me about what happened, and I don’t know what to do.”
“He’s trying to protect you.” He hated the bitter laugh that comment elicited.
“If he wanted to protect me, he wouldn’t have confessed to a crime he didn’t commit. What did he think would happen? That Mama and I would go on as we had been? And what about him? Mama is sick with worry about him.”
“I believe,” he said, weighing each word, “it was enough for him that the two of you remained alive.”
Chapter 4
She couldn’t hold back her gasp. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you should have followed your mother’s example and left London. You aren’t safe here.”
Rose could only stare at him, unsure how she should take his ridiculous remark. She wanted to believe Brantford was exaggerating. That he was trying to shock her for some reason. But the more she thought about it, the more his assertion made sense.
The only motive her father would have for confessing to treason would be if he feared for their safety. But surely that belief had no basis in reality.
“Papa was mistaken,” she said. “There is no reason for anyone to harm Mama and me.”
“There are more things in heaven and earth—”
“Yes, yes. ‘Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ I know Shakespeare as well. You needn’t act so superior.”
He raised a brow at that, and she imagined he was annoyed at her outburst. She hated how superior and remote he acted. And, heaven help her, she hat
ed that she found him all the more attractive because of it. Oh, to be the woman who would break through all that cool reserve. But that would never be her. Not anymore. Brantford would never court the daughter of a traitor.
“The fact remains that you would be safer in the country with your mother.”
She stood, needing to move to work through her annoyance at his remark. He stood as well, the movement almost casual, and watched her. She sighed and sank back down into her seat, watching him follow suit. In that moment, she hated the convention that dictated a gentleman should stand when a lady did.
“Mama is grieving for my father. She is in pain, but she is also hiding from society. I won’t hide. I need to be here to support him.”
“You’re placing yourself in unnecessary jeopardy. At the very least, you need to promise me that you’ll refrain from visiting your father again.”
She clenched her hands together at that remark but managed not to lash out at him. “I can’t make that promise.”
She stilled, shocked, when Brantford leaned forward in his chair, all his cool reserve seeming to fade in that instant, replaced by a heat in his pale blue eyes that she’d never expected to see.
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” she managed to reply. She hated the thrill of awareness that sparked through her at his shift in demeanor. Something changed in his face, and she wondered if he could sense her emotions.
“You believe your father is innocent, fine. I’ll concede there is a slight possibility that is true. But he isn’t foolish enough to admit to a crime that would see him hanged and his family’s reputation ruined if the danger wasn’t real.”
She wanted to insist that he was wrong, but he held up a hand to silence her. “Allow me to continue, please. Has it occurred to you that the person your father might be trying to protect you from—and as you say, you don’t think it was your father who actually committed treason—might take your visits to your father as a threat to his safety? He’ll wonder if your father has told you anything that might point the finger to the real culprit. That, my dear, makes you a danger to him. But if you ceased your visits, he would have no reason to worry about your involvement.”
The Unaffected Earl Page 3
